Chapter 1 The Dark Lord Ascending
The two men appeared out of nowhere, a few yards apart in the narrow, moonlit lane. For a second they stood quite still, wands directed at each other’s chests; then, recognizing each other, they stowed their wands beneath their cloaks and started walking briskly in the same direction.
“News?” asked the taller of the two.
“The best,” replied Severus Snape.
The lane was bordered on the left by wild, low-growing brambles, on the right by a high, neatly manicured hedge. The men’s long cloaks flapped around their ankles as they marched.
“Thought I might be late,” said Yaxley, his blunt features sliding in and out of sight as the branches of overhanging trees broke the moonlight. “It was a little trickier than I expected. But I hope he will be satisfied. You sound confident that your reception will be good?”
Snape nodded, but did not elaborate. They turned right, into a wide driveway that led off the lane. The high hedge curved into them, running off into the distance beyond the pair of imposing wrought-iron gates barring the men’s way. Neither of them broke step: In silence both raised their left arms in a kind of salute and passed straight through, as though the dark metal was smoke.
The yew hedges muffled the sound of the men’s footsteps. There was a rustle somewhere to their right: Yaxley drew his wand again pointing it over his companion’s head, but the source of the noise proved to be nothing more than a pure-white peacock, strutting majestically along the top of the hedge.
“He always did himself well, Lucius. Peacocks …” Yaxley thrust his wand back under his cloak with a snort.
A handsome manor house grew out of the darkness at the end of the straight drive, lights glinting in the diamond paned downstairs windows. Somewhere in the dark garden beyond the hedge a fountain was playing. Gravel crackled beneath their feet as Snape and Yaxley sped toward the front door, which swung inward at their approach, though nobody had visibly opened it.
The hallway was large, dimly lit, and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering most of the stone floor. The eyes of the pale-faced portraits on the wall followed Snape and Yaxley as they strode past. The two men halted at a heavy wooden door leading into the next room, hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, then Snape turned the bronze handle.
The drawing room was full of silent people, sitting at a long and ornate table. The room’s usual furniture had been pushed carelessly up against the walls. 
Illumination came from a roaring fire beneath a handsome marble mantelpiece surmounted by a gilded mirror. Snape and Yaxley lingered for a moment on the threshold. As their eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light, they were drawn upward to the strangest feature of the scene: an apparently unconscious human figure hanging upside down over the table, revolving slowly as if suspended by an invisible rope, and reflected in the mirror and in the bare, polished surface of the table below. None of the people seated underneath this singular sight were looking at it except for a pale young man sitting almost directly below it. He seemed unable to prevent himself from glancing upward every minute or so.
“Yaxley. Snape,” said a high, clear voice from the head of the table. “You are very nearly late.”
The speaker was seated directly in front of the fireplace, so that it was difficult, at first, for the new arrivals to make out more than his silhouette. As they drew nearer, however, his face shone through the gloom, hairless, snakelike, with slits for nostrils and gleaming red eyes whose pupils were vertical. He was so pale that he seemed to emit a pearly glow.
“Severus, here,” said Voldemort, indicating the seat on his immediate right. “Yaxley – beside Dolohov.”
The two men took their allotted places. Most of the eyes around the table followed Snape, and it was to him that Voldemort spoke first.
“So?”
“My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current place of safety on Saturday next, at nightfall.”
The interest around the table sharpened palpably: Some stiffened, others fidgeted, all gazing at Snape and Voldemort.
“Saturday … at nightfall,” repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon Snape’s black ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves would be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Snape, however, looked calmly back into Voldemort’s face and, after a moment or two, Voldemort’s lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.
“Good. Very good. And this information comes – ”
“ – from the source we discussed,” said Snape.
“My Lord.”
Yaxley had leaned forward to look down the long table at Voldemort and Snape. All faces turned to him.
“My Lord, I have heard differently.”
Yaxley waited, but Voldemort did not speak, so he went on, “Dawlish, the Auror, let slip that Potter will not be moved until the thirtieth, the night before the boy turns seventeen.”
Snape was smiling.
“My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus Charm has been placed upon Dawlish. It would not be the first time; he is known to be susceptible.”
“I assure you, my Lord, Dawlish seemed quite certain,” said Yaxley.
“If he has been Confunded, naturally he is certain,” said Snape. “I assure you, Yaxley, the Auror Office will play no further part in the protection of Harry Potter. 
The Order believes that we have infiltrated the Ministry.”
“The Order’s got one thing right, then, eh?” said a squat man sitting a short distance from Yaxley; he gave a wheezy giggle that was echoed here and there along the table.
Voldemort did not laugh. His gaze had wandered upward to the body revolving slowly overhead, and he seemed to be lost in thought.
“My Lord,” Yaxley went on, “Dawlish believes an entire party of Aurors will be used to transfer the boy – ”
Voldemort held up a large white hand, and Yaxley subsided at once, watching resentfully as Voldemort turned back to Snape.
“Where are they going to hide the boy next?”
“At the home of one of the Order,” said Snape. “The place, according to the source, has been given every protection that the Order and Ministry together could provide. I think that there is little chance of taking him once he is there, my Lord, unless, of course, the Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might give us the opportunity to discover and undo enough of the enchantments to break through the rest.”
“Well, Yaxley?” Voldemort called down the table, the firelight glinting strangely in his red eyes. “Will the Ministry have fallen by next Saturday?”
Once again, all heads turned. Yaxley squared his shoulders.
“My Lord, I have good news on that score. I have – with difficulty, and after great effort – succeeded in placing an Imperius Curse upon Pius Thicknesse.”
Many of those sitting around Yaxley looked impressed; his neighbor, Dolohov, a man with a long, twisted face, clapped him on the back.
“It is a start,” said Voldemort. “But Thicknesse is only one man. Scrimgeour must be surrounded by our people before I act. One failed attempt on the Minister’s life will set me back a long way.”
“Yes – my Lord, that is true – but you know, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Thicknesse has regular contact not only with the Minister himself, but also with the Heads of all the other Ministry departments. It will, I think, be easy now that we have such a high-ranking official under our control, to subjugate the others, and then they can all work together to bring Scrimgeour down.”
“As long as our friend Thicknesse is not discovered before he has converted the rest,” said Voldemort. “At any rate, it remains unlikely that the Ministry will be mine before next Saturday. If we cannot touch the boy at his destination, then it must be done while he travels.”
“We are at an advantage there, my Lord,” said Yaxley, who seemed determined to receive some portion of approval. “We now have several people planted within the Department of Magical Transport. If Potter Apparates or uses the Floo Network, we shall know immediately.”
“He will not do either,” said Snape. “The Order is eschewing any form of transport that is controlled or regulated by the Ministry; they mistrust everything to do with the place.”
“All the better,” said Voldemort. “He will have to move in the open. Easier to take, by far.”
Again, Voldemort looked up at the slowly revolving body as he went on, “I shall attend to the boy in person. There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than to his triumphs.”
The company around the table watched Voldemort apprehensively, each of them, by his or her expression, afraid that they might be blamed for Harry Potter’s continued existence. Voldemort, however, seemed to be speaking more to himself than to any of them, still addressing the unconscious body above him.
“I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best-laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be.”
At these words, seemingly in response to them, a sudden wail sounded, a terrible, drawn-out cry of misery and pain. Many of those at the table looked downward, startled, for the sound had seemed to issue from below their feet.
“Wormtail,” said Voldemort, with no change in his quiet, thoughtful tone, and without removing his eyes from the revolving body above, “have I not spoken to you about keeping our prisoner quiet?”
“Yes, m-my Lord,” gasped a small man halfway down the table, who had been sitting so low in his chair that it appeared, at first glance, to be unoccupied. Now he scrambled from his seat and scurried from the room, leaving nothing behind him but a curious gleam of silver.
“As I was saying,” continued Voldemort, looking again at the tense faces of his followers, “I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter.”
The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms.
“No volunteers?” said Voldemort. “Let’s see … Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore.”
Lucius Malfoy looked up. His skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.
“My Lord?”
“Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand.”
“I …”
Malfoy glanced sideways at his wife. She was staring straight ahead, quite as pale as he was, her long blonde hair hanging down her back, but beneath the table her slim fingers closed briefly on his wrist. At her touch, Malfoy put his hand into his robes, withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort, who held it up in front of his red eyes, examining it closely.
“What is it?”
“Elm, my Lord,” whispered Malfoy.
“And the core?”
“Dragon – dragon heartstring.”
“Good,” said Voldemort. He drew out his wand and compared the lengths. Lucius Malfoy made an involuntary movement; for a fraction of a second, it seemed he expected to receive Voldemort’s wand in exchange for his own. The gesture was not missed by Voldemort, whose eyes widened maliciously.
“Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?”
Some of the throng sniggered.
“I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you? But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late … What is it about my presence in your home that displaces you, Lucius?”
“Nothing – nothing, my Lord!”
“Such lies Lucius … ”
The soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving. One or two of the wizards barely repressed a shudder as the hissing grew louder; something heavy could be heard sliding across the floor beneath the table.
The huge snake emerged to climb slowly up Voldemort’s chair. It rose, seemingly endlessly, and came to rest across Voldemort’s shoulders: its neck the thickness of a man’s thigh; its eyes, with their vertical slits for pupils, unblinking. Voldemort stroked the creature absently with long thin fingers, still looking at Lucius Malfoy.
“Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?”
“Of course, my Lord,” said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. “We did desire it – we do.”
To Malfoy’s left, his wife made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from Voldemort and the snake. To his right, his son, Draco, who had been gazing up at the inert body overhead, glanced quickly at Voldemort and away again, terrified to make eye contact.
“My Lord,” said a dark woman halfway down the table, her voice constricted with emotion, “it is an honor to have you here, in our family’s house. There can be no higher pleasure.”
She sat beside her sister, as unlike her in looks, with her dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, as she was in bearing and demeanor; where Narcissa sat rigid and impassive, Bellatrix leaned toward Voldemort, for mere words could not demonstrate her longing for closeness.
“No higher pleasure,” repeated Voldemort, his head tilted a little to one side as he considered Bellatrix. “That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you.”
Her face flooded with color; her eyes welled with tears of delight.
“My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!”
“No higher pleasure … even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?”
She stared at him, her lips parted, evidently confused.
“I don’t know what you mean, my Lord.”
“I’m talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud.”
There was an eruption of jeering laughter from around the table. Many leaned forward to exchange gleeful looks; a few thumped the table with their fists. The giant snake, disliking the disturbance, opened its mouth wide and hissed angrily, but the Death Eaters did not hear it, so jubilant were they at Bellatrix and the Malfoys’ humiliation. Bellatrix’s face, so recently flushed with happiness, had turned an ugly, blotchy red.
“She is no niece of ours, my Lord,” she cried over the outpouring of mirth. “We – Narcissa and I – have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries.”
“What say you, Draco?” asked Voldemort, and though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. “Will you babysit the cubs?”
The hilarity mounted; Draco Malfoy looked in terror at his father, who was staring down into his own lap, then caught his mother’s eye. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, then resumed her own deadpan stare at the opposite wall.
“Enough,” said Voldemort, stroking the angry snake. “Enough.”
And the laughter died at once.
“Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time,” he said as Bellatrix gazed at him, breathless and imploring, “You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest.”
“Yes, my Lord,” whispered Bellatrix, and her eyes swam with tears of gratitude again. “At the first chance!”
“You shall have it,” said Voldemort. “And in your family, so in the world … we shall cut away the cancer that infects us until only those of the true blood remain ...”
Voldemort raised Lucius Malfoy’s wand, pointed it directly at the slowly revolving figure suspended over the table, and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to life with a groan and began to struggle against invisible bonds.
“Do you recognize our guest, Severus?” asked Voldemort.
Snape raised his eyes to the upside down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show curiosity. 
As she revolved to face the firelight, the woman said in a cracked and terrified voice, “Severus! Help me!”
“Ah, yes,” said Snape as the prisoner turned slowly away again.
“And you, Draco?” asked Voldemort, stroking the snake’s snout with his wand-free hand. Draco shook his head jerkily. Now that the woman had woken, he seemed unable to look at her anymore.
“But you would not have taken her classes,” said Voldemort. “For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”
There were small noises of comprehension around the table. A broad, hunched woman with pointed teeth cackled.
“Yes … Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles … how they are not so different from us …”
One of the Death Eaters spat on the floor. Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape again.
“Severus … please … please …”
“Silence,” said Voldemort, with another twitch of Malfoy’s wand, and Charity fell silent as if gagged. “Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defense of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance … She would have us all mate with Muggles … or, no doubt, werewolves …”
Nobody laughed this time. There was no mistaking the anger and contempt in Voldemort’s voice. For the third time, Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape. Tears were pouring from her eyes into her hair. Snape looked back at her, quite impassive, as she turned slowly away from him again.
“Avada Kedavra”
The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the room. Charity fell, with a resounding crash, onto the table below, which trembled and creaked. Several of the Death Eaters leapt back in their chairs. Draco fell out of his onto the floor.
“Dinner, Nagini,” said Voldemort softly, and the great snake swayed and slithered from his shoulders onto the polished wood.
在一条洒满月光的狭窄小路上，两个男人凭空出现在了相距几码的地方。他们一动不动地静立着，互相用魔杖指着对方的胸膛；很快，他们认出了对方，将魔杖收在了长袍下，朝着同一个方向飞速走去。 
　　“有新消息么？”两人中的高个子问道。 
　　“好极了的消息”西弗勒斯·斯内普回答。 
　　小路左边长满了茂密低矮的荆棘，而右边则是被修剪得整整齐齐的高大树篱。两人飞快地前进着，身上的长袍不停地拍打着他们的脚踝。 
　　“我还以为我会迟到” , 亚克斯利说道，上方的树枝时不时地把月光遮住，他笨拙的身影也时隐时现 , “比我所想象的要困难些，但我希望他会满意。听起来你对你们的见面很自信？” 
　　斯内普点了点头，但没有详细说下去。他们转进右边一条宽阔的车道，离开了小路。高高的树篱随着他们转了个弯，远处一扇华丽的铁门挡在了他们面前，但两个人都没停下脚步。静寂中,他们像行礼似地举起了左手，然后径直穿过了铁门，那黑色的金属仿佛只是一团烟雾。 
　　紫杉树篱的响声模糊了两个男人的脚步声。突然，他们的右边发出了沙沙的声音，亚克斯利抽出魔杖，举过他同伴的头顶，对准了声音发出的地方。但那声音只不过是一只白孔雀在树篱顶部昂首阔步时所发出的。 
　　“卢修斯总是把自己弄得太过舒适了。孔雀……”亚克斯利发出一声粗重的鼻息，把魔杖狠狠地插回了斗篷。 
　　路的尽头，一座堂皇的宅院处从漆黑的夜幕中闪现出来，楼下用钻石拼成的窗户里透出点点灯光。漆黑的院子里，有一座喷泉在喷水。斯内普和亚克斯利快速走向前门，碎石在他们脚下噼啪作响。门打开了，尽管他们没看到任何人来开门。 
　　走廊很宽阔，灯光昏暗但却装饰得很奢华，石制的地面上铺着华丽的地毯。当斯内普和亚克斯利迈着大步穿越走廊的时候，墙上那些面色苍白的雕像目不转睛地望着他们。他们在通向下一间房子的厚重木门前停了下来，平静了一下呼吸，接着，斯内普转动了铜制把手。 
　　休息室里华丽的长桌边坐满了人，一个个都沉默不语。房间里的家具被随意地堆在墙边。大理石壁炉里熊熊的火焰是房间内的唯一光源，壁炉的上方有一面镀金的镜子。斯内普和亚克斯利在门口逗留了一会儿，当他们的眼睛适应了这微弱的光线后，一个非常奇怪的场景吸引了他们：一个不省人事的人倒悬在桌子上方，缓慢地旋转着，就好像有一条无形的绳子绑着他似的，他倒映在镜子和那被蹭得锃亮的桌面里。然而，在场的所有人都没有看他，除了一个面色苍白的年轻人，这年轻人几乎就是坐在他的正下方，好像忍不住每几分钟就要看他一眼。 
　　“亚克斯利，斯内普”桌前传来一阵清亮高昂的声音，“你们快要迟到了。” 
　　说话的人坐在壁炉的正前方，所以刚来的两位一眼看去只能隐约分辨出他的轮廓。两人走近了几步，终于看清了他那张在黑暗中发光的脸，那是一张没有头发，像蛇一样的脸，他的鼻孔是一条细线，猩红色眼睛中瞳孔也成为一条细线。他实在太苍白了，苍白得简直像珍珠里发出的微光。 
　　“西弗勒斯，坐在这里”，伏地魔边说边指着他右边最近的座位，“亚克斯利，你坐在多洛霍夫旁边。” 
　　俩人在指定的位子上坐下了，桌边的大部分人都盯着斯内普，伏地魔也首先向他询问。 
　　“怎么样？” 
　　“主人，凤凰社准备在下周六的傍晚时分把哈利波特从现在的住所转移到安全的地方。” 
　　这显然勾起了在座人们的兴趣：有些人惊呆了，另一些则坐立不安，大家都直勾勾的盯着斯内普和伏地魔。 
　　“周六……傍晚……”，伏地魔重复着，他猩红的眼睛死死的盯住斯内普的黑眼睛，以至于一些旁观者将目光移向了别处，他们显然害怕自己会被这种残忍的目光灼透。斯内普却沉着地的回视着伏地魔的脸，过了一会儿，伏地魔那没有嘴唇的嘴微微弯曲了一下，像是在笑。 
　　“好，非常好。那这个消息来自……？” 
　　“来自我们讨论过的那个线人”，斯内普说。 
　　“主人” 
　　亚克斯利向前倾了倾身子，看着桌子那头的伏地魔和斯内普，所有人的脸现在都转向了他。 
　　“主人，我听到了不同的消息。” 
　　亚克斯利等待着，但伏地魔什么也没有说，于是他接着说道，“那个傲罗德力士，透露说波特在30日之前不会被转移，也就是那个男孩17岁生日的前一天。” 
　　斯内普笑了。 
　　“我的线人告诉我他们准备放一个假消息，这一定是那个假消息，德力士无疑是被施了混淆咒，他总是对此缺乏抵抗力，这已经不是第一次了。” 
　　“主人，我向你保证，德力士看起来非常确定”亚克斯利说。 
　　“如果他真的被施了混淆咒，他自然会很确定”，斯内普说，“亚克斯利，我向你保证，傲罗办公室不会再参与保护哈利波特的工作了，凤凰社确信我们已经渗透进了部里。” 
　　“那凤凰社在这点上还是正确的，是吧？”离亚克斯利不远处一个蜷缩着的男人说道，他声嘶力竭的笑声在桌子四周回荡。 
　　伏地魔没有笑。他凝视着上方那个缓缓旋转的身体，好像陷入了沉思。 
　　“主人”，亚克斯利接着说，“德力士认为有整整一队的傲罗会被派去转移那个男孩。” 
　　伏地魔举起了苍白的大手，亚克斯利立刻就没有声音了，愤愤不平的看着伏地魔转向斯内普。 
　　“他们接下来准备把那个男孩儿藏在哪儿？” 
　　“藏在一个凤凰社成员的家中，”斯内普说，“据线人称，社里和魔法部用尽了一切措施来保护这个地方。我认为一旦他被送到了那儿，我们就很难再抓到他了。主人，除非……当然，除非魔法部在下个星期六前就垮掉，这样我们就可能有机会发现和破解足够的魔法，到时候我们就能解决掉剩下的魔法了。” 
　　“那么，亚克斯利，”伏地魔对着桌子下方说道，炉火映在他的眼睛中，奇怪的闪烁着，“魔法部会在下周六前垮掉么？” 
　　所有人再一次转过了头，亚克斯利挺直了身子。 
　　“主人，关于这点，我也有一个好消息。我历尽千辛万苦，终于成功地对毕尤斯·底克尼斯施了夺魂咒。” 
　　亚克斯利周围的许多人看起来十分欣喜，坐在他旁边的，那个长着一张长长的、扭曲的脸的多洛霍夫甚至在他的肩上拍了几下。 
　　“那仅仅是一个开始，”伏地魔说，“仅仅底克尼斯一个人是不够的。在我行动之前，我们必须包围斯克林杰，取部长性命行动中的任何一次失败都会让我退后一大步。” 
　　“是的，主人，确实如此，但是你也知道，作为魔法执行司的司长，底克尼斯不但可以经常与部长本人联系而且可以和部里各个部门的领导联系。我想，现在有一个这样的高层官员在我们的控制之下，这对我们制服他人是很有利的。然后我们就可以利用他们把斯克林杰搞下台。” 
　　“不管我们的朋友底克尼斯在他把剩下的人拉下水之前是否会被发现，”伏地魔说，“无论如何，在下周六之前我们拿下魔法部都还不是稳操胜券的。如果我们不能在终点截到那个男孩，那么我们就必须在途中下手。” 
　　“我们在这方面有优势，主人。”亚克斯利说，他似乎很想得到别人的认可，“我们在魔法运输司安插了几个人，如果波特幻影显形或者使用飞路网，我们立刻就会知道。” 
　　“他不会用这其中的任何一种方式，”斯内普说，“凤凰社不会使用任何被魔法部控制或管理的运输方式，他们对与那个地点有关的一切都保持着怀疑。” 
　　“那反而更好，”伏地魔说，“那他就得在室外被转移，我们就能更容易抓到他了。” 
　　伏地魔又抬头看了看那个缓慢旋转的身体，接着说道：“我要亲自对付那男孩。跟哈利·波特有关的计划漏洞百出，这其中也有些是我自己所造成的。波特那小子能活到现在，与其说是他的胜利，不如说是因为我所犯下的错误。” 
　　桌边的人都胆战兢兢的看着伏地魔，从每个人的表情可以看出，他们都害怕伏地魔将哈利能存活至今怪罪于自己。然而，伏地魔却更像是在自言自语，而且眼睛仍然盯着那具没有知觉的身体。 
　　“我太大意了，也被自己完美计划中的运气和机遇这类致命问题所耽误了。但我现在明白了，明白了过去我所没有明白的东西。杀死波特的人必须是我，也一定会是我！” 
　　话音刚落，突然响起了一声尖利绵长而又充满痛苦的哀号，好像是对这番话所做出的回应。桌边的许多人都震惊地朝桌子下面望去，那声音好像是从他们脚下发出来的。 
　　“虫尾巴，”伏地魔用刚才那种平静、沉思的语调说道，眼镜依旧盯着上面那个旋转的身体，“我难道没有告诉过你要让我们的犯人保持安静吗？” 
　　“是的，主……主人”，桌子中间的一个矮小的男人气喘吁吁地说。他刚才坐得太低了，以至于乍眼看去，他的椅子像是空的。他从椅子上爬起来，跑过房间，身后留下了一道奇特的银色微光。 
　　“就像我刚才所说的那样，”伏地魔看着他那些神色慌张的追随者接着说，“我现在已经明白了，在杀死波特之前，我需要做些事情，比如，向你们中的某人借一根魔杖。” 
　　伏地魔周围的所有脸孔一瞬间全部写满了震惊，就好像他所要借的是他们的一只胳膊似的。 
　　“没有人自愿么？”伏地魔说，“让我来看看……卢修斯，我觉得你不再需要魔杖了。” 
　　卢修斯·马尔福抬起头来。他的皮肤在火光里显得蜡黄蜡黄的，深陷的眼睛周围笼罩着阴影，他张开嘴，发出来嘶哑的声音。 
　　“主人？” 
　　“你的魔杖，卢修斯，我要你的魔杖。” 
　　“我……” 
　　马尔福瞥了一眼身旁的妻子。她目不转睛的盯着前方，脸色和她的丈夫一样苍白，她长长的金发垂在背上，然而在桌子下面，她纤细的手指轻轻地碰了一下他的手腕。因为妻子的这一碰，卢修斯把手伸进长袍，抽出魔杖，交给了伏地魔。伏地魔把魔杖举到了腥红色眼睛前，细细地观察着。 
　　“是用什么做的？” 
　　“榆木，主人。”卢修斯轻声说道。 
　　“杖芯呢？” 
　　“龙……龙心腱。” 
　　“很好，”伏地魔说，他把自己的魔杖拿出来比了比长度。卢修斯·马尔福不自主地移动了一下，有那么一刻，他看起来似乎在盼望伏地魔会把自己的魔杖交给他。他这一动没有逃过伏地魔的眼睛，他充满敌意地睁大了眼镜。 
　　“把我的魔杖给你，卢修斯？我的魔杖？” 
　　人群中发出了一阵窃笑。 
　　“我已经给了你自由，卢修斯，这难道还不够么？但我发现你和你的家人好像不太开心啊，是因为我的出现而使你失去了职位，你感到不开心了么，卢修斯？” 
　　“没，没有，主人！” 
　　“别撒谎了，卢修斯……” 
　　伏地魔残忍的嘴唇已经不动了，但似乎还有声音在嘶嘶作响。当嘶嘶声变得更响，一两个食死徒禁不住轻轻颤抖时，可以听见一个很沉重的东西从桌下滑过的声音。 
　　一条巨蛇缓缓地爬上伏地魔的椅子。它一点点向上移动，长长的身子似乎没有尽头，然后它缠在伏地魔的肩头上休息了。它的脖子有人的大腿那么粗，它的眼睛和伏地魔一样，有着竖直的细缝，眨也不眨。伏地魔用他细长的手指心不在焉地敲击着它，目光仍旧盯着卢修斯·马尔福。 
　　“为什么马尔福一家那么不高兴呢？我的回归，我重新掌权，不正是他们这么多年来一直宣称所渴望的事情吗？” 
　　“当然是的，主人，” 卢修斯·马尔福说，他的手颤抖着擦去上唇的汗珠，“我们过去渴望——现在仍旧如此。” 
　　在马尔福的左边，他的妻子奇怪地、僵硬地点了点头，把视线从从伏地魔和那条大蛇身上移开。在他的右边，他的儿子德拉科，在这之前一直盯着头上悬着的身体，他瞥了一眼伏地魔后就立刻把目光移开了，他害怕与伏地魔对视。 
　　“主人，”桌子中间的一个皮肤黝黑女人激动地说，“你能到这里，到我们家族的房子里来，是我们莫大的荣幸，再也没有比这更令人高兴的事情了。” 
　　她坐在自己的妹妹旁边，两人一点都不像，她那深黑的头发和耷拉的眼睑使她看起来好像在承受着什么；纳西莎则冷漠僵硬地坐着，而贝拉克里特斯的身体倾向伏地魔，好像光是语言还不足以表达她对与伏地魔亲近的渴望似的。 
　　“没有比这更令人高兴的事情了，”伏地魔重复道，他的头略微向她转了一下，“这太有意义了，贝拉克里特斯，对你来说。” 
　　她的脸上充满了欣喜，热泪盈眶。 
　　“主人知道我说的是实话！” 
　　“没有比这更令人高兴的事情了……比那件这周发生在你家的喜事还更令你高兴吗？” 
　　她盯着他，嘴张了张，显然很困惑。 
　　“主人，我不知道您在说什么” 
　　“我说的是你的侄女，贝拉克里特斯。也是你们的侄女，卢修斯和纳西莎。她刚和一个狼人结婚了，就是那个莱姆斯·卢平。你肯定感到很骄傲了。” 
　　桌子周围爆发出了一阵嘲笑声，很多人相互交换了愉快的眼神，还有几个人用拳头捶打着桌子。桌下的巨蟒张大了嘴愤怒地嘶嘶叫着，表示对这阵骚动的抗议。但食死徒们根本没在意，继续嘲笑着贝拉克里特斯和马尔福家族的耻辱。贝拉克里特斯那刚刚还充满了喜悦的脸色瞬间变得羞红而丑陋。 
　　 
　　“主人，我们没有这样的侄女，”她在那阵大笑声中她奋力喊着，“我们——纳西莎和我——自从我们的妹妹嫁给了那个泥巴种后，我们就再也没有正眼瞧过她。这个小杂种根本没有做过对一件对我们有用的事，对她嫁的那个禽兽也是。” 
　　“你认为呢，德拉科？”伏地魔问，尽管他的声音很轻，但却清晰得传过了那片嘘声和嘲笑声，“你会管这样的小杂种吗？” 
　　欢闹的场面凝固了。德拉科·马尔福恐惧地看了看他爸爸，而他爸爸正低头盯着自己的大腿，他只能再看向妈妈。她令人无法察觉地摇了摇头，然后又继续面无表情地盯向对面的墙了。 
　　“行了”，伏地魔抚摸了一下那条愤怒的巨蟒，“够了。” 
　　笑声立刻停止了。 
　　“随着时间的流逝，我们最古老的家族都变得不太纯净了，”在贝拉克里特斯哀求般的无声注视下，他说，“你必须得剔除掉那些败类来保持家族的健康吧？剔除那些威胁整个家族血统纯净的糟粕部分吧。” 
　　“没错，主人，”贝拉克里特斯轻声说，她的眼中再次充满了感激的泪花，“在第一时间剔除！” 
　　“你应该这样做”，伏地魔说，“你的家族也是，全世界都是……我们都应该剔除掉那些败坏了的部分，直到只留下来的都是纯血统……” 
　　伏地魔扬起卢修斯·马尔福的魔杖，对准了悬挂于桌子上方的躯体，然后轻弹了一下。那个身体呻吟着活了过来，开始试图挣脱在他身上的无形的禁锢。 
　　“你认出了我们的客人吗，西弗勒斯？”伏地魔问道。 
　　斯内普抬起眼睛看着那张倒挂的脸。现在所有的食死徒也开始看着这个俘虏，就好像他们被允许表现出好奇似的。当那个女人脸转到炉火的方向时，她发出了嘶哑而恐惧的声音：“西弗勒斯，救救我！” 
　　“嗯，认识”斯内普答道，那个女人脸又慢慢转开了。 
　　“你呢，德拉科？”伏地魔问，同时用没拿魔杖的那只手敲击着巨蟒的嘴。德拉科剧猛然摇头。现在那个女人已经清醒了，他似乎根本不敢去看她。 
　　“但是你上不了她的课了，”伏地魔说，“你们不知道，我们今天能聚在这里都是因为她，查瑞丽·伯比奇，她一直正在霍格沃茨魔法学校任教。” 
　　桌子周围的人恍然大悟，一个身躯高大肥硕的长着尖牙的女人咯咯笑了起来。 
　　“是的……伯比奇教授孩子们麻瓜的知识……麻瓜们是如何与我们不同……” 
　　一个食死徒拍着地板。查瑞丽·伯比奇的脸再次转到了斯内普的方向。 
　　“西弗勒斯……求你……求你……” 
　　“安静！”伏地魔说，又抖动了一下马尔福德魔杖，顿时查瑞丽像被塞住了似的说不出话来，“伯比奇教授并不满足于腐蚀污染有魔法天赋的孩子们，她上周还在预言家日报上发表了一篇热情洋溢的文章，为泥巴种辩护。她说巫师必须该接受那些贼的知识和魔法，伯比奇教授还认为纯血统人的减少是令人满意的……她要我们找麻瓜做伴侣……或者，当然了，还有狼人……” 
　　这次没有人再笑了，伏地魔的声音中透着勿庸置疑的愤怒与蔑视。查瑞丽·伯比奇的脸又一次转向了斯内普，她的眼泪涌了出来，直流到头发里。她再次转开的时候，斯内普冷漠地盯着她的后背。 
　　“阿瓦达索命！” 
　　那道绿光照亮了屋子的每个角落。查瑞丽倒了下去，重重地摔在了下面的桌子上，桌吱吱作响。几个食死徒又坐回到了椅子中，德拉科瘫在了地板上。 
　　“吃晚饭了，纳吉尼”伏地魔轻声说，那只巨蟒慢慢地从他的肩膀上滑向了光亮的木桌。 
Chapter 2 In Memorandum
Harry was bleeding. Clutching his right hand in his left and swearing under his breath, he shouldered open his bedroom door. There was a crunch of breaking china. He had trodden on a cup of cold tea that had been sitting on the floor outside his bedroom door.
“What the –?”
He looked around, the landing of number four, Privet Drive, was deserted. Possibly the cup of tea was Dudley’s idea of a clever booby trap. Keeping his bleeding hand elevated, Harry scraped the fragments of cup together with the other hand and threw them into the already crammed bin just visible inside his bedroom door. Then he tramped across to the bathroom to run his finger under the tap.
It was stupid, pointless, irritating beyond belief that he still had four days left of being unable to perform magic…but he had to admit to himself that this jagged cut in his finger would have defeated him. He had never learned how to repair wounds, and now he came to think of it – particularly in light of his immediate plans – this seemed a serious flaw in his magical education. Making a mental note to ask Hermione how it was done, he used a large wad of toilet paper to mop up as much of the tea as he could before returning to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.
Harry had spent the morning completely emptying his school trunk for the first time since he had packed it six years ago. At the start of the intervening school years, he had merely skimmed off the topmost three quarters of the contents and replaced or updated them, leaving a layer of general debris at the bottom – old quills, desiccated beetle eyes, single socks that no longer fit. Minutes previously, Harry had plunged his hand into this mulch, experienced a stabbing pain in the fourth finger of his right hand, and withdrawn it to see a lot of blood.
He now proceeded a little more cautiously. Kneeling down beside the trunk again, he groped around in the bottom and, after retrieving an old badge that flickered feebly between SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY and POTTER STINKS, a cracked and worn-out Sneakoscope, and a gold locket inside which a note signed R.A.B. had been hidden, he finally discovered the sharp edge that had done the damage. He recognized it at once. It was a two-inch-long fragment of the enchanted mirror that his dead godfather, Sirius, had given him. Harry laid it aside and felt cautiously around the trunk for the rest, but nothing more remained of his godfather’s last gift except powdered glass, which clung to the deepest layer of debris like glittering grit.
Harry sat up and examined the jagged piece on which he had cut himself, seeing nothing but his own bright green eye reflected back at him. Then he placed the fragment on top of that morning’s Daily prophet, which lay unread on the bed, and attempted to stem the sudden upsurge of bitter memories, the stabs of regret and of longing the discovery of the broken mirror had occasioned, by attacking the rest of the rubbish in the trunk.
It took another hour to empty it completely, throw away the useless items, and sort the remainder in piles according to whether or not he would need them from now on. 
His school and Quidditch robes, cauldron, parchment, quills, and most of his textbooks were piled in a corner, to be left behind. He wondered what his aunt and uncle would do with them; burn them in the dead of night, probably, as if they were evidence of some dreadful crime. His Muggle clothing, Invisibility Cloak, potion-making kit, certain books, the photograph album Hagrid had once given him, a stack of letters, and his wand had been repacked into an old rucksack. In a front pocket were the Marauder’s Map and the locket with the note signed R.A.B. inside it. The locket was accorded this place of honor not because it was valuable – in all usual senses it was worthless – but because of what it had cost to attain it.
This left a sizable stack of newspapers sitting on his desk beside his snowy owl, Hedwig: one for each of the days Harry had spent at Privet Drive this summer.
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 REMEMBEREDBy Elphias DogeI 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.
That was the period of our lives when we had least contact. I wrote to Albus, describing, perhaps insensitively, the wonders of my journey, from narrow escapes from chimaeras in Greece to the experiments of the Egyptian alchemists. His letters told me little of his day-to-day life, which I guessed to be frustratingly dull for such a brilliant wizard. Immersed in my own experiences, it was with horror that I heard, toward the end of my year’s travels, that another tragedy had struck the Dumbledores: the death of his sister, Ariana.
Though Ariana had been in poor health for a long time, the blow, coming so soon after the loss of their mother, had a profound effect on both of her brothers. All those closest to Albus – and I count myself one of that lucky number – agree that Ariana’s death, and Albus’s feeling of personal responsibility for it (though, of course, he was guiltless), left their mark upon him forevermore.
I returned home to find a young man who had experienced a much older person’s suffering. Albus was more reserved than before, and much less light-hearted. To add to his misery, the loss of Ariana had led, not to a renewed closeness between Albus and Aberforth, but to an estrangement. (In time this would lift – in later years they reestablished, if not a close relationship, then certainly a cordial one.) However, he rarely spoke of his parents or of Ariana from then on, and his friends learned not to mention them.
Other quills will describe the triumphs of the following years. Dumbledore’s innumerable contributions to the store of Wizarding knowledge, including his discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, will benefit generations to come, as will the wisdom he displayed in the many judgments while Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. They say, still, that no Wizarding duel ever matched that between Dumbledore and Grindelwald in 1945. Those who witnessed it have written of the terror and the awe they felt as they watched these two extraordinary wizards to battle. Dumbledore’s triumph, and its consequences for the Wizarding world, are considered a turning point in magical history to match the introduction of the International Statute of Secrecy or the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Albus Dumbledore was never proud or vain; he could find something to value in anyone, however apparently insignificant or wretched, and I believe that his early losses endowed him with great humanity and sympathy. I shall miss his friendship more than I can say, but my loss is nothing compared to the Wizarding world’s. That he was the most inspiring and best loved of all Hogwarts headmasters cannot be in question. He died as he lived: working always for the greater good and, to his last hour, as willing to stretch out a hand to a small boy with dragon pox as he was on the day I met him.
Harry finished reading, but continued to gaze at the picture accompanying the obituary. Dumbledore was wearing his familiar, kindly smile, but as he peered over the top of his half-moon spectacles, he gave the impression, even in newsprint, of X-raying Harry, whose sadness mingled with a sense of humiliation.
He had thought he knew Dumbledore quite well, but ever since reading this obituary he had been forced to recognize that he had barely known him at all. Never once had he imagined Dumbledore’s childhood or youth; it was as though he had sprung into being as Harry had known him, venerable and silver-haired and old. The idea of a teenage Dumbledore was simply odd, like trying to imagine a stupid Hermione or a friendly Blast-Ended Skrewt.
He had never thought to ask Dumbledore about his past. No doubt it would have felt strange, impertinent even, but after all it had been common knowledge that Dumbledore had taken part in that legendary duel with Grindelwald, and Harry had not thought to ask Dumbledore what that had been like, nor about any of his other famous achievements. No, they had always discussed Harry, Harry’s past, Harry’s future, Harry’s plans… and it seemed to Harry now, despite the fact that his future was so dangerous and so uncertain, that he had missed irreplaceable opportunities when he had failed to ask Dumbledore more about himself, even though the only personal question he had ever asked his headmaster was also the only one he suspected that Dumbledore had not answered honestly:
“What do you see when you look in the mirror?”
“I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks.”
After several minutes’ thought, Harry tore the obituary out of the Prophet, folded it carefully, and tucked it inside the first volume of Practical Defensive Magic and its Use against the Dark Arts. Then he threw the rest of the newspaper onto the rubbish pile and turned to face the room. It was much tidier. The only things left out of place were today’s Daily Prophet, still lying on the bed, and on top of it, the piece of broken mirror.
Harry moved across the room, slid the mirror fragment off today’s Prophet, and unfolded the newspaper. He had merely glanced at the headline when he had taken the rolled-up paper from the delivery owl early that morning and thrown it aside, after noting that it said nothing about Voldemort. Harry was sure that the Ministry was leaning on the Prophet to suppress news about Voldemort. It was only now, therefore, that he saw what he had missed.
Across the bottom half of the front page a smaller headline was set over a picture of Dumbledore striding along, looking harried:
DUMBLEDORE – THE TRUTH AT LAST?Coming next week, the shocking story of the flawed genius considered by many to be the greatest wizard of his generation. Striping away the popular image of serene, silver-bearded wisdom, Rita Skeeter reveals the disturbed childhood, the lawless youth, the life-long feuds, and the guilty secrets that Dumbledore carried to his grave, WHY was the man tipped to be the Minister of Magic content to remain a mere headmaster? WHAT was the real purpose of the secret organization known as the Order of the Phoenix? HOW did Dumbledore really meet his end?
The answers to these and many more questions are explored in the explosive new biography, The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, by Rita Skeeter, exclusively interviewed by Berry Braithwaite, page 13, inside.
Harry ripped open the paper and found page thirteen. The article was topped with a picture showing another familiar face: a woman wearing jeweled glasses with elaborately curled blonde hair, her teeth bared in what was clearly supposed to be a winning smile, wiggling her fingers up at him. Doing his best to ignore this nauseating image, Harry read on.
In person, Rita Skeeter is much warmer and softer than her famously ferocious quill-portraits might suggest. Greeting me in the hallway of her cozy home, she leads me straight into the kitchen for a cup of tea, a slice of pound cake and, it goes without saying, a steaming vat of freshest gossip.
“Well, of course, Dumbledore is a biographer’s dream,” says Skeeter. “Such a long, full life. I’m sure my book will be the first of very, very many.”
Skeeter was certainly quick off the mark. Her nine-hundred-page book was completed in a mere four weeks after Dumbledore’s mysterious death in June. I ask her how she managed this superfast feat.
“Oh, when you’ve been a journalist as long as I have, working to a deadline is second nature. I knew that the Wizarding world was clamoring for the full story and I wanted to be the first to meet that need.”
I mention the recent, widely publicized remarks of Elphias Doge, Special Advisor to the Wizengamot and longstanding friend of Albus Dumbledore’s, that “Skeeter’s book contains less fact than a Chocolate Frog card.”
Skeeter throws back her head and laughs.
“Darling Dodgy! I remember interviewing him a few years back about merpeople rights, bless him. Completely gaga, seemed to think we were sitting at the bottom of Lake Windermere, kept telling me to watch out for trout.”
And yet Elphias Doge’s accusations of inaccuracy have been echoed in many places. Does Skeeter really feel that four short weeks have been enough to gain a full picture of Dumbledore’s long and extraordinary life?
“Oh, my dear,” beams Skeeter, rapping me affectionately across the knuckles, “you know as well as I do how much information can be generated by a fat bag of Galleons, a refusal to hear the word ‘no,’ and a nice sharp Quick-Quotes Quill! People were queuing to dish the dirt on Dumbledore anyway. Not everyone thought he was so wonderful, you know – he trod on an awful lot of important toes. But old Dodgy Doge can get off his high hippogriff, because I’ve had access to a source most journalists would swap their wands for, one who has never spoken in public before and who was close to Dumbledore during the most turbulent and disturbing phase of his youth.”
The advance publicity for Skeeter’s biography has certainly suggested that there will be shocks in store for those who believe Dumbledore to have led a blameless life. 
What were the biggest surprises she uncovered, I ask?
“Now, come off it. Betty, I’m not giving away all the highlights before anybody’s bought the book!” laughs Skeeter. “But I can promise that anybody who still thinks Dumbledore was white as his beard is in for a rude awakening! Let’s just say that nobody hearing him rage against You-Know-Who would have dreamed that he dabbled in the Dark Arts himself in his youth! And for a wizard who spent his later years pleading for tolerance, he wasn’t exactly broad-minded when he was younger! 
Yes, Albus Dumbledore had an extremely murky past, not to mention that very fishy family, which he worked so hard to keep hushed up.”
I ask whether Skeeter is referring to Dumbledore’s brother, Aberforth, whose conviction by the Wizengamot for misuse of magic caused a minor scandal fifteen years ago.
“Oh, Aberforth is just the tip of the dung heap,” laughs Skeeter. “No, no, I’m talking about much worse than a brother with a fondness for fiddling about with goats, worse even than the Muggle-maiming father – Dumbledore couldn’t keep either of them quiet anyway, they were both charged by the Wizengamot. No, it’s the mother and the sister that intrigued me, and a little digging uncovered a positive nest of nastiness – but, as I say, you’ll have to wait for chapters nine to twelve for full details. All I can say now is, it’s no wonder Dumbledore never talked about how his nose got broken.”
Family skeletons notwithstanding, does Skeeter deny the brilliance that led to Dumbledore’s many magical discoveries?
“He had brains,” she concedes, “although many now question whether he could really take full credit for all of his supposed achievements. As I reveal in chapter sixteen, Ivor Dillonsby claims he had already discovered eight uses of dragon’s blood when Dumbledore ‘borrowed’ his papers.”
But the importance of some of Dumbledore’s achievements cannot, I venture, be denied. What of his famous defeat of Grindelwald?
“Oh, now, I’m glad you mentioned Grindelwald,” says Skeeter with such a tantalizing smile. “I’m afraid those who go dewy-eyed over Dumbledore’s spectacular victory must brace themselves for a bombshell – or perhaps a Dungbomb. Very dirty business indeed. All I’ll say is, don’t be so sure that there really was a spectacular duel of legend. After they’ve read my book, people may be forced to conclude that Grindelwald simply conjured a white handkerchief from the end of his wand and came quietly!”
Skeeter refuses to give any more away on this intriguing subject, so we turn instead to the relationship that will undoubtedly fascinate her readers more than any other.
“Oh yes,” says Skeeter, nodding briskly, “I devote an entire chapter to the whole Potter-Dumbledore relationship. It’s been called unhealthy, even sinister. Again, your readers will have to buy my book for the whole story, but there is no question that Dumbledore took an unnatural interest in Potter from the word go. Whether that was really in the boy’s best interests – well, we’ll see. It’s certainly an open secret that Potter has had a most troubled adolescence.”
I ask whether Skeeter is still in touch with Harry Potter, whom she so famously interviewed last year: a breakthrough piece in which Potter spoke exclusively of his conviction that You-Know-Who had returned.
“Oh, yes, we’ve developed a closer bond,” says Skeeter. “Poor Potter has few real friends, and we met at one of the most testing moments of his life – the Triwizard Tournament. I am probably one of the only people alive who can say that they know the real Harry Potter.”
Which leads us neatly to the many rumors still circulating about Dumbledore’s final hours. Does Skeeter believe that Potter was there when Dumbledore died?
“Well, I don’t want to say too much – it’s all in the book – but eyewitnesses inside Hogwarts castle saw Potter running away from the scene moments after Dumbledore fell, jumped, or was pushed. Potter later gave evidence against Severus Snape, a man against whom he has a notorious grudge. Is everything as it seems? That is for the Wizarding community to decide – once they’ve read my book.”
On that intriguing note, I take my leave. There can be no doubt that Skeeter has quilled an instant bestseller. Dumbledore’s legion of admirers, meanwhile, may well be trembling at what is soon to emerge about their hero.
 
Harry reached the bottom of the article, but continued to stare blankly at the page. Revulsion and fury rose in him like vomit; he balled up the newspaper and threw it, with all his force, at the wall, where it joined the rest of the rubbish heaped around his overflowing bin.
He began to stride blindly around the room, opening empty drawers and picking up books only to replace them on the same piles, barely conscious of what he was doing, as random phrases from Rita’s article echoed in his head: An entire chapter to the whole Potter-Dumbledore relationship… It’s been called unhealthy, even sinister… He dabbled in the Dark Arts himself in his youth… I’ve had access to a source most journalists would swap their wands for…
“Lies!” Harry bellowed, and through the window he saw the next-door neighbor, who had paused to restart his lawn mower, look up nervously.
Harry sat down hard on the bed. The broken bit of mirror danced away from him; he picked it up and turned it over in his fingers, thinking, thinking of Dumbledore and the lies with which Rita Skeeter was defaming him…
A flash of brightest blue. Harry froze, his cut finger slipping on the jagged edge of the mirror again. He had imagined it, he must have done. He glanced over his shoulder, but the wall was a sickly peach color of Aunt Petunia’s choosing: There was nothing blue there for the mirror to reflect. He peered into the mirror fragment again, and saw nothing but his own bright green eye looking back at him.
He had imagined it, there was no other explanation; imagined it, because he had been thinking of his dead headmaster. If anything was certain, it was that the bright blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore would never pierce him again.
哈利流着血，用左手紧紧地攥住右手。他一边喘息一边小声地咒骂着，用肩膀撞开了他卧室的门。这时传来了打碎瓷器的声音——他踢倒了一杯放在卧室门口的凉茶。 
　　“怎么——？” 
　　哈利看了看四周，女贞路4号外的平台早已荒废了。这个陷阱可能算得上是达力的一个不算成功的恶作剧。哈利举起还在流血的手，把茶杯的碎片刮到一起，扔进了卧室门里那个已经填满的垃圾桶。 
　　哈利还有四天才能够不受限制地使用魔法，这简直令人无比地烦闷与气愤——但是他不得不承认这个手指上的伤口会使他产生动摇。他从不知道该怎么处理伤口，但是现在他必须好好地考虑一下——特别是对于他马上要实施的那些计划——这似乎是他所学魔法中一个很大的漏洞，哈利提醒自己以后一定要问问赫敏该怎么做。他一边想着，一边用一卷纸巾擦去了地上的茶水，然后砰地关上了身后的门，回到了卧室。 
　　哈利花了整整一个早晨把在学校用的箱子第一次完全倒空——和他六年前把它装满一样费事。在之前的几个学期里，他仅仅需要拿出里面最重要的部分，然后整理或者是更新它们，而箱子的底部则留下了一些零碎物件——旧的羽毛笔、风干的甲虫眼睛、单只的早已穿不下了的袜子。几分钟前，哈利刚把手伸进这些东西里时，便感到右手的无名指一阵刺痛，拿出来一看，他的指尖上流出了大量的血。 
　　他现在进行地更小心了些。当哈利再次跪在箱子边，摸索着箱子的底部时，他找到了一个两面闪烁着“支持塞德里克·迪戈里”和“波特臭大粪”的发光的徽章、一个裂开的窥镜，还有一个金色小盒子，里面藏着那张署名为R·A·B的纸条。最后他发现了那个刚才刺伤他的东西，他立刻认出来了，那是一块两英寸长的魔法镜子的碎片——是他已死的教父，小天狼星送给他的。
哈利把它放在一边，又仔细地摸了一遍箱子里剩下的东西，然而除了像发光的沙砾这样的粘在箱子最底层的粉状玻璃外，再也没有他教父的遗物了。 
　　哈利坐起来检查了一下把他弄伤的那个不规则的镜子碎片，但是只看到自己那明亮的绿眼睛在望着他。他把这个碎片放在床上那份还没读过的预言家日报上，同时尝试着抑制心中由于那镜子碎片而回忆起的痛苦和后悔。 
　　哈利又花了一个小时把箱子完全清空，丢掉了没用的东西，并把留下来的物品分门别类地安放好——今后的什么时候或许还需要它们。他的校服和魁地奇的制服、坩锅、羊皮纸、羽毛笔还有大部分的课本最后都堆到了一个角落里，他不知道姨夫和姨妈会如何处置它们。也许把它们当成是某些可怕罪行的证物一般，在某个深夜烧掉吧。他的麻瓜衣服、隐形衣、药剂箱、一些必要的书、海格送给他的相册、还有他的魔杖都被重新打包进一个旧帆布包里。最前面的一个口袋里是活点地图和那只装着R·A·B写的纸条的小盒子。这个盒子是值得放在里面的，或许它的确一文不值——即使是在平常人看来，它也毫无价值——但想起为了得到它所付出的代价，它确实是值得放在里面的。 
　　在他的书桌上还留着相当大的一堆报纸，旁边是他的猫头鹰，海德薇，唯一一个天天陪伴着哈利在女贞路度过这个夏季的生物。 
　　他从地上站起来，舒展了一下身子，然后来到书桌前。海德薇没有动，他开始草草地浏览着报纸，随后一张张地扔进垃圾箱里。海德薇睡得很熟——或者说是装作睡得很熟，她还在生气哈利限制她飞出笼子的时间。 
　　当哈利翻到这堆报纸的底层时，速度渐渐慢下来，他开始寻找着他刚回到女贞路时送来的一期特刊，他记得那期的头版有一小条关于霍格沃茨的麻瓜研究课教授，查瑞丽·伯比奇辞职的新闻。最后他总算找到了。在打开第十版后，他坐在椅子上，再次读起那篇早已就看过的文章。　
　　纪念阿不思·邓布利多 
　　埃非亚·多戈　
　　我第一眼见到邓布利多是在十一岁，那天，我们第一次来到霍格沃茨。我俩的共同点无须置疑，就是我们都觉得自己是局外人。我在来学校前感染了龙疹，尽管不会再传染了，但我脸上标志似的麻点和绿色的皮肤都使得许多人不愿接近我。而阿不思，则是顶着被众人讨厌的臭名声来到霍格沃茨的，将近一年前，他的父亲，珀西瓦尔，因为公然使用暴力攻击三个年轻麻瓜而被定罪。 
　　阿不思从不否认他的父亲（已经死在了阿兹卡班）所犯下的罪行，相反，当我鼓起勇气去问他时，他断然告诉我他明白他的父亲是有罪的。在那之后，邓布利多一直拒绝谈论起这件伤心事，尽管许多人尝试着迫使他开口。甚至有一些人是在赞扬他父亲的行为的，并猜想阿不思也是一个讨厌麻瓜的人，他们实在是大错特错了——了解阿不思的任何一个人都可以证明，他从来都没有表现过反对麻瓜的倾向。实际上，他对麻瓜的坚决支持使他在后来的几年中给自己树了许多敌人。 
　　这件延续了好几个月的事，使阿不思的名声被他父亲所败坏。但第一学年结束时，他就再也不是作为一个痛恨麻瓜者的儿子而出名，而是作为学校有史以来最聪明的一个学生。我们这些有幸成为他朋友的人也受益颇多，不只是他的帮助和鼓励，还有他一贯的慷慨与大方。后来他对我承认，那个时候，他就知道自己一生中最大的志向就是教学。 
　　他不仅赢得了学校里的每一个奖项，还很快就和那时许多最著名的魔法界人士开始了信件往来，包括有名的炼金术士尼可·勒梅、著名的历史学家巴希达·巴沙特，以及魔法理论家阿德贝·沃夫林。从他的好几封信里都可以找到后来他所出版著作的痕迹，像是《今日变形》、《有趣的挑战》和《实践魔药学》。邓布利多的未来似乎在那时就已经注定辉煌，但是长久以来一直有一个疑问，那就是他为什么不去当魔法部部长。虽然在后来的几年里一直有着这方面的传言，可是，他从来就没有进部里工作的野心。 
　　在我们到霍格沃茨的第四年，阿不思的弟弟，阿不福思，也进入了学校。这两人没有一处相同的地方，阿不福思一点都不喜欢读书，喜欢用决斗来解决争端而不是像阿不思那样通过理智的辩论。然而，并不像某些人所设想的那样，兄弟两人会反目成仇。这样两个完全不同的男孩，却相处的相当友好。公平的说，对于阿不福思，生活在阿不思的光芒下绝不是一段很舒服的经历。
作为阿不思的朋友，他身上所不断闪现的光辉都不是一件很舒服的事；那么作为他的兄弟，这就更加令人不快了。当阿不思和我离开霍格沃茨，打算开启不同的人生之前，我们想一起来一次那时所流行的世界旅行——拜访并且观察外国巫师。但在我们旅途开始前的那个黄昏，阿不思的母亲凯德拉过世了，作为一家之长，阿不思得养家糊口。我将启程的日子推迟了很长一段时间，去参加凯德拉的葬礼以表尊敬。然后独自一人进行这孤独的旅程，毫无疑问阿不思肯定不会和我一起去旅行——他有一个弟弟和一个妹妹需要照料，而且他们几乎没有什么钱。 
　　在那段日子里我们很少联系，我写信给阿不思，可能是无意识地，描绘起了我在旅行中看到的奇景和故事，从在希腊勉强逃离吐火兽的事，到埃及那些炼金术士们的实验。他给我的信则几乎不提他那日复一日的生活，我想这种生活对一个那么有才气的巫师来说一定是十分地挫败和无趣。当我还沉浸在我的旅行中时，我很悲痛地听说另一桩惨剧降临到邓布利多的头上：他的妹妹阿瑞娜去世了。 
　　虽然阿瑞娜的身体虚弱已经有很长一段时间了，但这在失去母亲不久后的又一个打击，对他们兄弟俩影响仍然非常大。所有这些阿不思的不幸的私事——再加上我自己所碰上的幸运事——使得邓布利多觉得他对阿瑞娜的死负有责任（其实当然完全和他没有关系），它们给邓布利多刻下了不可磨灭的痕迹。 
　　我回去后才发现这样一个年轻人已经历了一个年长者所能遭遇的苦痛。阿不思比从前多了一分保守，少了些无忧无虑。像是老天为了增加他的痛苦，失去阿瑞娜没有使阿不思和阿不福思更加亲密，反而更加疏远了（当然这被及时挽救了——在后来的几年中他们恢复了友谊，不是更亲密，而是变得更加的坦承以待）不管怎样，从那时起，他就不再谈起他的双亲和阿瑞娜，他的朋友们也不会再提及。 
　　仿佛从前的这些痛苦只是为了反衬他在接下来几年里取得的成功。邓布利多在魔法学术方面的无数贡献，包括发现龙血的十二种用途，将使好几代人受益。同样，成为威森加摩首席巫师的他在许多审判中表现出非凡的智慧。许多人说，现在仍然没有哪次巫师决斗能够与1945年邓布利多与格林沃德之间的这一场相媲美，所有目击者都写下了他们在观看这两位杰出的巫师的搏斗时所感到的恐惧与敬畏。邓布利多的成功，以及这些成功在巫师界的重要地位都被记录在了魔法史上，被认为是与《国际保密条令》的传入和那个连名字都不能提的魔头的垮台并列的转折点。 
　　阿不思·邓布利多从不骄傲自负，他可以从任何一个人那里获益，但是那都是卑劣和毫无意义的，我相信早年的那些挫折赋予了他高尚的人格和同情心。我不敢相信我会失去这样一个朋友，但是我的损失肯定无法与整个巫师界相比。他被称作是霍格沃茨有史以来最鼓舞人心和受人爱戴的校长，他在人们心中虽死犹生。长久以来他都为了一切能变得更好而工作，直到他生命的最后时刻，一定还很乐意向一个得了龙疹的小男孩伸出援手，就像我遇到他的那天一样。　
　　哈利读完了，但是他依然盯着讣告旁的那张照片：邓布利多带着他熟悉的，慈祥的微笑，但是他那炯炯有神的目光，透过他那双半月型的眼镜，就算是在报纸上也能给波特以强烈的印象，就仿佛是X光一般，哈利的悲伤中混合着一种羞耻感。 
　　他以为他很了解邓布利多，然而在他读了这篇讣告后，他才不得不意识到，他从来都没有了解过他，他每次一想到邓布利多，就跳出自己所认识的那个庄严、年老的，有着银色头发的人。
他对年轻时的邓布利多完全没有概念，就好像试着去想象一个愚蠢的赫敏或者一条友好的炸尾螺一般。 
　　他从没想过要去询问邓布利多的过去，毫无疑问那会很奇怪，甚至很鲁莽。而且毕竟邓布利多与格林沃迪的那场传奇性的决斗已经变成了普及的知识，哈利也没有想过去问问邓布利多那是一场怎样的决斗，更不用说他的那些其它成就了。没有，他们只是一直在谈论哈利，哈利的过去，哈利的未来，哈利的计划……似乎对于现在的哈利来说，尽管他的未来充满着危险和变化，他都已经错过了那些无可代替的机会，去问问那些有关邓布利多自己的事。甚至，他曾经问过校长的唯一一个私人问题，邓布利多也没有诚实地回答他： 
　　“你照魔镜的时候，看见了什么？” 
　　“我？我看见自己拿着一双厚厚的羊毛袜。” 
　　哈利想了很久，他把这张讣告从《预言家日报》上撕了下来，摺好放在《实用防御魔法及其对黑魔法的克制》的第一册中。然后把剩余的报纸都丢到垃圾桶里，转身面对房间：它已经变得整齐多了。唯一留在外面的东西是今天的《预言家日报》，仍然放在他的床上，在它的上面，是那块损坏了的镜子的碎片。 
　　哈利穿过房间，移开今天的《预言家日报》上的镜子碎片，打开报纸。当他一大早拿起猫头鹰邮递送来的卷好的报纸时，只匆匆瞥了一眼头条，发现没什么关于伏地魔的消息后，就把它扔到了一边。哈利确定部里一定会禁止《预言家日报》刊登有关伏地魔的新闻。但是现在，他突然看到了他因此而错过的东西。 
　　在第一版的底部中间有一条小消息，配有邓布利多照片，好像是匆忙间被发布出来的： 
　　邓布利多——最后的真相？ 
　　上个星期以来，作为他这一代中最伟大的巫师，有关这个有缺陷的天才人物的令人震惊的故事被许多人所看重。揭开受人欢迎的表象，这个长着银胡子的贤者，丽塔·斯基特为展示他混乱不堪的童年时代、目无法纪的青年时代、一生中长期的家族斗争，还有邓布利多那带进了坟墓的秘密：为什么这个男人轻易放弃成为魔法部长的机会，而仅仅满足于做一个校长呢？什么是那个被称为凤凰社的神秘组织的真正目的呢？邓布利多是怎么面对他的死亡的呢？ 
　　还有许许多多诸如此类的其他问题已经在丽塔·斯基特最新的爆炸性的人物传记——《阿不思·邓布利多的生活与谎言》中得到探究，详见第十三版，贝瑞·布理斯怀特的专访。 
　　哈利撕开报纸找到第十三版。在这篇文章的顶部，是另一张哈利熟悉的脸：一个带着镶宝石眼镜的女人，卷曲的金色头发经过精心打理，露出牙齿无疑是展示一个胜利的微笑，照片中的她正在对他摆动着手指。哈利尽可能地不去看这幅恶心的照片，继续读了下去。　
　　在我个人看来，丽塔·斯基特比她那些犀利著称所表现出来的要温柔热情的多。当在她那舒适的走廊里招呼过我后，她把我径直引入厨房喝茶，吃了片重油蛋糕，接着，不用说，这是一次热情高涨的谈话。 
　　“当然，邓布利多是每一个传记作者的梦想，”斯基特说，“这样一段漫长而又充实的人生。我保证我的书将会是以后许许多多传记中的第一部。” 
　　斯基特确实说到了要点。她那九百多页的著作仅仅在邓布利多六月的神秘死亡后四周内就完成了。我问她是怎样设法达成这超高速的壮举的。 
　　“哦，当你像我一样当了那么长时间的记者后，你会知道极限工作只是一个本能而已。我知道巫师界都在吵嚷着要求知道整个故事，我想成为满足他们需求的第一人。” 
　　我提到了那篇最近普遍流传的，由威森加摩的特邀顾问、邓布利多长久以来的好友埃非亚·多戈所作出的评论：“斯基特的书所包含的内容还没一张巧克力蛙的画片上多呢。” 
　　斯基特大笑起来。 
　　“亲爱的多戈！我还记得几年前采访他关于人鱼权利的事，上帝啊！他太愚蠢了，就好象我们坐在温德美尔湖底，他却总是不停地和我说要小心鲑鱼。” 
　　可是埃非亚·多戈的那些谴责影在许多地方都产生了影响，斯基特真的认为短短的四个星期就足够获得邓布利多那漫长而非凡的一生的信息吗？ 
　　“哦，亲爱的，”斯基特微笑着，亲切地用指关节敲打着我，“你当然知道一大袋加隆、从不让人拒绝的作风、还有一支美妙的速记笔可以换来多少消息吗！人们排着队都要来揭露邓布利多的污点呢！你知道，不是每个人都认为他是那么优秀的——他惹恼了很多重要人士。老骗子多戈马上就会被脱下他那崇高的外衣了，因为我获得了一个许多记者会用他们的魔杖去交换的消息来源——一个从不公开演说，却是邓布利多那目无法纪的青年时代中一位很亲近的人物。 
　　前面提到的那本斯基特的公开传记的确建议那些坚信邓布利多的人生完美无暇的人们必须对即将到来的那些打击做好准备。我想问，那么她所揭开的最大的惊人之事是什么呢？ 
　　“现在别问，贝瑞。在你没有买我的书前我不会泄露任何亮点！”斯基特笑道，“但是我可以保证那些仍然相信邓布利多是像他的胡子一样清白的人会遭到当头一棒！让我们想想，人们都听说他强烈地反对着神秘人，但是做梦也不会想到他自己在青年时代曾经涉足黑魔法！作为一个在晚年时代提倡宽容的巫师，年轻时候却绝不是一个气量大的人！是的，阿不思·邓布利多有一段极度黑暗的过去，更不用说他的那个靠着努力学习来掩饰的，所避免提及的肮脏的家庭。” 
　　我问斯基特她所指的是不是邓布利多的弟弟阿不福思，十五年前因为一桩对未成年人滥用魔法的恶行而被威森加摩定罪的事。 
　　“哦，阿不福思那事只是那一大堆丑闻中的末梢而已，”斯基特笑着说，“不，不，我说的是关于比一个虚度光阴的弟弟，甚至比他那个残害麻瓜的爸爸要严重的多的事——尽管邓布利多无论如何都不能使他俩中的任何一个冷静下来，他们两个都被威森加摩控诉过。不！引起我兴趣的是他的母亲和妹妹，挖掘出来一点儿被掩盖得很好的丑事——不过，正如我所说的，你们将不得不等到第九到第十二章时才能知道所有细节。我现在只能告诉你们，毫无疑问邓布利多从来不向别人谈起他那断了的鼻子的故事。” 
　　虽然被揭露了家庭丑闻，但是，斯基特总不能否认邓布利多在许多魔法发明上的光辉吧？ 
　　“他是有头脑，”她承认，“尽管对于那些现在假定属于他的成就是否真的完全是他该得的荣耀还有许多疑问。正如我在第十六章中所揭示的，艾弗·狄龙斯贝宣称他在邓布利多‘借用’他的论文前早已经发现了龙血的八种功用。” 
　　但是，恕我冒昧地说，邓布利多的一些成就的重要性是无法否认的。他击败格林沃迪的那次著名事件呢？ 
　　“哦，我很高兴你现在谈到了格林沃迪，”斯基特带着一种浅浅的微笑说，“恐怕那些天真地相信邓布利多的那次重大胜利的人们肯定会像是中了一颗炸弹——也许不如说是中了一个粪弹。确实是非常下流的手段。我想说的是，不要对传说中那场壮观的决斗那么确信。当读过我的书后，人们也许会被迫承认格林沃迪只是从魔杖末端变出了一块白手帕，然后一切都结束了！” 
　　斯基特拒绝透露更多有关这个阴谋事件的内幕，我们只好转向了那些最让她的读者着迷的人际关系方面的内容。 
　　“哦，是的，”斯基特说道，兴致勃勃地点着头，“我用了整整一章来讲述邓布利多和波特间的关系。那种被称为是不健康，甚至是有点邪恶的关系。再说一句，你的读者们想要了解整个故事就得买我的书了。不过我刚刚那句话毫无疑问是指邓布利多对波特产生了一种不正常的兴趣。那是否是他对那男孩最大的兴趣——没错，你们将会在我的书中了解到。毫无疑问哈利拥有一个麻烦不断的青春期。” 
　　我问她是不是还在和哈利·波特联系，去年她对他的采访使自己名声大噪：一篇突破性的关于波特确信那个神秘人回来的专访。 
　　“哦，不错。我们的联系更紧密了，”斯基特说，“可怜的波特几乎没什么真正的朋友，我们在他面临一生中最关键挑战的日子里碰头了——那就是三强争霸赛。我大概是现有的，可以说唯一真正了解哈利·波特的人了。” 
　　我把谈话巧妙地引到了那些围绕着邓布利多最后时刻的许多传闻上。斯基特相信在邓布利多死的时候波特就在那儿吗？ 
　　“哦，我不想说太多，这都在我的书里。不过许多在霍格沃茨城堡里的目击者都看见了波特在邓布利多掉下来——或是跳下、被推下来之后从现场跑了出来。波特后来也指证了西弗勒斯·斯内普，一个声名狼藉的，对他心怀嫉妒的男人。这一切都真的像它们所表现出来的那样吗？这需要大家来决定——一旦等他们看过我的书之后。” 
　　完成所有具有诱惑力的记录后，我离开了。没有人会怀疑斯基特是一个极好的推销者。到时候，邓布利多的众多崇拜者们会为他们的英雄身上所暴露出来的事迹而发抖不止。　
　　哈利看完了全篇文章，却仍然无神地盯着报纸。像是要呕吐似的，强烈的厌恶与愤怒从他体内燃起，他把报纸揉成一团丢了出去，用力砸在了墙角，和那些已经满出垃圾桶的垃圾作伴去了。 
　　他开始盲目地在房里大步地来回走，拉开空荡荡的抽屉，捡起书本又把它们放回书堆中……几乎不知道自己在做什么，丽塔的文章里那些胡编乱造的语句在他的脑海中回荡：用了整整一章来讲述邓布利多和波特间的关系……不健康，甚至是有点邪恶的关系……他年轻时曾涉足黑魔法……我得到了一个大多数记者会用魔杖来交换的消息来源…… 
　　“撒谎！”哈利吼道，透过窗户，他看到邻居稍稍停了一下，然后重新发动割草机，紧张地抬头看着。 
　　哈利重重地坐在了床上。那面破碎的镜子在离他不远处晃动，他把它捡起来，翻来覆去地在手里玩弄，思念着邓布利多，还有丽塔诽谤他的那些谎言…… 
　　有道明亮的蓝光一闪而过，哈利惊呆了，手指再次从那些锯齿状的边缘上滑过。他看到了……他必须做点什么。他看了看身后，墙壁是佩妮姨妈挑选的那种病恹恹的桃红色：这里没有任何蓝色的东西能从镜子里反射过来。他又一次凝视着镜子碎片，然而这次他没有看到任何东西，除了他自己那发亮的绿眼睛在看着他。 
　　那只是幻境，没有别的解释；看到它，是因为他一直在想着自己已故的校长。如果有什么可以确定的，那就是阿不思·邓布利多那双充满智慧的蓝眼睛再也不会深深看着他了。　 
Chapter 3 The Dursleys Departing
The sound of the front door slamming echoed up the stairs and a voice roared, “Oh! You!”
Sixteen years of being addressed thus left Harry in no doubt when his uncle was calling, nevertheless, he did not immediately respond. He was still at the narrow fragment in which, for a split second, he had thought he saw Dumbledore’s eye. It was not until his uncle bellowed, “BOY!” that Harry got slowly out of bed and headed for the bedroom door, pausing to add the piece of broken mirror to the rucksack filled with things he would be taking with him.
“You took you time!” roared Vernon Dursley when Harry appeared at the top of the stairs, “Get down here. I want a word!”
Harry strolled downstairs, his hands deep in his pants pockets. When he searched the living room he found all three Dursleys. They were dressed for packing; Uncle Vernon in an old ripped-up jacket and Dudley, Harry’s, large, blond, muscular cousin, in his leather jacket.
“Yes?” asked Harry.
“Sit down!” said Uncle Vernon. Harry raised his eyebrows. “Please!” added Uncle Vernon, wincing slightly as though the word was sharp in his throat. Harry sat. He thought he knew what was coming. His uncle began to pace up and down, Aunt Petunia and Dudley, following his movement with anxious expressions. Finally, his large purple face crumpled with concentration. Uncle Vernon stopped in front of Harry and spoke.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said.
“What a surprise,” said Harry.
“Don’t you take that tone – ” began Aunt Petunia in a shrill voice, but Vernon Dursley waved her down “It’s all a lot of claptrap,” said Uncle Vernon, glaring at Harry with piggy little eyes. “I’ve decided I don’t believe a word of it. We’re staying put, we’re not going anywhere.”
Harry looked up at his uncle and felt a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Vernon Dursley had been changing his mind every twenty four hours for the past four weeks, packing and unpacking and repacking the car with every change of heart. Harry’s favorite moment had been the one when Uncle Vernon, unaware that Dudley had added his dumbbells to his case since the last time it been repacked, had attempted to hoist it back into the boot and collapsed with a yelp of pain and much swearing.
“According to you,” Vernon Dursley said, now resuming his pacing up and down the living room, “we – Petunia, Dudley, and I – are in danger. From – from – ”
“Some of ‘my lot’ right?” said Harry. 
“Well I don’t believe it,” repeated Uncle Vernon, coming to a halt in front of Harry again. “I was awake half the night thinking it all over, and I believe it’s a plot to get the house.”
“The house?” repeated Harry. “What house?”
“This house!” shrieked Uncle Vernon, the vein his forehead starting to pulse. “Our house! House prices are skyrocketing around here! You want us out of the way and then you’re going to do a bit of hocus pocus and before we know it the deeds will be in your name and – ”
“Are you out of your mind?” demanded Harry. “A plot to get this house? Are you actually as stupid as you look?”
“Don’t you dare –!” squealed Aunt Petunia, but again Vernon waved her down. Slights on his personal appearance were it seemed as nothing to the danger he had spotted.
“Just in case you’ve forgotten,” said Harry, “I’ve already got a house my godfather left me one. So why would I want this one? All the happy memories?”
There was silence. Harry thought he had rather impressed his uncle with this argument.
“You claim,” said Uncle Vernon, starting to pace yet again, “that this Lord Thing – ”
“ – Voldemort,” said Harry impatiently, “and we’ve been through this about a hundred times already. This isn’t a claim, it’s fact. Dumbledore told you last year, and Kingsley and Mr. Weasley – ”
Vernon Dursley hunched his shoulders angrily, and Harry guessed that his uncle was attempting to ward off recollections of the unannounced visit, a few days into Harry’s summer holidays, of two fully grown wizards. The arrival on the doorstep of Kingsley Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley had come as a most unpleasant shock to the Dursleys. Harry had to admit, however that as Mr. Weasley had once demolished half of the living room, his reappearance could not have been expected to delight Uncle Vernon.
“ – Kingsley and Mr. Weasley explained it all as well,” Harry pressed on remorselessly, “Once I’m seventeen, the protective charm that keeps me safe will break, and that exposes you as well as me. The Order is sure Voldemort will target you, whether to torture you to try and find out where I am, or because he thinks by holding you hostage I’d come and try to rescue you.”
Uncle Vernon’s and Harry’s eyes met. Harry was sure that in that instant they were both wondering the same thing. Then Uncle Vernon walked on and Harry resumed, “You’ve got to go into hiding and the Order wants to help. You’re being offered serious protection, the best there is.”
Uncle Vernon said nothing but continued to pace up and down. Outside the sun hung low over the privet hedges. The next door neighbor’s lawn mower stalled again.
“I thought there was a Ministry of Magic?” asked Vernon Dursley abruptly.
“There is,” said Harry, surprised. 
“Well, then, why can’t they protect us? It seems to me that, as innocent victims, guilty of nothing more than harboring a marked man, we ought to qualify for government protection!”
Harry laughed; he could not help himself. It was so very typical of his uncle to put his hopes in the establishment, even within this world that he despised and mistrusted. “You heard what Mr. Weasley and Kingsley said,” Harry replied. “We think the Ministry has been infiltrated.”
Uncle Vernon strode back to the fireplace and back breathing so strongly that his great black mustache rippled his face still purple with concentration.
“All right,” he said. Stopping in front of Harry get again. “All right, let’s say for the sake of argument we accept this protection. I still don’t see why we can’t have that Kingsley bloke.”
Harry managed not to roll his eyes, but with difficulty. This question had also been addressed half a dozen times.
“As I’ve told you,” he said through gritted teeth, “Kingsley is protecting the Mug – I mean, your Prime Minister.”
“Exactly – he’s the best!” said Uncle Vernon, pointing at the blank television screen. The Dursleys had spotted Kingsley on the news, walking along the Muggle Prime Minister as he visited a hospital. This, and the fact that Kingsley had mastered the knack of dressing like a Muggle, not to mention a certain reassuring something in his slow, deep voice, had caused the Dursleys to take to Kingsley in a way that they had certainly not done with any other wizard, although it was true that they had never seen him with earring in.
“Well, he’s taken,” said Harry. “But Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle are more than up to the job – ”
“If we’d even seen CVs…” began Uncle Vernon, but Harry lost patience. Getting to his feet, he advanced on his uncle, not pointing at the TV set himself.
“These accidents aren’t accidents – the crashed and explosions and derailments and whatever else has happened since we last watched the news. People are disappearing and dying and he’s behind it – Voldemort. I’ve told you this over and over again, he kills Muggles for fun. Even the fogs – they’re caused by dementors, and if you can’t remember what they are, ask your son!”
Dudley’s hands jerked upward to tower his mouth. With his parents’ and Harry’s eyes upon him, he slowly lowered them again and asked, “There are… more of them?”
“More?” laughed Harry. “More than the two that attacked us, you mean? Of course there are hundreds, maybe thousands by this time, seeing as they feed off fear and despair – ”
“All right, all right blustered,” blustered Vernon Dursley. “You’ve made your point – ”
“I hope so,” said Harry, “because once I’m seventeen, all of them – Death Eaters, elementors, maybe even Inferi – which means dead bodies enchanted by a Dark wizard – will be able to find you and will certainly attack you. And if you remember the last time you tried to outrun wizards, I think you’ll agree you need help.”
There was a brief silence in which the distant echo of Hagrid smashing down a wooden front door seemed to reverberate through the intervening years. Aunt Petunia was looking at Uncle Vernon; Dudley was staring at Harry. Finally Uncle Vernon blurted out, “But what about my work? What about Dudley’s school? I don’t suppose those things matter to a bunch of layabout wizards – ”
“Don’t you understand?” shouted Harry. “They will torture and kill you like they did my parents!”
“Dad,” said Dudley in a loud voice, “Dad – I’m going with these Order people.”
“Dudley,” said Harry, “for the first time in your life, you’re talking sense.” He knew the battle was won. If Dudley was frightened enough to accept the Order’s help, his parents would accompany him. There could be no question of being separated from their Duddykins. Harry glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece.
“They’ll be here in about five minutes,” he said, and when one of the Dursleys replied, he left the room. The prospect of parting – probably forever – from his aunt, uncle, and cousin was one that he was able to contemplate quite cheerfully but there was nevertheless a certain awkwardness in the air. What did you say to one another at the end of sixteen years’ solid dislike?
Back in his bedroom, Harry fiddled aimlessly with his rucksack then poked a couple of owl nuts through the bats of Hedwig’s cage. They fell with dull thuds to the bottom where she ignored them.
“We’re leaving soon, really soon,” Harry told her. “And then you’ll be able to fly again.”
The doorbell rang. Harry hesitated, then headed back out of his room and downstairs. It was too much to expect Hestia and Dedalus to cope with the Dursleys on their own.
“Harry Potter!” squeaked an excited voice, the moment Harry had opened the door; a small man in a mauve top hat that was sweeping him a deep bow. “An honor as ever!”
“Thanks, Dedalus,” said Harry, bestowing a small and embarrassed smile upon the dark haired Hestia. “It’s really good of you to do this… They’re through here, my aunt and uncle and cousin…”
“Good day to you, Harry Potter’s relatives!” said Dedalus happily striding into the living room. The Dursleys did not look at all happy to be addressed thus; Harry half expected another change of mind. Dudley shrank neared to his mother at the sight of the witch and wizard.
“I see you are packed and ready. Excellent! The plan, as Harry has told you, is a simple one,” said Dedalus, pulling an immense pocket watch out of his waistcoat and examining it. “We shall be leaving before Harry does. Due to the danger of using magic in your house –Harry being still underage it could provide the Ministry with an excuse to arrest him – we shall be driving, say, ten miles or so before Disapparating to the safe location we have picked out for you. You know how to drive, I take it?” He asked Uncle Vernon politely.
“Know how to –? Of course I ruddy well know how to drive!” spluttered Uncle Vernon.
“Very clever of you, sir, very clever. I personally would be utterly bamboozled by all those buttons and knobs,” said Dedalus. He was clearly under the impression that he was flattering Vernon Dursley, who was visibly losing confidence in the plan with every word Dedalus spoke.
“Can’t even drive,” he muttered under his breath, his mustache rippling indignantly, but fortunately neither Dedalus nor Hestia seemed to hear him.
“You, Harry,” Dedalus continued, “will wait here for your guard. There has been a little change in the arrangements – ”
“What d’you mean?” said Harry at once. “I thought Mad-Eye was going to come and take me by Side Along-Apparition?”
“Can’t do it,” said Hestia tersely, “Mad-Eye will explain.”
The Dursleys, who had listened to all of this with looks of utter incomprehension on their faces, jumped as a loud voice screeched, “Hurry up!” Harry looked all around the room before realizing the voice had issued from Dedalus’s pocket watch.
“Quite right, were operating to a very tight schedule,” said Dedalus nodding at his watch and tucking it back into his waist coat. “We are attempting to time your departure from the house with your family’s Disapparition, Harry thus the charm breaks the moment you all head for safety.” He turned to the Dursleys, “Well, are we all packed and ready to go?”
None of them answered him. Uncle Vernon was still staring appalled at the bulge in Dedalus’s waistcoat pocket.
“Perhaps we should wait outside in the hall, Dedalus,” murmured Hestia. She clearly felt that it would be tactless for them to remain the room while Harry and the Dursleys exchanged loving, possibly tearful farewells.
“There’s no need,” Harry muttered, but Uncle Vernon made any further explanation unnecessary by saying loudly, “Well, this is good-bye then boy.”
He swung his right arm upward to shake Harry’s hand, but at the last moment seemed unable to face it, and merely closed his fist and began swinging it backward and forward like a metronome.
“Ready, Duddy?” asked Petunia, fussily checking the clasp of her handbag so as to avoid looking at Harry altogether.
Dudley did not answer but stood there with his mouth slightly ajar, reminding Harry a little of the giant, Grawp.
“Come along, then,” said Uncle Vernon.
He had already reached the living room door when Dudley mumbled, “I don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand, popkin?” asked Petunia looking up at her son.
Dudley raised a large, hamlike hand to point at Harry.
“Why isn’t he coming with us?”
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia froze when they stood staring at Dudley as though he had just expressed a desire to become a ballerina.
“What?” said Uncle Vernon loudly.
“Why isn’t he coming too?” asked Dudley.
“Well, he – doesn’t want to,” said Uncle Vernon, turning to glare at Harry and adding, “You don’t want to, do you?”
“Not in the slightest,” said Harry.
“There you are,” Uncle Vernon told Dudley. “Now come on we’re off.”
He marched out of the room. They heard the front door open, but Dudley did not move and after a few faltering steps Aunt Petunia stopped too.
“What now?” barked Uncle Vernon, reappearing in the doorway.
It seemed that Dudley was struggling with concepts too difficult to put into words. After several moments of apparently painful internal struggle he said, “But where’s he going to go?”
Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked at each other. It was clear that Dudley was frightening them. Hestia Jones broke the silence.
“But… surely you know where your nephew is going?” she asked looking bewildered.
“Certainly we know,” said Vernon Dursley. “He’s off with some of your lot, isn’t he? Right, Dudley, let’s get in the car, you heard the man, we’re in a hurry.”
Again, Vernon Dursley marched as far as the front door, but Dudley did not follow.
“Off with some of our lot?”
Hestia looked outraged. Harry had met this attitude before Witches and wizards seemed stunned that his closed living relatives took so little interest in the famous Harry Potter.
“It’s fine,” Harry assured her. “It doesn’t matter, honestly.”
“Doesn’t matter?” repeated Hestia, her voice rising considerably.
“Don’t these people realize what you’ve been through? What danger you are in? The unique position you hold in the hearts of the anti Voldemort movement?”
“Er – no, they don’t,” said Harry. “They think I’m a waste of space, actually but I’m used to – ”
“I don’t think you’re a waste of space”
If Harry had not seen Dudley’s lips move, he might not have believed it. As it was, he stared at Dudley for several seconds before accepting that it must have been his cousin who had spoken; for one thing, Dudley had turned red. Harry was embarrassed and astonished himself.
“Well… er… thanks, Dudley.”
Again, Dudley appeared to grapple with thoughts too unwieldy for expression before mumbling, “You saved my life,”
“Not really,” said Harry. “It was your soul the dementor would have taken…”
He looked curiously at his cousin. They had had virtually no contact during this summer or last, as Harry had come back to Privet Drive so briefly and kept to his room so much. It now dawned on Harry, however, that the cup of cold tea on which he had trodden that morning might not have been a booby trap at all. Although rather touched he was nevertheless quite relieved that Dudley appeared to have exhausted his ability to express his feelings. After opening his mouth once or twice more, Dudley subsided into scarlet-faced silence.
Aunt Petunia burst into tears. Hestia Jones gave her an approving look that changed to outrage as Aunt Petunia ran forward and embraced Dudley rather than Harry. “S-so sweet, Dudders…” she sobbed into his massive chest. “S-such a lovely b-boy… s-saying thank you…”
“But he hasn’t said thank you at all!” said Hestia indignantly. “He only said he didn’t think Harry was a waste of space!”
“Yea but coming from Dudley that’s like ‘I love you,’” said Harry, torn between annoyance and a desire to laugh as Aunt Petunia continued to clutch at Dudley as if he had just saved Harry from a burning building.
“Are we going or not?” roared Uncle Vernon, reappearing yet again at the living room door. “I thought we were on a tight schedule!”
“Yes –yes, we are,” said Dedalus Diggle, who had been watching these exchanged with an air of bemusement and now seemed to pull himself together. “We really must be off. Harry – ”
He tripped forward and wrung Harry’s hand with both of his own.
“ – good luck. I hope we meet again. The hopes of the Wizarding world rest upon your shoulders.”
“Oh,” said Harry, “right. Thanks.”
“Farwell, Harry,” said Hestia also clasping his hand. “Our thoughts go with you.”
“I hope everything’s okay,” said Harry with a glance toward Aunt Petunia and Dudley.
“Oh I’m sure we shall end up the best of chums,” said Diggle slightly, waving his hat as he left the room. Hestia followed him.
Dudley gently released himself from his mother’s clutches and walked toward Harry who had to repress an urge to threaten him with magic. Then Dudley held out his large, pink hand.
“Blimey, Dudley,” said Harry over Aunt Petunia’s renewed sobs, “did the dementors blow a different personality into you?”
“Dunno,” muttered Dudley, “See you, Harry.”
“Yea …” said Harry, raking Dudley’s hand and shaking it. “Maybe. Take care, Big D.”
Dudley nearly smiled. They lumbered from the room. Harry heard his heavy footfalls on the graveled drive, and then a car door slammed.
Aunt Petunia whose face had been buried in her handkerchief looked around at the sound. She did not seem to have expected to find herself alone with Harry. Hastily stowing her wet handkerchief into her pocket, she said, “Well – good-bye” and marched towards the door without looking at him.
“Good-bye” said Harry.
She stopped and looked back. For a moment Harry had the strangest feeling that she wanted to say something to him; She gave him an odd, tremulous look and seemed to 
teeter on the edge of speech, but then, with a little of her head, she hustled out of the room after he husband and son.
前门的撞击声传到了楼上，一个声音咆哮着：“嘿！小子！” 
　　然而经历了十六年被呼来喝去的日子的哈利，这会儿当然没有立刻回应。他仍然看着狭长的碎镜片，有那么一刹那，他以为自己看到了邓布利多的眼睛。直到弗农姨父又吼了一声“小子！”，哈利这才慢慢地起身下床，向卧室门口走去，中途他把碎镜片放进了他将要带走的旅行包里。 
　　“别磨蹭！”弗农·德思礼冲着楼梯上的哈利喊道，“下来，我有话要说。” 
　　哈利双手插在口袋里，慢悠悠地走下楼梯。他环视了一下客厅，发现德思礼一家三口都在。他们穿得好像正要出门似的：弗农姨父穿着一件旧破的夹克，而达力——哈利的那个大块头、金发、肌肉发达的表兄则穿着一件皮夹克。 
　　“怎么了？”哈利问。 
　　“坐下！”弗农姨父说。哈利挑起眉毛，“请！”弗农姨父补充了一句，微微的畏缩了一下，好象那个字很难说出口一样。哈利坐下来，他觉得自己已经知道接下来要发生什么了。他的姨夫开始来回踱步，佩妮姨妈和达力都期待地看着他。终于，弗农姨父皱紧了他紫色的大脸，在哈利面前停了下来，开口说道： 
　　“我改变主意了。” 
　　“真令人意外啊。”哈利讽刺地说。 
　　“你竟然用那种语气——”佩妮姨妈用那尖刻的声音说，然而弗农姨父挥手制止了她。“那些全都是空话，”弗农姨父用他猪一样的小眼睛盯着哈利说，“我一个字都不打算相信。我们就待在这里，哪儿都不去。” 
　　哈利看着他的姨夫，感到又好气又好笑。过去的四个礼拜里，弗农姨父每隔24个小时都要改变一次主意，把行李放到车上，又拿出来，再放进去，每改变一次主意都要重复一遍。哈利最喜欢的一次是，弗农姨父不知道达力在上次收拾行李时把哑铃放进了箱子，于是把那箱子提起来准备放进汽车行李箱，结果－－疼地他尖叫咒骂着摔了个跟头。 
　　“都是因为你，”弗农姨父一边说着，一边重新开始在客厅里踱来踱去，“我们——佩妮、达力和我——陷入了危险之中，因为那些……那些……” 
　　“‘我们那种人’，是吗？”哈利说。 
　　“总之我不信，”弗农姨父重复了一遍，再次停在哈利面前，“昨晚我想了大半夜，我确信这是一个阴谋，为的就是要得到房子。” 
　　“房子？”哈利重复道，“什么房子？” 
　　“这所房子！”弗农姨父尖叫道，额头上的青筋跳动着，“我们的房子！现在这里的房价飙升！你想把我们都支开，然后用一些骗术诡计，当我们还蒙在鼓里的时候房子就成了你的了，然后——” 
　　“你疯了吗？”哈利问道，“为了得到这所房子？难道你真的和看上去一样蠢？” 
　　“你怎么敢——！”佩妮姨妈尖叫道，但是弗农再一次制止了她，他的表情看起来无所畏惧。 
　　“恐怕你们忘了，”哈利说，“我的教父已经留了一所房子给我。我怎么会想要你们的？难道是为了这里的美好回忆吗？” 
　　房间里出现了一阵沉默。哈利觉得自己已经在这次辩论中压制住了他的姨夫。 
　　“你声称，”弗农姨父说，再次开始踱步，“那个什么魔——”“伏地魔”哈利不耐烦的说，“我们已经讨论过一百次了。那并不是我声称，而是事实。去年邓布利多告诉过你，金斯莱和韦斯莱先生也告诉过你。” 
　　弗农姨父怒气冲冲的耸起肩膀，哈利猜他姨夫一定是在试图摆脱关于那些不速之客的记忆，在哈利刚放暑假的那几天，两个成年巫师——金斯莱·沙克尔和亚瑟·韦斯莱的到访，对德思礼一家来说，是非常不愉快的一次意外。哈利不得不承认，不管怎么说韦斯莱先生曾经毁掉德思礼家的半个客厅，他的再次到访绝不会令弗农姨父开心。 
　　“金斯莱和韦斯莱先生已经解释的很清楚了，”哈利冷冷的指出，“一旦我年满十七周岁，保护我的魔法就失效了，那意味着你们会和我一样被暴露出来。凤凰社确信伏地魔一定会拿你们当靶子，他会折磨你们来试图找到我，或者他认为只要把你们当作人质，我就会去救你们。”弗农姨父和哈利目光交汇，哈利确定那个时刻他们想的是同一件事。 
　　弗农姨父继续踱步，哈利接着说道：“你们要藏起来，凤凰社会帮助你们，并且给你们最完善的保护。” 
　　弗农姨父一言不发，只是走来走去。太阳已经落到了女贞路的篱笆下面，隔壁邻居家的割草机又停了下来。 
　　“你们不是有个魔法部吗？”弗农姨父突然说道。 
　　“没错”哈利有些惊讶。 
　　“那么，为什么他们不来保护我们？在我看来，作为无辜的受害者，我们除了窝藏一个被关注的家伙之外没有任何罪过，我们有权利得到政府的保护！” 
　　哈利实在忍不住，他放声大笑。那真是典型的弗农姨父，即便他藐视，猜忌这个世界，他居然还是寄希望于某个机构。 
　　“韦斯莱先生和金斯莱已经告诉过你了，”哈利重复道，“我们认为魔法部已经被他们那些人腐蚀了。” 
　　弗农姨父大步退回到壁炉边，用力地倒吸了一口气，以至于他的大黑胡子起了波纹，而他仍然皱着那张紫脸。 
　　“好吧，”他说，再一次停在哈利面前，“好吧，就当是为了这次的争论，我们接受他们的保护，不过我还是不明白为什么不能让那个金斯莱小子保护我们。” 
　　哈利使劲儿控制着翻白眼的冲动，但那非常困难，这个问题同样被讨论了好几次了。 
　　“我告诉过你了，”他咬牙切齿的说，“金斯莱要保护麻——我的意思是，你们的首相。” 
　　“显然－他是最棒的！”弗农姨父指着空白的电视屏幕说。德思礼一家在新闻里看到过金斯莱陪同麻瓜首相去医院探访。金斯莱完全掌握了打扮地像一个麻瓜的诀窍，加上他那令人安心的缓慢低沉的嗓音，这一切使得德思礼一家对金斯莱另眼相看，尽管他们从来都没见过金斯莱戴耳环的样子。 
　　“他已经有任务了，”哈利说，“但是海丝佳·琼斯和德达洛·迪歌更适合这份工作。” 
　　“如果我们看过他俩的简历……”弗农姨父刚开口，哈利已经失去耐心，他走到姨夫的前面，独自盯着电视机说道：“那些看起来像意外的事故不是意外——坠机、爆炸、列车出轨，还有从我们最后一次看新闻后发生的所有事情都不是。人们失踪和死亡都是他幕后操纵的——伏地魔。我一次又一次的告诉过你们，他杀人不眨眼。甚至那些雾气——那都是摄魂怪造成的，如果你不记得他们是什么，去问你儿子！” 
　　达利突然用双手捂住了嘴，在他父母和哈利的注视下，他慢慢的把手放下来，开口问道：“他们有…更多的？”“更多？”哈利笑了，“比袭击我们的那两只要多吗，你想问这个吗？当然！现在有几百个，也许几千个，依靠恐惧和绝望生存……” 
　　“好吧，好吧别吓人了，”弗农姨父喃喃的说，“你已经说清楚了。” 
　　“希望如此，”哈利说，“因为一旦我年满十七岁，所有的那些东西——食死徒、摄魂怪，也许还有阴尸，也就是被黑巫师控制的死尸，那些东西都可能会找到你们并且袭击你们。如果你们还记得上一次试图摆脱巫师的情景，我想你会同意接受帮助的。” 
　　房间里出现了短暂的沉默，海格撞碎木门的遥远的声音似乎穿越时空再次回荡起来（第一年的时候）。佩妮姨妈看着弗农姨父，达力看着哈利。最终，弗农姨父冲口而出：“我的工作怎么办？达力的学校怎么办？我不认为这些事情对于一群懒惰的巫师来说有任何意义。 
　　“你还不明白吗？”哈利喊道，“他们会折磨你们，杀死你们，就像当初对我父母那样！” 
　　“爸爸，”达力大声的说，“爸爸，我要跟那些凤凰社的人走。” 
　　“达力，”哈利说，“你这辈子总算说了句有用的话。” 
　　他知道自己赢了，如果达力因为恐惧而接受凤凰社的帮助，他的父母会陪他一起的。毫无疑问他们将撤离他们的老古董房子。哈利看了一眼壁炉上的旅行钟。“他们大概5分钟后到”他说，没等德思礼家的人开口，他就离开了房间。曾经他以为自己会因为与姨妈、姨夫以及表兄永远的告别而万分开心，但如今空气里却有种尴尬和难为情的味道。16年的相看两厌将要结束的时候，你会对对方说些什么呢？ 
　　回到卧室，哈利漫无目的的翻着他的背包，然后在海德薇的笼子里翻出两盒猫头鹰坚果。她没有理会那两盒砰地一声掉到地上的食物。“我们就快走了，很快就走，”哈利对她说，“然后你就又可以飞翔了。” 
　　门铃响了，哈利犹豫了一下，走出房间，下了楼。他不能指望海丝佳·琼斯和德达洛·迪歌能够单独与德思礼和平相处。 
　　“哈利波特！”哈利刚打开门，一个激动的声音就尖叫到，那个戴着紫红色礼帽的矮个男人对着他深深的鞠了一躬，“一如既往的荣幸！” 
　　“谢谢你，德达洛”哈利说，有点窘迫地对着黑头发的海丝佳微微一笑，“你们能来帮忙真是太好了……他们在那里，我的姨妈、姨夫还有表兄……” 
　　“你们好，哈利波特的亲人们！”德达洛走进客厅开心的说。德思礼一家看起来并没因此觉得开心，哈利有一半的心期待着他们再次改变主意。达利一见到巫师就缩在他妈妈身后。 
　　“看来你们都已经准备好了，棒极了！就像哈利告诉你们的那样，这是一个简单的计划，”德达洛一边说，一边从背心口袋中掏出一个大怀表看了看，“我们比哈利走的早，如果在你们家里使用了魔法会有危险——哈利还未成年，在这里使用魔法的话魔法部就有借口来逮捕他——所以我们开车走，比方说，十英里左右，我们会幻影显形到给你们安排好的安全地点。我想，你知道如何开车吧？”他礼貌的询问弗农姨父。 
　　“知道如何——？我当然知道怎么开车！”弗农姨父气急败坏的说。 
　　“您非常聪明，先生，非常聪明。就我个人而言，那些按钮让我十分迷惑。”德达洛说，很显然他是想要讨好弗农姨父，但是弗农姨父显然因为德达洛的这些话，对计划丧失了信心。 
　　“连开车都不会，”他咕哝着，胡须气愤的颤动着，所幸德达洛和海思佳都没有听到他讲的话。 
　　“你，哈利，”德达洛接着说道，“要在这里等你的护卫前来。安排上有了一点小变化……” 
　　“什么意思？”哈利立刻问到，“我以为是疯眼汉来接我，从飞路网过来。” 
　　“不能那样了，”德达洛简洁的说，“疯眼汉会解释的。”德思礼一家听着这些对话,一脸的迷茫。“快点！”德思礼一家被这不知从哪冒出来的尖叫吓了一跳，哈利到处望了望一下才发现声音是德达洛的老怀表发出来的。 
　　“就是，我们的行程非常紧张，”德达洛冲着老怀表点点头，把它放回背心口袋里，“我们尽量掐准了你离开这里和你的家人幻影显形的时间，哈利，所有咒语将会在你们都安全了的那一刻消失。”他转向德思礼，说：“那么，所有人都准备好出发了吗？” 
　　没人回答他。弗农姨父仍然惊骇的盯着德达洛背心口袋突起来的那部分。 
　　“也许我们应该去外面的门厅等一下，德达洛。”海斯佳小声的说。她显然觉得这时候留在屋里是不明智的，哈利可能要和德思礼一家来个伤感落泪的道别。 
　　“不必了，”哈利咕哝了一声，但是弗农姨父夸张地大声表达了同样的意思： 
　　“那么，再见了，小子。” 
　　他伸出右臂靠近哈利的手，但是最后一刻似乎有些畏缩，然后合上拳头前后挥了两下，像个节拍器一样。 
　　“准备好了吗，达达？”佩妮姨妈问，她忽然没道理地检查起手提包的扣子来，好像为了避免看到哈利。 
　　达力并没有回答，只是微微张开嘴巴站在那里，这让哈利想起了巨人格洛普。 
　　“那么，走吧。”弗农姨父走到了客厅门口，这时候达力开口说道：“我不明白。” 
　　“你不明白什么啊？宝贝？”佩妮看着她的儿子问。 
　　达力抬起粗大如火腿一般的手，指着哈利：“为什么他不和我们一起走？” 
　　弗农姨父和佩妮姨妈僵在原地，他们盯着达力，就好象达力刚才说的他想要当一个芭蕾舞演员一般。 
　　“你说什么？”弗农姨父大声的说。 
　　“为什么他不一起走？”达力问。 
　　“嗯……他……不想走，”弗农姨父说完，把脸转向哈利，补充了一句，“你不想走，对吧？” 
　　“一点都不想。”哈利说。 
　　“你明白了吧，”弗农姨父对达力说，“好了，我们现在出发吧。” 
　　他向房间外面走去，打开前门，但是达力仍然没有动，佩妮姨妈迟疑的走了两步，也停下来了。 
　　“现在是怎么了？”弗农姨父咆哮着又出现在门口。 
　　达力似乎在很费劲的要把想法转化成语言说出来，经过了几秒钟痛苦的内心挣扎，他终于开了口：“但是，他要去哪里呢？” 
　　佩妮姨妈和弗农姨父对视了一眼，很显然达力把他们吓到了。海思佳打破了沉默：“但是……你们一定知道你们的外甥要去哪里吧？”她迷惑的问。 
　　“我们当然知道，”弗农姨父说，“他要去和你们那种人在一起，不是吗？好了，达力，我们上车去，你听到那个男人的话了，时间很紧，快过来。” 
　　弗农姨父再一次走到了前门，可是达力仍然没有动。 
　　“去和我们这种人一起？”海斯佳看起来被侮辱了。哈利已经见过巫师们被德思礼一家所震惊的样子了，他们惊讶于这些人竟然对大名鼎鼎的哈利波特如此不在意。 
　　“没关系，”哈利让她放心，“说实在的，我不介意。” 
　　“不介意？”海斯佳提高声音重复了一遍。 
　　“这些人根本就没有意识到你将要做什么吗？他们不知道你要面临多少危险吗？他们不知道你在对抗伏地魔的战斗中扮演着多么重要角色吗？” 
　　“呃……是的，他们不知道，”哈利说。“他们觉得我是个垃圾，事实上，我以前确实是——” 
　　“我不觉得你是垃圾”要哈利不是亲眼看到达力的嘴唇在动，他绝对不相信这话是他说的，他看了达力几秒钟，才接受了那些话是出自他的表兄之口这个事实，而且，达力的脸红了。哈利既窘迫又惊讶：“嗯……呃……谢谢你，达力。” 
　　达力又一次很困难与自己的思想做斗争，想要把想法表达出来，他咕哝道：“你救了我的命。” 
　　“不完全是，”哈利说，“摄魂怪要的是你的灵魂……” 
　　他好奇的看着他的表兄，其实无论是去年夏天还是今年夏天，他们都没怎么说话，因为哈利回女贞路的时间非常短，而他把自己关在房间的时间非常久。哈利渐渐的明白过来，那杯他踩到冰茶也许并不是个恶作剧。虽然他很感动，但是看到达力因为表达自己的感受以后筋疲力尽，再说不出话了，哈利还是松了一口气。达力又试着张了一两次嘴，还是红着脸安静了下来。 
　　佩妮姨妈早已经痛哭流涕了。海斯佳原本满意的表情在看到佩妮姨妈跑过去拥抱的人是达力而不是哈利之后，转变成了愤怒。 
　　“真是……真是太贴心了，达达……”她扑在他那结实的胸口上哭着说，“这么……这么可爱的男……男孩……说……说谢谢你……” 
　　“但是他根本没说谢谢！”海斯佳愤怒的说，“他只是说他不认为哈利是垃圾！” 
　　“是的，但是达力说出那样的话，就相当于说‘我爱你’了，”哈利说，哭笑不得地看着佩妮姨妈仍然紧紧地抓住达利，好像他刚把哈利从失火的房子里救了似的。 
　　“我们到底走不走？”弗农姨父吼道，再一次出现在客厅门口，“我还以为我们的时间很紧呢！” 
　　“是的……是的，我们确实时间很紧，”德达洛·迪歌说，他刚才一直很困惑的看着这些变故，这会儿终于回过神来了。“我们确实要马上出发了，哈利……”很快走到哈利身边，双手紧握哈利的手，“……祝你好运，我希望我们可以再见。拯救巫师界就靠你了。” 
　　“噢，”哈利说，“好，谢谢。” 
　　“非常好，哈利，”海斯佳也握住他的手说，“我们的心和你在一起。” 
　　“希望一切顺利，”哈利看了一眼佩妮姨妈和达力说。 
　　“噢，我想我们一定会成为好哥们儿的，”迪歌说，他轻轻的挥了一下帽子，走出房间。海斯佳也跟着离开了。 
　　达力轻轻的从他妈妈手里挣脱开，走到了曾经用魔法威胁过他的那个人身边，然后他伸出粉红色的大手。 
　　“哎呀，达力，”哈利在佩妮姨妈的呜咽声中说，“摄魂怪把你变了一个人吗？” 
　　“谁知道呢，”达力咕哝着，“再见，哈利。” 
　　“嗯……”哈利说，握住达力的手摇了摇，“也许能再见，当心点，D哥。” 
　　达力几乎笑出来了。他们一起走出屋子，哈利听着自觉沉重的脚步声穿过沙石路，然后车门关上了。 
　　佩妮姨妈的脸一直埋在手帕里，听到声音了才抬起头，发现自己竟然和哈利单独在一起了。她飞快的把手帕放进口袋里，说：“那么，再见。”然后没有再看哈利一眼，向门外走去。 
　　“再见。”哈利说。 
　　她突然停住了，转过头来，有那么一会儿，哈利有一种奇怪的感觉，好象佩妮有什么话要对他说；她用一种古怪而又震撼的目光看着哈利，似乎马上就要说出口了，但是，她只是猛地转身跟在丈夫和儿子后面，离开了房间。
Chapter 4 The Seven Potters
Harry ran back upstairs to his bedroom, arriving at the window just in time to see the Dursleys’ car swinging out of the drive and off up the road. Dedalus’s top hat was visible between Aunt Petunia and Dudley in the backseat. The car turned right at the end of Privet Drive, its windows burned scarlet for a moment in the now setting sun, and then it was gone.
Harry picked up Hedwig’s cage, his Firebolt, and his rucksack, gave his unnaturally tidy bedroom one last sweeping look, and then made his ungainly way back downstairs to the hall, where he deposited cage, broomstick, and bag near the foot of the stairs. The light was fading rapidly, the hall full of shadows in the evening light. It felt most strange to stand here in the silence and know that he was about to leave the house for the last time. Long ago, when he had been left alone while the Dursleys went out to enjoy themselves, the hours of solitude had been a rare treat. Pausing only to sneak something tasty from the fridge, he had rushed upstairs to play on Dudley’s computer, or put on the television and flicked through the channels to his heart’s content. It gave him an odd, empty feeling remembering those times; it was like remembering a younger brother whom he had lost.
“Don’t you want to take a last look at the place?” he asked Hedwig, who was still sulking with her head under her wing. “We’ll never be here again. Don’t you want to remember all the good times? I mean, look at this doormat. What memories … Dudley sobbed on it after I saved him from the dementors … Turns out he was grateful after all, can you believe it? … And last summer, Dumbledore walked through that front door …”
Harry lost the thread of his thoughts for a moment and Hedwig did nothing to help him retrieve it, but continued to sit with her head under her wing. Harry turned his back on the front door.
“And under here, Hedwig” – Harry pulled open a door under the stairs – “is where I used to sleep! You never knew me then – Blimey, it’s small, I’d forgotten …”
Harry looked around at the stacked shoes and umbrellas remembering how he used to wake every morning looking up at the underside of the staircase, which was more often than not adorned with a spider or two. Those had been the days before he had known anything about his true identity; before he had found out how his parents had died or why such strange things often happened around him. But Harry could still remember the dreams that had dogged him, even in those days: confused dreams involving flashes of green light and once – Uncle Vernon had nearly crashed the car when Harry had recounted it – a flying motorbike …
There was a sudden, deafening roar from somewhere nearby. Harry straightened up with a jerk and smacked the top of his head on the low door frame. Pausing only to employ a few of Uncle Vernon’s choicest swear words, he staggered back into the kitchen, clutching his head and staring out of the window into the back garden.
The darkness seemed to be rippling, the air itself quivering. Then, one by one, figures began to pop into sight as their Disillusionment Charms lifted. Dominating the scene was Hagrid, wearing a helmet and goggles and sitting astride an enormous motorbike with a black sidecar attached. All around him other people were dismounting from brooms and, in two cases, skeletal, black winged horses.
Wrenching open the back door, Harry hurtled into their midst. There was a general cry of greeting as Hermione flung her arms around him, Ron clapped him on the back, and Hagrid said, “All righ’, Harry? Ready fer the off?”
“Definitely,” said Harry, beaming around at them all. “But I wasn’t expecting this many of you!”
“Change of plan,” growled Mad-Eye, who was holding two enormous bulging sacks, and whose magical eye was spinning from darkening sky to house to garden with dizzying rapidity. “Let’s get undercover before we talk you through it.”
Harry led them all back into the kitchen where, laughing and chattering, they settled on chairs, sat themselves upon Aunt Petunia’s gleaming work surfaces, or leaned up against her spotless appliances; Ron, long and lanky; Hermione, her bushy hair tied back in a long plait; Fred and George, grinning identically; Bill, badly scarred and longhaired; Mr. Weasley, kind-faced, balding, his spectacles a little awry; Mad-Eye, battle-worn, one-legged, his bright blue magical eye whizzing in its socket; Tonks, whose short hair was her favorite shade of bright pink; Lupin, grayer, more lined; Fleur, slender and beautiful, with her long silvery blonde hair; Kingsley, bald and broad-shouldered; Hagrid, with his wild hair and beard, standing hunchbacked to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling; and Mundungus Fletcher, small, dirty, and hangdog, with his droopy beady hound’s eyes and matted hair. Harry’s heart seemed to expand and glow at the sight: He felt incredibly fond of all of them, even Mundungus, whom he had tried to strangle the last time they had met.
“Kingsley, I thought you were looking after the Muggle Prime Minister?” he called across the room.
“He can get along without me for one night,” said Kingsley, “You’re more important.”
“Harry, guess what?” said Tonks from her perch on top of the washing machine, and she wiggled her left hand at him; a ring glistened there.
“You got married?” Harry yelped, looking from her to Lupin.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t be there, Harry, it was very quiet.”
“That’s brilliant, congrat – ”
“All right, all right, we’ll have time for a cozy catch-up later,” roared Moody over the hubbub, and silence fell in the kitchen. Moody dropped his sacks at his feet and turned to Harry. “As Dedalus probably told you, we had to abandon Plan A. Pius Thicknesse has gone over, which gives us a big problem. He’s made it an imprisonable offense to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here, or Apparate in or out. All done in the name of your protection, to prevent You-Know-Who getting in at you. Absolutely pointless, seeing as your mother’s charm does that already. What he’s really done is to stop you getting out of here safely.”
“Second problem: You’re underage, which means you’ve still got the Trace on you.”
“I don’t – ”
“The Trace, the Trace!” said Mad-Eye impatiently. “The charm that detects magical activity around under-seventeens, the way the Ministry finds out about underage magic! If you, or anyone around you, casts a spell to get you out of here, Thicknesse is going to know about it, and so will the Death Eaters.”
“We can’t wait for the Trace to break, because the moment you turn seventeen you’ll lose all the protection your mother gave you. In short, Pius Thicknesse thinks he’s got you cornered good and proper.”
Harry could not help but agree with the unknown Thicknesse.
“So what are we going to do?”
“We’re going to use the only means of transport left to us, the only ones the Trace can’t detect, because we don’t need to cast spells to use them: brooms, thestrals, and Hagrid’s motorbike.”
Harry could see flaws in this plan; however, he held his tongue to give Mad-Eye the chance to address them.
“Now, your mother’s charm will only break under two conditions: when you come of age, or” – Moody gestured around the pristine kitchen – “you no longer call this place home. You and your aunt and uncle are going your separate ways tonight, in the full understanding that you’re never going to live together again, correct?”
Harry nodded.
“So this time, when you leave, there’ll be no going back, and the charm will break the moment you get outside its range. We’re choosing to break it early, because the alternative is waiting for You-Know-Who to come and seize you the moment you turn seventeen.”
“The one thing we’ve got on our side is that You-Know-Who doesn’t know we’re moving you tonight. We’ve leaked a fake trail to the Ministry: They think you’re not leaving until the thirtieth. However, this is You-Know-Who we’re dealing with, so we can’t rely on him getting the date wrong; he’s bound to have a couple of Death Eaters patrolling the skies in this general area, just in case. So, we’ve given a dozen different houses every protection we can throw at them. They all look like they could be the place we’re going to hide you, they’ve all got some connection with the Order: my house, Kingsley’s place, Molly’s Auntie Muriel’s – you get the idea.”
“Yeah,” said Harry, not entirely truthfully, because he could still spot a gaping hole in the plan.
“You’ll be going to Tonks’s parents. Once you’re within the boundaries of the protective enchantments we’ve put on their house you’ll be able to use a Portkey to the Burrow. Any questions?”
“Er – yes,” said Harry. “Maybe they won’t know which of the twelve secure houses I’m heading for at first, but won’t it be sort of obvious once” – he performed a quick headcount – “fourteen of us fly off toward Tonks’s parents?”
“Ah,” said Moody, “I forgot to mention the key point. Fourteen of us won’t be flying to Tonks’s parents. There will be seven Harry Potters moving through the skies tonight, each of them with a companion, each pair heading for a different safe house.”
From inside his cloak Moody now withdrew a flask of what looked like mud. There was no need for him to say another word; Harry understood the rest of the plan immediately.
“No!” he said loudly, his voice ringing through the kitchen. “No way!”
“I told them you’d take it like this,” said Hermione with a hint of complacency.
“If you think I’m going to let six people risk their lives –!”
“ – because it’s the first time for all of us,” said Ron.
“This is different, pretending to be me – ”
“Well, none of us really fancy it, Harry,” said Fred earnestly. “Imagine if something went wrong and we were stuck as specky, scrawny gits forever.”
Harry did not smile.
“You can’t do it if I don’t cooperate, you need me to give you some hair.”
“Well, that’s the plan scuppered,” said George. “Obviously there’s no chance at all of us getting a bit of your hair unless you cooperate.”
“Yeah, thirteen of us against one bloke who’s not allowed to use magic; we’ve got no chance,” said Fred.
“Funny,” said Harry, “really amusing.”
“If it has to come to force, then it will,” growled Moody, his magical eye now quivering a little in its socket as he glared at Harry. “Everyone here’s overage, Potter, and they’re all prepared to take the risk.”
Mundungus shrugged and grimaced; the magical eye swerved sideways to glance at him out of the side of Moody’s head.
“Let’s have no more arguments. Time’s wearing on. I want a few of your hairs, boy, now.”
“But this is mad, there’s no need – ”
“No need!” snarled Moody. “With You-Know-Who out there and half the Ministry on his side? Potter, if we’re lucky he’ll have swallowed the fake bait and he’ll be planning to ambush you on the thirtieth, but he’d be mad not to have a Death Eater or two keeping an eye out, it’s what I’d do. They might not be able to get at you or this house while your mother’s charm holds, but it’s about to break and they know the rough position of the place. Our only chance is to use decoys. Even You-Know-Who can’t split himself into seven.”
Harry caught Hermione’s eye and looked away at once.
“So, Potter – some of your hair, if you please.”
Harry glanced at Ron, who grimaced at him in a just-do-it sort of way.
“Now!” barked Moody.
With all of their eyes upon him, Harry reached up to the top of his head, grabbed a hank of hair, and pulled.
“Good,” said Moody, limping forward as he pulled the stopper out of the flask of potion. “Straight in here, if you please.”
Harry dropped the hair into the mudlike liquid. The moment it made contact with its surface, the potion began to froth and smoke, then, all at once, it turned a clear, bright gold.
“Ooh, you look much tastier than Crabbe and Goyle, Harry,” said Hermione, before catching sight of Ron’s raised eyebrows, blushing slightly, and saying, “Oh, you know what I mean – Goyle’s potion tasted like bogies.”
“Right then, fake Potters line up over here, please,” said Moody.
Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Fleur lined up in front of Aunt Petunia’s gleaming sink.
“We’re one short,” said Lupin.
“Here,” said Hagrid gruffly, and he lifted Mundungus by the scruff of the neck and dropped him down beside Fleur, who wrinkled her nose pointedly and moved along to stand between Fred and George instead.
“I’m a soldier, I’d sooner be a protector,” said Mundungus.
“Shut it,” growled Moody. “As I’ve already told you, you spineless worm, any Death Eaters we run into will be aiming to capture Potter, not kill him. Dumbledore always said You-Know-Who would want to finish Potter in person. It’ll be the protectors who have got the most to worry about, the Death Eaters’ll want to kill them.”
Mundungus did not look particularly reassured, but Moody was already pulling half a dozen eggcup-sized glasses from inside his cloak, which he handed out, before pouring a little Polyjuice Potion into each one.
“Altogether, then …”
Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Fleur, and Mundungus drank. All of them gasped and grimaced as the potion hit their throats; At once, their features began to bubble and distort like hot wax. Hermione and Mundungus were shooting upward; Ron, Fred, and George were shrinking; their hair was darkening, Hermione’s and Fleur’s appearing to shoot backward into their skulls.
Moody, quite unconcerned, was now loosening the ties of the large sacks he had brought with him. When he straightened up again, there were six Harry Potters gasping and panting in front of him.
Fred and George turned to each other and said together, “Wow – we’re identical!”
“I dunno, though, I think I’m still better-looking,” said Fred, examining his reflection in the kettle.
“Bah,” said Fleur, checking herself in the microwave door, “Bill, don’t look at me – I’m ‘ideous.”
“Those whose clothes are a bit roomy, I’ve got smaller here,” said Moody, indicating the first sack, “and vice versa. Don’t forget the glasses, there’s six pairs in the side pocket. And when you’re dressed, there’s luggage in the other sack.”
The real Harry thought that this might just be the most bizarre thing he had ever seen, and he had seen some extremely odd things. He watched as his six doppelgangers rummaged in the sacks, pulling out sets of clothes, putting on glasses, stuffing their own things away. He felt like asking them to show a little more respect for privacy as they all began stripping off with impunity, clearly more at ease with displaying his body than they would have been with their own.
“I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo,” said Ron, looking down at his bare chest.
“Harry, your eyesight really is awful,” said Hermione, as she put on glasses.
Once dressed, the fake Harrys took rucksacks and owl cages, each containing a stuffed snowy owl, from the second sack.
“Good,” said Moody, as at last seven dressed, bespectacled, and luggage-laden Harrys faced him. “The pairs will be as follows: Mundungus will be traveling with me, by broom – ”
“Why’m I with you?” grunted the Harry nearest the back door.
“Because you’re the one that needs watching,” growled Moody, and sure enough, his magical eye did not waver from Mundungus as he continued, “Arthur and Fred – ”
“I’m George,” said the twin at whom Moody was pointing. “Can’t you even tell us apart when we’re Harry?”
“Sorry, George – ”
“I’m only yanking your wand, I’m Fred really – ”
“Enough messing around!” snarled Moody. “The other one – George or Fred or whoever you are – you’re with Remus. Miss Delacour – ”
“I’m taking Fleur on a thestral,” said Bill. “She’s not that fond of brooms.”
Fleur walked over to stand beside him, giving him a soppy, slavish look that Harry hoped with all his heart would never appear on his face again.
“Miss Granger with Kingsley, again by thestral – ”
Hermione looked reassured as she answered Kingsley’s smile; Harry knew that Hermione too lacked confidence on a broomstick.
“Which leaves you and me, Ron!” said Tonks brightly, knocking over a mug tree as she waved at him.
Ron did not look quite as pleased as Hermione.
“An’ you’re with me, Harry. That all righ’?” said Hagrid, looking a little anxious. “We’ll be on the bike, brooms an’ thestrals can’t take me weight, see. Not a lot o’ room on the seat with me on it, though, so you’ll be in the sidecar.”
“That’s great,” said Harry, not altogether truthfully.
“We think the Death Eaters will expect you to be on a broom,” said Moody, who seemed to guess how Harry was feeling. “Snape’s had plenty of time to tell them everything about you he’s never mentioned before, so if we do run into any Death Eaters, we’re betting they’ll choose one of the Potters who looks at home on a broomstick. All right then,” he went on, tying up the sack with the fake Potters’ clothes in it and leading the way back to the door, “I make it three minutes until we’re supposed to leave. No point locking the back door, it won’t keep the Death Eaters out when they come looking. Come on …”
Harry hurried to gather his rucksack, Firebolt, and Hedwig’s cage and followed the group to the dark back garden.
On every side broomsticks were leaping into hands; Hermione had already been helped up onto a great black thestral by Kingsley, Fleur onto the other by Bill. Hagrid was standing ready beside the motorbike, goggles on.
“Is this it? Is this Sirius’s bike?”
“The very same,” said Hagrid, beaming down at Harry. “An’ the last time yeh was on it, Harry, I could fit yeh in one hand!”
Harry could not help but feel a little humiliated as he got into the sidecar. It placed him several feet below everybody else: Ron smirked at the sight of him sitting there like a child in a bumper car. Harry stuffed his rucksack and broomstick down by his feet and rammed Hedwig’s cage between his knees. He was extremely uncomfortable.
“Arthur’s done a bit o’ tinkerin’,” said Hagrid, quite oblivious to Harry’s discomfort. He settled himself astride the motorcycle, which creaked slightly and sank inches into the ground. “It’s got a few tricks up its sleeves now. Tha’ one was my idea.” He pointed a thick finger at a purple button near the speedometer.
“Please be careful, Hagrid.” said Mr. Weasley, who was standing beside them, holding his broomstick. “I’m still not sure that was advisable and it’s certainly only to be used in emergencies.”
“All right, then.” said Moody. “Everyone ready, please. I want us all to leave at exactly the same time or the whole point of the diversion’s lost.”
Everybody motioned their heads. “Hold tight now, Ron,” said Tonks, and Harry saw Ron throw a forcing, guilty look at Lupin before placing his hands on each side of her waist. Hagrid kicked the motorbike into life: It roared like a dragon, and the sidecar began to vibrate.
“Good luck, everyone,” shouted Moody. “See you all in about an hour at the Burrow. On the count of three. One … two . THREE.”
There was a great roar from the motorbike, and Harry felt the sidecar give a nasty lurch. He was rising through the air fast, his eyes watering slightly, hair whipped back off his face. Around him brooms were soaring upward too; the long black tail of a thestral flicked past. His legs, jammed into the sidecar by Hedwig’s cage and his rucksack, were already sore and starting to go numb. So great was his discomfort that he almost forgot to take a last glimpse of number four Privet Drive. By the time he looked over the edge of the sidecar he could no longer tell which one it was.
And then, out of nowhere, out of nothing, they were surrounded. At least thirty hooded figures, suspended in midair, formed a vast circle in the middle of which the Order members had risen, oblivious – Screams, a blaze of green light on every side: Hagrid gave a yell and the motorbike rolled over. Harry lost any sense of where they were. Streetlights above him, yells around him, he was clinging to the sidecar for dear life. Hedwig’s cage, the Firebolt, and his rucksack slipped from beneath his knees –
“No – HELP!”
The broomstick spun too, but he just managed to seize the strap of his rucksack and the top of the cage as the motorbike swung the right way up again. A second’s relief, and then another burst of green light. The owl screeched and fell to the floor of the cage.
“No – NO!”
The motorbike zoomed forward; Harry glimpsed hooded Death Eaters scattering as Hagrid blasted through their circle.
“Hedwig – Hedwig – ”
But the owl lay motionless and pathetic as a toy on the floor of her cage. He could not take it in, and his terror for the others was paramount. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a mass of people moving, flares of green light, two pairs of people on brooms soaring off into the distance, but he could not tell who they were –“Hagrid, we’ve got to go back, we’ve got to go back!” he yelled over the thunderous roar of the engine, pulling out his wand, ramming Hedwig’s cage into the floor, refusing to believe that she was dead. “Hagrid, TURN AROUND!”
“My job’s ter get you there safe, Harry!” bellow Hagrid, and he opened the throttle. “Stop – STOP!” Harry shouted, but as he looked back again two jets of green light flew past his left ear: Four Death Eaters had broken away from the circle and were pursuing them, aiming for Hagrid’s broad back. Hagrid swerved, but the Death Eaters were keeping up with the bike; more curses shot after them, and Harry had to sink low into the sidecar to avoid them. Wriggling around he cried, “Stupefy!” and a red bolt of light shot from his own wand, cleaving a gap between the four pursuing Death Eaters as they scattered to avoid it.
“Hold on, Harry, this’ll do for ‘em!” roared Hagrid, and Harry looked up just in time to see Hagrid slamming a thick finger into a green button near the fuel gauge. 
A wall, a solid black wall, erupted out of the exhaust pipe. Craning his neck, Harry saw it expand into being in midair. Three of the Death Eaters swerved and avoided it, but the fourth was not so lucky; He vanished from view and then dropped like a boulder from behind it, his broomstick broken into pieces. One of his fellows slowed up to save him, but they and the airborne wall were swallowed by darkness as Hagrid leaned low over the handlebars and sped up.
More Killing Curses flew past Harry’s head from the two remaining Death Eaters’ wands; they were aiming for Hagrid. Harry responded with further Stunning Spells: Red and green collided in midair in a shower of multicolored sparks, and Harry thought wildly of fireworks, and the Muggles below who would have no idea what was happening –
“Here we go again, Harry, hold on!” yelled Hagrid, and he jabbed at a second button. This time a great net burst from the bike’s exhaust, but the Death Eaters were ready for it. Not only did they swerve to avoid it, but the companion who had slowed to save their unconscious friend had caught up. He bloomed suddenly out of the darkness and now three of them were pursuing the motorbike, all shooting curses after it.
“This’ll do it, Harry, hold on tight!” yelled Hagrid, and Harry saw him slam his whole hand onto the purple button beside the speedometer.
With an unmistakable bellowing roar, dragon fire burst from the exhaust, white-hot and blue, and the motorbike shot forward like a bullet with a sound of wrenching metal. Harry saw the Death Eaters swerve out of sight to avoid the deadly trail of flame, and at the same time felt the sidecar sway ominously: Its metal connections to the bike had splintered with the force of acceleration.
“It’s all righ’, Harry!” bellowed Hagrid, now thrown flat onto the back by the surge of speed; nobody was steering now, and the sidecar was starting to twist violently in the bike’s slipstream.
“I’m on it, Harry, don’ worry!” Hagrid yelled, and from inside his jacket pocket he pulled his flowery pink umbrella.
“Hagrid! No! Let me!”
“REPARO!”
There was a deafening bang and the sidecar broke away from the bike completely. Harry sped forward, propelled by the impetus of the bike’s flight, then the sidecar began to lose height –
In desperation Harry pointed his wand at the sidecar and shouted, “Wingardium Leviosa!”
The sidecar rose like a cork, unsteerable but at least still airborne. He had but a split second’s relief, however, as more curses streaked past him: The three Death Eaters were closing in.
“I’m comin’, Harry!“ Hagrid yelled from out of the darkness, but Harry could feel the sidecar beginning to sink again: Crouching as low as he could, he pointed at the middle of the oncoming figures and yelled, ”Impedimenta!“
The jinx hit the middle Death Eater in the chest; For a moment the man was absurdly spread-eagled in midair as though he had hit an invisible barrier: One of his fellows almost collided with him – Then the sidecar began to fall in earnest, and the remaining Death Eater shot a curse so close to Harry that he had to duck below the rim of the car, knocking out a tooth on the edge of his seat –
“I’m comin’, Harry, I’m comin’!”
A huge hand seized the back of Harry’s robes and hoisted him out of the plummeting sidecar; Harry pulled his rucksack with him as he dragged himself onto the motorbike’s seat and found himself back-to-back with Hagrid. As they soared upward, away from the two remaining Death Eaters, Harry spat blood out of his mouth, pointed his wand at the falling sidecar, and yelled, “Confringo!”
He knew a dreadful, gut-wrenching pang for Hedwig as it exploded; the Death Eater nearest it was blasted off his broom and fell from sight; his companion fell back and vanished.
“Harry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” moaned Hagrid, “I shouldn’ta tried ter repair it meself – yeh’ve got no room – ”
“It’s not a problem, just keep flying!” Harry shouted back, as two more Death Eaters emerged out of the darkness, drawing closer.
As the curses came shooting across the intervening space again, Hagrid swerved and zigzagged: Harry knew that Hagrid did not dare use the dragon-fire button again, with Harry seated so insecurely. Harry sent Stunning Spell after Stunning Spell back at their pursuers, barely holding them off. He shot another blocking jinx at them: The closest Death Eater swerved to avoid it and his hood slipped, and by the red light of his next Stunning Spell, Harry saw the strangely blank face of Stanley Shunpike – Stan –
“Expelliarmus!“ Harry yelled.
“That’s him, it’s him, it’s the real one!”
The hooded Death Eater’s shout reached Harry even above the thunder of the motorbike’s engine: Next moment, both pursuers had fallen back and disappeared from view.
“Harry, what’s happened?” bellowed Hagrid. “Where’ve they gone?”
“I don’t know!”
But Harry was afraid: The hooded Death Eater had shouted, “It’s the real one!”; how had he known? He gazed around at the apparently empty darkness and felt its menace. Where were they?
He clambered around on the seat to face forward and seized hold of the back of Hagrid’s jacket.
“Hagrid, do the dragon-fire thing again, let’s get out of here!”
“Hold on tight, then, Harry!”
There was a deafening, screeching roar again and the white-blue fire shot from the exhaust: Harry felt himself slipping backwards off what little of the seat he had. 
Hagrid flung backward upon him, barely maintaining his grip on the handlebars – “I think we’ve lost ‘em Harry, I think we’ve done it!” yelled Hagrid.
But Harry was not convinced; Fear lapped at him as he looked left and right for pursuers he was sure would come…. Why had they fallen back? One of them had still had a wand…. It’s him… it’s the real one…. They had said it right after he had tried to Disarm Stan….
“We’re nearly there, Harry, we’ve nearly made it!” shouted Hagrid.
Harry felt the bike drop a little, though the lights down on the ground still seemed remote as stars.
Then the scar on his forehead burned like fire: as a Death Eater appeared on either side of the bike, two Killing Curses missed Harry by millimeters, cast from behind – And then Harry saw him. Voldemort was flying like smoke on the wind, without broomstick or thestral to hold him, his snake-like face gleaming out of the blackness, his white fingers raising his wand again –
Hagrid let out a bellow of fear and steered the motorbike into a vertical dive. Clinging on for dear life, Harry sent Stunning Spells flying at random into the whirling night. He saw a body fly past him and knew he had hit one of them, but then he heard a bang and saw sparks from the engine; the motorbike spiraled through the air, completely out of control –
Green jets of light shot past them again. Harry had no idea which way was up, which down: His scar was still burning; he expected to die at any second. A hooded figure on a broomstick was feet from him, he saw it raise its arm –
“NO!”
With a shout of fury Hagrid launched himself off the bike at the Death Eater; to his horror, Harry saw both Hagrid and the Death Eater, falling out of sight, their combined weight too much for the broomstick –
Barely gripping the plummeting bike with his knees, Harry heard Voldemort scream, “Mine!”
It was over: He could not see or hear where Voldemort was; he glimpsed another Death Eater swooping out of the way and heard, “Avada – ”
As the pain from Harry’s scar forced his eyes shut, his wand acted of its own accord. He felt it drag his hand around like some great magnet, saw a spurt of golden fire through his half-closed eyelids, heard a crack and a scream of fury. The remaining Death Eater yelled; Voldemort screamed, “NO!” Somehow, Harry found his nose an inch from the dragon-fire button. He punched it with his wand-free hand and the bike shot more flames into the air, hurtling straight toward the ground.
“Hagrid!“ Harry called, holding on to the bike for dear life. “Hagrid – Accio Hagrid!”
The motorbike sped up, sucked towards the earth. Face level with the handlebars, Harry could see nothing but distant lights growing nearer and nearer: He was going to crash and there was nothing he could do about it. Behind him came another scream, “Your wand, Selwyn, give me your wand!”
He felt Voldemort before he saw him. Looking sideways, he stared into the red eyes and was sure they would be the last thing he ever saw: Voldemort preparing to curse him once more –
And then Voldemort vanished. Harry looked down and saw Hagrid spread-eagled on the ground below him. He pulled hard at the handlebars to avoid hitting him, groped for the brake, but with an earsplitting, ground trembling crash, he smashed into a muddy pond.
哈利跑上楼，回到了他的房间，刚好透过窗户看到德思礼一家的车子慢慢从车库驶上公路。在佩尼姨妈和达力的头中间可以看见在后座的德达洛的顶帽。车在女贞路的尽头向右驶去，一刹那，车窗在落日的映照下反射出猩红色的光芒，很快便随着车消失在了哈利的视线中。 
　　哈利拿上海德薇的笼子和火弩箭，背上他的背包，最后扫了一眼他那从来没这么整洁过的卧室，晃晃悠悠地下楼把他的东西都堆到楼梯角里。光一下子就暗了下来，夕阳的光线使得客厅里满是光影。现在他站在这里准备最后一次离开这间房子，这感觉很奇怪。还记得很久以前当德思礼一家出去找乐子把他独自抛在屋里时，那份孤独却是一种难得的享受。每当这时，他总会放下偷偷地在冰箱里翻出的好吃的东西，冲进达力的房间玩电脑游戏，或是打开电视看他朝思暮想的节目。回忆过去的那些时光让他觉得奇怪而空虚，就像是思念一个他死去多年的兄弟。 
　　“你就不想再最后看一眼吗？”他问还把头埋在翅膀里的海德薇，“我们再也不会回来了。你就不想再回忆下过去的好时光吗？我的意思是，看见这擦鞋垫了吗？多么美好的回忆啊……当我从摄魂怪嘴下把达力救回来后，他在这上面一把鼻涕一把泪……毕竟他还是很感激我的……你会信吗？……去年夏天，邓布利多从那扇门走了进来”哈利沉醉在回忆中，海德薇也没想把他唤醒，还是把头埋在翅膀里。哈利转身背对着前门，说：“这儿，海德薇，”哈利拉开了楼梯下的一间小门，“这就是我以前睡觉的地方！那时你还没见过我呢，哎，真小，我都忘了……”哈利看了看那些各式各样的鞋和伞，想起了原来每天早上他是怎么样醒来，盯着那时不时都悬着一两只蜘蛛的“房顶”的。那都是在他知道自己真实身份，知道自己的父母被谋杀，知道为什么有那么多奇怪的事发生在自己身边之前了。但哈利还记得那些紧紧缠着他的梦，即使是在那段时间，梦里尽是闪烁的绿光，有一次弗农姨父听到哈利说他梦见了飞在天上的摩托车，差点把车撞得稀烂…… 
　　突然，不知从那里传来了一阵震耳欲聋的咆哮，哈利一惊，直起了身子，头磕到了那低矮的门框，这又让哈利想起了弗农姨父曾经骂他的话，他摇晃地走回厨房，把头探出窗外朝后院望去。黑暗中似乎起了涟漪，空气似乎在微微颤抖。然后，一个接一个的人幻影移形急匆匆的走进他的视线了。最显眼的是海格，他戴着头盔，配了一副护目镜，还骑着一架硕大无比的摩托车，还带着一个黑色的边车。其他人则从飞天扫帚上——有两个人是从黑翅膀的夜骐上——慢慢爬了下来。哈利迫不及待地推开门冲向他们，赫敏热情地拥抱了他，罗恩则拍了拍哈利的背。海格说：
“好了，哈利。你都准备好了吗？” 
　　“当然，”哈利欢快地说道，“但我没想到你们都来了！” 
　　“计划有变，”疯眼汉不耐烦地说，他手里提着两个鼓鼓的麻袋，那只带魔法的眼睛还飞快地从昏暗的天空扫到房子再到花园，“等到了安全的地方再慢慢给你说。” 
　　哈利领他们进了厨房，他们有的坐在椅子上，有的坐在佩尼姨妈闪闪发亮的案板上，还有的则靠在她那些一尘不染的器具上，有说有笑。罗恩还是又高又瘦；赫敏把她乱糟糟的头发扎成了辫子；弗雷德和乔治露出一模一样的笑容；比尔脸上满是疤痕，头发也长了；韦斯莱先生还是和以前一样的和蔼，秃着头，眼镜也戴歪了；疯眼汉穿着战斗装，瘸着腿，那只魔法眼在眼窟窿里不停地转；唐克斯的短发已经成了她最爱的亮粉色；卢平的头发更白了，有了更多的皱纹；芙蓉一头柔顺的银发，比以前更窈窕美丽了；金斯莱还是秃顶宽肩膀；海格的乱发和胡须还是老样子，为了不撞到天花板他不得不微微地弯下腰；蒙格顿斯，还那么瘦小、委琐，长着一对猎犬般的珠泡眼。看见他们大伙让哈利的心里暖洋洋的。他发现自己从来没这么喜欢过他们，就连蒙格顿斯这个他上次还差点掐死的人也是一样。 
　　“金斯莱，你不是在照料那个麻瓜首相吗？”哈利嚷到。 
　　“现在他可一刻也离不开我，”金斯莱说道，“但是你比他重要多了。” 
　　“哈利，你猜怎么着？”唐克斯坐在洗衣机上快活地说，左手得意地向哈利摇晃着，一枚戒指在她的无名指上闪闪发亮。 
　　“你们结婚了？”哈利大声问，看看她又看看卢平。 
　　“你没能来真是太遗憾了，哈利，但我们的婚礼也没太张扬。” 
　　“那可真是太好了，真是恭……” 
　　“好了，好了，现在没有时间闲聊了，”穆迪大叫，厨房里马上就安静了下来。他把袋子放到脚边，对哈利说，“就像德达洛告诉你的那样，我们得放弃计划A。毕尤斯 　　底克尼斯变卦了，这就给了我们一个很大的问题。现在这所房子与飞路网相连的行动都不允许了，无论是用门钥匙，还是幻影移形进出。美名曰是为了防止那个连名字都不能提的人接近你。在我看来那全是在胡来，你妈妈的魔法已经做得够好了。他做的那些事反而让你不能安全离开这儿。” 
　　“第二个问题是：你还没成年，那就意味着你必须还得遵守那条法规。” 
　　“我没……” 
　　“法规！法规！”疯眼汉不耐烦地说，“侦测未成年人身边的魔法活动的咒语，那是部长发现未成年人非法施法的方式！如果你，或是你周围的什么人，施魔法想带你离开这里，底克尼斯就会在第一时间知道，当然食死徒也会。” 
　　“我们等不到这印记失效的时候了，因为你一成年，你妈妈给你施的保护咒就会失效。用不了多久，底克尼斯的人就会把你捉住。” 
　　哈利也忍不住暗地里佩服起了这个不认识的“底克尼斯”。 
　　“那我们怎么办呢？” 
　　“我们只有一种方法了，那也是印记追踪不到的唯一方法，因为我们不用施魔法：扫帚，夜骐，还有海格的摩托车。” 
　　哈利觉得这计划有点问题，但他还是没有打断疯眼汉的话： 
　　“你妈妈的咒语在两种情况下会失效：你成年时或是——”穆迪冲着厨房随便挥了挥手臂，“你不再把这里叫做你的‘家’。你和你的姨妈姨夫今晚就分别了，那就是说你们不会再生活在一起了，没错吧？” 
　　哈利点点头。 
　　“所以，这一次你离开的时候，就不会再回来了，那么魔法也会在你踏出房门的那一刹那失效。我们打算提前让它失效，因为不这样的话，神秘人就会在你成年那一刻来抓住你。” 
　　“对我们来说，唯一的优势就是神秘人不知道我们今晚会来把你带走。我们给魔法部漏了一点小小的假消息：他们会认为你三十日前是不会离开的。但我们要面对的是神秘人，所以我们不能指望他也相信那假消息；他肯定会让一帮食死徒在这片区域的上空巡逻以防万一。因此，我们给一打房子都施上了尽可能多的保护咒，这样他们就不能确定我们到底把你藏在那间房子里，他们都和凤凰社有一定联系：我的房子，金斯莱的住处，莫丽的穆里儿姨妈家……·你明白了？” 
　　“太好了，”哈利说道，但并不那么真心地觉得这主意太好了，因为他还是发现了一个漏洞。 
　　“你要去唐克斯父母那里。你一进入我们给那里设的保护咒里，就可以用门钥匙去陋居了，还有什么问题吗？” 
　　“呃……有一个，”哈利说，“可能他们一开始是不知道我在这十二间房子里的哪一个，但我们会不会太显眼了？”他飞快地点了点人数，“我们十四个人一起朝唐克斯父母家飞去？” 
　　“啊，”穆迪说，“我忘了说最重要的一点了。我们十四个不会全去的。今晚将有七个哈利波特飞过天空。”说完，穆迪从斗篷里取出一瓶看上去像泥巴的东西。 
　　不用再说什么，哈利立刻就明白了这计划的全部内容。 
　　“不行！”他大声抗议，他的声音整个厨房都听得到“绝对不行！” 
　　“我跟他们说了你肯定会有这种反应的。”赫敏得意地说。 
　　“你认为我会让六个人冒着生命危险——” 
　　“——因为这是我们第一次为了你而冒险，”罗恩说。 
　　“那不一样，假扮成我——” 
　　“好了，哈利，我们没人想假扮成你，”弗雷德真诚地说，“要是出了点什么问题让我们永远都是那瘦猴的样子的话，那怎么办？” 
　　哈利没有笑。 
　　“如果我不配合的话，你们就不能那么做，你们得用我的头发。” 
　　“不错，那就是这个计划失败的地方，”乔治说，“很明显如果你不配合的话我们根本就不可能拿到你的头发。” 
　　“是啊，我们十三个人要拿一个不能使用魔法的傻小子的几根头发，我们没有任何机会的。”弗雷德说。 
　　“有趣”哈利说，“这很好笑。” 
　　“如果不得不使用暴力的话，哈利，我们会的。”穆迪咆哮着瞪着哈利，他的魔法眼在眼窝里也有一点颤抖，“这里的人都是成年人了，他们都准备好了为你而冒险。” 
　　蒙格顿斯耸耸肩，做出一个很难看的鬼脸。魔法眼突然从穆迪的头转向他那一侧看了他一眼。 
　　“不要争了，时间不等人，给我点你的头发，孩子，马上。” 
　　“这太疯狂了，没有必要——” 
　　“没有必要！”穆迪开始咆哮了，“神秘人就在我们身边，而且已经控制了半个魔法部，你认为这没有必要？波特，如果我们运气好的话他就会相信那个假消息然后计划在你成年时再抓你，但他不可能不派一两个食死徒来盯梢——换我也会这么做。在你妈妈的保护咒还有用时他们也许暂时还找不到你或是这所房子，但保护咒马上就要消失了，他们也知道了你的大概位置。我们唯一的机会就是假扮成你然后掩护你离开这儿。就算是神秘人也不能把他自己分身成七个人吧！” 
　　哈利看到了赫敏的眼睛，马上又朝别处看去了。 
　　“所以说，波特——请给我一点你的头发。” 
　　哈利又看看罗恩，他正朝他故意做着鬼脸。 
　　“快点！”穆迪喊到。 
　　就这样，在大家的注视下，哈利把手伸到了头顶，抓起一小撮头发扯了下来 
　　“太好了，”穆迪一边拖着瘸腿朝哈利走来，一边拔出了瓶口的软木塞，“请放进去吧。” 
　　哈利把头发扔进了那泥状的液体里面。液体一碰到他的头发就开始冒出大量的气泡和烟雾，然后立刻变成了清澄的亮金色。 
　　“噢，你的看上去比克拉布和高尔的好喝多了，哈利。”赫敏说。看到罗恩扬起他的眉毛，她的脸有点红，又说，“噢，你知道我的意思——高尔的尝起来太恐怖了。” 
　　“现在，假波特们请到这里来排队。”穆迪说。 
　　罗恩，赫敏，弗雷德，乔治，芙蓉在佩尼姨妈闪着微光的洗手槽前排成一排。 
　　“还差一个人。”卢平说。 
　　“让他去吧。”海格抓住蒙格顿斯的颈子把他摔到芙蓉旁边，粗声粗气地说。芙蓉皱了皱鼻子，站到了弗雷德和乔治的中间 
　　“我是一名战士，我更想成为保护者”蒙格顿斯说 
　　“闭嘴！”穆迪朝他喊到，“我已经告诉过你了，没骨气的东西，每个食死徒都想抓住波特而不是杀死他。邓布利多总是说神秘人想亲手杀死波特。需要担心的是保护波特的人，食死徒想杀死的是他们。” 
　　穆迪的话看上去并没有让蒙格顿斯安心，但穆迪已经从斗篷里拿出了六个蛋杯大小的杯子倒满了汤剂。 
　　“那么，现在……” 
　　罗恩，赫敏，弗雷得，乔治，芙蓉，还有蒙格顿斯都喝下了汤剂。他们刚咽下汤剂就不停地粗气，脸也痛苦地扭曲着。他们的身体就像一堆滚烫的蜡一样开始冒泡变形；赫敏和蒙格顿斯在快速地长高，罗恩，弗雷德和乔治的身体则不住地收缩，头发也在变黑；赫敏和芙蓉的头发好像在往头皮回缩；穆迪看上去一副事不关己的模样，只是弯下腰松了松麻袋的口子。当他再站起来时，面前已经站了六个气喘虚虚的哈利波特了。 
　　弗雷德和乔治对望了一会儿，一起说到：“哇！我们真是长得一模一样！” 
　　“但我觉得，我还是更帅一点。”弗雷德在茶壶得倒影看倒自己的样子说。 
　　“呸，”芙蓉在微波炉门上看到了自己的新造型，“比尔，千万别看我，我太难看了。” 
　　“如果觉得衣服大了，我这里有小点的。”穆迪指着第一个口袋，“大的也有，袋子里还有六副眼镜，别忘了戴上。穿好衣服后，到那个口袋里去拿皮箱。” 
　　真正的哈利认为这真是他见过的最古怪的事情了,即使他以前见过很多古怪的事情:他看着六个他自己在麻袋里翻找，拿出一套一套的衣服，换上一副一副的眼镜，把他们自己的东西丢开。
看见他们毫无顾虑地宽衣解带——很明显比起让他们自己裸体来，他们更乐意让哈利这样——他真想让他们稍微尊重点他的隐私。 
　　“我就知道金妮说的那个纹身是假的！”罗恩看着自己前胸说。 
　　“哈利，你的视力真是糟透了。”赫敏边戴眼镜边说。 
　　穿好衣服后，假哈利们都提上了帆布背包和猫头鹰笼子，每个笼子里都装着一只刚从第二个袋子里拿出的喂饱了的猫头鹰。 
　　“很好，”看见他们七个都穿好衣服戴好眼镜提着行李，穆迪满意地说，“我是这样分组的，蒙顿格斯和我一组，乘扫帚——” 
　　“为什么我要和你一组？”最靠近门的那个哈利抱怨道。 
　　“因为你是最需要监视的人！”穆迪毫不留情的说，当他继续宣布分组时，他的魔法眼也一直盯着蒙顿格斯， 
　　“亚瑟和弗雷德——” 
　　“我是乔治，”穆迪指着的那个哈利说话了，“难道我们变成哈利了你也还是分不清吗？” 
　　“对不起，乔治——” 
　　“开玩笑的，其实我是弗雷德——” 
　　“够了！”穆迪嚎叫着打断了他的话，“另外一个——管你是乔治还是弗雷德——你和卢平一组。德拉库尔小姐——” 
　　“我要和芙蓉一组骑夜骐”比尔说，“她不喜欢骑扫帚。” 
　　芙蓉走到比尔身边，用一种幽怨、顺从的眼神看了他一眼。哈利衷心希望那种眼神再也不要在他的脸上出现。 
　　“格兰杰小姐和金斯莱先生一组，也是骑夜骐。” 
　　赫敏看上去稍稍有点安心，她也向金斯莱笑了笑——哈利知道赫敏从来都对扫帚比较畏惧。 
　　“那么你就和我一组了，罗恩~”唐克斯开心地朝他挥手，不小心弄翻了一个盆栽。 
　　罗恩看上去可不像赫敏那么高兴。 
　　“啊，哈利，我们一组，对吗？”海格有点兴奋。“我们骑摩托，哈利，扫帚和夜骐载不动我。但是我坐在车上，吨位太大，只好委屈你坐在车斗里了。” 
　　“太棒了。”哈利并不是发自内心的应了一句。 
　　“我们猜想食死徒认为你会骑扫帚，”穆迪好象看出了哈利在想什么，“斯内普有足够的时间告诉他们关于你的一切，所以如果我们真的撞上了食死徒，我敢打赌他们会选那个骑在扫帚上的波特。那么，”他把大家脱下来的衣服装进了麻袋，朝后门走去，“我们三分钟后出发。不用锁后门，他们如果真想进来那锁根本没用。出发吧！”哈利赶快背起他的背包，拿起火弩箭和海德薇的笼子，跟着大家到了黑漆漆的后院里。 
　　扫帚已经跃跃欲试准备一冲云霄，赫敏和芙蓉也在金斯莱和比尔的帮助下骑上了夜骐。海格戴好了护目镜，正站在摩托旁边。 
　　“这是小天狼星的摩托车吗？是吗？” 
　　“不是，但它们很像，”海格欢快地说，“上次你乘坐它的时候，我能一手把你握住呢，哈利！” 
　　坐在车斗里，哈利不免觉得有些丢脸——因为这让他比每个人都矮了那么几英尺。罗恩看到哈利像个孩子一样坐在车斗里，不禁对着他傻笑起来。哈利把背包和火弩箭堆在脚边，用双膝夹着海德薇的笼子，难受极了。 
　　“亚瑟把它改造了一下，”看到哈利显然十分不舒服，海格说。然后他骑上了摩托——弄得它吱吱作响，还往下陷了几英尺，“现在它有一些新功能了，那个是我的主意。” 
　　他用他那肥大的手指指着速度计旁边的一个紫色按钮。 
　　“注意安全，海格，”韦斯莱先生拿着扫帚站在他们旁边说，“那工作起来还不稳定，不到万不得已别用它。” 
　　“好了，”穆迪说，“大家都准备好。我们必须在同一个时刻一起离开否则整个转移计划就泡汤了· 
　　每个人都点点头。 
　　“抱紧了，罗恩。”唐克斯说。哈利注意到罗恩把手抱在唐克斯腰上前，对卢平投去了一种无奈而负罪的眼神。海格把摩托点上了火。它像龙一样地在咆哮着，车斗也开始震动起来。 
　　“大家好运！”穆迪喊到，“一小时后陋居见，我数三下就出发，一，二，三！” 
　　摩托车发出一阵震耳欲聋的吼叫，哈利感到车斗一下子就倾斜得厉害。他正在飞快地升空，眼睛被迎面而来的风吹出了泪水，头发则向后吹去。他身边的扫帚也迅速升空，夜骐的尾巴轻轻扫了过去。他的双脚被海德薇的笼子和他的背包挤在车斗里动弹不得，已经有点酸痛麻木了。他难受得都忘记了看女贞路四号最后一眼。当他再从车斗边上往下看时，他已经认不出哪一栋才是了。 
　　就在这时，他们突然被包围了。至少三十个不知从何而来的人悬停在半空，他们组成了一个半圆的阵型，把凤凰社的人围在了里面。 
　　尖叫声，然后是无数的绿光。海格大喊一声，把摩托车翻了个转。哈利已经搞不清楚自己的方位了。他头顶上是街灯，四周都是喊叫，他紧紧抓住车斗以免被摔下去。但海德薇的笼子，火弩箭和背包都从他膝盖边滑出去了。 
　　“不！救命！” 
　　尽管摩托车和火弩箭都在不停地旋转，哈利还是想方设法抓住了背包带子和笼子的挂钩。只有一瞬间的喘息，又是一道绿光射了过来。海德薇尖叫了一声，倒在了笼底。 
　　“不—不！” 
　　摩托车陡然拔高，海格试图冲出包围圈，哈利却注意到，这时，戴着头巾的食死徒有意识地分散了。 
　　“海德薇—海德薇！” 
　　但海德薇却像只玩具一样可怜地倒在笼底，一动不动。他已经出奇地愤怒，想到其他人更感到害怕。他转头，看见一群人飞来飞去，不停地有绿光射出，有两对凤凰社的人骑着扫帚向高飞去，但哈利认不出来他们是谁。 
　　“海格，我们得回去，我们得回去！”他把海德薇的笼子往车底一摔，拔出魔杖在摩托车那雷鸣般的机器声中冲着海格大喊，他不相信海德薇真的死了，“海格，掉头！” 
　　“我得保证你安全到达陋居，哈利！”海格又加大了油门。 
　　“停—车！”哈利喊，但他再回头看时，两道绿光擦着他的左耳飞了过去——四个食死徒冲着海格宽厚的背从包围圈里冲了出来追赶他们。海格一个急转弯，但食死徒跟得很紧。黑魔法一个接一个得向他们射来，哈利不得不把头埋下去。然后扭过身子大叫：“昏昏倒地！”一道红光从他魔杖射出，追赶他们的食死徒不得不分散开来躲避,这样就闪出了一个空隙。 
　　“坚持住，哈利，看我的！”哈利抬起头，刚好看见海格那厚厚的手指砸向油表旁的一个绿色按钮。 
　　一道结实的黑色防护墙从排气口喷了出来。哈利伸长脖子看见那墙在半空中膨胀。三个食死徒及时转向避开了它，但剩下那个就没那么走运，他的扫帚被撞得粉碎，人也重重得摔了下去，无影无踪了。一个食死徒放慢速度去救他，海格则乘机加速。很快，他们就连着那股强大的气流一起消失在了黑夜里。 
　　剩下的两个食死徒挥着魔仗疯狂地发射出的死咒擦着哈利得头皮飞过，他们瞄准的是海格。哈利则用更高级的击晕魔法予以还击。红光和绿光在半空激烈的碰撞，激发出耀眼的火花，这让哈利不禁想到了焰火和地面上困惑的麻瓜。 
　　“再来一次，哈利，抓紧！”海格按下了第二个按钮，喊到。这一次从排气口放出的是一张巨大的网，但食死徒早有准备，轻易地躲开了。更糟的是，那个去救同伴的食死徒也追了上来，突然从黑暗里冒了出来。现在他们三个在全力追赶摩托车，还不停地发射咒语。 
　　“这个会有用的，哈利，抓紧！”海格喊着，哈利看见他用整个手掌按下了速度计旁的那个紫色按钮。 
　　这次排气口直接喷出了炽热无比的龙息般泛着蓝白的光的火焰，摩托车带着金属抨击的声音像从枪膛里射出的子弹一样向前冲去。哈利只看见食死徒匆忙躲开了那致命的火焰，但同时他也感觉到车斗在令人不安地摇晃——车斗与摩托车连接处的金属块由于加速的力量有点裂口了。 
　　“没事的，哈利！”海格叫到，他被刚才的加速甩到了车尾，也就是说现在已经没人驾驶了，车斗已经因为气流而开始猛烈摇晃起来。 
　　“哈利，我办事，你放心！”说着，海格就从上衣口袋里抽出他那把带花的粉红色雨伞。 
　　“不！海格！让我来！” 
　　“恢复如初！” 
　　一阵震耳欲聋的响声过后，车斗已经完全从摩托车上分离了。哈利先是因为摩托车飞行动力的推进向前飞了一会儿，然后车斗就开始直直往下掉。哈利把魔杖指着车斗绝望地叫道：“羽加迪姆 　　勒维奥萨！” 
　　车斗像一只软木塞飘浮了起来，虽然操纵不了，但至少没往下掉了。他刚松了口气，就发现了更多的咒语向他袭来——那三个食死徒接近了。 
　　“我来了，哈利！”海格在黑暗中对他大声喊到。但哈利感觉得到车斗又在开始往下掉，他蜷在车斗里尽可能地低下身子，然后冲着那团朝他飞来的人影的中间大喊： 
　　“障碍重重！” 
　　咒语击中了中间那个食死徒的胸部。有那么一会儿那个食死徒在半空中摆出一个“大”字型，就好象撞上了一堵透明的墙。他身后的一个同伙差点就撞上了他。 
　　然后车斗又开始了自由落体，剩下的食死徒则追着哈利放咒语。要不是哈利躲得快，有一个咒语也许就不会只是打掉车斗边上的一个齿轮了。 
　　“哈利，我来了，我来了！” 
　　一只大手抓住了哈利长袍的背部，把他拉出了那只坠落的车斗。哈利努力在位子上坐稳，抓紧他的背包，才发现他和海格正背靠背地坐着。当他们再次爬升，甩开了那两个食死徒后，哈利吐出一口血，把魔杖指着那只车斗喊到：“粉身裂骨！” 
　　当车斗爆炸时，他感受到了海德薇那可怕痛苦的剧痛；离车斗最近的一个食死徒从扫帚上被炸下去不见了，他的同伙及时逃开不见了。 
　　“真对不起，哈利，真对不起”海格低声地说，“我不该自己去修的，你坐不下了……” 
　　“没事儿，继续飞吧！”哈利又看见两个食死徒从黑暗里靠近了。 
　　当哈利与食死徒互射魔法时，海格把车弯来转去，走了一个“Z”字型，哈利知道因为它的座位不安全，海格不敢再用火焰喷射了。哈利不停地朝后面的食死徒施放昏迷咒，差点就把他们打下了扫帚。一个食死徒的头巾在躲避哈利魔法时掉了，借着昏迷魔法发出的红光，哈利看见了斯坦桑帕克那张苍白异常的脸 
　　“除你武器！”哈利叫道 
　　“就是他，他是那个真的！” 
　　那个带着头巾的食死徒发出的喊声甚至压过了摩托车引擎的轰鸣，不一会儿，两个食死徒都撤退得无影无踪了。 
　　“怎么回事，哈利？”海格问，“他们去哪儿了？” 
　　“我不知道！” 
　　但哈利很害怕，因为那个蒙着头巾的食死徒说“就是他！”他怎么会知道呢？他看了看四周那无尽的黑暗，感到了一丝危险，他们在哪儿？ 
　　他转了个身面朝前方，紧紧抓住了海格的衣服。 
　　“海格，再来一次那个火焰喷射吧，我们得赶快离开这儿！” 
　　“那么，抓紧了，哈利！” 
　　伴着又一阵震耳欲聋的轰鸣，喷气口喷出一鼓发白的蓝色火焰。哈利觉得自己好象在往座位后面不住滑动。海格一手从后面把他牢牢抓住，一手尽可能地控制着车把手。 
　　“我想我们甩掉他们了，哈利，我们成功了！”海格兴奋地叫道。 
　　但哈利并不放心，他不停地左右张望，内心依然在担心那不知在何方的追杀者。他们为什么撤退？他们中有一个人还有魔杖的……是他……他是那个真的……在他除掉斯坦的武器后，他们说对了。 
　　“我们就要到了，哈利，我们就要成功了！”海格大声说。 
　　哈利感到摩托下降了一点点，尽管地上的灯火依然像天上的星光一样遥远。 
　　他的伤疤突然像火烧一样地疼痛起来，就在这时摩托车的两边各出现了一个食死徒。两条从后面飞来的死咒几乎击中了哈利。哈利转过头，看见伏地魔正像风里的烟雾一般向他飞来——没有骑扫帚也没有骑夜骐。他那蛇一样的面容闪着阴险的光。他那惨白的手指又端起了魔杖—— 
　　海格发出了惊恐的惨叫，驾着摩托车几乎是垂直着往下冲。哈利紧紧抓住海格的衣服，随意地向身后的无边黑暗里放着昏迷咒。看到一个身影从他身边掠过，他知道他射中了一个，但一声巨响之后，摩托车的引擎就冒起火花，车也随之完全失控，旋转着从空中一头载了下来。 
　　绿光呼啸着从他们身边掠过，哈利完全失去了方向感。伤疤还在火燎一般的痛，让他觉得自己随时都可能死掉。一个蒙着头巾的身影骑着扫帚出现在他身边几英尺的地方，他看到那身影扬起了他的手—— 
　　“不！” 
　　海格咆哮着从摩托上跳向了那食死徒，把他吓了一跳，然后哈利眼睁睁看着海格和食死徒消失在了他的视野里——那扫帚载不动海格和食死徒。 
　　全完了，他完全不知道伏地魔在那里，他只看见另一个食死徒突然掉了下来，接着便是“阿瓦达——” 
　　伤疤剧烈的疼痛使哈利睁不开眼睛，他的魔杖开始自己运动起来。他感到那魔杖像被磁铁吸引住了一样拖着他的手，然后他半睁的眼睛看到一股喷薄而出的金光，同时还有破碎声和愤怒的喊叫声。剩下的食死徒闹成一团，伏地魔大声叫着“不！”不知怎么的，哈利发现他离那个喷火装置的按钮如此接近。他用那只没有拿魔杖的手按下了它，摩托车顿时射出了大量的火焰，飞一般摔向地面。 
　　“海格！”哈利拼命地抓住摩托车喊到，“海格飞来！海格！” 
　　摩托车的速度越来越快了，直直地朝地面奔去。哈利的视线被车把手挡住了，现在除了越来越近的灯光他什么也看不见。他就要摔得粉身碎骨而他就无能为力。这时从他身后传来另一声叫喊， 
　　“塞尔温，把你的魔杖给我，快！” 
　　在伏地魔发现他之前，哈利已经感觉到了。他朝声音望去，直直地盯着那双红色的眼睛，确定那是他一生中看见的最后一样东西了。伏地魔正在准备给他下一个死咒—— 
　　就在这时，伏地魔消失了。哈利向下看去，发现海格正在他身下的地上像一个“大”字躺着。哈利努力地想把车转向以免撞着他，可正当他摸索着寻找刹车时，随着一阵巨响，摩托车还是坠毁了，哈利则掉进了一个泥潭。
Chapter 5 Fallen Warrior
Hagrid?“
Harry struggled to raise himself out of the debris of metal and leather that surrounded him; his hands sank into inches of muddy water as he tried to stand. He could not understand where Voldemort had gone and expected him to swoop out of the darkness at any moment. Something hot and wet was trickling down his chin and from his forehead. He crawled out of the pond and stumbled toward the great dark mass on the ground that was Hagrid.
“Hagrid? Hagrid, talk to me – “
But the dark mass did not stir.
“Who’s there? Is it Potter? Are you Harry Potter?”
Harry did not recognize the man’s voice. Then a woman shouted. “They’ve crashed. Ted! Crashed in the garden!”
Harry’s head was swimming.
“Hagrid,” he repeated stupidly, and his knees buckled.
The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back on what felt like cushions, with a burning sensation in his ribs and right arm. His missing tooth had been regrown. The scar on his forehead was still throbbing.
“Hagrid?”
He opened his eyes and saw that he was lying on a sofa in an unfamiliar, lamplit sitting room. His rucksack lay on the floor a short distance away, wet and muddy. A fair-haired, big-bellied man was watching Harry anxiously.
“Hagrid’s fine, son,” said the man, “the wife’s seeing to him now. How are you feeling? Anything else broken? I’ve fixed your ribs, your tooth, and your arm. I’m Ted, by the way, Ted Tonks – Dora’s father.”
Harry sat up too quickly. Lights popped in front of his eyes and he felt sick and giddy.
“Voldemort – ”
“Easy, now,” said Ted Tonks, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder and pushing him back against the cushions. “That was a nasty crash you just had. What happened, anyway? Something go wrong with the bike? Arthur Weasley overstretch himself again, him and his Muggle contraptions?”
“No,” said Harry, as his scar pulsed like an open wound. “Death Eaters, loads of them – we were chased – ”
“Death Eaters?” said Ted sharply. “What d’you mean, Death Eaters? I thought they didn’t know you were being moved tonight, I thought – ”
“They knew,” said Harry.
Ted Tonks looked up at the ceiling as though he could see through it to the sky above.
“Well, we know our protective charms hold, then, don’t we? They shouldn’t be able to get within a hundred yards of the place in any direction.”
Now Harry understood why Voldemort had vanished; it had been at the point when the motorbike crossed the barrier of the Order’s charms. He only hoped they would continue to work: He imagined Voldemort, a hundred yards above them as they spoke, looking for a way to penetrate what Harry visualized as a great transparent bubble.
He swung his legs off the sofa; he needed to see Hagrid with his own eyes before he would believe that he was alive. He had barely stood up, however, when a door opened and Hagrid squeezed through it, his face covered in mud and blood, limping a little but miraculously alive.
“Harry!”
Knocking over two delicate tables and an aspidistra, he covered the floor between them in two strides and pulled Harry into a hug that nearly cracked his newly repaired ribs. “Blimey, Harry, how did yeh get out o’ that? I thought we were both goners.”
“Yeah, me too. I can’t believe – ”
Harry broke off. He had just noticed the woman who had entered the room behind Hagrid.
“You!” he shouted, and he thrust his hand into his pocket, but it was empty.
“Your wand’s here, son,” said Ted, tapping it on Harry’s arm. “It fell right beside you, I picked it up…And that’s my wife you’re shouting at.”
“Oh, I’m – I’m sorry.”
As she moved forward into the room, Mrs. Tonks’s resemblance to her sister Bellatrix became much less pronounced: Her hair was a light soft brown and her eyes were wider and kinder. Nevertheless, she looked a little haughty after Harry’s exclamation.
“What happened to our daughter?” she asked. “Hagrid said you were ambushed; where is Nymphadora?”
“I don’t know,” said Harry. “We don’t know what happened to anyone else.”
She and Ted exchanged looks. A mixture of fear and guilt gripped Harry at the sight of their expressions, if any of the others had died, it was his fault, all his fault. He had consented to the plan, given them his hair…
“The Portkey,” he said, remembering all of a sudden. “We’ve got to get back to the Burrow and find out – then we’ll be able to send you word, or – or Tonks will, once she’s – ”
“Dora’ll be ok, ‘Dromeda,” said Ted. “She knows her stuff, she’s been in plenty of tight spots with the Aurors. The Portkey’s through here,” he added to Harry. 
“It’s supposed to leave in three minutes, if you want to take it.”
“Yeah, we do,” said Harry. He seized his rucksack, swung it onto his shoulders. “I – ”
He looked at Mrs. Tonks, wanting to apologize for the state of fear in which he left her and for which he felt so terribly responsible, but no words occurred to him that he did not seem hollow and insincere.
“I’ll tell Tonks – Dora – to send word, when she… Thanks for patching us up, thanks for everything, I – ”
He was glad to leave the room and follow Ted Tonks along a short hallway and into a bedroom. Hagrid came after them, bending low to avoid hitting his head on the door lintel.
“There you go, son. That’s the Portkey.”
Mr. Tonks was pointing to a small, silver-backed hairbrush lying on the dressing table.
“Thanks,” said Harry, reaching out to place a finger on it, ready to leave.
“Wait a moment,” said Hagrid, looking around. “Harry, where’s Hedwig?”
“She… she got hit,” said Harry.
The realization crashed over him: He felt ashamed of himself as the tears stung his eyes. The owl had been his companion, his one great link with the magical world whenever he had been forced to return to the Dursleys.
Hagrid reached out a great hand and patted him painfully on the shoulder.
“Never mind,” he said gruffly, “Never mind. She had a great old life – ”
“Hagrid!” said Ted Tonks warningly, as the hairbrush glowed bright blue, and Hagrid only just got his forefinger to it in time.
With a jerk behind the navel as though an invisible hook and line had dragged him forward, Harry was pulled into nothingness, spinning uncontrollably, his finger glued to the Portkey as he and Hagrid hurtled away from Mr. Tonks. Second later, Harry’s feet slammed onto hard ground and he fell onto his hands and knees in the yard of the Burrow. He heard screams. Throwing aside the no longer glowing hairbrush, Harry stood up, swaying slightly, and saw Mrs. Weasley and Ginny running down the steps by the back door as Hagrid, who had also collapsed on landing, clambered laboriously to his feet.
“Harry? You are the real Harry? What happened? Where are the others?” cried Mrs. Weasley.
“What d’you mean? Isn’t anyone else back?” Harry panted.
The answer was clearly etched in Mrs. Weasley’s pale face.
“The Death Eaters were waiting for us,” Harry told her, “We were surrounded the moment we took off – they knew it was tonight – I don’t know what happened to anyone else, four of them chased us, it was all we could do to get away, and then Voldemort caught up with us – ”
He could hear the self-justifying note in his voice, the plea for her to understand why he did not know what had happened to her sons, but –
“Thank goodness you’re all right,” she said, pulling him into a hug he did not feel he deserved.
“Haven’t go’ any brandy, have yeh, Molly?” asked Hagrid a little shakily, “Fer medicinal purposes?”
She could have summoned it by magic, but as she hurried back toward the crooked house, Harry knew that she wanted to hide her face. He turned to Ginny and she answered his unspoken plea for information at once.
“Ron and Tonks should have been back first, but they missed their Portkey, it came back without them,” she said, pointing at a rusty oil can lying on the ground nearby. “And that one,” she pointed at an ancient sneaker, “should have been Dad and Fred’s, they were supposed to be second. You and Hagrid were third and,” she checked her watch, “if they made it, George and Lupin aught to be back in about a minute.”
Mrs. Weasley reappeared carrying a bottle of brandy, which she handed to Hagrid. He uncorked it and drank it straight down in one.
“Mum!” shouted Ginny pointing to a spot several feet away.
A blue light had appeared in the darkness: It grew larger and brighter, and Lupin and George appeared, spinning and then falling. Harry knew immediately that there was something wrong: Lupin was supporting George, who was unconscious and whose face was covered in blood.
Harry ran forward and seized George’s legs. Together, he and Lupin carried George into the house and through the kitchen to the living room, where they laid him on the sofa. As the lamplight fell across George’s head, Ginny gasped and Harry’s stomach lurched: One of George’s ears was missing. The side of his head and neck were drenched in wet, shockingly scarlet blood.
No sooner had Mrs. Weasley bent over her son that Lupin grabbed Harry by the upper arm and dragged him, none too gently, back into the kitchen, where Hagrid was still attempting to ease his bulk through the back door.
“Oi!” said Hagrid indignantly, “Le’ go of him! Le’ go of Harry!”
Lupin ignored him.
“What creature sat in the corner the first time that Harry Potter visited my office at Hogwarts?” he said, giving Harry a small shake. “Answer me!”
“A – a grindylow in a tank, wasn’t it?”
Lupin released Harry and fell back against a kitchen cupboard.
“Wha’ was tha’ about?” roared Hagrid.
“I’m sorry, Harry, but I had to check,” said Lupin tersely. “We’ve been betrayed. Voldemort knew that you were being moved tonight and the only people who could have told him were directly involved in the plan. You might have been an impostor.”
“So why aren’ you checkin’ me?” panted Hagrid, still struggling with the door.
“You’re half-giant,” said Lupin, looking up at Hagrid. “The Polyjuice Potion is designed for human use only.”
“None of the Order would have told Voldemort we were moving tonight,” said Harry. The idea was dreadful to him, he could not believe it of any of them. “Voldemort only caught up with me toward the end, he didn’t know which one I was in the beginning. If he’d been in on the plan he’d have known from the start I was the one with Hagrid.”
“Voldemort caught up with you?” said Lupin sharply. “What happened? How did you escape?”
Harry explained how the Death Eaters pursuing them had seemed to recognize him as the true Harry, how they had abandoned the chase, how they must have summoned Voldemort, who had appeared just before he and Hagrid had reached the sanctuary of Tonks’s parents.
“They recognized you? But how? What had you done?”
“I…” Harry tried to remember; the whole journey seemed like a blur of panic and confusion. “I saw Stan Shunpike…. You know, the bloke who was the conductor on the Knight Bus? And I tried to Disarm him instead of – well, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, does he? He must be Imperiused!”
Lupin looked aghast.
“Harry, the time for Disarming is past! These people are trying to capture and kill you! At least Stun if you aren’t prepared to kill!”
“We were hundreds of feet up! Stan’s not himself, and if I Stunned him and he’d fallen, he’d have died the same as if I’d used Avada Kedavra! Expelliarmus saved me from Voldemort two years ago,” Harry added defiantly. Lupin was reminding him of the sneering Hufflepuff Zacharias Smith, who had jeered at Harry for wanting to teach Dumbledore’s Army how to Disarm.
“Yes, Harry,” said Lupin with painful restraint, “and a great number of Death Eaters witnessed that happening! Forgive me, but it was a very unusual move then, under the imminent threat of death. Repeating it tonight in front of Death Eaters who either witnessed or heard about the first occasion was close to suicidal!”
“So you think I should have killed Stan Shunpike?” said Harry angrily.
“Of course not,” said Lupin, “but the Death Eaters – frankly, most people! – would have expected you to attack back! Expelliarmus is a useful spell, Harry, but the Death Eaters seem to think it is your signature move, and I urge you not to let it become so!”
Lupin was making Harry feel idiotic, and yet there was still a grain of defiance inside him.
“I won’t blast people out of my way just because they’re there,” said Harry, “That’s Voldemort’s job.”
Lupin’s retort was lost: Finally succeeding in squeezing through the door, Hagrid staggered to a chair and sat down; it collapsed beneath him. Ignoring his mingled oaths and apologies, Harry addressed Lupin again.
“Will George be okay?”
All Lupin’s frustration with Harry seemed to drain away at the question.
“I think so, although there’s no chance of replacing his ear, not when it’s been cursed off – ”
There was a scuffling from outside. Lupin dived for the back door; Harry leapt over Hagrid’s legs and sprinted into the yard.
Two figures had appeared in the yard, and as Harry ran toward them he realized they were Hermione, now returning to her normal appearance, and Kingsley, both clutching a bent coat hanger, Hermione flung herself into Harry’s arms, but Kingsley showed no pleasure at the sight of any of them. Over Hermione’s shoulder Harry saw him raise his wand and point it at Lupin’s chest.
“The last words Albus Dumbledore spoke to the pair of us!”
“‘Harry is the best hope we have. Trust him,’” said Lupin calmly.
Kingsley turned his wand on Harry, but Lupin said, “It’s him, I’ve checked!”
“All right, all right!” said Kingsley, stowing his wand back beneath his cloak, “But somebody betrayed us! They knew, they knew it was tonight!”
“So it seems,” replied Lupin, “but apparently they did not realize that there would be seven Harrys.”
“Small comfort!” snarled Kingsley. “Who else is back?”
“Only Harry, Hagrid, George, and me.”
Hermione stifled a little moan behind her hand.
“What happened to you?” Lupin asked Kingsley.
“Followed by five, injured two, might’ve killed one,” Kingsley reeled off, “and we saw You-Know-Who as well, he joined the chase halfway through but vanished pretty quickly. Remus, he can – ”
“Fly,” supplied Harry. “I saw him too, he came after Hagrid and me.”
“So that’s why he left, to follow you!” said Kingsley, “I couldn’t understand why he’d vanished. But what made him change targets?”
“Harry behaved a little too kindly to Stan Shunpike,” said Lupin.
“Stan?” repeated Hermione. “But I thought he was in Azkaban?”
Kingsley let out a mirthless laugh.
“Hermione, there’s obviously been a mass breakout which the Ministry has hushed up. Travers’s hood fell off when I cursed him, he’s supposed to be inside too. But what happened to you, Remus? Where’s George?”
“He lost an ear,” said Lupin.
“lost an –?” repeated Hermione in a high voice.
“Snape’s work,” said Lupin.
“Snape?” shouted Harry. “You didn’t say – ”
“He lost his hood during the chase. Sectumsempra was always a specialty of Snape’s. I wish I could say I’d paid him back in kind, but it was all I could do to keep George on the broom after he was injured, he was losing so much blood.”
Silence fell between the four of them as they looked up at the sky. There was no sign of movement; the stars stared back, unblinking, indifferent, unobscured by flying friends. Where was Ron? Where were Fred and Mr. Weasley? Where were Bill, Fleur, Tonks, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus?
“Harry, give us a hand!” called Hagrid hoarsely from the door, in which he was stuck again. Glad of something to do, Harry pulled him free, the headed through the empty kitchen and back into the sitting room, where Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were still tending to George. Mrs. Weasley had staunched his bleeding now, and by the lamplight Harry saw a clean gaping hole where George’s ear had been.
“How is he?”
Mrs. Weasley looked around and said, “I can’t make it grow back, not when it’s been removed by Dark Magic. But it could’ve been so much worse…. He’s alive.”
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Thank God.”
“Did I hear someone else in the yard?” Ginny asked.
“Hermione and Kingsley,” said Harry.
“Thank goodness,” Ginny whispered. They looked at each other; Harry wanted to hug her, hold on to her; he did not even care much that Mrs. Weasley was there, but before he could act on the impulse, there was a great crash from the kitchen.
“I’ll prove who I am, Kingsley, after I’ve seen my son, now back off if you know what’s good for you!”
Harry had never heard Mr. Weasley shout like that before. He burst into the living room, his bald patch gleaming with sweat, his spectacles askew, Fred right behind him, both pale but uninjured.
“Arthur!” sobbed Mrs. Weasley. “Oh thank goodness!”
“How is he?”
Mr. Weasley dropped to his knees beside George. For the first time since Harry had known him, Fred seemed to be lost for words. He gaped over the back of the sofa at his twin’s wound as if he could not believe what he was seeing.
Perhaps roused by the sound of Fred and their father’s arrival, George stirred.
“How do you feel, Georgie?” whispered Mrs. Weasley.
George’s fingers groped for the side of his head.
“Saintlike,” he murmured.
“What’s wrong with him?” croaked Fred, looking terrified. “Is his mind affected?”
“Saintlike,” repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. “You see… I’m holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?”
Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever. Color flooded Fred’s pale face.
“Pathetic,” he told George. “Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humor before you, you go for holey?”
“Ah well,” said George, grinning at his tear-soaked mother. “You’ll be able to tell us apart now, anyway, Mum.”
He looked around.
“Hi, Harry – you are Harry, right?”
“Yeah, I am,” said Harry, moving closer to the sofa.
“Well, at least we got you back okay,” said George. “Why aren’t Ron and Bill huddled round my sickbed?”
“They’re not back yet, George,” said Mrs. Weasley. George’s grin faded. Harry glanced at Ginny and motioned to her to accompany him back outside. As they walked through the kitchen she said in a low voice.
“Ron and Tonks should be back by now. They didn’t have a long journey; Auntie Muriel’s not that far from here.”
Harry said nothing. He had been trying to keep fear at bay ever since reaching the Burrow, but now it enveloped him, seeming to crawl over his skin, throbbing in his chest, clogging his throat. As they walked down the back steps into the dark yard, Ginny took his hand.
Kingsley was striding backward and forward, glancing up at the sky every time he turned. Harry was reminded of Uncle Vernon pacing the living room a million years ago. 
Hagrid, Hermione, and Lupin stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing upward in silence. None of them looked around when Harry and Ginny joined their silent vigil.
The minutes stretched into what might as well have been years. The slightest breath of wind made them all jump and turn toward the whispering bush or tree in the hope that one of the missing Order members might leap unscathed from its leaves –
And then a broom materialized directly above them and streaked toward the ground –
“It’s them!” screamed Hermione.
Tonks landed in a long skid that sent earth and pebbles everywhere.
“Remus!” Tonks cried as she staggered off the broom into Lupin’s arms. His face was set and white: He seemed unable to speak, Ron tripped dazedly toward Harry and Hermione.
“You’re okay,” he mumbled, before Hermione flew at him and hugged him tightly.
“I thought – I thought – ”
“‘M all right,” said Ron, patting her on the back. “‘M fine.”
“Ron was great,” said Tonks warmly, relinquishing her hold on Lupin. “Wonderful. Stunned one of the Death Eaters, straight to the head, and when you’re aiming at a moving target from a flying broom – ”
“You did?” said Hermione, gazing up at Ron with her arms still around his neck.
“Always the tone of surprise,” he said a little grumpily, breaking free. “Are we the last back?”
“No,” said Ginny, “we’re still waiting for Bill and Fleur and Mad-Eye and Mundungus. I’m going to tell Mum and Dad you’re okay, Ron – ”
She ran back inside.
“So what kept you? What happened?” Lupin sounded almost angry at Tonks.
“Bellatrix,” said Tonks. “She wants me quite as much as she wants Harry, Remus, She tried very hard to kill me. I just wish I’d got her, I owe Bellatrix. But we definitely injured Rodolphus…. Then we got to Ron’s Auntie Muriel’s and we missed our Portkey and she was fussing over us – ”
A muscle was jumping in Lupin’s jaw. He nodded, but seemed unable to say anything else.
“So what happened to you lot?” Tonks asked, turning to Harry, Hermione, and Kingsley.
They recounted the stories of their own journeys, but all the time the continued absence of Bill, Fleur, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus seemed to lie upon them like a frost, its icy bite harder and harder to ignore.
“I’m going to have to get back to Downing Street, I should have been there an hour ago,” said Kingsley finally, after a last sweeping gaze at the sky. “Let me know when they’re back.”
Lupin nodded. With a wave to the others, Kingsley walked away into the darkness toward the gate. Harry thought he heard the faintest pop as Kingsley Disapparated just beyond the Burrow’s boundaries.
Mr. And Mrs. Weasley came racing down the back steps, Ginny behind them. Both parents hugged Ron before turning to Lupin and Tonks.
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Weasley, “for our sons.”
“Don’t be silly, Molly,” said Tonks at once.
“How’s George?” asked Lupin.
“What’s wrong with him?” piped up Ron.
“He’s lost – ”
But the end of Mrs. Weasley’s sentence was drowned in a general outcry. A thestral had just soared into sight and landed a few feet from them. Bill and Fleur slid from its back, windswept but unhurt.
“Bill! Thank God, thank God – ”
Mrs. Weasley ran forward, but the hug Bill bestowed upon her was perfunctory. Looking directly at his father, he said, “Mad-Eye’s dead.”
Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Harry felt as though something inside him was falling, falling through the earth, leaving him forever.
“We saw it,” said Bill; Fleur nodded, tear tracks glittering on her cheeks in the light from the kitchen window. “It happened just after we broke out of the circle: 
Mad-Eye and Dung were close by us, they were heading north too. Voldemort – he can fly – went straight for them. Dung panicked, I heard him cry out, Mad-Eye tried to stop him, but he Disapparated. Voldemort’s curse hit Mad-Eye full in the face, he fell backward off his broom and – there was nothing we could do, nothing, we had half a dozen of them on our own tail – ”
Bill’s voice broke.
“Of course you couldn’t have done anything,” said Lupin.
They all stood looking at each other. Harry could not quite comprehend it. Mad-Eye dead; it could not be…. Mad-Eye, so tough, so brave, the consummate survivor…
At last it seemed to dawn on everyone, though nobody said it, that there was no point of waiting in the yard anymore, and in silence they followed Mr. And Mrs. Weasley back into the Burrow, and into the living room, where Fred and George were laughing together.
“What’s wrong?” said Fred, scanning their faces as they entered, “What’s happened? Who’s –?”
“Mad-Eye,” said Mr. Weasley, “Dead.”
The twins’ grins turned to grimaces of shock. Nobody seemed to know what to do. Tonks was crying silently into a handkerchief: She had been close to Mad-Eye, Harry knew, his favorite and his protégée at the Ministry of Magic. Hagrid, who had sat down on the floor in the corner where he had most space, was dabbing at his eyes with his tablecloth-sized handkerchief.
Bill walked over to the sideboard and pulled out a bottle of fire-whisky and some glasses.
“Here,” he said, and with a wave of his wand, eh sent twelve full glasses soaring through the room to each of them, holding the thirteenth aloft. “Mad-Eye.”
“Mad-Eye,” they all said, and drank.
“Mad-Eye,” echoed Hagrid, a little late, with a hiccup. The firewhisky seared Harry’s throat. It seemed to burn feeling back into him, dispelling the numbness and sense of unreality firing him with something that was like courage.
“So Mundungus disappeared?” said Lupin, who had drained his own glass in one.
The atmosphere changed at once. Everybody looked tense, watching Lupin, both wanting him to go on, it seemed to Harry, and slightly afraid of what they might hear.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Bill, “and I wondered that too, on the way back here, because they seemed to be expecting us, didn’t they? But Mundungus can’t have betrayed us. They didn’t know there would be seven Harrys, that confused them the moment we appeared, and in case you’ve forgotten, it was Mundungus who suggested that little bit of skullduggery. Why wouldn’t he have told them the essential point? I think Dung panicked, it’s as simple as that. He didn’t want to come in the first place, but Mad-Eye made him, and You-Know-Who went straight for them. It was enough to make anyone panic.”
“You-Know-Who acted exactly as Mad-Eye expected him to,” sniffed Tonks. “Mad-Eye said he’d expect the real Harry to be with the toughest, most skilled Aurors. He chased Mad-Eye first, and when Mundungus gave them away he switched to Kingsley…. ”
“Yes, and zat eez all very good,” snapped Fleur, “but still eet does not explain ‘ow zey know we were moving ‘Arry tonight, does eet? Somebody must ‘ave been careless. Somebody let slip ze date to an outsider. It is ze only explanation for zem knowing ze date but not ze ‘ole plan.”
She glared around at them all, tear tracks still etched on her beautiful face, silently daring any of them to contradict her. Nobody did. The only sound to break the silence was that of Hagrid hiccupping from behind his handkerchief. Harry glanced at Hagrid, who had just risked his own life to save Harry’s – Hagrid, whom he loved, whom he trusted, who had once been tricked into giving Voldemort crucial information in exchange for a dragon’s egg….
“No,” Harry said aloud, and they all looked at him, surprised: The firewhisky seemed to have amplified his voice. “I mean… if somebody made a mistake,” Harry went on, “and let something slip, I know they didn’t mean to do it. It’s not their fault,” he repeated, again a little louder than he would usually have spoken. “We’ve got to trust each other. I trust all of you, I don’t think anyone in this room would ever sell me to Voldemort.”
More silence followed his words. They were all looking at him; Harry felt a little hot again, and drank some more firewhisky for something to do. As he drank, he thought of Mad-Eye. Mad-Eye had always been scathing about Dumbledore’s willingness to trust people.
“Well said, Harry,” said Fred unexpectedly.
“Year, ‘ear, ‘ear,” said George, with half a glance at Fred, the corner of whose mouth twitched.
Lupin was wearing an odd expression as he looked at Harry. It was close to pitying.
“You think I’m a fool?” demanded Harry.
“No, I think you’re like James,” said Lupin, “who would have regarded it as the height of dishonor to mistrust his friends.”
Harry knew what Lupin was getting at: that his father had been betrayed by his friend Peter Pettigrew. He felt irrationally angry. He wanted to argue, but Lupin had turned away from him, set down his glass upon a side table, and addressed Bill, “There’s work to do. I can ask Kingsley whether – ”
“No,” said Bill at once, “I’ll do it, I’ll come.”
“Where are you going?” said Tonks and Fleur together.
“Mad-Eye’s body,” said Lupin. “We need to recover it.”
“Can’t it –?” began Mrs. Weasley with an appealing look at Bill.
“Wait?” said Bill, “Not unless you’d rather the Death Eaters took it?”
Nobody spoke. Lupin and Bill said good bye and left.
The rest of them now dropped into chairs, all except for Harry, who remained standing. The suddenness and completeness of death was with them like a presence.
“I’ve got to go too,” said Harry.
Ten pairs of startled eyes looked at him.
“Don’t be silly, Harry,” said Mrs. Weasley, “What are you talking about?”
“I can’t stay here.”
He rubbed his forehead; it was prickling again, he had not hurt like this for more than a year.
“You’re all in danger while I’m here. I don’t want – ”
“But don’t be so silly!” said Mrs. Weasley. “The whole point of tonight was to get you here safely, and thank goodness it worked. And Fleur’s agreed to get married here rather than in France, we’ve arranged everything so that we can all stay together and look after you – ”
She did not understand; she was making him feel worse, not better.
“If Voldemort finds out I’m here – ”
“But why should he?” asked Mrs. Weasley.
“There are a dozen places you might be now, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley. “He’s got no way of knowing which safe house you’re in.”
“It’s not me I’m worried for!” said Harry.
“We know that,” said Mr. Weasley quietly, “but it would make our efforts tonight seem rather pointless if you left.”
“Yer not goin’ anywhere,” growled Hagrid. “Blimey, Harry, after all we wen’ through ter get you here?”
“Yeah, what about my bleeding ear?” said George, hoisting himself up on his cushions.
“I know that – ”
“Mad-Eye wouldn’t want – ”
“I KNOW!” Harry bellowed.
He felt beleaguered and blackmailed: Did they think he did not know what they had done for him, didn’t they understand that it was for precisely that reason that he wanted to go now, before they had to suffer any more on his behalf? There was a long and awkward silence in which his scar continued to prickle and throb, and which was broken at last by Mrs. Weasley.
“Where’s Hedwig, Harry?” she said coaxingly. “We can put her up with Pidwidgeon and give her something to eat.”
His insides clenched like a fist. He could not tell her the truth. He drank the last of his firewhisky to avoid answering.
“Wait till it gets out yeh did it again, Harry,” said Hagrid. “Escaped him, fought him off when he was right on top of yeh!”
“It wasn’t me,” said Harry flatly. “It was my wand. My wand acted of its own accord.”
After a few moments, Hermione said gently, “But that’s impossible, Harry. You mean that you did magic without meaning to; you reacted instinctively.”
“No,” said Harry. “The bike was falling, I couldn’t have told you where Voldemort was, but my wand spun in my hand and found him and shot a spell at him, and it wasn’t even a spell I recognized. I’ve never made gold flames appear before.”
“Often,” said Mr. Weasley, “when you’re in a pressured situation you can produce magic you never dreamed of. Small children often find, before they’re trained – ”
“It wasn’t like that,” said Harry through gritted teeth. His scar was burning. He felt angry and frustrated; he hated the idea that they were all imagining him to have power to match Voldemort’s.
No one said anything. He knew that they did not believe him. Now that he came to think of it, he had never heard of a wand performing magic on its own before.
His scar seared with pain, it was all he could do not to moan aloud. Muttering about fresh air, he set down his glass and left the room.
As he crossed the yard, the great skeletal thestral looked up – rustled its enormous batlike wings, then resumed its grazing. Harry stopped at the gate into the garden, staring out at its overgrown plants, rubbing his pounding forehead and thinking of Dumbledore.
Dumbledore would have believed him, he knew it. Dumbledore would have known how and why Harry’s wand had acted independently, because Dumbledore always had the answers; he had known about wands, had explained to Harry the strange connection that existed between his wand and Voldemort’s…. But Dumbledore, like Mad-Eye, like Sirius, like his parents, like his poor owl, all were gone where Harry could never talk to them again. He felt a burning in his throat that had nothing to do with firewhisky….
And then, out of nowhere, the pain in his scar peaked. As he clutched his forehead and closed his eyes, a voice screamed inside his head.
“You told me the problem would be solved by using another’s wand!”
And into his mind burst the vision of an emaciated old man lying in rags upon a stone floor, screaming, a horrible drawn-out scream, a scream of unendurable agony….
“No! No! I beg you, I beg you….”
“You lied to Lord Voldemort, Ollivander!”
“I did not…. I swear I did not….”
“You sought to help Potter, to help him escape me!”
“I swear I did not…. I believed a different wand would work….”
“Explain, then, what happened. Lucius’s wand is destroyed!”
“I cannot understand…. The connection… exists only . between your two wands….”
“Lies!”
“Please… I beg you….”
And Harry saw the white hand raise its wand and felt Voldemort’s surge of vicious anger, saw the frail old main on the floor writhe in agony –
“Harry?”
It was over as quickly as it had come: Harry stood shaking in the darkness, clutching the gate into the garden, his heart racing, his scar still tingling. It was several moments before he realized that Ron and Hermione were at his side.
“Harry, come back in the house,” Hermione whispered, “You aren’t still thinking of leaving?”
“Yeah, you’ve got to stay, mate,” said Ron, thumping Harry on the back.
“Are you all right?” Hermione asked, close enough now to look into Harry’s face. “You look awful!”
“Well,” said Harry shakily, “I probably look better than Ollivander….”
When he had finished telling them what he had seen, Ron looked appalled, but Hermione downright terrified.
“But it was supposed to have stopped! Your scar – it wasn’t supposed to do this anymore! You mustn’t let that connection open up again – Dumbledore wanted you to close your mind!”
When he did not reply, she gripped his arm.
“Harry, he’s taking over the Ministry and the newspapers and half the Wizarding world! Don’t let him inside your head too!”
“海格？” 
　　哈利在一片狼籍的金属和皮革残骸中挣扎着爬起身，手掌一用力又陷入了泥泞之中。他想不通伏地魔去哪儿了，他觉得也许伏地魔随时会从黑暗中对他发起袭击。一些温热潮湿的东西从他的下巴和前额上滴落下来，他爬出那滩泥泞，跌跌撞撞地向着地上那片又大又黑的阴影走去，那是海格。 
　　“海格？海格，跟我说句话呀——” 
　　但是那个黑色的大块头没有动静。 
　　“谁在那儿？是波特吗？你是哈利·波特吗？” 
　　哈利不认得那个声音，随后，一个女人叫了起来，“他们摔下来了。泰德！摔在花园里了！” 
　　哈利顿时觉得头晕目眩。 
　　“海格，”他机械地重复着，感觉膝盖好像僵住了一样动弹不得。 
　　当他清醒过来的时候，感觉自己躺在一块垫子似的东西上面，肋骨和右臂火辣辣地疼，磕掉的牙又重新长了出来，前额上的伤疤还在一跳一跳的抽痛。 
　　“海格？” 
　　哈利睁开了眼睛，发现自己躺在一个陌生房间的沙发上面，屋里亮着灯，他那湿答答的帆布背包上沾满了泥巴，扔在离他不远的地上。一个金发、大腹便便的男人正焦急地注视着他。 
　　“海格没事，孩子”，那个男人说，“我的妻子正在照顾他。你觉得怎么样？还有什么地方受了伤吗？我帮你治疗了你的肋骨，牙齿和胳膊。顺便说一句，我是泰德，泰德·唐克斯，朵拉的父亲。” 
　　哈利猛地坐了起来，灯光照在他的眼睛上，他觉得一阵头晕和恶心。 
　　“伏地魔——” 
　　“放松，现在别急，”泰德·唐克斯说道，伸出手扶着哈利的肩膀，让他重新靠在垫子上，“你可是摔得不轻，到底发生什么事了？摩托车出了什么问题吗？亚瑟·韦斯莱又做了他自己力所不及的事情吗，他和他的麻瓜精巧装置？” 
　　“不，”哈利说，他的伤疤像裂开似地疼。“食死徒，很多食死徒——在追击我们——” 
　　“食死徒？”泰德的声音一下子变得尖利起来，“什么意思，食死徒？我以为他们并不知道我们要在今天晚上把你转移，我以为——” 
　　“他们知道了。”哈利说。 
　　泰德·唐克斯抬头看着天花板，好像他的目光能穿透那里直到外面的天空中去。 
　　“那么，我们知道那时我们的保护咒仍在起作用，不是吗？他们不论从哪个方向都应该无法进入你周围的一百公尺才对。” 
　　现在哈利明白了，伏地魔是在摩托车冲入凤凰社保护咒的那一刹那消失不见的。他现在只希望这些咒语仍然有效：他想象着伏地魔正在一百英尺外的高空上看着哈利被一个巨大的透明圆球保护了起来，看着他们的交谈，同时寻找一切空隙想要杀进来。 
　　他把腿从沙发上挪下来，他必须亲眼看一眼才能相信海格安然无恙。他还没站起来，门就开了，海格从门外费力地挤进来，脸上沾着血和泥，尽管有一点跛，但仍然奇迹般地活着。 
　　“哈利！” 
　　海格撞翻了两张精致的桌子和一盆蜘蛛抱蛋草，两步跨过房间，把哈利紧紧拥抱在怀里，几乎压碎了他新长好的肋骨。“啊呀，哈利，你怎么逃出来的？我还以为这下咱俩都完了。” 
　　“嗯，我也是，我没想到……” 
　　哈利突然顿住了，他这才看到有个女人在海格身后进入了房间。 
　　“你！”他大喊，飞快地把手伸进口袋想去拿魔杖，但是那空空如也。 
　　“你的魔杖在这儿，孩子，”泰德提醒道，把魔杖轻轻搭在哈利的胳膊上。“它掉在你身边，我就拣起来了，这位……是我的妻子。” 
　　“哦，我……我很抱歉。” 
　　唐克斯夫人走进房间，现在她看上去和她的姐姐，贝拉特里克斯，并不是那么惊人的相似了：她有着浅棕色柔软的头发，眼睛看上去也更宽厚友善。但是由于哈利的叫嚷，她看上去有一点傲慢。 
　　“我们的女儿怎么样了？”她问，“海格说你们中了埋伏，尼法朵拉在哪儿？” 
　　“我不知道，”哈利回答道。“我们不知道其他人怎么样了。” 
　　她和泰德对视了一眼，看到他们的表情，一种混合着恐惧和内疚的感觉紧紧攫住了哈利。如果有任何一个人死了，那都是他的错，全是他的错。是他同意了这个计划的，把自己的头发给了他们…… 
　　“门钥匙，”他忽然想起来，“我们必须回到陋居去看看……然后我们会给你们消息，或者……或者是唐克斯会亲自给你们送信，只要她……” 
　　“朵拉会没事的，多米达，”泰德安慰道，“她很清楚自己的能力，也多次跟着傲罗们出生入死过。门钥匙在这儿，”他对哈利说，“它会在三分钟内离开，如果你们想用的话。” 
　　“是的，我们得走了。”哈利说。他一把抓过自己的背包，甩到肩上。“我……”他看着唐克斯夫人，想要为把她置于这样恐慌的境地里道歉，他觉得自己对此承担着极大的责任，但是他没能想起一句让自己听起来不那么虚伪的说辞。 
　　“我会告诉唐克斯……朵拉……送信过来的，等她回……谢谢你们救了我们，谢谢你们所做的一切，我……” 
　　他很高兴终于离开了那个房间，跟着泰德·唐克斯穿过一段很短的走廊进入一间卧室。海格紧跟其后，弓着身子，以免他的头撞到门梁。 
　　“在那里，孩子，那是门钥匙。” 
　　唐克斯先生指着梳妆台上一个小小的银色背面的梳子说。 
　　“谢谢，”哈利说，伸出一根手指放在梳子上，准备离开。 
　　“等一下，”海格说，同时向四周张望。“哈利，海德薇在哪儿？” 
　　“她……她被击中了，”哈利说。 
　　这个认知差点摧垮了他：泪水刺痛着他的眼睛，他替自己感到羞耻。那只猫头鹰是他的伙伴，每当他被迫回到德思礼家的时候，她是他跟魔法世界之间一根重要的纽带。 
　　海格伸出一只大手，沉痛地拍了拍他的肩膀。 
　　“别难过了，”他粗声说，“别难过了。她过了长寿而伟大的一生——” 
　　“海格！”泰德·唐克斯大声提醒着，那把梳子发出明亮的蓝光，海格只来得及把食指伸出去搭在上面。 
　　他们的肚脐下面猛的一紧，好像有那里有有一个看不见的钩子和绳索把他们拽得飞了起来，他们完全失去控制地旋转着被推入了虚空，手指像是粘在了梳子上，哈利和海格远离了唐克斯先生。一秒钟以后，哈利的双脚“砰”地撞上了坚实的土地，他双手着地跪在陋居的后院里，海格也重重地摔在了地上，费力地用双脚站起来。哈利把暗淡无光的梳子甩到一边，摇晃着站起身，听见了一声尖叫，他看到韦斯莱夫人和金妮从后门的台阶上跑下来， 
　　“哈利？真的是哈利吗？发生了什么事？其他人在哪儿？”韦斯莱夫人哭喊着。 
　　“什么意思？没有其他人回来吗？”哈利喘着粗气回答。 
　　韦斯莱夫人苍白的脸上清楚地写着答案。 
　　“食死徒在那儿等着我们的，”哈利告诉她，“我们一出发就被他们包围了……他们知道是今晚……我不知道其他人怎么样了，四个食死徒在追我们，我们只有逃跑，然后伏地魔追上了我们——” 
　　哈利自己都能听到话中那自我辩解的味道，他是在求韦斯莱夫人谅解为什么自己对她儿子的状况一无所知，但是…… 
　　“谢天谢地你没事，”韦斯莱夫人一把抱住哈利，可是哈利觉得自己根本不配得到这样的待遇。 
　　“有白兰地吗，莫丽？”海格微微颤抖着问道，“就当是用来治病？” 
　　韦斯莱夫人本可以用魔法把酒取过来的，但她转身迅速朝着倾斜的房子走去，哈利知道她不想让别人看见她的脸。他望向金妮，无声的询问着现在的状况，金妮立刻明白了，她说：“罗恩和唐克斯应该最先回来的，但他们错过了门钥匙，钥匙回来了，但他们没有，”她指着地上的一个生了锈的油罐。“还有那个，”她指着一只球鞋，“那应该是爸爸和弗雷德的，他们应该第二个回来。你和海格是第三个。”她看了看表，“如果乔治和卢平一切顺利的话，应该在一分钟内到这里。” 
　　韦斯莱夫人拿着一瓶白兰地走了出来，递给了海格，他拔去塞子，一饮而尽。 
　　“妈妈！“金妮指着几英尺外叫到。 
　　黑暗中一道蓝光闪现：它变得越来越大，越来越亮，卢平和乔治从中间旋转着落了下来。哈利马上意识到有什么地方不对劲，卢平支撑着乔治，后者已经失去知觉，脸上全是血。 
　　哈利跑过去抓住了乔治的腿，和卢平一起把乔治抬进屋里，穿过厨房，一直抬到客厅，把他放在沙发上。灯光照亮了乔治的头，金妮倒抽了一口气，哈利觉得自己的胃里一阵翻涌：乔治失去了一只耳朵。伤口这边的脸和脖子鲜血淋漓。 
　　韦斯莱夫人把她儿子的身子翻过来，而卢平一把拽过哈利的上臂，粗鲁地把他拖出房间，带进了厨房，海格还在试图让自己的大块头从后门中挤进房间。 
　　“喂！”海格愤怒地喊道，“放开他！放开哈利！” 
　　卢平没有理他。 
　　“哈利·波特在霍格沃茨第一次拜访我的办公室时，在角落里的是什么生物？”他问，微微摇晃着哈利，“回答我！” 
　　“一个……一个在柜子里的格林迪洛，不是吗？” 
　　卢平放开了哈利，向后倒在了厨房的碗碟橱上。 
　　“这是在干什么 ？”海格咆哮着质问。 
　　“对不起，哈利，但是我不得不这么做，”卢平简洁地回答，“我们被出卖了，伏地魔知道我们要在今天晚上把你转移，能把这个情报透露给他的只有直接参与这次行动的人。你也可能被人冒充。” 
　　“那你为什么不检查我？”海格喘着粗气说，仍然在和后门较劲。 
　　“你有一半巨人血统，”卢平抬头看着海格说。“复方药剂只能给人类使用。” 
　　“不会是凤凰社的人告诉伏地魔我们要在今晚转移的，”哈利说。 
　　这个念头对他来说太可怕了，他不相信任何人会做出这种事。“伏地魔最后才追上我，一开始他并不知道哪一个是我。如果他知道整个计划，那么一开始他就应该知道跟着海格的是我。” 
　　“伏地魔追上你了？”卢平厉声问道，“发生了什么事？你怎么逃脱的？” 
　　哈利告诉卢平，食死徒们是如何在追赶他们的途中认出了他，他们是怎么放弃了追赶，他们是怎样召唤出伏地魔来，就在他和海格马上要赶到唐克斯父母的避难所的时候，伏地魔出现了。 
　　“他们认出你来了？可是他们是怎么做到的？你都做了些什么？” 
　　“我……”哈利尽力的回想着，整个旅程充满了恐慌和混乱，“我看到了斯坦·桑帕克……你知道，就是骑士巴士上的那个售票员，我试着去解除他的武器……他根本不知道他在做什么，不是么？他一定被施了夺魂咒！”　 
　　卢平看上去吓呆了。 
　　“哈利，‘除你武器’的时代已经过去了！这些人想要抓住你然后杀了你！就算你没有准备好杀人至少也要用昏迷咒！” 
　　“我们当时是在几百英尺高！斯坦·桑帕克已经不是原来的他了，而且如果我对他使用了昏迷咒他会掉下去摔死，这和我直接用阿瓦达索命咒没有区别！两年前‘除你武器’把我从伏地魔手里救了出来！”哈利反驳道。卢平让他想起了赫奇帕奇学院的那个总是一脸轻蔑样的扎卡赖斯·史密斯，他嘲笑过哈利竟然教邓布利多军“除你武器”。 
　　“是的，哈利，”卢平痛苦地克制着自己，“但是许多食死徒都目睹了它的发生！原谅我，但是这次行动非同寻常，是极大的死亡威胁下进行的。在目睹或者听到了你上次行动的食死徒前再次使用它无异于自杀！” 
　　“所以你觉得我应该杀了斯坦·桑帕克？”哈利愤怒地问。 
　　“当然不是，”卢平说，“但是食死徒——坦白讲，大多数人——希望你攻击回去！除你武器是个有用的咒语，哈利，但是食死徒似乎认为它是你的标志性动作，我强烈要求你不要让事情变成那样！” 
　　卢平让哈利觉得自己像个傻瓜，他体内仍然埋藏着叛逆的种子。 
　　“我不会只是因为别人挡了我的路就杀了他们，”哈利说，“那是伏地魔才干的事。” 
　　卢平没有再反驳。海格终于成功挤过了那扇门，他摇晃着走到椅子旁边坐下。椅子压塌了。哈利没有理会海格的赌咒和道歉，又转向卢平。 
　　“乔治还好吧？” 
　　卢平面对哈利时所有的挫折感都被这个问题一扫而空。 
　　“我想是的，尽管他的耳朵不可能再长回来了，用咒语治疗也不行——” 
　　外面传来一阵混乱的声音，卢平向后门冲了过去，哈利跳过海格的腿快步跑向了后院。 
　　两个人出现在后院里，哈利跑近后认出了是赫敏，她已经恢复了平常的装扮，还有金斯莱，两人都紧抓着一个弯曲的晾衣架。赫敏扑进了哈利的怀抱，但是金斯莱看见了他们没有一点高兴的样子。哈利越过赫敏的肩膀看见他举起了魔杖，指着卢平的胸膛。 
　　“邓布利多最后对我们两个说的什么！” 
　　“哈利是我们的最大希望。相信他。”卢平平静地回答。 
　　金斯莱把魔杖转过来对着哈利，但卢平制止了他，“是他，我检查过了！” 
　　“好吧，好吧！”金斯莱说着把魔杖塞回了斗篷下面，“但是有人出卖了我们！他们知道，他们知道是今晚！” 
　　“看上去是这样，”卢平回应道，“但是很明显他们没有弄清楚有七个哈利。” 
　　“就这么点安慰！”金斯莱咆哮着说。“还有谁回来了？” 
　　“只有哈利，海格，乔治和我。” 
　　赫敏捂住嘴，发出一声闷闷的呻吟。 
　　“你们遇到什么事？”卢平问金斯莱。 
　　“被五个食死徒追，伤了两个，可能杀了一个，”金斯莱滔滔不绝地说，“而且我们也看到了神秘人，他半道上加入了追赶我们的行列，但是很快就消失了。莱姆斯，他能——” 
　　“飞，”哈利回答道。“我也看见他了，他在追海格和我。” 
　　“所以他离开是去追你！”金斯莱喊起来，“我还纳闷他为什么消失了呢，但是究竟是什么使他转移了目标？” 
　　“哈利对斯坦·桑帕克表现得有点过于友善了，”卢平说。 
　　“斯坦·桑帕克？”赫敏重复着这个名字。“可我记得他在阿兹卡班啊？” 
　　金斯莱阴沉地笑了笑：“赫敏，很明显有一场规模很大的越狱事件，可是魔法部却把这件事掩盖下来。我向特莱维尔施咒的时候，他的兜帽滑落下来，他肯定也是其中一员。你们遇到了什么事，莱姆斯？乔治在哪儿？” 
　　“他失去了一只耳朵，”卢平说。 
　　“失去一只——？”赫敏尖声重复。 
　　“斯内普干的，”卢平补充道。 
　　“斯内普？”哈利叫了起来。“你没跟我说——” 
　　“在追逐过程中他的兜帽掉了。神锋无影咒一直是斯内普的专长。我希望我能够说出我已经报复了他这样的话，但是在乔治受伤后我只能保护他在扫帚上不掉下来，他流了许多血。” 
　　一阵静默笼罩了这四个人，他们抬头看着天空。没有任何东西移动的痕迹，星辰也看着他们，它们持续闪耀而冷漠，尽管有人飞来飞去却依然不遮掩。 
　　罗恩在哪儿？弗雷德和韦斯莱先生在哪儿？比尔，芙蓉，唐克斯，疯眼汉和蒙顿格斯在哪儿？ 
　　“哈利，过来搭把手！”海格站在门口用嘶哑的声音喊道，他又被卡在那儿了。哈利很高兴有事情可以做，他把海格推了进去，穿过没人的厨房回到客厅，韦斯莱夫人和金妮仍然在那儿照料乔治。韦斯莱夫人已经帮他止了血，借着灯光，哈利看到乔治原来长着耳朵的地方留下一个清晰的孔。 
　　“他怎么样了？” 
　　韦斯莱夫人看了看周围说，“我没法让它再长回来，被黑魔法伤害了就不能再长出来了。但是事情本来可能更糟糕的……至少他还活着。” 
　　“是啊，”哈利说。“感谢上帝。” 
　　“我是好象听见后院里有什么动静？”金妮问。 
　　“是赫敏和金斯莱，”哈利说。 
　　“谢天谢地，”金妮低声说。他们看着彼此，哈利很想拥抱她，把她抱在怀里；他甚至不在乎韦斯莱夫人也在场了，然而就在他几乎控制不了自己的冲动时，厨房里传来碰撞的一声巨响。 
　　“我会向你证明我是谁的，金斯莱，得等我看见我的儿子，如果你聪明的话现在马上后退！” 
　　哈利从来没有听到韦斯莱先生那样吼过，他直直闯入客厅，头上秃顶的地方闪烁着汗珠，眼镜歪在一边，弗雷德就跟在他身后，两人都面色苍白，但是没有受伤。 
　　“亚瑟！”韦斯莱夫人呜咽起来。“哦！谢天谢地！” 
　　“他怎么样了？” 
　　韦斯莱先生在乔治身边跪了下来。从哈利认识弗雷德以来，他第一次看上去丧失了语言能力。他靠在沙发背上张大了嘴巴看着双胞胎兄弟的伤口，似乎不相信眼前的事。 
　　也许是被弗雷德和他父亲到来的声音弄醒了，乔治动了一下。 
　　“你觉得怎么样，乔治？”韦斯莱夫人问。 
　　乔治用手指摸索着他头受伤的一边。 
　　“像个圣人。”他嘟囔着。 
　　“他怎么了？”弗雷德嘶哑着问道，看上去很害怕。“他的脑子坏了？” 
　　“像个圣人，”乔治重复道，睁开眼睛往上看着他的兄弟。“你看……我变神圣了，有洞的，弗雷德，明白了？”（注：乔治在这指的是HOLY 和HOLEY的同音双关） 
　　韦斯莱夫人呜咽得更厉害了。喜色涌上弗雷德苍白的脸。 
　　“真可悲啊，”他对乔治说，“可悲！全世界有关耳朵的笑话都堆在你面前，你就捡了个有洞的？” 
　　“啊，对了，”乔治微笑着对他满脸泪水的母亲说。“无论如何，以后你就能分清我们俩了，妈妈。” 
　　他向四周看了看。 
　　“嗨，哈利——你是哈利，对吧？” 
　　“是的，我是，”哈利回答，向沙发靠近了一些。 
　　“嗯，至少我们把你安全带回来了，”乔治说。“为什么罗恩和比尔没有簇拥到我的病榻旁边？” 
　　“他们还没回来，乔治，”韦斯莱夫人说。乔治的微笑褪了下去。哈利扫了金妮一眼，用动作示意她和他一起回到外面去，他们通过厨房时金妮低声说道： 
　　“罗恩和唐克斯现在应该回来了，他们要走的距离不长，穆丽尔姨妈的家离这里没那么远。” 
　　哈利一言不发。自从到达陋居开始，他就一直努力不让恐惧靠近自己，可是现在莫大的恐惧包围着他，似乎攀爬上他的皮肤，在他胸膛里不停悸动，堵住他的喉咙。他们走下进入后院的台阶时金妮牵住了他的手。 
　　金斯莱大步地走来走去，每次转身的时候都抬头扫视天空。哈利想起了弗农姨父在客厅里来回踱步的样子,那好像已经是上辈子的事了。海格，赫敏和卢平肩靠肩地站着，沉默地向上看。
哈利和金妮加入他们无声的守侯时，没人理会他俩。 
　　这几分钟漫长得好像过了好几年。任何轻微的风声都会使得他们跳起来，转向发出声音的灌木或树，希望能看到某一个还未回来的凤凰社成员毫发无伤地从那些叶子里跳出来——然后，就在这个时候，一把扫帚在他们正上方显形，快速坠落到地上——“是他们！”赫敏尖叫起来。 
　　唐克斯在一个长刹车后着陆，扬得尘土和沙砾到处都是。 
　　“莱姆斯！”唐克斯尖叫摇晃着从扫帚上下来，扑进卢平的怀里。罗恩的脸色呆板苍白，他看起来说不出话，头晕眼花，跌跌撞撞地向哈利和赫敏走过去。 
　　“你平安无事，”他喃喃自语，赫敏朝他飞奔过来，紧紧拥抱他。 
　　“我以为——我以为——” 
　　“我没事，”罗恩说，拍打着她的背。“我很好。” 
　　“罗恩棒极了，”唐克斯热情地说，放开了卢平。“简直太好了。打昏了一个食死徒，正中头部，尤其还是在飞行的扫帚上瞄准一个移动的目标——” 
　　“这是真的？”赫敏问，仰脸盯着罗恩，胳膊仍然环着他的脖子。 
　　“总是那副惊讶的样子，”他有点粗暴地说，打破了轻松的气氛。“我们是最后回来的吗？” 
　　“不是，”金妮说，“我们还在等比尔，芙蓉，疯眼汉和蒙顿格斯。我要去告诉爸妈你没事，罗恩——” 
　　她跑进屋子。 
　　“是什么绊住了你们？发生什么事了？”卢平听上去似乎对唐克斯感到生气。 
　　“是贝拉特里克斯，”唐克斯说。“她想要我的命不亚于要哈利的，莱姆斯，她憋足了劲想杀了我。我只希望我能抓住她，我记住她了！但是我们伤了鲁道夫……然后我们去了罗恩的穆丽尔姨妈的家，错过门钥匙，她还在那儿对我们大惊小怪——” 
　　卢平的收紧了下巴，点点头，似乎说不出别的话来了。 
　　“你们那组发生了什么事？”唐克斯问道，转向哈利，赫敏和金斯莱。他们各自讲述了自己的经历，然而比尔，芙蓉，疯眼汉和蒙顿格斯的缺席像浓雾一样笼罩在他们身上，寒冷的侵蚀使得它越来越难以被忽略。 
　　“我必须回唐宁街去，我一个小时前就应该到那里了，”金斯莱最后扫视了天空一次，说道：“他们回来了就通知我。” 
　　卢平点了点头，金斯莱冲其他人挥挥手，走进门外的黑暗里。哈利觉得他听到了金斯莱越过陋居边界后幻影移行的微弱爆破声。 
　　韦斯莱先生和韦斯莱夫人奔跑着冲下楼梯，金妮跟在他们身后，两人拥抱了罗恩，然后转向卢平和唐克斯。 
　　“谢谢你们，”韦斯莱夫人说，“为了我的儿子们。” 
　　“别傻了，莫丽，”唐克斯立刻说。 
　　“乔治怎么样了？”卢平问。 
　　“他出什么事了？”罗恩尖声质问。 
　　“他失去了——” 
　　然而韦斯莱夫人的下半句话被四周响起的一片喊叫声淹没了。一只夜骐尖声呼啸而来，在离他们几英尺外着陆。比尔和芙蓉从上面爬下来，被风吹得狼狈不堪，但并没有受伤。 
　　“比尔！感谢上帝，感谢上帝——” 
　　韦斯莱夫人跑上前去，比尔却只给了她一个勉强的拥抱，他直直地看着他的父亲，说，“疯眼汉死了。” 
　　没人说话，没人动。哈利觉得好像身体里的什么东西坠落下去了，坠落着穿过地球，永远地离开了他。 
　　“我们看见了，”比尔说，芙蓉点了点头，她面颊上的泪痕在厨房窗户透出的灯光下闪着光，“就发生在我们刚冲出包围以后，疯眼汉和蒙顿格斯离我们很近，他们也在向北飞。伏地魔——他能飞——直接冲他们追了过去。蒙格顿斯慌了，我听见他大声叫喊，疯眼汉试图阻止他，但是蒙顿格斯幻影移形了。伏地魔的咒语正打在疯眼汉脸上，他后仰着从扫帚上倒了下去——我们什么也做不了，一点也做不了，我们自己也被六七个人追赶——” 
　　比尔的声音崩溃了。 
　　“你们当然什么也做不了，”卢平说。 
　　他们都站着，看着彼此。哈利有些不能理解，疯眼汉死了，不可能是他……疯眼汉，他是如此强悍，如此勇敢，是最后的幸存者…… 
　　最后，尽管没有人说话，但每个人似乎都明白了，再在院子等着已经毫无意义了，他们沉默着跟随韦斯莱夫妇回到了陋居，进了客厅，弗雷德和乔治正笑作一团。 
　　“出什么事了？”弗雷德问道，扫视着每个进来的人的表情，“有什么事情？谁——？” 
　　“疯眼汉，”韦斯莱先生说，“死了。” 
　　双胞胎兄弟的微笑由于震惊而扭曲。没人知道该做什么。唐克斯把脸蒙在手绢后面无声地哭泣着，她与疯眼汉很亲近，哈利知道这点，在魔法部她是他的骄傲和被他保护的人。海格坐在空间最大的角落里，用一块桌布大小的手帕擦着眼睛。 
　　比尔走到餐具橱，拿出一瓶火焰威士忌和一些玻璃杯。 
　　“给，”他说着挥了挥魔杖，十二杯满满的酒飞到房间里每个人的手中，他自己高举着第十三杯。“为了疯眼汉。” 
　　“疯眼汉，”他们一齐说着喝下酒。 
　　“疯眼汉，”海格打了个嗝重复道，比其他人晚了一点。火焰威士忌灼烧着哈利的喉咙，似乎把感觉带回到他的体内，一些类似勇气的东西驱逐掉了煎熬着他的麻木和不现实感。 
　　“那蒙格顿斯消失了么？”卢平问道，已经喝完他自己的那一杯。 
　　气氛立刻变了。每个人都紧张地注视着卢平，希望他继续说下去，在哈利看来，他们对可能听到的东西又有一点害怕。 
　　“我明白你在想什么，”比尔说，“我也是那么
Chapter 6 The Ghoul in Pajamas
The shock of losing Mad-Eye hung over the house in the days that followed; Harry kept expecting to see him stumping in through the back door like the other Order members, who passed in and out to relay news. Harry felt that nothing but action would assuage his feelings of guilt and grief and that he ought to set out on his mission to find and destroy Horcruxes as soon as possible.
“Well, you can’t do anything about the” – Ron mouthed the word Horcruxes – “till you’re seventeen. You’ve still got the Trace on you. And we can plan here as well as anywhere, can’t we? Or,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “d’you reckon you already know where the You-Know-Whats are?”
“No,” Harry admitted.
“I think Hermione’s been doing a bit of research,” said Ron. “She said she was saving it for when you got here.”
They were sitting at the breakfast table; Mr. Weasley and Bill had just left for work. Mrs. Weasley had gone upstairs to wake Hermione and Ginny, while Fleur had drifted off to take a bath.
“The Trace’ll break on the thirty-first,” said Harry. “That means I only need to stay here four days. Then I can – ”
“Five days,” Ron corrected him firmly. “We’ve got to stay for the wedding. They’ll kill us if we miss it.”
Harry understood “they” to mean Fleur and Mrs. Weasley.
“It’s one extra day,” said Ron, when Harry looked mutinous.
“Don’t they realize how important –?”
“‘Course they don’t,” said Ron. “They haven’t got a clue. And now you mention it, I wanted to talk to you about that.”
Ron glanced toward the door into the hall to check that Mrs. Weasley was not returning yet, then leaned in closer to Harry.
“Mum’s been trying to get it out of Hermione and me. What we’re off to do. She’ll try you next, so brace yourself. Dad and Lupin’ve both asked as well, but when we said Dumbledore told you not to tell anyone except us, they dropped it. Not Mum, though. She’s determined.”
Ron’s prediction came true within hours. Shortly before lunch, Mrs. Weasley detached Harry from the others by asking him to help identify a lone man’s sock that she thought might have come out of his rucksack. Once she had him cornered in the tiny scullery off the kitchen, she started.
“Ron and Hermione seem to think that the three of you are dropping out of Hogwarts,” she began in a light, casual tone.
“Oh,” said Harry. “Well, yeah. We are.”
The mangle turned of its own accord in a corner, wringing out what looked like one of Mr. Weasley’s vests.
“May I ask why you are abandoning your education?” said Mrs. Weasley.
“Well, Dumbledore left me… stuff to do,” mumbled Harry. “Ron and Hermione know about it, and they want to come too.”
“What sort of ‘stuff’?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t – ”
“Well, frankly, I think Arthur and I have a right to know, and I’m sure Mr. And Mrs. Granger would agree!” said Mrs. Weasley. Harry had been afraid of the “concerned parent” attack. He forced himself to look directly into her eyes, noticing as he did so that they were precisely the same shade of brown as Ginny’s. This did not help.
“Dumbledore didn’t want anyone else to know, Mrs. Weasley. I’m sorry. Ron and Hermione don’t have to come, it’s their choice – ”
“I don’t see that you have to go either!” she snapped, dropping all pretense now. “You’re barely of age, any of you! It’s utter nonsense, if Dumbledore needed work doing, he had the whole Order at his command! Harry, you must have misunderstood him. Probably he was telling you something he wanted done, and you took it to mean that he wanted you–”
“I didn’t misunderstand,” said Harry flatly. “It’s got to be me.”
He handed her back the single sock he was supposed to be identifying, which was patterned with golden bulrushes.
“And that’s not mine. I don’t support Puddlemere United.”
“Oh, of course not,” said Mrs. Weasley with a sudden and rather unnerving return to her casual tone. “I should have realized. Well, Harry, while we’ve still got you here, you won’t mind helping with the preparations for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, will you? There’s still so much to do.”
“No – I – of course not,” said Harry, disconcerted by this sudden change of subject.
“Sweet of you,” she replied, and she smiled as she left the scullery.
From that moment on, Mrs. Weasley kept Harry, Ron and Hermione so busy with preparations for the wedding that they hardly had any time to think. The kindest explanation of this behavior would have been that Mrs. Weasley wanted to distract them all from thoughts of Mad-Eye and the terrors of their recent journey. After two days of nonstop cutlery cleaning, of color-matching favors, ribbons, and flowers, of de-gnoming the garden and helping Mrs. Weasley cook vast batches of canapés, however, Harry started to suspect her of a different motive. All the jobs she handed out seemed to keep him, Ron, and Hermione away from one another; he had not had a chance to speak to the two of them alone since the first night, when he had told them about Voldemort torturing Ollivander.
“I think Mum thinks that if she can stop the three of you getting together and planning, she’ll be able to delay you leaving,” Ginny told Harry in an undertone, as they laid the table for dinner on the third night of his stay.
“And then what does she think’s going to happen?” Harry muttered. “Someone else might kill off Voldemort while she’s holding us here making vol-au-vents?”
He had spoken without thinking, and saw Ginny’s face whiten.
“So it’s true?” she said. “That’s what you’re trying to do?”
“I – not – I was joking,” said Harry evasively.
They stared at each other, and there was something more than shock in Ginny’s expression. Suddenly Harry became aware that this was the first time that he had been alone with her since those stolen hours in secluded corners of the Hogwarts grounds. He was sure she was remembering them too. Both of them jumped as the door opened, and Mr. Weasley, Kingsley, and Bill walked in.
They were often joined by other Order members for dinner now, because the Burrow had replaced number twelve, Grimmauld Place as the headquarters. Mr. Weasley had explained that after the death of Dumbledore, their Secret-Keeper, each of the people to whom Dumbledore had confided Grimmauld Place’s location had become a Secret-Keeper in turn.
“And as there are around twenty of us, that greatly dilutes the power of the Fidelius Charm. Twenty times as many opportunities for the Death Eaters to get the secret out of somebody. We can’t expect it to hold much longer.”
“But surely Snape will have told the Death Eaters the address by now?” asked Harry.
“Well, Mad-Eye set up a couple of curses against Snape in case he turns up there again. We hope they’ll be strong enough both to keep him out and to bind his tongue if he tries to talk about the place, but we can’t be sure. It would have been insane to keep using the place as headquarters now that its protection has become so shaky.”
The kitchen was so crowded that evening it was difficult to maneuver knives and forks. Harry found himself crammed beside Ginny; the unsaid things that had just passed between them made him wish they had been separated by a few more people. He was trying so hard to avoid brushing her arm he could barely cut his chicken.
“No news about Mad-Eye?” Harry asked Bill.
“Nothing,” replied Bill.
They had not been able to hold a funeral for Moody, because Bill and Lupin had failed to recover his body. It had been difficult to know where he might have fallen, given the darkness and the confusion of the battle.
“The Daily Prophet hasn’t said a word about him dying or about finding the body,” Bill went on. “But that doesn’t mean much. It’s keeping a lot quiet these days.”
“And they still haven’t called a hearing about all the underage magic I used escaping the Death Eaters?” Harry called across the table to Mr. Weasley, who shook his head.
“Because they know I had no choice or because they don’t want me to tell the world Voldemort attacked me?”
“The latter, I think. Scrimgeour doesn’t want to admit that You-Know-Who is as powerful as he is, nor that Azkaban’s seen a mass breakout.”
“Yeah, why tell the public the truth?” said Harry, clenching his knife so tightly that the faint scars on the back of his right hand stood out, white against his skin: I must not tell lies.
“Isn’t anyone at the Ministry prepared to stand up to him?” asked Ron angrily.
“Of course, Ron, but people are terrified,” Mr. Weasley replied, “terrified that they will be next to disappear, their children the next to be attacked! There are nasty rumors going around; I for one don’t believe the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts resigned. She hasn’t been seen for weeks now. Meanwhile Scrimgeour remains shut up in his office all day; I just hope he’s working on a plan.”
There was a pause in which Mrs. Weasley magicked the empty plates onto the work surface and served apple tart.
“We must decide ‘ow you will be disguised, ‘Arry,” said Fleur, once everyone had pudding. “For ze wedding,” she added, when he looked confused. “Of course, none of our guests are Death Eaters, but we cannot guarantee zat zey will not let something slip after zey ‘ave ‘ad champagne.”
From this, Harry gathered that she still suspected Hagrid.
“Yes, good point,” said Mrs. Weasley from the top of the table where she sat, spectacles perched on the end of her nose, scanning an immense list of jobs that she had scribbled on a very long piece of parchment. “Now, Ron, have you cleaned out your room yet?”
“Why?” exclaimed Ron, slamming his spoon down and glaring at his mother. “Why does my room have to be cleaned out? Harry and I are fine with it the way it is!”
“We are holding your brother’s wedding here in a few days’ time, young man – ”
“And are they getting married in my bedroom?” asked Ron furiously. “No! So why in the name of Merlin’s saggy left – ”
“Don’t talk to your mother like that,” said Mr. Weasley firmly. “And do as you’re told.”
Ron scowled at both his parents, then picked up his spoon and attacked the last few mouthfuls of his apple tart.
“I can help, some of it’s my mess.” Harry told Ron, but Mrs. Weasley cut across him.
“No, Harry, dear, I’d much rather you helped Arthur much out the chickens, and Hermione, I’d be ever so grateful if you’d change the sheets for Monsieur and Madame Delacour; you know they’re arriving at eleven tomorrow morning.”
But as it turned out, there was very little to do for the chickens. “There’s no need to, er, mention it to Molly,” Mr. Weasley told Harry, blocking his access to the coop, “but, er, Ted Tonks sent me most of what was left of Sirius’s bike and, er, I’m hiding – that’s to say, keeping – it in here. Fantastic stuff: There’s an exhaust gaskin, as I believe it’s called, the most magnificent battery, and it’ll be a great opportunity to find out how brakes work. I’m going to try and put it all back together again when Molly’s not – I mean, when I’ve got time.”
When they returned to the house, Mrs. Weasley was nowhere to be seen, so Harry slipped upstairs to Ron’s attic bedroom.
“I’m doing it, I’m doing –! Oh, it’s you,” said Ron in relief, as Harry entered the room. Ron lay back down on the bed, which he had evidently just vacated. The room was just as messy as it had been all week; the only chance was that Hermione was now sitting in the far corner, her fluffy ginger cat, Crookshanks, at her feet, sorting books, some of which Harry recognized as his own, into two enormous piles.
“Hi, Harry,” she said, as he sat down on his camp bed.
“And how did you manage to get away?”
“Oh, Ron’s mum forgot that she asked Ginny and me to change the sheets yesterday,” said Hermione. She threw Numerology and Grammatica onto one pile and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts onto the other.
“We were just talking about Mad-Eye,” Ron told Harry. “I reckon he might have survived.”
“But Bill saw him hit by the Killing Curse,” said Harry.
“Yeah, but Bill was under attack too,” said Ron. “How can he be sure what he saw?”
“Even if the Killing Curse missed, Mad-Eye still fell about a thousand feet,” said Hermione, now weight Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland in her hand.
“He could have used a Shield Charm – ”
“Fleur said his wand was blasted out of his hand,” said Harry.
“Well, all right, if you want him to be dead,” said Ron grumpily, punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape.
“Of course we don’t want him to be dead!” said Hermione, looking shocked. “It’s dreadful that he’s dead! But we’re being realistic!”
For the first time, Harry imagined Mad-Eye’s body, broken as Dumbledore’s had been, yet with that one eye still whizzing in its socket. He felt a stab of revulsion mixed with a bizarre desire to laugh.
“The Death Eaters probably tidied up after themselves, that’s why no one’s found him,” said Ron wisely.
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Like Barty Crouch, turned into a bone and buried in Hagrid’s front garden. They probably transfigured Moody and stuffed him – ”
“Don’t!” squealed Hermione. Startled, Harry looked over just in time to see her burst into tears over her copy of Spellman’s Syllabary.
“Oh no,” said Harry, struggling to get up from the old camp bed. “Hermione, I wasn’t trying to upset – ”
But with a great creaking of rusty bedsprings, Ron bounded off the bed and got there first. One arm around Hermione, he fished in his jeans pocket and withdrew a revolting-looking handkerchief that he had used to clean out the oven earlier. Hastily pulling out his wand, he pointed it at the rag and said, “Tergeo.”
The wand siphoned off most of the grease. Looking rather pleased with himself, Ron handed the slightly smoking handkerchief to Hermione.
“Oh… thanks, Ron…. I’m sorry….” She blew her nose and hiccupped. “It’s just so awf-ful, isn’t it? R-right after Dumbledore… I j-just n-never imagined Mad-Eye dying, somehow, he seemed so tough!”
“Yeah, I know,” said Ron, giving her a squeeze. “But you know what he’d say to us if he was here?”
“‘C-constant vigilance,’” said Hermione, mopping her eyes.
“That’s right,” said Ron, nodding. “He’d tell us to learn from what happened to him. And what I’ve learned is not to trust that cowardly little squit, Mundungus.”
Hermione gave a shaky laugh and leaned forward to pick up two more books. A second later, Ron had snatched his arm back from around her shoulders; she had dropped The Monster of Monsters on his foot. The book had broken free from its restraining belt and snapped viciously at Ron’s ankle.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Hermione cried as Harry wrenched the book from Ron’s leg and retied it shit.
“What are you doing with all those books anyway?” Ron asked, limping back to his bed.
“Just trying to decide which ones to take with us,” said Hermione, “When we’re looking for the Horcruxes.”
“Oh, of course,” said Ron, clapping a hand to his forehead. “I forgot we’ll be hunting down Voldemort in a mobile library.”
“Ha ha,” said Hermione, looking down at Spellman’s Syllabary. “I wonder… will we need to translate runes? It’s possible…. I think we’d better take it, to be safe.”
She dropped the syllabary onto the larger of the two piles and picked up Hogwarts, A History.
“Listen,” said Harry.
He had sat up straight. Ron and Hermione looked at him with similar mixtures of resignation and defiance.
“I know you said after Dumbledore’s funeral that you wanted to come with me,” Harry began.
“Here he goes,” Ron said to Hermione, rolling his eyes.
“As we knew he would,” he sighed, turning back to the books. “You know, I think I will take Hogwarts, A History. Even if we’re not going back there, I don’t think I’d feel right if I didn’t have it with – ”
“Listen!” said Harry again.
“No, Harry, you listen,” said Hermione. “We’re coming with you. That was decided months ago – years, really.”
“But – ”
“Shut up,” Ron advised him.
“– are you sure you’ve thought this through?” Harry persisted.
“Let’s see,” said Hermione, slamming Travels with Trolls onto the discarded pile with a rather fierce look. “I’ve been packing for days, so we’re ready to leave 
at a moment’s notice, which for your information has included doing some pretty difficult magic, not to mention smuggling Mad-Eye’s whole stock of Polyjuice Potion right under Ron’s mum’s nose.”
“I’ve also modified my parents’ memories so that they’re convinced they’re really called Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and that their life’s ambition is to move to Australia, which they have now done. That’s to make it more difficult for Voldemort to track them down and interrogate them about me – or you, because unfortunately, I’ve told them quite a bit about you.”
“Assuming I survive our hunt for the Horcruxes, I’ll find Mum and Dad and lift the enchantment. If I don’t – well, I think I’ve cast a good enough charm to keep them safe and happy. Wendell and Monica Wilkins don’t know that they’ve got a daughter, you see.”
Hermione’s eyes were swimming with tears again. Ron got back off the bed, put his arm around her once more, and frowned at Harry as though reproaching him for lack of tact. Harry could not think of anything to say, not least because it was highly unusual for Ron to be teaching anyone else tact.
“I – Hermione, I’m sorry – I didn’t – ”
“Didn’t realize that Ron and I know perfectly well what might happen if we come with you? Well, we do. Ron, show Harry what you’ve done.”
“Nah, he’s just eaten,” said Ron.
“Go on, he needs to know!”
“Oh, all right. Harry, come here.”
For the second time Ron withdrew his arm from around Hermione and stumped over to the door.
“C’mon.”
“Why?” Harry asked, following Ron out of the room onto the tiny landing.
“Descendo,” muttered Ron, pointing his wand at the low ceiling. A hatch opened right over their heads and a ladder slid down to their feet. A horrible, half-sucking, half-moaning sound came out of the square hole, along with an unpleasant smell like open drains.
“That’s your ghoul, isn’t it?” asked Harry, who had never actually met the creature that sometimes disrupted the nightly silence.
“Yeah, it is,” said Ron, climbing the ladder. “Come and have a look at him.”
Harry followed Ron up the few short steps into the tiny attic space. His head and shoulders were in the room before he caught sight of the creature curled up a few feet from him, fast asleep in the gloom with its large mouth wide open.
“But it… it looks… do ghouls normally wear pajamas?”
“No,” said Ron. “Nor have they usually got red hair or that number of pustules.”
Harry contemplated the thing, slightly revolted. It was human in shape and size, and was wearing what, now that Harry’s eyes became used to the darkness, was clearly an old pair of Ron’s pajamas. He was also sure that ghouls were generally rather slimy and bald, rather than distinctly hairy and covered in angry purple blisters.
“He’s me, see?” said Ron.
“No,” said Harry. “I don’t.”
“I’ll explain it back in my room, the smell’s getting to me,” said Ron. They climbed back down the ladder, which Ron returned to the ceiling, and rejoined Hermione, who was still sorting books.
“Once we’ve left, the ghoul’s going to come and live down here in my room,” said Ron. “I think he’s really looking forward to it – well, it’s hard to tell, because all he can do is moan and drool – but he nods a lot when you mention it. Anyway, he’s going to be me with spattergroit. Good, eh?”
Harry merely looked his confusion.
“It is!” said Ron, clearly frustrated that Harry had not grasped the brilliance of the plan. “Look, when we three don’t turn up at Hogwarts again, everyone’s going to think Hermione and I must be with you, right? Which means the Death Eaters will go straight for our families to see if they’ve got information on where you are.”
“But hopefully it’ll look like I’ve gone away with Mum and Dad; a lot of Muggle-borns are talking about going into hiding at the moment,” said Hermione.
“We can’t hide my whole family, it’ll look too fishy and they can’t all leave their jobs,” said Ron. “So we’re going to put out the story that I’m seriously ill with spattergroit, which is why I can’t go back to school. If anyone comes calling to investigate, Mum or Dad can show them the ghoul in my bed, covered in pustules. 
Spattergroit’s really contagious, so they’re not going to want to go near him. It won’t matter that he can’t say anything, either, because apparently you can’t once the fungus has spread to your uvula.”
“And your mum and dad are in on this plan?” asked Harry.
“Dad is. He helped Fred and George transform the ghoul. Mum… well, you’ve seen what she’s like. She won’t accept we’re going till we’re gone.”
There was silence in the room, broken only by gentle thuds as Hermione continued to throw books onto one pile or the other. Ron sat watching her, and Harry looked from one to the other, unable to say anything. The measure they had taken to protect their families made him realize, more than anything else could have done, that they really were going to come with him and that they knew exactly how dangerous that would be. He wanted to tell them what that meant to him, but he simply could not find words important enough.
Through the silence came the muffled sounds of Mrs. Weasley shouting from four floors below.
“Ginny’s probably left a speck of dust on a poxy napkin ring,” said Ron. “I dunno why the Delacours have got to come two days before the wedding.”
“Fleur’s sister’s a bridesmaid, she needs to be here for the rehearsal, and she’s too young to come on her own,” said Hermione, as she pored indecisively over Break with a Banshee.
“Well, guests aren’t going to help Mum’s stress levels,” said Ron.
“What we really need to decide,” said Hermione, tossing Defensive Magical Theory into the bin without a second glance and picking up An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, “is where we’re going after we leave here. I know you said you wanted to go to Godric’s Hollow first, Harry, and I understand why, but… well… shouldn’t we make the Horcruxes our priority?”
“If we knew where any of the Horcruxes were, I’d agree with you,” said Harry, who did not believe that Hermione really understood his desire to return to Godric’s Hollow. His parents’ graves were only part of the attraction: He had a strong, though inexplicable, feeling that the place held answers for him. Perhaps it was simply because it was there that he had survived Voldemort’s Killing Curse; now that he was facing the challenge of repeating the feat, Harry was drawn to the place where it had happened, wanting to understand.
“Don’t you think there’s a possibility that Voldemort’s keeping a watch on Godric’s Hollow?” Hermione asked. “He might expect you to go back and visit your parents’ graves once you’re free to go wherever you like?”
This had not occurred to Harry. While he struggled to find a counterargument, Ron spoke up, evidently following his own train of thought.
“This R.A.B. person,” he said. “You know, the one who stole the real locket?”
Hermione nodded.
“He said in his note he was going to destroy it, didn’t he?”
Harry dragged his rucksack toward him and pulled out the fake Horcrux in which R.A.B.’s note was still folded.
“‘I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.’” Harry read out.
“Well, what if he did finish it off?” said Ron.
“Or she.” Interposed Hermione.
“Whichever,” said Ron. “it’d be one less for us to do!”
“Yes, but we’re still going to have to try and trace the real locket, aren’t we?” said Hermione, “to find out whether or not it’s destroyed.”
“And once we get hold of it, how do you destroy a Horcrux?” asked Ron.
“Well,” said Hermione, “I’ve been researching that.”
“How?” asked Harry. “I didn’t think there were any books on Horcruxes in the library?”
“There weren’t,” said Hermione, who had turned pink. “Dumbledore removed them all, but he – he didn’t destroy them.”
Ron sat up straight, wide-eyed.
“How in the name of Merlin’s pants have you managed to get your hands on those Horcrux books?”
“It – it wasn’t stealing!” said Hermione, looking from Harry to Ron with a kind of desperation. “They were still library books, even if Dumbledore had taken them off the shelves. Anyway, if he really didn’t want anyone to get at them, I’m sure he would have made it much harder to – ”
“Get to the point!” said Ron.
“Well… it was easy,” said Hermione in a small voice. “I just did a Summoning Charm. You know – Accio. And – they zoomed out of Dumbledore’s study window right into the girls’ dormitory.”
“But when did you do this?” Harry asked, regarding Hermione with a mixture of admiration and incredulity.
“Just after his – Dumbledore’s – funeral,” said Hermione in an even smaller voice. “Right after we agreed we’d leave school and go and look for the Horcruxes. 
When I went back upstairs to get my things it – it just occurred to me that the more we knew about them, the better it would be… and I was alone in there… so I tried… and it worked. They flew straight in through the open window and I – I packed them.”
She swallowed and then said imploringly, “I can’t believe Dumbledore would have been angry, it’s not as though we’re going to use the information to make a Horcrux, is it?”
“Can you hear us complaining?” said Ron. “Where are these books anyway?”
Hermione rummaged for a moment and then extracted from the pile a large volume, bound in faded black leather. She looked a little nauseated and held it as gingerly as if it were something recently dead.
“This is the one that gives explicit instructions on how to make a Horcrux. Secrets of the Darkest Art – it’s a horrible book, really awful, full of evil magic. I wonder when Dumbledore removed it from the library…. if he didn’t do it until he was headmaster, I bet Voldemort got all the instruction he needed from here.”
“Why did he have to ask Slughorn how to make a Horcrux, then, if he’d already read that?” asked Ron.
“He only approached Slughorn to find out what would happen if you split your soul into seven,” said Harry. “Dumbledore was sure Riddle already knew how to make a Horcrux by the time he asked Slughorn about them. I think you’re right, Hermione, that could easily have been where he got the information.”
“And the more I’ve read about them,” said Hermione, “the more horrible they seem, and the less I can believe that he actually made six. It warns in this book how unstable you make the rest of your soul by ripping it, and that’s just by making one Horcrux!”
Harry remembered what Dumbledore had said about Voldemort moving beyond “usual evil.”
“Isn’t there any way of putting yourself back together?” Ron asked.
“Yes,” said Hermione with a hollow smile, “but it would be excruciatingly painful.”
“Why? How do you do it?” asked Harry.
“Remorse,” said Hermione. “You’ve got to really feel what you’ve done. There’s a footnote. Apparently the pain of it can destroy you. I can’t see Voldemort attempting it somehow, can you?”
“No,” said Ron, before Harry could answer. “So does it say how to destroy Horcruxes in that book?”
“Yes,” said Hermione, now turning the fragile pages as if examining rotting entrails, “because it warns Dark wizards how strong they have to make the enchantments on them. From all that I’ve read, what Harry did to Riddle’s diary was one of the few really foolproof ways of destroying a Horcrux.”
“What, stabbing it with a basilisk fang?” asked Harry.
“Oh well, lucky we’ve got such a large supply of basilisk fangs, then,” said Ron. “I was wondering what we were going to do with them.”
“It doesn’t have to be a basilisk fang,” said Hermione patiently. “It has to be something so destructive that the Horcrux can’t repair itself. Basilisk venom only has one antidote, and it’s incredibly rare – ”
“– phoenix tears,” said Harry, nodding.
“Exactly,” said Hermione. “Our problem is that there are very few substances as destructive as basilisk venom, and they’re all dangerous to carry around with you. 
That’s a problem we’re going to have to solve, though, because ripping, smashing, or crushing a Horcrux won’t do the trick. You’ve got to put it beyond magical repair.”
“But even if we wreck the thing it lives in,” said Ron, “why can’t the bit of soul in it just go and live in something else?”
“Because a Horcrux is the complete opposite of a human being.”
Seeing that Harry and Ron looked thoroughly confused, Hermione hurried on. “Look, if I picked up a sword right now, Ron, and ran you through with it, I wouldn’t damage your soul at all.”
“Which would be a real comfort to me, I’m sure,” said Ron. Harry laughed.
“It should be, actually! But my point is that whatever happens to your body, your soul will survive, untouched,” said Hermione. “But it’s the other way round with a Horcrux. The fragment of soul inside it depends on its container, its enchanted body, for survival. It can’t exist without it.”
“That diary sort of died when I stabbed it,” said Harry, remembering ink pouring like blood from the punctured pages, and the screams of the piece of Voldemort’s soul as it vanished.
“And once the diary was properly destroyed, the bit of soul trapped in it could no longer exist. Ginny tried to get rid of the diary before you did, flushing it away, but obviously it came back good as new.”
“Hang on,” said Ron, frowning. “The bit of soul in that diary was possessing Ginny, wasn’t it? How does that work, then?”
“While the magical container is still intact, the bit of soul inside it can flit in and out of someone if they get too close to the object. I don’t mean holding it for too long, it’s nothing to do with touching it,” she added before Ron could speak. “I mean close emotionally. Ginny poured her heart out into that diary, she made herself incredibly vulnerable. You’re in trouble if you get too fond of or dependent on the Horcrux.”
“I wonder how Dumbledore destroyed the ring?” said Harry. “Why didn’t I ask him? I never really…”
His voice trailed away: He was thinking of all the things he should have asked Dumbledore, and of how, since the headmaster had died, it seemed to Harry that he had wasted so many opportunities when Dumbledore had been alive, to find out more… to find out everything….
The silence was shattered as the bedroom door flew open with a wall-shaking crash. Hermione shrieked and dropped Secrets of the Darkest Art; Crookshanks streaked under the bed, hissing indignantly; Ron jumped off the bed, skidded on a discarded Chocolate Frog wrapper, and smacked his head on the opposite wall; and Harry instinctively dived for his wand before realizing that he was looking up at Mrs. Weasley, whose hair was disheveled and whose face was contorted with rage.
“I’m so sorry to break up this cozy little gathering,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m sure you all need your rest… but there are wedding presents stacked in my room that need sorting out and I was under the impression that you had agreed to help.”
“Oh yes,” said Hermione, looking terrified as she leapt to her feet, sending books flying in every direction. “we will… we’re sorry…”
With an anguished look at Harry and Ron, Hermione hurried out of the room after Mrs. Weasley.
“it’s like being a house-elf,” complained Ron in an undertone, still massaging his head as he and Harry followed. “Except without the job satisfaction. The sooner this wedding’s over, the happier, I’ll be.”
“Yeah,” said Harry, “then we’ll have nothing to do except find Horcruxes…. It’ll be like a holiday, won’t it?”
Ron started to laugh, but at the sight of the enormous pile of wedding presents waiting for them in Mrs. Weasley’s room, stopped quite abruptly.
The Delacours arrived the following morning at eleven o’ clock. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were feeling quite resentful toward Fleur’s family by this time; and it was with ill grace that Ron stumped back upstairs to put on matching socks, and Harry attempted to flatten his hair. Once they had all been deemed smart enough, they trooped out into the sunny backyard to await the visitors.
Harry had never seen the place looking so tidy. The rusty cauldrons and old Wellington boots that usually littered the steps by the back door were gone, replaced by two new Flutterby bushes standing either side of the door in large pots; though there was no breeze, the leaves waved lazily, giving an attractive rippling effect. The chickens had been shut away, the yard had been swept, and the nearby garden had been pruned, plucked, and generally spruced up, although Harry, who liked it in its overgrown state, thought that it looked rather forlorn without its usual contingent of capering gnomes.
He had lost track of how many security enchantments had been placed upon the Burrow by both the Order and the Ministry; all he knew was that it was no longer possible for anybody to travel by magic directly into the place. Mr. Weasley had therefore gone to meet the Delacours on top of a nearby hill, where they were to arrive by Portkey. The first sound of their approach was an unusually high-pitched laugh, which turned out to be coming from Mr. Weasley, who appeared at the gate moments later, laden with luggage and leading a beautiful blonde woman in long, leaf green robes, who could be Fleur’s mother.
“Maman!” cried Fleur, rushing forward to embrace her. “Papa!”
Monsieur Delacour was nowhere near as attractive as his wife; he was a head shorter and extremely plumb, with a little, pointed black beard. However, he looked good-natured. Bouncing towards Mrs. Weasley on high-heeled boots, he kissed her twice on each cheek, leaving her flustered.
“You ‘ave been so much trouble,” he said in a deep voice. “Fleur tells us you ‘ave been working very ‘ard.”
“Oh, it’s been nothing, nothing!” trilled Mrs. Weasley. “No trouble at all!”
Ron relieved his feelings by aiming a kick at a gnome who was peering out from behind one of the new Flutterby bushes.
“Dear lady!” said Monsieur Delacour, still holding Mrs. Weasley’s hand between his own two plump ones and beaming. “We are most honored at the approaching union of our two families! Let me present my wife, Apolline.”
Madame Delacour glided forward and stooped to kiss Mrs. Weasley too.
“Enchantée,” she said. “Your ‘usband ‘as been telling us such amusing stories!”
Mr. Weasley gave a maniacal laugh; Mrs. Weasley threw him a look, upon which he became immediately silent and assumed an expression appropriate to the sickbed of a close friend.
“And, of course, you ‘ave met my leetle daughter, Gabrielle!” said Monsieur Delacour. Gabrielle was Fleur in miniature; eleven years old, with waist-length hair of pure, silvery blonde, she gave Mrs. Weasley a dazzling smile and hugged her, then threw Harry a glowing look, batting her eyelashes. Ginny cleared her throat loudly.
“Well, come in, do!” said Mrs. Weasley brightly, and she ushered the Delacours into the house, with many “No, please!”s and “After you!’s and “Not at all!’s.
The Delacours, it soon transpired, were helpful, pleasant guests. They were pleased with everything and keen to assist with the preparations for the wedding. Monsieur Delacour pronounced everything from the seating plan to the bridesmaids’ shoes “Charmant!” Madame Delacour was most accomplished at household spells and had the oven properly cleaned in a trice; Gabrielle followed her elder sister around, trying to assist in any way she could and jabbering away in rapid French.
On the downside, the Burrow was not built to accommodate so many people. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were now sleeping in the sitting room, having shouted down Monsieur and Madame Delacour’s protests and insisted they take their bedroom. Gabrielle was sleeping with Fleur in Percy’s old room, and Bill would be sharing with Charlie, his best man, once Charlie arrived from Romania. Opportunities to make plans together became virtually nonexistent, and it was in desperation that Harry, Ron and Hermione took to volunteering to feed the chickens just to escape the overcrowded house.
“But she still won’t leave us alone!” snarled Ron, and their second attempt at a meeting in the yard was foiled by the appearance of Mrs. Weasley carrying a large basket of laundry in her arms.
“Oh, good, you’ve fed the chickens,” she called as she approached them. “We’d better shut them away again before the men arrive tomorrow… to put up the tent for the wedding,” she explained, pausing to lean against the henhouse. She looked exhausted. “Millamant’s Magic Marquees… they’re very good. Bill’s escorting them…. 
You’d better stay inside while they’re here, Harry. I must say it does complicate organizing a wedding, having all these security spells around the place.”
“I’m sorry,” said Harry humbly.
“Oh, don’t be silly, dear!” said Mrs. Weasley at once. “I didn’t mean – well, your safety’s much more important! Actually, I’ve been wanting to ask you how you 
want to celebrate your birthday, Harry. Seventeen, after all, it’s an important day….”
“I don’t want a fuss,” said Harry quickly, envisaging the additional strain this would put on them all. “Really, Mrs. Weasley, just a normal dinner would be fine…. 
It’s the day before the wedding….”
“Oh, well, if you’re sure, dear. I’ll invite Remus and Tonks, shall I? And how about Hagrid?”
“That’d be great,” said Harry. “But please, don’t go to loads of trouble.”
“Not at all, not at all… It’s no trouble….”
She looked at him, a long, searching look, then smiled a little sadly, straightened up, and walked away. Harry watched as she waved her wand near the washing line, and the damp clothes rose into the air to hang themselves up, and suddenly he felt a great wave of remorse for the inconvenience and the pain he was giving her.
接下来的几天，失去疯眼汉的打击笼罩着整栋房子，哈利仍旧希望看见他的身影笨重地穿过后门，像其他凤凰社的成员一样，进进出出，传递着消息。哈利感到，除了战斗，没有任何事能减轻他的内疚感和悲痛，所以他应该尽早出发去完成找寻和破坏魂器的使命。 
　　“但是，关于那个……”罗恩作出“魂器”的嘴型 
　　，“你什么都不能做。直到你十七岁，你还拥有那种保护魔法，而且我们可以在这儿计划好，像在别的地方一样，不是吗？或者，”他降低声音，耳语道：“你觉得自己已经知道神秘人在哪儿了？” 
　　“不知道，”哈利说。 
　　“我想赫敏已经做了一些调查”罗恩说，“她说她在为你的到来做准备。” 
　　他们坐在餐桌前，韦斯莱先生和比尔刚刚离开家上班去了，韦斯莱夫人上楼去叫醒赫敏和金妮，芙蓉也飘进舆洗室洗澡去了。 
　　“这种保护魔法将在31日打破”哈利说，“那意味着我只需要在这儿呆四天，然后我就能——” 
　　“五天。”罗恩坚决地打断他，“我们要留在这儿参加婚礼，如果错过了，他们会杀了我们的。” 
　　哈利明白“他们”是指芙蓉和韦斯莱夫人。 
　　“这是特别的一天，”哈利正有所抗议，罗恩说道。 
　　“他们难道不知道那件事有多重要？” 
　　“就是因为他们不知道，”罗恩说，“他们一点线索都没有，既然现在你提到它，我想和你好好谈谈。” 
　　罗恩匆匆地瞥了一眼通向大厅的门，看到韦斯莱夫人仍然没有回来，然后，向哈利靠近一些， 
　　“妈妈试图想从我和赫敏那儿了解我们要离开做什么，下一个就是你了，所以你要挺住。爸爸和卢平都问过我们，但是当我们说邓布利多告诉你除了我们之外不能告诉别的任何人，他们就放弃了，可妈妈就不，尽管这样，她还是很坚决。” 
　　罗恩的预测在几小时后应验了，午餐前不久，韦斯莱夫人把哈利从其他人身边叫出来认领一只袜子，她认为那是从他的帆布背包里掉出来的，当她把哈利带到厨房的小小的碗碟储藏室，“罗恩和赫敏似乎认为你们三个要退出霍格沃茨了，”她貌似漫不经心的轻声说。 
　　“哦……嗯，” 哈利说，“是的。” 
　　熨衣机在一个角落和谐地转着，扭出一件像是韦斯莱先生的背心的东西。 
　　“我可以问为什么你们要放弃学业吗？”韦斯莱夫人问。 
　　“哦，邓布利多留给了我……一些事去做，”哈利咕哝着，“罗恩和赫敏知道，他们也想去。” 
　　“哪种事？” 
　　“对不起，我不能——” 
　　“好，坦诚地说，我认为亚瑟和我有权利知道，我确信格兰杰先生和夫人也会同意！”韦斯莱夫人说，哈利很害怕“关心你们的父母”这样的话语，他强迫自己直接看着她的眼睛，当他这样做的时候注意到她的褐色的眼睛与金妮的简直一模一样。他失败了。 
　　“邓布利多不想其他人知道，韦斯莱夫人，对不起，罗恩和赫敏不是一定要来，那是他们的选择——” 
　　“我没看出你也必须去！”她厉声说，现在扔下所有借口，“你几乎还没成年，你所说的一切，全是扯淡，如果邓布利多有工作要做，他有整个凤凰社的人可以自由支配！哈利，你一定误会了他的意思，也许他只是告诉你一些他想完成的事，你却认为他想要你——” 
　　“我没有误会，”哈利干巴巴地说，“那是指我” 
　　他递回那只袜子，上面绣着金色的芦苇图案 
　　“那不是我的，我不支持普顿密尔队（魁地球队名）” 
　　“哦，当然不是，”韦斯莱夫人疲惫的声音突然恢复到她那不经意的语调，“我应该意识到的，那么，哈利，既然我们仍然留你在这儿，你不介意帮忙准备比尔和芙蓉的婚礼，对吗？还有那么多的事情要做。” 
　　“不—我—当然不介意，”哈利说，被这突然改变的话题弄得不知所措。 
　　“你真好，”她回答，微笑着离开了碗碟储藏室。 
　　从那一刻起，韦斯莱夫人让哈利，罗恩和赫敏忙个不停地准备婚礼，他们几乎没有任何时间去思考，这种行为的最好的解释是韦斯莱夫人想把他们的注意力从对疯眼汉的思念和他们最近的可怕的旅行中转移过来，两天不断地做着餐具清洗，各种颜色调配，缎带和花，除花园的地精，帮韦斯莱夫人烤了很多的夹子鱼烤面包，然而，哈利开始怀疑她别有用心，所有这些好分派的工作看起来好象是让他，罗恩和赫敏彼此分隔，从第一晚，当他告诉他们伏地魔拷问奥利凡德后，他根本没有机会单独地与他们两个说话， 　　“我想妈妈认为如果她能阻止你们三个聚到一起计划，她就能够拖延你离开的时间。”他到来后的第三个晚上，当他们在搁放晚餐桌时，金妮低声地对哈利说。 
　　“那么她想过会发生什么吗？”哈利咕哝着说，“当她把我们留在这儿做肉馅饼的时候，别的什么人也许会消灭伏地魔？”他想也没想地说，盯着金妮变白的脸。 
　　“那么那是真的？”她说，“那就是你打算去做的？” 
　　“我—不——我只是开玩笑，”哈利推脱着。 
　　他们彼此盯着，有一些比震惊更多的东西在金妮的表情里，哈利突然意识到自从那些在霍格沃茨隐蔽的角落失去的美好时光后，他和她是第一次单独一起。他确信她也记得。当门打开的时候，他们两个都跳了起来，韦斯莱夫人，金斯莱和比尔走了进来。 
　　他们经常与别的凤凰社成员一起晚餐，因为陋居已经代替了格里莫广场12号作为凤凰社的总部，韦斯莱先生解释说，邓布利多——他们的保密人死后，每一个已被邓布利多告知格里莫广场位置的人都自动成为了保密人。 
　　“而且由于在我们之中大约有二十个，这大大地削弱了赤胆忠心咒的力量。食死徒有二十多次的机会从某人处获得这个秘密，我们不能期望它能够坚持很久。” 
　　“但是，斯内普肯定现在已经告诉了食死徒这地址了吧？”哈利问。 
　　“呃，疯眼汉施了几个咒语来抑制斯内普再一次找到那个地方，我们希望它们的力量足够强大的，既能将斯内普排除在外，如果他想说出这个地方，也能够约束他的舌头，但是我们不能肯定，所以在它的保护变得如此弱的情况下，继续使用这个地方作总部是很愚蠢的，” 
　　傍晚，厨房是太拥挤了，使用自动刀叉非常困难，哈利发现自己挤在金妮旁边，他们之间传递着不需要用言辞来表达的事，那让他希望他们中间能间隔着几个人，他正尽力避免扫着她的胳膊，所以他几乎不能切他的鸡肉。 
　　“没有关于疯眼汉的消息吗？”哈利问比尔， 
　　“什么也没有，”比尔回答道。 
　　他们还没有为穆迪举行葬礼，因为比尔和卢平还未能找到他的尸体，在黑暗和混乱的战斗中找到他可能掉下的地方很困难。 
　　“关于他的死或是找寻他的尸体，预言家日报一个字也没提，”比尔继续说，“但是，那不是意味着什么，他们这些天一直非常安静。” 
　　“而且他们还没有因为我用来对付食死徒的那些魔法传证一个关于未成年人使用魔法的听讼”哈利对他桌子对面的韦斯莱先生说，韦斯莱先生摇摇头。 
　　“因为他们知道我没有选择或者因为他们不乐意告诉魔法界伏地魔攻击了我？” 
　　“最近，我猜，斯克林杰不想承认神秘人已经像过去那样强大，也不想承认阿兹卡班爆发了一个大规模的越狱。” 
　　“是啊，为什么要告诉公众真相呢？”哈利说，紧抓着他的刀，他右手背上模糊的白色的伤疤显现出来：我不可以说谎。 
　　“难道在魔法部里没一个人准备勇敢地抵抗他吗？”罗恩愤怒地问。 
　　“当然不，罗恩，但是人们害怕了，”韦斯莱先生回答，“害怕他们将会是下一个消失者，他们的孩子会是下一个受攻击者！有令人厌恶的谣言在到处流传，我是不相信，在霍格沃茨辞职的那个麻瓜研究教授，她已经失踪几周了，其间，斯克林杰整天关上他的办公室，我只希望他正在制定一个计划。” 
　　当韦斯莱夫人使魔法把空的盘子弄到工作台上，开始端上苹果馅饼,大家都不说话了。 
　　“我们必须决定怎样保护你，阿利”，芙蓉说，大家正吃着布丁，“为了这个婚礼，”他困惑地看着她，她补充道，“当然，我们的客人中没人是食死徒，但是我们不能保证在他们喝了香槟酒之后不会无意中说出一些事。” 
　　从这一点。哈利推断她仍然怀疑海格。 
　　“是的，好提议”，韦斯莱夫人从她坐着的桌子顶部说，眼镜挂在她的鼻梁上，同时浏览着已潦草地写在一张长长的羊皮纸上的繁杂工作。“现在，罗恩，你已经打扫干净你房间了吗？” 
　　“为什么？”罗恩大声叫起来，他的勺子坠到地上，怒视着他的母亲，“为什么我的房间就必须要打扫？哈利和我喜欢它现在的样子！” 
　　“我们要在几天的时间内举行你哥哥的婚礼，小伙子——” 
　　“那他们要在我的房间里举行婚礼吗？”罗恩狂暴地问，“真见鬼……” 
　　“不许对你妈妈那样说话，”韦斯莱先生坚决地说，“照她说的做。” 
　　罗恩怒视着他的父母，然后捡起他的勺子，咽下最后几口苹果饼。 
　　“我可以帮忙，这儿有些是我的东西”，哈利告诉罗恩，但是韦斯莱夫人打断了他，“不，哈利，亲爱的，我希望你帮亚瑟弄这些鸡，赫敏，如果你去换换德拉库尔夫妇的床单我会非常感谢的。你知道他们要在明天上午十一点到这儿。” 
　　但是一切表明，开始弄这些鸡的时候，只有很少的事情做，“这没必要向……呃……莫莉说起，”韦斯莱先生对哈利说，他正在把他的那只鸡赶进鸡舍，“但是，嗯，泰德·唐克斯送了我小天狼星摩托车的大部分零件,而且,嗯，我正保留着呢，就是说，把它藏在这儿，真是神奇的东西，有一个排气装置，就像我相信它说的，最华丽的电池，这是一个伟大的机会来研究刹车是怎样工作的。我将再次将它们都组装在一起，当莫莉不——我意思是说，当我有时间的时候。 　　” 
　　当他们走回房子时,韦斯莱夫人不见了踪影,于是哈利飞速跑向罗恩的阁楼卧室 
　　“我正在做，我正在做——！啊，是你，” 
　　罗恩腾地跳起来夸张地说,当哈利进入房间时他正躺在床上，房间还是象以前一样的乱。唯一的不同是赫敏现在正坐在远处一个角落里分拣两大堆书,其中一些,哈利认出来是自己的，她那毛绒绒的姜黄色的猫，克鲁克山在她的脚边。 
　　“嗨，哈利”当他坐在他的行军床上时，她说道。 
　　“你是怎么逃脱的？” 
　　“哦，罗恩的妈妈忘记了她昨天已经叫金妮和我去整理床单了。”赫敏说，她把一本”格兰玛狄卡和数字占卜”丢在一堆书上，一本”黑魔法的兴起与衰落”丢在另一堆上。 
　　“我们正在说疯眼汉，”罗恩告诉哈利，我猜他可能还活着。 ” 
　　“但是比尔看见他被夺命咒击中了。”哈利说。 
　　“是的，可比尔也处在被攻击中，”罗恩说，“他怎么能确认他看见的？” 
　　“即使夺命咒没打中他，疯眼汉仍然是从一千英尺高掉了下去，”赫敏说，现在拿着一本厚重的”英格兰和爱尔兰魁地奇队”在她的手里。 
　　“也许他用了一个保护咒——” 
　　“芙蓉说他的魔杖从手中击飞了 ”哈利说。 
　　“唔，好吧，如果你想要他死，”罗恩暴躁地说，把他的枕头拍成一个更舒服的形状。 
　　“我们当然不想他死！”赫敏说，震惊地看着他，“他的死是很可怕的！但是我们也要面对现实！” 
　　第一次，哈利想象疯眼汉的身体，像邓布利多的一样断折掉下来，一只眼睛仍然在眼窝里飕飕响着，他感到一阵抽痛伴随着一阵奇异的想笑的愿望。 
　　“食死徒可能后来自己收拾了，这就是为什么没有人发现他，”罗恩韦斯莱说。 
　　“是的”哈利说，“象巴蒂·克劳奇一样，变成了骨头，被埋葬在海格的前花园，他们可能把穆迪变形然后把他埋到——” 
　　“别再说了！”赫敏震惊地尖叫，哈利望过去，正好看到她眼里迸出了眼泪，掉在她抄写的符咒字母表上。 
　　“哦,不”，哈利说，挣扎着从行军床上爬起来，“赫敏，我不是想让你不安——” 
　　但是，随着一阵的生锈的弹簧床的吱吱声，罗恩跳离床，走道赫敏那，一个胳膊抱住她，他在他的牛仔裤包里摸索，然后，塞回一块看起来令人厌恶的他过去常用来清扫以前的烤箱的手帕，慌忙地拔出他的魔杖，他用魔杖指着抹布，“焕然一新”·魔杖吸走了抹布上的多数油脂，他看起来很满意，罗恩把有些冒烟的手帕递给赫敏。 
　　“哦，谢谢，罗恩……对不起……”她吸了吸鼻子，抽泣着，“那真是是太可—怕了，不是吗？”正发生在邓布利多—之后……，我从……从来不敢想像疯眼汉会死，不知何故，他看起来那么的坚强！　　” 
　　“是啊,我知道·”罗恩说,并向她挤了挤·”但如果他在这儿,你知道他会说什么吗?” 
　　“时……时刻保持警惕,”赫敏抹了把眼泪· 
　　“的确，”罗恩点头说，“他已经告诉我们要向他的遭遇中学习，我学到的是不要相信胆小鬼，蒙顿格斯” 
　　赫敏虚弱地笑了笑，探身再捡起两本书，一秒钟后，罗恩伸出他的胳膊绕着她的肩，”妖怪们的妖怪书”掉到了他的脚上，从拴的带子处解放了出来，它恶毒地咬着罗恩的脚踝。 
　　“对不起，对不起！”赫敏话里带着哭腔，哈利把书从罗恩的脚上使劲扭下来，重新把它捆住。 
　　“你要这些书做什么？”罗恩问，一跛一跛地回到他的床边， 
　　“只是想看看我们需要带哪些书”赫敏说，“当我们找魂器的时候。” 
　　“哦，当然，”罗恩说，一只手轻轻的拍在前额上，“我忘记了我们要开始在流动图书馆中跟踪追击伏地魔。” 
　　“哈哈，”赫敏说，盯着下面的魔法字音表，“我想知道……，我们会不会需要翻译古魔文？ 那是可能的……我想我们最好带上它，为了安全起见。” 
　　她把字音表丢进两堆书中较大的一堆中，捡起《霍格沃茨，一段校史》。 
　　“听着，”哈利说。他直直地站起来，罗恩和赫敏看着他，眼光里混合着顺从和挑战。 
　　“我知道你们在邓布利多的葬礼后说过想要同我一起战斗，”哈利开始说。 
　　“他要行动了。”罗恩转动着他的眼睛对赫敏说。 
　　“就像我们知道的那样他会的，”他叹息，走回到书堆旁，“你知道，我想我将带《霍格沃茨，一段校史》，即使我们不回到那儿，如果我们不带它的话我不认为我会觉得合适——” 
　　“听着！”哈利再一次说。 
　　“不，哈利，你听着，”赫敏说，“我们要与你一起，那是几月前就决定了的，或是几年前，真的。” 
　　“但是——” 
　　“闭嘴，”罗恩警告他。 
　　“——你们确信你们彻底地考虑好了吗？”哈利坚持问。 
　　“看吧，”赫敏说，砰的一声把《与山怪同游》丢进废弃的那一堆书中，一脸的暴躁的表情。“我已经收拾了几天了，因此我们已经准备好迅速离开，供参考的信息已经包括了非常困难的魔法，不要提出在罗恩妈妈的鼻子底下偷带走疯眼汉的全部的复方药剂 
　　“我也修改了我父母的记忆，因此他们确信他们真的叫温德尔和莫尼卡威尔金斯，他们的生活愿望是移居到澳大利亚，他们现在已经去了，那会让伏地魔难追捕到他们，向他们审问我的行踪——或者你的，因为很不幸地，我曾经告诉过他们关于你的一些事情。” 
　　“假如我在我们搜寻魂器的行动中幸存，我将找到爸爸妈妈并撤消魔法。如果我不——好，我想我已经施了一个足够好的魔法让他们安全和幸福，温德尔 和 莫尼卡 威尔金斯不知道他们有一个女儿，你知道，” 
　　赫敏的眼睛里泪珠又开始在闪动，罗恩又从床边回到她身边，再一次抱住了她，对哈利皱着眉，好象责备他不够机敏，哈利想不到要什么说，不仅仅因为对罗恩来说教别人机敏是别扭的。 
　　“我——赫敏，我很抱歉—— 我不——” 
　　“难道没有发觉我和罗恩非常清楚地知道如果我们和你一起可能会发生什么吗？我们知道，真的，罗恩，给哈利看看你做了什么。” 
　　“不，他刚刚才吃过饭，”罗恩说。 
　　“快点，他需要知道！” 
　　“哦，好吧，哈利，这儿来。” 
　　罗恩第二次从赫敏肩上抽回他的胳膊，笨重的走向门边。 
　　“来吧。” 
　　“是什么？”哈利问，跟着罗恩走出房间，来到一个很小的楼梯平台。 
　　“速速显形”罗恩咕哝着，他的魔杖指着低低的天花板，他们的正上方，打开了一个洞口，同时一架梯子滑到他们脚边。一个可怕的、半吮吸半呻吟的声音从方形的洞口传来，伴随着一阵令人恶心的像打开的臭水沟的气味。 
　　“那是你的食尸鬼，是不是？”哈利问，他确实从来没有碰到过这种不时打断夜间寂静的生物。 
　　“没错，就是它，”罗恩说，一边爬上楼梯，“来看看。” 
　　哈利跟着罗恩爬上短短的楼梯进入这个小小的阁楼。他的头和肩膀才伸进阁楼，就瞥见这个东西蜷缩在离他几英尺远的地方，它的嘴大张着睡在幽暗中。 
　　“但是它……它看起来……食尸鬼一般都穿着睡衣吗？” 
　　“不，”罗恩说，“他们通常也没有红色的头发和大量的脓疱。” 
　　哈利越想这件事越有点恶心，它有和人类一样的体形和高度，现在哈利的眼睛适应了黑暗，他清楚地看见它穿着罗恩的一条旧睡衣，他确信食尸鬼一般都是相当粘糊糊并秃顶的，并不是象这样有很清楚的头发和全身长满水胞，颜色象因为生气而胀紫了的脸。 
　　“那是我，像不像？”罗恩说。 
　　“不，”哈利说，“我认为不像。” 
　　“回到我的房间我再解释这件事，这气味让我受不了。”罗恩说。他们爬下楼梯，罗恩让天花板恢复原状，重新走到仍在整理书的赫敏的身旁。 
　　“一旦我们离开，这个食尸鬼就会下来住到我的房间，”罗恩说，“我认为他真的渴望那一天——好，很难说，因为他所能做的一切只是呻吟和流口水——但当你提起这件事时它就一个劲地点头，无论如何，他将带着死斑谷病成为我的替身，不错吧，嗯？” 
　　哈利头脑中一片混乱。 
　　“它很棒的！”罗恩说，对哈利没有领会到这个计划的完美而明显地失落着。“你想，当我们三个将不再出现在霍格沃茨，每个人都会认为赫敏和我一定是和你一起，是吗？ 
　　那意味着食死徒将会直接去找我们的家人看他们是不是有一些关于你行踪的消息。” 
　　“但是，希望那将看起来好象是我已经与爸爸妈妈一起离开了，大量麻瓜出身的巫师此刻都在谈论去躲起来。”赫敏说。 
　　“我们不能将我的全家都藏起来，那看起来太蠢了，而且他们不能都丢下工作不管。”罗恩说，“因此我们要编个故事说我得了严重的死斑谷病，这就是为什么我不能回到学校的原因，如果有人来向我调查，妈妈或者爸爸就让他们看看我床上那满身脓疱的食尸鬼，死斑谷病真的会传染的，因此他们不会愿意靠近他，他不能说话也不会引起麻烦，因为，很明显，一旦病菌传播到你的舌头上，你就说不出了。” 
　　“那你的妈妈和爸爸也参与了这个计划？”哈利问。 
　　“爸爸是这样的，他帮弗雷德和乔治给食尸鬼变形，妈妈……，嗯，你已经看见了她的态度了，她不会同意的——直到我们离开。” 
　　大家都沉默了，只有赫敏轻轻的分书声，罗恩坐在那儿望着她，哈利看看这个又看看那个，什么也说不出，他们所采取的保护家人的措施使他认识到，不仅仅是其它能做的事，他们真的要与他一起，而且他们也确切地知道那将是多么的危险，他想告诉他们对他来说那意味着什么，但是他完全不能找到足够分量的话来表达自己的心情。 
　　在寂静里韦斯莱夫人的大叫声从四楼传来。 
　　“金妮可能弄了一个斑点在那发霉的餐巾环上，”罗恩说，“我不知道为什么德拉库尔夫妇一定要在婚礼两天前来。” 
　　“芙蓉的妹妹是女傧相，她需要先来这儿排演，而且她太年轻了，不能自己来，”赫敏说，她犹豫不决地注视着《与女妖同游》。 
　　“客人们可不能减轻妈妈的压力”，罗恩说。 
　　“我们真正需要决定的是，”赫敏说，瞟也不瞟一眼就把“黑魔法防御理论”丢进箱子里，然后捡起“欧洲魔法教育评估”,“我们离开这儿会要去哪里？我知道你说你想要先去高锥克山谷，哈利，我明白为什么，但是……嗯……我们不应该先去找寻魂器吗？” 
　　“如果我们知道任何一个魂器在哪，我就赞同你，”哈利说，他不相信赫敏真正明白他想要回到高锥克山谷的愿望，他的父母的坟墓只是吸引他想去那儿的一个原因，他有一个非常强烈的，尽管无法形容的感觉，这个地方有他想要的答案，
Chapter 7  The Will of Albus Dumbledore
He was walking along a mountain road in the cool blue light of dawn. Far below, swathed in mist, was the shadow of a small town. Was the man he sought down there, the man he needed so badly he could think of little else, the man who held the answer, the answer to his problem…?
“Oi, wake up.”
Harry opened his eyes. He was lying again on the camp bed in Ron’s dingy attic room. The sun had not yet risen and the room was still shadowy. Pigwidgeon was asleep with his head under his tiny wing. The scar on Harry’s forehead was prickling.
“You were muttering in your sleep.”
“Was I?”
“Yeah. ‘Gregorovitch.’ You kept saying ‘Gregorovitch.’”
Harry was not wearing his glasses; Ron’s face appeared slightly blurred.
“Who’s Gregorovitch?”
“I dunno, do I? You were the one saying it.”
Harry rubbed his forehead, thinking. He had a vague idea he had heard the name before, but he could not think where.
“I think Voldemort’s looking for him.”
“Poor bloke,” said Ron fervently.
Harry sat up, still rubbing his scar, now wide awake. He tried to remember exactly what he had seen in the dream, but all that came back was a mountainous horizon and the outline of the little village cradled in a deep valley.
“I think he’s abroad.”
“Who, Gregorovitch?”
“Voldemort. I think he’s somewhere abroad, looking for Gregorovitch. It didn’t look like anywhere in Britain.”
“You reckon you were seeing into his mind again?”
Ron sounded worried.
“Do me a favor and don’t tell Hermione,” said Harry. “Although how she expects me to stop seeing stuff in my sleep…”
He gazed up at little Pigwidgeon’s cage, thinking…Why was the name “Gregorovitch” familiar?
“I think,” he said slowly, “he’s got something to do with Quidditch. There’s some connection, but I can’t–I can’t think what it is.”
“Quidditch?” said Ron. “Sure you’re not thinking of Gorgovitch?”
“Who?”
“Dragomir Gorgovitch, Chaser, transferred to the Chudley Cannons for a record fee two years ago. Record holder for most Quaffle drops in a season.”
“No,” said Harry. “I’m definitely not thinking of Gorgovitch.”
“I try not to either,” said Ron. “Well, happy birthday anyway.”
“Wow – that’s right, I forgot! I’m seventeen!”
Harry seized the wand lying beside his camp bed, pointed it at the cluttered desk where he had left his glasses, and said, “Accio Glasses!” Although they were only around a foot away, there was something immensely satisfying about seeing them zoom toward him, at least until they poked him in the eye.
“Slick,” snorted Ron.
Reveling in the removal of his Trace, Harry sent Ron’s possessions flying around the room, causing Pigwidgeon to wake up and flutter excitedly around his cage. Harry also tried tying the laces of his trainers by magic (the resultant knot took several minutes to untie by hand) and, purely for the pleasure of it, turned the orange robes on Ron’s Chudley Cannons posters bright blue.
“I’d do your fly by hand, though,” Ron advised Harry, sniggering when Harry immediately checked it. “Here’s your present. Unwrap it up here, it’s not for my mother’s eyes.”
“A book?” said Harry as he took the rectangular parcel. “Bit of a departure from tradition, isn’t it?”
“This isn’t your average book,” said Ron. “It’d pure gold: Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. Explains everything you need to know about girls. If only I’d had this last year I’d have known exactly how to get rid of Lavender and I would’ve known how to get going with… Well, Fred and George gave me a copy, and I’ve learned a lot. You’d be surprised, it’s not all about wandwork, either.”
When they arrived in the kitchen they found a pile of presents waiting on the table. Bill and Monsieur Delacour were finishing their breakfasts, while Mrs. Weasley stood chatting to them over the frying pan.
“Arthur told me to wish you a happy seventeenth, Harry,” said Mrs. Weasley, beaming at him. “He had to leave early for work, but he’ll be back for dinner. That’s our present on top.”
Harry sat down, took the square parcel she had indicated, and unwrapped it. Inside was a watch very like the one Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had given Ron for his seventeenth; it was gold, with stars circling around the race instead of hands.
“It’s traditional to give a wizard a watch when he comes of age,” said Mrs. Weasley, watching him anxiously from beside the cooker. “I’m afraid that one isn’t new like Ron’s, it was actually my brother Fabian’s and he wasn’t terribly careful with his possessions, it’s a bit dented on the back, but–”
The rest of her speech was lost; Harry had got up and hugged her. He tried to put a lot of unsaid things into the hug and perhaps she understood them, because she patted his cheek clumsily when he released her, then waved her wand in a slightly random way, causing half a pack of bacon to flop out of the frying pan onto the floor.
“Happy birthday, Harry!” said Hermione, hurrying into the kitchen and adding her own present to the top of the pile. “It’s not much, but I hope you like it. What did you get him?” she added to Ron, who seemed not to hear her.
“Come on, then, open Hermione’s!” said Ron.
She had bought him a new Sneakoscope. The other packages contained an enchanted razor from Bill and Fleur (“Ah yes, zis will give you ze smoothest shave you will ever ‘ave,” Monsieur Delacour assured him, “but you must tell it clearly what you want…ozzerwise you might find you ‘ave a leetle less hair zan you would like…”), chocolates from the Delacours, and an enormous box of the latest Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes merchandise from Fred and George.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione did not linger at the table, as the arrival of Madame Delacour, Fleur, and Gabrielle made the kitchen uncomfortably crowded.
“I’ll pack these for you,” Hermione said brightly, taking Harry’s presents out of his arms as the three of them headed back upstairs. “I’m nearly done, I’m just waiting for the rest of your underpants to come out of the wash, Ron–”
Ron’s splutter was interrupted by the opening of a door on the first-floor landing.
“Harry, will you come in here a moment?”
It was Ginny. Ron came to an abrupt halt, but Hermione took him by the elbow and tugged him on up the stairs. Feeling nervous, Harry followed Ginny into her room.
He had never been inside it before. It was small, but bright. There was a large poster of the Wizarding band the Weird Sisters on one wall, and a picture of Gwenog Jones, Captain of the all-witch Quidditch team the Holyhead Harpies, on the other. A desk stood facing the open window, which looked out over the orchard where he and Ginny had once played a two-a-side Quidditch with Ron and Hermione, and which now housed a large, pearly white marquee. The golden flag on top was level with Ginny’s window.
Ginny looked up into Harry’s face, took a deep breath, and said, “Happy seventeenth.”
“Yeah…thanks.”
She was looking at him steadily; he however, found it difficult to look back at her; it was like gazing into a brilliant light.
“Nice view,” he said feebly, pointing toward with window.
She ignored this. He could not blame her.
“I couldn’t think what to get you,” she said.
“You didn’t have to get me anything.”
She disregarded this too.
“I didn’t know what would be useful. Nothing too big, because you wouldn’t be able to take it with you.”
He chanced a glance at her. She was not tearful; that was one of the many wonderful things about Ginny, she was rarely weepy. He had sometimes thought that having six brothers must have toughened her up.
She took a step closer to him.
“So then I thought, I’d like you to have something to remember me by, you know, if you meet some veela when you’re off doing whatever you’re doing.”
“I think dating opportunities are going to be pretty thin on the ground, to be honest.”
“There’s the silver lining I’ve been looking for,” she whispered, and then she was kissing him as she had never kissed him before, and Harry was kissing her back, and it was blissful oblivion better than firewhisky; she was the only real thing in the world, Ginny, the feel of her, one hand at her back and one in her long, sweet-smelling hair– The door banged open behind them and they jumped apart.
“Oh,” said Ron pointedly. “Sorry.”
“Ron!” Hermione was just behind him, slight out of breath. There was a strained silence, then Ginny had said in a flat little voice, “Well, happy birthday anyway, Harry.”
Ron’s ears were scarlet; Hermione looked nervous. Harry wanted to slam the door in their faces, but it felt as though a cold draft had entered the room when the door opened, and his shining moment had popped like a soap bubble. All the reasons for ending his relationship with Ginny, for staying well away from her, seemed to have slunk inside the room with Ron, and all happy forgetfulness was gone.
He looked at Ginny, wanting to say something, though he hardly knew what, but she had turned her back on him. He thought that she might have succumbed, for once, to tears. He could not do anything to comfort her in front of Ron.
“I’ll see you later,” he said, and followed the other two out of the bedroom.
Ron marched downstairs, though the still-crowded kitchen and into the yard, and Harry kept pace with him all the way, Hermione trotting along behind them looking scared.
Once he reached the seclusion of the freshly mown lawn, Ron rounded on Harry.
“You ditched her. What are you doing now, messing her around?”
“I’m not messing her around,” said Harry, as Hermione caught up with them.
“Ron–”
But Ron held up a hand to silence her.
“She was really cut up when you ended it–”
“So was I. You know why I stopped it, and it wasn’t because I wanted to.”
“Yeah, but you go snogging her now and she’s just going to get her hopes up again–”
“She’s not an idiot, she knows it can’t happen, she’s not expecting us to–to end up married, or–”
As he said it, a vivid picture formed in Harry’s mind of Ginny in a white dress, marrying a tall, faceless, and unpleasant stranger.
In one spiraling moment it seemed to hit him: Her future was free and unencumbered, whereas his…he could see nothing but Voldemort ahead.
“If you keep groping her every chance you get–”
“It won’t happen again,” said Harry harshly. The day was cloudless, but he felt as though the sun had gone in. “Okay?”
Ron looked half resentful, half sheepish; he rocked backward and forward on his feet for a moment, then said, “Right then, well, that’s…yeah.”
 
Ginny did not seek another one-to-one meeting with Harry for the rest of the day, nor by any look or gesture did she show that they had shared more than polite conversation in her room. Nevertheless, Charlie’s arrival came as a relief to Harry. It provided a distraction, watching Mrs. Weasley force Charlie into a chair, raise her wand threateningly, and announce that he was about to get a proper haircut.
As Harry’s birthday dinner would have stretched the Burrow’s kitchen to breaking point even before the arrival of Charlie, Lupin, Tonks, and Hagrid, several tables were placed end to end in the garden. Fred and George bewitched a number of purple lanterns all emblazoned with a large number 17, to hang in midair over the guests. 
Thanks to Mrs. Weasley’s ministrations, George’s wound was neat and clean, but Harry was not yet used to the dark hole in the side of his head, despite the twins’ many jokes about it.
Hermione made purple and gold streamers erupt from the end of her wand and drape themselves artistically over the trees and bushes.
“Nice,” said Ron, as with one final flourish of her wand, Hermione turned the leaves on the crabapple tree to gold. “You’ve really got an eye for that sort of thing.”
“Thank you, Ron!“ said Hermione, looking both pleased and a little confused. Harry turned away, smiling to himself. He had a funny notion that he would find a chapter on compliments when he found time to peruse his copy of Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches; he caught Ginny’s eye and grinned at her before remembering his promise to Ron and hurriedly striking up a conversation with Monsieur Delacour.
“Out of the way, out of the way!” sang Mrs. Weasley, coming through the gate with what appeared to be a giant, beach-ball-sized Snitch floating in front of her. 
Seconds later Harry realized that it was his birthday cake, which Mrs. Weasley was suspending with her wand, rather than risk carrying it over the uneven ground. When the cake had finally landed in the middle of the table, Harry said, “That looks amazing, Mrs. Weasley.”
“Oh, it’s nothing, dear,” she said fondly. Over her shoulder, Ron gave Harry the thumbs-up and mouthed, Good one.
By seven o’clock all the guests had arrived, led into the house by Fred and George, who had waited for them at the end of the lane. Hagrid had honored the occasion by wearing his best, and horrible, hairy brown suit. Although Lupin smiled as he shook Harry’s hand, Harry thought he looked rather unhappy. It was all very odd; Tonks, beside him, looked simply radiant.
“Happy birthday, Harry,” she said, hugging him tightly.
“Seventeen, eh!” said Hagrid as he accepted a bucket-sized glass of wine from Fred. “Six years ter the day since we met, Harry, d’yeh remember it?”
“Vaguely,” said Harry, grinning up at him. “Didn’t you smash down the front door, give Dudley a pig’s tail, and tell me I was a wizard?”
“I forge’ the details,” Hagrid chortled. “All righ’, Ron, Hermione?”
“We’re fine,” said Hermione. “How are you?”
“Ar, not bad. Bin busy, we got some newborn unicorns. I’ll show yeh when yeh get back–” Harry avoided Ron’s and Hermione’s gazes as Hagrid rummaged in his pocket. 
“Here. Harry – couldn’t think what ter get teh, but then I remembered this.” He pulled out a small, slightly furry drawstring pouch with a long string, evidently intended to be worn around the neck. “Mokeskin. Hide anythin’ in there an’ no one but the owner can get it out. They’re rare, them.”
“Hagrid, thanks!”
“‘S’nothin’,” said Hagrid with a wave of a dustbin-lid-sized hand. “An’ there’s Charlie! Always liked him – hey! Charlie!”
Charlie approached, running his hand slightly ruefully over his new, brutally short haircut. He was shorter than Ron, thickset, with a number of burns and scratches up his muscled arms.
“Hi, Hagrid, how’s it going?”
“Bin meanin’ ter write fer ages. How’s Norbert doin’?”
“Norbert?” Charlie laughed. “The Norwegian Ridgeback? We call her Norberta now.”
“Wha – Norbert’s a girl?”
“Oh yeah,” said Charlie.
“How can you tell?” asked Hermione.
“They’re a lot more vicious,” said Charlie. He looked over his shoulder and dropped his voice. “Wish Dad would hurry up and get here. Mum’s getting edgy.”
They all looked over at Mrs. Weasley. She was trying to talk to Madame Delacour while glancing repeatedly at the gate.
“I think we’d better start without Arthur,“ she called to the garden at large after a moment or two. ”He must have been held up at – oh!“
They all saw it at the same time: a streak of light that came flying across the yard and onto the table, where it resolved itself into a bright silver weasel, which stood on its hind legs and spoke with Mr. Weasley’s voice.
“Minister of Magic coming with me.”
The Patronus dissolved into thin air, leaving Fleur’s family peering in astonishment at the place where it had vanished.
“We shouldn’t be here,” said Lupin at once. “Harry – I’m sorry – I’ll explain some other time–”
He seized Tonks’s wrist and pulled her away; they reached the fence, climbed over it, and vanished from sight. Mrs. Weasley looked bewildered.
“The Minister – but why–? I don’t understand–”
But there was no time to discuss the matter; a second later, Mr. Weasley had appeared out of thin air at the gate, accompanied by Rufus Scrimgeour, instantly recognizable by his mane of grizzled hair.
The two newcomers marched across the yard toward the garden and the lantern-lit table, where everybody sat in silence, watching them draw closer. As Scrimgeour came within range of the lantern light. Harry saw that he looked much older than the last time that had met, scraggy and grim.
“Sorry to intrude,” said Scrimgeour, as he limped to a halt before the table. “Especially as I can see that I am gate-crashing a party.”
His eyes lingered for a moment on the giant Snitch cake.
“Many happy returns.”
“Thanks,” said Harry.
“I require a private word with you,” Scrimgeour went on. “Also with Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger.”
“Us?” said Ron, sounding surprised. “Why us?”
“I shall tell you that when we are somewhere more private,” said Scrimgeour. “Is there such a place?” he demanded of Mr. Weasley.
“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Weasley, who looked nervous. “The, er, sitting room, why don’t you use that?”
“You can lead the way,” Scrimgeour said to Ron. “There will be no need for you to accompany us, Arthur.”
Harry saw Mr. Weasley exchange a worried look with Mrs. Weasley as he, Ron, and Hermione stood up. As they led the way back to the house in silence, Harry knew that the other two were thinking the same as he was; Scrimgeour must, somehow, had learned that the three of them were planning to drop out of Hogwarts.
Scrimgeour did not speak as they all passed through the messed kitchen and into the Burrow’s sitting room. Although the garden had been full of soft golden evening light, it was already dark in here; Harry flicked his wand at the oil lamps as he entered and they illuminated the shabby but cozy room. Scrimgeour sat himself in the sagging armchair that Mr. Weasley normally occupied, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione to squeeze side by side onto the sofa. Once they had done so, Scrimgeour spoke.
“I have some questions for the three of you, and I think it will be best if we do it individually. If you two” – he pointed at Harry and Hermione – “can wait upstairs, I will start with Ronald.”
“We’re not going anywhere,“ said Harry, while Hermione nodded vigorously. ”You can speak to us together, or not at all.“
Scrimgeour gave Harry a cold, appraising look. Harry had the impression that the Minister was wondering whether it was worthwhile opening hostilities this early.
“Very well then, together,“ he said, shrugging. He cleared his throat. ”I am here, as I’m sure you know, because of Albus Dumbledore’s will.“
Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another.
“A surprise, apparently! You were not aware then that Dumbledore had left you anything?“
“A-all of us?” said Ron, “Me and Hermione too?”
“Yes, all of –”
But Harry interrupted.
“Dumbledore died over a month ago. Why has it taken this long to give us what he left us?”
“Isn’t it obvious?“ said Hermione, before Scrimgeour could answer. ”They wanted to examine whatever he’s left us. You had no right to do that!“ she said, and her voice trembled slightly.
“I had every right,“ said Scrimgeour dismissively. ”The Decree for Justifiable Confiscation gives the Ministry the power the confiscate the contents of a will–““That law was created to stop wizards passing on Dark artifacts,“ said Hermione, ”and the Ministry is supposed to have powerful evidence that the deceased’s possessions are illegal before seizing them! Are you telling me that you thought Dumbledore was trying to pass us something cursed?“
“Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger?” asked Scrimgeour.
“No, I’m not,” retorted Hermione. “I’m hoping to do some good in the world!”
Ron laughed. Scrimgeour’s eyes flickered toward him and away again as Harry spoke.
“So why have you decided to let us have our things now? Can’t think of a pretext to keep them?”
“No, it’ll be because thirty-one days are up,” said Hermione at once. “They can’t keep the objects longer than that unless they can prove they’re dangerous. Right?”
“Would you say you were close to Dumbledore, Ronald?” asked Scrimgeour, ignoring Hermione. Ron looked startled.
“Me? Not – not really… It was always Harry who…”
Ron looked around at Harry and Hermione, to see Hermione giving him a stop-talking-now! sort of look, but the damage was done; Scrimgeour looked as though he had heard exactly what he had expected, and wanted, to hear. He swooped like a bird of prey upon Ron’s answer.
“If you were not very close to Dumbledore, how do you account for the fact that he remembered you in his will? He made exceptionally few personal bequests. The vast majority of his possessions – his private library, his magical instruments, and other personal effects – were left to Hogwarts. Why do you think you were singled out?“
“I…dunno,“ said Ron. “I…when I say we weren’t close…I mean, I think he liked me…”
“You’re being modest, Ron,” said Hermione. “Dumbledore was very fond of you.”
This was stretching the truth to breaking point; as far as Harry knew, Ron and Dumbledore had never been alone together, and direct contact between them had been negligible. However, Scrimgeour did not seem to be listening. He put his hand inside his cloak and drew out a drawstring pouch much larger than the one Hagrid had given Harry. From it, he removed a scroll of parchment which he unrolled and read aloud.
“‘The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore’… Yes, here we are… ‘To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it.’”
Scrimgeour took from the bag an object that Harry had seen before: It looked something like a silver cigarette lighter, but it had, he knew, the power to suck all light from a place, and restore it, with a simple click. Scrimgeour leaned forward and passed the Deluminator to Ron, who took it and turned it over in the fingers looking stunned.
“That is a valuable object,” said Scrimgeour, watching Ron. “It may even be unique. Certainly it is of Dumbledore’s own design. Why would he have left you and item so rare?”
Ron shook his head, looking bewildered.
“Dumbledore must have taught thousands of students,“ Scrimgeour persevered. ”Yet the only ones he remembered in his will are you three. Why is that? To what use did he think you would put to the Deluminator, Mr. Weasley?“
“Put out lights, I s’pose,” mumbled Ron. “What else could I do with it?”
Evidently Scrimgeour had no suggestions. After squinting at Ron for a moment or tow, he turned back to Dumbledore’s will.
“‘To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive.’”
Scrimgeour now pulled out of the bag a small book that looked as ancient as the copy of Secrets of the Darkest Art upstairs. Its binding was stained and peeling in places. Hermione took it from Scrimgeour without a word. She held the book in her lap and gazed at it. Harry saw that the title was in runes; he had never learned to read them. As he looked, a tear splashed onto the embossed symbols.
“Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Granger?” asked Scrimgeour.
“He… he knew I liked books,” said Hermione in a thick voice, mopping her eyes with her sleeve.
“But why that particular book?”
“I don’t know. He must have thought I’d enjoy it.”
“Did you ever discuss codes, or any means of passing secret messages, with Dumbledore?“
“No, I didn’t,” said Hermione, still wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “And if the Ministry hasn’t found any hidden codes in this book in thirty-one days, I doubt that I will.”
She suppressed a sob. They were wedged together so tightly that Ron had difficulty extracting his arm to put it around Hermione’s shoulders. Scrimgeour turned back to the will.
“‘To Harry James Potter,’“ he read, and Harry’s insides contracted with a sudden excitement, ”‘I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.’“
As Scrimgeour pulled out the tiny, walnut-sized golden ball, its silver wings fluttered rather feebly, and Harry could not help feeling a definite sense of anticlimax.
“Why did Dumbledore leave you this Snitch?” asked Scrimgeour.
“No idea,“ said Harry. ”For the reasons you just read out, I suppose… to remind me what you can get if you… persevere and whatever it was.“
“You think this a mere symbolic keepsake, then?”
“I suppose so,” said Harry. “What else could it be?”
“I’m asking the questions,” said Scrimgeour, shifting his chair a little closer to the sofa. Dusk was really falling outside now; the marquee beyond the windows towered ghostly white over the hedge.
“I notice that your birthday cake is in the shape of a Snitch,” Scrimgeour said to Harry. “Why is that?”
Hermione laughed derisively.
“Oh, it can’t be a reference to the fact Harry’s a great Seeker, that’s way too obvious,” she said. “There must be a secret message from Dumbledore hidden in the icing!”
“I don’t think there’s anything hidden in the icing,“ said Scrimgeour, ”but a Snitch would be a very good hiding place for a small object. You know why, I’m sure?“
Harry shrugged, Hermione, however, answered: Harry thought that answering questions correctly was such a deeply ingrained habit she could not suppress the urge.
“Because Snitches have flesh memories,” she said.
“What?” said Harry and Ron together; both considered Hermione’s Quidditch knowledge negligible.
“Correct,” said Scrimgeour. “A Snitch is not touched by bare skin before it is released, not even by the maker, who wears gloves. It carries an enchantment by which it can identify the first human to lay hands upon it, in case of a disputed capture. This Snitch” – he held up the tiny golden ball – “will remember your touch, Potter.
It occurs to me that Dumbledore, who had prodigious magical skill, whatever his other faults, might have enchanted this Snitch so that it will open only for you.“
Harry’s heart was beating rather fast. He was sure that Scrimgeour was right. How could he avoid taking the Snitch with his bare hand in front of the Minister?
“You don’t say anything,“ said Scrimgeour. ”Perhaps you already know what the Snitch contains?“
“No,” said Harry, still wondering how he could appear to touch the Snitch without really doing so. If only he knew Legilimency, really knew it, and could read Hermione’s mind; he could practically hear her brain whizzing beside him.
“Take it,” said Scrimgeour quietly.
Harry met the Minister’s yellow eyes and knew he had no option but to obey. He held out his hand, and Scrimgeour leaned forward again and place the Snitch, slowly and deliberately, into Harry’s palm.
Nothing happened. As Harry’s fingers closed around the Snitch, its tired wings fluttered and were still. Scrimgeour, Ron, and Hermione continued to gaze avidly at the now partially concealed ball, as if still hoping it might transform in some way.
“That was dramatic,” said Harry coolly. Both Ron and Hermione laughed.
“That’s all, then, is it?” asked Hermione, making to raise herself off the sofa.
“Not quite,” said Scrimgeour, who looked bad tempered now. “Dumbledore left you a second bequest, Potter.”
“What is it?” asked Harry, excitement rekindling.
Scrimgeour did not bother to read from the will this time.
“The sword of Godric Gryffindor,” he said. Hermione and Ron both stiffened. Harry looked around for a sign of the ruby-encrusted hilt, but Scrimgeour did not pull the sword from the leather pouch, which in any case looked much too small to contain it.
“So where is it?” Harry asked suspiciously.
“Unfortunately,“ said Scrimgeour, “that sword was not Dumbledore’s to give away. The sword of Godric Gryffindor is an important historical artifact, and as such, belongs–”
“It belongs to Harry!” said Hermione hotly. “It chose him, he was the one who found it, it came to him out of the Sorting Hat–”
“According to reliable historical sources, the sword may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor,” said Scrimgeour. “That does not make it the exclusive property of Mr. Potter, whatever Dumbledore may have decided.” Scrimgeour scratched his badly shaven cheek, scrutinizing Harry. “Why do you think–?”
“–Dumbledore wanted to give me the sword?“ said Harry, struggling to keep his temper. ”Maybe he thought it would look nice on my wall.“
“This is not a joke, Potter!“ growled Scrimgeour. ”Was it because Dumbledore believed that only the sword of Godric Gryffindor could defeat the Heir of Slytherin? 
Did he wish to give you that sword, Potter, because he believed, as do many, that you are the one destined to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?“
“Interesting theory,” said Harry. “Has anyone ever tried sticking a sword in Voldemort? Maybe the Ministry should put some people onto that, instead of wasting their time stripping down Deluminators or covering up breakouts from Azkaban. So this is what you’ve been doing, Minister, shut up in your office, trying to break open a Snitch? People are dying – I was nearly one of them – Voldemort chased me across three countries, he killed Mad-Eye Moody, but there’s no word about any of that from the Ministry, has there? And you still expect us to cooperate with you!”
“You go too far!” shouted Scrimgeour, standing up: Harry jumped to his feet too. Scrimgeour limped toward Harry and jabbed him hard in the chest with the point of his wand; It singed a hole in Harry’s T-shirt like a lit cigarette.
“Oi!” said Ron, jumping up and raising his own wand, but Harry said, “No! D’you want to give him an excuse to arrest us?”
“Remembered you’re not at school, have you?“ said Scrimgeour breathing hard into Harry’s face. ”Remembered that I am not Dumbledore, who forgave your insolence and insubordination? You may wear that scar like a crown, Potter, but it is not up to a seventeen-year-old boy to tell me how to do my job! It’s time you learned some respect!“
“It’s time you earned it.” said Harry.
The floor trembled; there was a sound of running footsteps, then the door to the sitting room burst open and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley ran in.
“We – we thought we heard –“ began Mr. Weasley, looking thoroughly alarmed at the sight of Harry and the Minister virtually nose to nose.
“ – raised voices,” panted Mrs. Weasley.
Scrimgeour took a couple of steps back from Harry, glancing at the hole he had made in Harry’s T-shirt. He seemed to regret his loss of temper.
“It – it was nothing,” he growled. “I … regret your attitude,” he said, looking Harry full in the face once more. “You seem to think that the Ministry does not desire what you – what Dumbledore – desired. We ought to work together.”
“I don’t like your methods, Minister,” said Harry. “Remember?”
For the second time, he raised his right fist and displayed to Scrimgeour the scar that still showed white on the back of it, spelling I must not tell lies . Scrimgeour’s expression hardened. He turned away without another word and limped from the room. Mrs. Weasley hurried after him; Harry heard her stop at the back door. After a minute or so she called, “He’s gone!”
“What did he want?” Mr. Weasley asked, looking around at Harry, Ron, and Hermione as Mrs. Weasley came hurrying back to them.
“To give us what Dumbledore left us,” said Harry. “They’ve only just released the content of his will.”
Outside in the garden, over the dinner tables, the three objects Scrimgeour had given them were passed from hand to hand. Everyone exclaimed over the Deluminator and The Tales of Beedle the Bard and lamented the fact that Scrimgeour had refused to pass on the sword, but none of them could offer any suggestion as to why Dumbledore would have left Harry an old Snitch. As Mr. Weasley examined the Deluminator for the third of fourth time, Mrs. Weasley said tentatively, “Harry, dear, everyone’s awfully hungry we didn’t like to start without you… Shall I serve dinner now?”
They all ate rather hurriedly and then after a hasty chorus of “Happy Birthday” and much gulping of cake, the party broke up. Hagrid, who was invited to the wedding the following day, but was far too bulky to sleep in the overstretched Burrow, left to set up a tent for himself in a neighboring field.
“Meet us upstairs,” Harry whispered to Hermione, while they helped Mrs. Weasley restore the garden to its normal state. “After everyone’s gone to bed.”
Up in the attic room, Ron examined his Deluminator, and Harry filled Hagrid’s moleskin purse, not with gold, but with those items he most prized, apparently worthless though some of them were the Marauder’s Map, the shard of Sirius’s enchanted mirror, and R.A.B.’s locket. He pulled the string tight and slipped the purse around his neck, then sat holding the old Snitch and watching its wings flutter feebly. At last, Hermione tapped on the door and tiptoed inside.
“Muffiato,” she whispered, waving her wand in the direction of the stairs.
“Thought you didn’t approve of that spell?” said Ron.
“Times change,“ said Hermione. ”Now, show us that Deluminator.“
Ron obliged at once. Holding I up in front of him, he clicked it. The solitary lamp they had lit went out at once.
“The thing is,” whispered Hermione through the dark, “we could have achieved that with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.”
There was a small click, and the ball of light from the lamp flew back to the ceiling and illuminated them all once more.
“Still, it’s cool,” said Ron, a little defensively. “And from what they said, Dumbledore invented it himself!”
“I know but, surely he wouldn’t have singled you out in his will just to help us turn out the lights!”
“D’you think he knew the Ministry would confiscate his will and examine everything he’d left us?” asked Harry.
“Definitely,” said Hermione. “He couldn’t tell us in the will why he was leaving us these things, but that will doesn’t explain…”
“… why he couldn’t have given us a hint when he was alive?” asked Ron.
“Well, exactly,“ said Hermione, now flicking through The Tales of Beedle the Bard. ”If these things are important enough to pass on right under the nose of the Ministry, you’d think he’d have left us know why… unless he thought it was obvious?“
“Thought wrong, then, didn’t he?” said Ron. “I always said he was mental. Brilliant and everything, but cracked. Leaving Harry an old Snitch – what the hell was that about?”
“I’ve no idea,” said Hermione. “When Scrimgeour made you take it, Harry, I was so sure that something was going to happen!”
“Yeah, well,” said Harry, his pulse quickened as he raised the Snitch in his fingers. “I wasn’t going to try too hard in front of Scrimgeour was I?”
“What do you mean?” asked Hermione.
“The Snitch I caught in my first ever Quidditch match?” said Harry. “Don’t you remember?”
Hermione looked simply bemused. Ron, however, gasped, pointing frantically from Harry to the Snitch and back again until he found his voice.
“That was the one you nearly swallowed!”
“Exactly,” said Harry, and with his heart beating fast, he pressed his mouth to the Snitch.
It did not open. Frustration and bitter disappointment welled up inside him: He lowered the golden sphere, but then Hermione cried out.
“Writing! There’s writing on it, quick, look!” He nearly dropped the Snitch in surprise and excitement. Hermione was quite right. Engraved upon the smooth golden surface, where seconds before there had been nothing, were five words written in the thin, slanted handwriting that Harry recognized as Dumbledore’s I open at the close.
He had barely read them when the words vanished again.
“I open at the close…. What’s that supposed to mean?”
Hermione and Ron shook their heads, looking blank.
“I open at the close… at the close… I open at the close…”
But no matter how often they repeated the words, with many different inflections, they were unable to wring any more meaning from them.
“And the sword,” said Ron finally, when they had at last abandoned their attempts to divine meaning in the Snitch’s inscription.
“Why did he want Harry to have the sword?”
“And why couldn’t he just have told me?” Harry said quietly. “I was there, it was right there on the wall of his office during all our talks last year! If he wanted me to have it, why didn’t he just give it to me then?”
He felt as thought he were sitting in an examination with a question he ought to have been able to answer in front of him, his brain slow and unresponsive. Was there something he had missed in the long talks with Dumbledore last year? Ought he to know what it all meant? Had Dumbledore expected him to understand?
“And as for this book.” Said Hermione, “The Tales of Beedle the Bard … I’ve never even heard of them!”
“You’ve never heard of The Tales of Beedle the Bard?” said Ron incredulously. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not,” said Hermione in surprise. “Do you know them then?”
“Well, of course I do!”
Harry looked up, diverted. The circumstance of Ron having read a book that Hermione had not was unprecedented. Ron, however, looked bemused by their surprise.
“Oh come on! All the old kids’ stories are supposed to be Beedle’s aren’t they? ‘The Fountain of Fair Fortune’ … ‘The Wizard and the Hopping Pot’… ‘Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump’…”
“Excuse me?” said Hermione giggling. “What was the last one?”
“Come off it!” said Ron, looking in disbelief from Harry to Hermione. “You must’ve heard of Babbitty Rabbitty – ”
“Ron, you know full well Harry and I were brought up by Muggles!” said Hermione. “We didn’t hear stories like that when we were little, we heard ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarves’ and ‘Cinderella’ – ”
“What’s that, an illness?” asked Ron.
“So these are children’s stories?” asked Hermione, bending against over the runes.
“Yeah.” Said Ron uncertainly. “I mean, just what you hear, you know, that all these old stories came from Beedle. I dunno what they’re like in the original versions.”
“But I wonder why Dumbledore thought I should read them?”
Something cracked downstairs.
“Probably just Charlie, now Mum’s asleep, sneaking off to regrow his hair,” said Ron nervously.
“All the same, we should get to bed,” whispered Hermione. “It wouldn’t do to oversleep tomorrow.”
“No,” agreed Ron. “A brutal triple murder by the bridegroom’s mother might put a bit of damper on the wedding. I’ll get the light.”
And he clicked the Deluminator once more as Hermione left the room.
一片清爽的蓝色晨曦中，他走在一条山路上。遥远的山下，一个小镇的影子被笼罩在雾气之中。那里真的有他要找的那个人吗，那个他苦苦思念的、并将解决他所有困惑的人？ 
　　“嘿，起床了！” 
　　哈利睁开眼，他依然躺在罗恩那间杂乱无章的阁楼小屋的露营床上。太阳尚未升起，屋子里还是很暗。猫头鹰小猪把头埋在小翅膀间，仍旧睡着。哈利额头上的伤疤一阵刺痛。 
　　“你睡觉时一直在咕哝着什么？” 
　　“是吗？” 
　　“是啊，‘格里戈维奇’，你一直在说‘格里戈维奇’这个词。” 
　　哈利没有戴眼镜，罗恩的脸显得有些模糊不清。 
　　“谁是格里戈维奇？” 
　　“我怎么知道，那个名字是你说出来的！” 
　　哈利一边揉着额头一边想。他隐约觉得从前好像听到过这个名字，只是想不起来是在哪儿听到的了。 
　　“我觉得伏地魔正在找他。” 
　　“可怜的家伙。”罗恩诚恳地说道。 
　　哈利坐起来，不停的抚摸着伤疤，现在他完全醒了。他努力回想梦中的所看到的情景，但唯一能想起来的只有山峦起伏的地平线和被深谷环抱的村庄剪影。 
　　“我想他在国外。” 
　　“谁？格里戈维奇？” 
　　“是伏地魔。我想他现在正在国外某处找格里戈维奇。那儿不像是英国的地方。” 
　　“你觉得你又进入他的大脑思维了？”罗恩担忧地问道。 
　　“拜托，千万别告诉赫敏。”哈利说，”她可不希望我在梦里看见那些东西……” 
　　他抬头盯着小猪的笼子，一边想道……为什么格里戈维奇这个名字如此熟悉？ 
　　“我想，”他慢慢地说，”或许是跟魁地奇比赛有关吧。这之间肯定有什么联系，但是我想不出——想不出是什么。” 
　　“魁地奇比赛？”罗恩说，”你不是想到了格尔戈维奇了吧？” 
　　“谁？” 
　　“德拉格米尔·格尔戈维奇，那个两年前以破纪录的转会费转会到查理-火炮队队的追球手啊！还是那一赛季断球纪录保持者呢。” 
　　“不，”哈利说，”我想的肯定不是格尔戈维奇。” 
　　“我想也不是。”罗恩说，”不管怎样，祝你生日快乐！” 
　　“哇——对呀，我都忘了！我十七岁了！” 
　　哈利拿起放在露营床边上的魔杖，指着那张放着他眼镜的杂乱书桌说道，”眼镜飞来！”虽然那些东西离他只有一英尺远，但看着它们陡然飞过来在快戳到他眼睛的地方才停下来，却能产生巨大的满足感。 
　　“漂亮！”罗恩喝彩道。 
　　沉浸于欢乐中的哈利把罗恩房间里的东西都弄得满天飞，把小猪给吵醒了，激动地在笼子里拍打翅膀。哈利甚至试图用魔法来系鞋带（用魔法打的结用手得花好几分钟才能解开），还故意捣蛋把罗恩的查理-火炮队海报里的橙色队服变成了浅蓝色。 
　　“要是我就用手，”罗恩建议道，他窃笑着，哈里很快就察觉到他有事要说。”这是送你的礼物，就在这儿打开，可不能让我妈妈看见。” 
　　“是一本书？”哈利接过那个长方形的包裹。”跟那些正统书不太一样是吧？” 
　　“这跟你平常读的书不同。”罗恩说，”这是绝对的经典。《追女仔之十二成败范例》能告诉你关于女孩子的所有事。要是去年我就看了这本书，拉文德也就没那么难甩了，我也就知道怎么和……总之，弗雷德和乔治给了我一个抄本，我从中学了很多东西呢。你会很惊讶地发现这里面不全是教你用魔杖来行事的。” 
　　他们来到厨房时，桌子上已经堆满了礼物。比尔和德拉库尔先生快吃完早饭了，韦斯莱太太站在煎锅旁边和他们聊天。 
　　“亚瑟让我替他祝你十七岁生日快乐，哈利。”韦斯莱太太愉快的说，”他很早就得去上班，不过晚饭时他会回来的。顶上的那个是我们送你的礼物。” 
　　哈利坐下来，拿过她指着的那只方形包裹打开来。里面是一块手表，跟罗恩十七岁时，韦斯莱夫妇送他的那块表简直一模一样，表壳是金色的，表盘上转动着星星形状的指针。 
　　“按照传统，一个巫师成年时都要送块手表给他，”韦斯莱太太在炉灶边有些不安的看着他，”不过这块表恐怕不如给罗恩的那块那么新，其实那是我哥哥费比安的表，他总是保管不好自己的东西，后盖上恐怕有个小凹口，不过——” 
　　她的话说到停住了，因为哈利站起来抱住了她。他把许多没法用言语表达的感情都融进这个拥抱里了，可能她也明白了，在哈利放开她时，她用手笨拙地拍拍哈利的脸蛋，然后轻轻一挥魔杖，煎锅中的半块熏肉就飞出去掉在地板上了。 
　　“生日快乐，哈利！”赫敏冲入厨房，把她的那份礼物放在礼物堆的顶上，说道，”只是份小礼物，不过希望你能喜欢。你送他的是什么？”她紧跟着问了罗恩一句，而后者假装没听见她的话。 
　　“快点，把赫敏的礼物打开吧！”罗恩说道。 
　　她给他买了一个新的窥镜。其他的礼物中包括比尔和芙蓉送的魔法剃刀（”啊，对了，‘则个’会让你体验‘追’美妙的理发感觉”，德拉库尔先生强调说，”但是你必须把你想要的发型说清楚……‘否折’你就会发现‘比预鸟中少了一点头发’……”），德拉库尔家送的是巧克力，弗雷德和乔治送来了一大盒子韦斯莱巫师戏法店的新进货品。 
　　哈利、罗恩和赫敏没有在餐桌旁呆太久，因为德拉库尔夫人、芙蓉和加布丽、埃尔都在厨房里，显得有些拥挤不堪。 
　　“我帮你把这些都包起来。”三人上楼时，赫敏把哈利怀里抱的礼物接过去，愉快地说道，”我快干完了，正等着把你剩下的内裤洗完呢，罗恩——” 
　　罗恩慌忙中说了点什么，突然一楼平台上某个房间的门打开了。 
　　“哈利，能进来一会儿吗？” 
　　是金妮。 
　　 
　　罗恩猛地停住，但是赫敏拉着他的胳膊肘，吃力地将他拽上楼去。哈利跟着金妮进了她的房间，有些紧张。 
　　以前他从未进过金妮的房间。屋子虽然小但光线充足。墙上有一幅巨大的女巫乐队”古怪姐妹”的海报，另一头是女子魁地奇球队霍利黑德哈比队队长格温·琼斯的照片。敞开的窗前有一张桌子，窗外可以看到他们曾经跟罗恩赫敏一起打二对二魁地奇赛的小球场，现在球场中支起了一顶珍珠白的大帐篷。帐篷顶插着的金色旗帜，和金妮的窗口一样高。 
　　金妮向上看着哈利的脸，深吸了口气，说道：”十七岁生日快乐。” 
　　“好……谢谢。” 
　　她直视地看着他，然而他却无法那样去看她，那无异于盯着刺眼的眩光。 
　　“景色不错。”他轻声说道，指了指窗外。 
　　她当作没听见，他也不能怪她。 
　　“我想不出该送你什么。”她说。 
　　“你不必送我东西。” 
　　她把这句话也当作没听见。 
　　“我不知道什么东西对你有用，不能太大，因为你没法带在身边。” 
　　他偷眼瞧了她一下，她没有哭，这是金妮的一个独特之处，她很少哭泣。他想也许是因为和六个哥哥一起长大，使她变坚强的。 
　　她朝他走近了一步。 
　　“所以我想，我要给你一件让你能记住我的东西，你知道，你今后在外面也许会碰见许多媚娃。” 
　　“老实说，我觉得决战时可没有什么约会的机会。” 
　　“那也是不幸之中的万幸，”她轻声说着，然后吻他，好像从来没有吻过他一样，哈利也同样吻着她，像是喝了火热威士忌般陶醉。金妮，她仿佛是世上唯一真实的东西，一只手放在她背上，另一只手穿过她那带着甜香的长发，那感觉—— 
　　门”砰”的一声被推开，他们骤然分开了。 
　　“噢，”罗恩有目的般地叫道，”对不起。” 
　　“罗恩！”赫敏站在他身后，微微喘着气。一段尴尬的沉默后，金妮平静的小声说道： 
　　“那么，还是要祝你生日快乐，哈利。” 
　　罗恩的耳朵赤红，赫敏也似乎很紧张。哈利简直想要把门拍在他们脸上，但是随着房门的打开他也冷静了下来，刚才的激情像肥皂泡般破碎了。所有他不能和金妮继续发展的原因，让他不得不远离她的那些原因，跟着罗恩一起溜进了房间，让他抛开一切换来的短暂快乐消失无踪。 
　　他看着金妮，想要说些什么，其实他自己也不知道要说什么，然而她转过身背对着他。他想也许她这次是忍不住流泪了。但是在罗恩面前他没办法去安慰她。 
　　“过会儿见。”他说道，然后跟着那两人出了屋子。 
　　罗恩大步走下楼，穿过仍旧拥挤的厨房来到院子里，哈里一直快步跟着他，赫敏在他们后面小跑着跟着，有点恐慌。 
　　一到了刚修剪过的草坪后面，罗恩就开始围着哈利绕圈子。 
　　“你害了她，你现在在做什么，浪费她的青春？” 
　　“我没有浪费她的青春，”哈利说道，这时赫敏追了上来。 
　　“罗恩——” 
　　但是罗恩抬手让她别说话。 
　　“当你提出分手时她真的很难过——” 
　　“我也一样啊，你知道我为什么要分手，那也并不是我所愿意的。” 
　　“没错，但是你现在又来挑逗她，又让她生起了希望——” 
　　“她不是笨蛋，她知道那不可能的，她没指望着我们俩最后能——能结婚，或是——” 
　　他说着说着，脑海里就浮现出金妮身穿白色婚纱，正在和一个高大讨厌的不知名的男子举行婚礼的情景。 
　　那一刻他猛然意识到：她的未来自由没有阻碍，而他的则是……除了伏地魔前面什么也没有。 
　　“如果你每次一有机会就来撩拨她，那——” 
　　“下次不会了，”哈利狠心说道，虽然天气万里无云，但他觉得看不到丝毫阳光。”行了吧？” 
　　罗恩看上去既羞愧又愤恨，他来回踱着步子，好一阵子才说道：”那好，那么，就……这样吧。” 
　　那天金妮再也没有试图跟哈利单独相处，也没有表现出他们曾在她的卧室里有过什么越轨的行为。不过，查理的到来给了哈利解脱。韦斯莱太太分心去注意查理，把他按坐在椅子里，威胁着挥动魔杖，告诉他该理发了。 
　　哈利的生日晚宴规模大得要把陋居的厨房挤爆了，在查理、卢平、唐克斯和海格到来之前，花园里就已经安置了好几张桌子。弗雷德和乔治用魔法在几个紫色灯笼上烧出大大的”17”来，挂在客人们头顶上。多亏了韦斯莱太太的照顾，乔治的伤口已经清洗干净了，但哈利还是不习惯脑袋一侧的那个黑洞，双胞胎可没少了拿它开玩笑。 
　　赫敏用魔杖变出许多紫色和金色彩带，很富情调地挂在树枝和灌木丛间。 
　　“很不错，”罗恩说道，随着魔杖发出的最后一道魔法，赫敏把山楂树的叶子也都变成了金色。”你对这种事还真是有一套。” 
　　“谢谢，罗恩，”赫敏说道，看上去又高兴又有点不解。哈利转过身偷笑起来。突然有种滑稽的想法，哪天有空细看那本《追女仔十二成败范例》时，会读到罗恩的这些恭维话的。他碰上了金妮的目光，冲她笑了一下，然后想起自己对罗恩的承诺，便慌忙跟德拉库尔先生交谈起来。 
　　“借过！借过！”韦斯莱太太嚷道，她走进花园，面前浮动着一个巨大的、足有沙滩球那么大尺寸的金色飞贼。很快哈利意识到那是他的生日蛋糕。韦斯莱太太用魔杖把它悬浮在空中，要比捧着它走过凹凸不平的地面要安全得多。当蛋糕安全着陆于桌子中央时，哈利说道：”这太神奇了，韦斯莱太太。” 
　　“哦，算不了什么，亲爱的，”她美滋滋地说道。罗恩越过她的肩膀向哈利竖起了大拇指，嘴形似乎是在说”干的好！” 
　　七点钟所有的客人都到了，弗雷德和乔治站在小路的一头等着迎接客人并把他们带进屋来。海格为了显得郑重，穿上了他那件最好的可怕的棕色长毛大衣。虽然卢平和哈利握手时一直微笑着，哈利还是觉得他不是很快活。这太奇怪了，站在卢平身边的唐克斯反而满面春风。 
　　“生日快乐，哈利！”她给了哈利一个紧紧的拥抱，说道。 
　　“十七岁了啊，嘿！”海格说道，接过了弗雷德递过来的木桶那么大的一杯葡萄酒。”我们认识到现在都六年了，哈利，你还记得吗？” 
　　“差不多吧，”哈利抬头朝他笑，”不就是你把前门打碎，让达力长出一条猪尾巴来，还告诉我我是个巫师么？” 
　　“我忘记具体细节了，”海格得意地笑着，”你们好吗，罗恩，赫敏？” 
　　“我们很好，”赫敏说，”你怎么样？” 
　　“啊，不赖。一直瞎忙，我们又有了几头刚出生的独角兽。等你们回来我就给你们看——”海格翻腾口袋时，哈利躲避着罗恩和赫敏的目光，”在这儿，哈利——想不出送你点啥，不过我想起这个了。”他掏出一个小小的用毛茸茸细绳拴着的口袋，口袋上系着线绳，那线绳显然被戴在脖子上磨了很久了。”驴皮做的小袋子。装在里面的东西除了主人自己，谁也别想拿。可罕见的！” 
　　“海格，太谢谢你了！” 
　　“甭客气！”海格摇了摇垃圾桶那么大的手。”查理也在这儿！我一直都喜欢他——嘿！查理!” 
　　查理走了过来，苦恼地用手摸着他那可怕的新发型。他比罗恩要矮，五短身材，肌肉发达的手臂上有不少烫伤和划伤的疤痕。 
　　“嗨，海格，最近怎么样？” 
　　“好久没见了，诺伯特怎么样了？” 
　　“诺伯特？”查理大笑道，”那条挪威脊龙？现在我们叫她诺贝塔了。” 
　　“哇——诺伯特是条母龙？” 
　　“哦，是的。”查理说。 
　　“你们是怎么知道的？”赫敏问道。 
　　“因为母的更凶。”查理说。他转头向后看了看然后降低了声音：”但愿爸爸快点回来，妈妈快急了！” 
　　大家都去看韦斯莱太太。她正在不停的瞥着大门，同时努力的跟德拉库尔夫人聊着。 
　　“我想我们最好开始吧，不等亚瑟了。”她又看了几次后说。”他一定是有事耽搁了——噢！” 
　　所有人都看见了：一道光芒从院子上空飞来落在桌子上，然后变化成一只银色鼬鼠，后退站立，用韦斯莱先生的声音说道： 
　　“魔法部长要和我一起回来。” 
　　守护神消失在稀薄的空气中，芙蓉一家人震惊的盯着它消失的地方。 
　　“我们不能呆在这了”卢平立刻说道，”哈利——我很抱歉——有时间我会跟你解释的——” 
　　他一把抓起唐克斯的手把她拉走，他们翻过了篱笆墙，消失在视野之中。韦斯莱太太有点迷惑不解。 
　　“部长？但是为什么呀？——我不明白——” 
　　但是已经没功夫讨论这个了，一秒钟后，韦斯莱先生便从稀薄空气中出现在大门外，身边跟着鲁弗斯·斯克林杰，带着象征性的一头灰白头发。 
　　刚来的两人大步走过院子，朝花园中点亮了灯笼的桌子走来。所有人都不发一言的坐在那儿，看着他们越走越近。当斯克林杰走进灯笼的光圈内时，哈利发现他比上次见面时看起来老多了，干枯的脸上布满严霜。 
　　“抱歉打搅了你们，”斯克林杰瘸着腿走到桌边一个空位旁，”特别是当我知道自己是个不速之客。” 
　　他的目光在巨大的金飞贼蛋糕上停留了片刻。 
　　“衷心祝福你。” 
　　“谢谢。”哈利说。 
　　“我想要单独跟你说句话。”斯克林杰继续道，”还有罗纳德·韦斯莱先生和赫敏·格兰杰小姐。” 
　　“我们？”罗恩惊讶的说，”怎么还有我们？” 
　　“等到了无人之处我再告诉你们。”斯克林杰说，”这有没有单独说话的地方？”他问韦斯莱先生。 
　　“当然有，”韦斯莱先生说，他看起来很紧张，”厄，客厅，干嘛不用客厅？” 
　　“你可以为我们带路。”斯克林杰对罗恩说，”你用不着陪着我们，亚瑟。” 
　　哈利看见自己和罗恩赫敏三人站起来时韦斯莱夫妇不安地对视了一眼。他们向房子里默默走去时，哈利知道其他两人也在想同样的问题。斯克林杰应该知道了他们三人打算从霍格沃茨退学的消息。 
　　当他们穿过混乱的厨房，走进陋居客厅时，斯克林杰一直没开口。虽然花园里遍布柔和的金色光芒，客厅却很黑。进来后哈利轻敲魔杖点着了油灯，这间破旧但温馨的屋子立刻被照亮了。 
　　斯克林杰一屁股坐进韦斯莱先生常坐的扶手椅中，哈利罗恩赫敏则挨个挤坐在沙发里。他们一坐下，斯克林杰就开口了。 
　　“我有几个问题想问你们三人，我想最好还是一对一的说，或许你们俩——”他指着哈利和赫敏——”能在楼上等一会儿，我想先从罗纳德开始问。” 
　　“我们哪儿也不去，”哈利说道，赫敏也重重点头。”你要么跟我们三个人一起谈，要么就都别谈。” 
　　斯克林杰用审视的目光冷冷的看了哈利一眼。哈利感觉部长大人正在考虑是否应该这么早就跟自己撕破脸皮。 
　　“那好吧，那就一起谈。”他耸耸肩说道，清了清嗓子，”我来这儿，正如你们知道的，是因为阿不思·邓布利多的遗嘱。” 
　　哈利罗恩赫敏面面相觑。 
　　“显然你们很惊讶！你们不知道邓布利多有东西留给你们吗？” 
　　“我们？”罗恩说，”还有我和赫敏？” 
　　“是的，你们三个——” 
　　但是哈利打断了他的话。 
　　“邓布利多死了一个多月了，为什么这么久之后才给我们他的遗物？” 
　　“这不是明摆着嘛？”还没等斯克林杰开口，赫敏先说道，”他们想要知道他留给我们什么东西。你没权利那么做！”她的声音微微颤抖。 
　　“我什么权利都有，”斯克林杰轻蔑的说，”正当没收法令给予魔法部没收遗嘱上所有东西的权利——” 
　　“那条法律是用来阻止巫师之间传递黑魔法物品才颁布的，”赫敏说，”而且魔法部还应该有足够证据证明死者的遗物是非法的，然后才能没收！你的意思是说，你觉得邓布利多想要留给我们的是被诅咒的东西？” 
　　“你有没有意向今后在法律界发展呢，格兰杰小姐？”斯克林杰问道。 
　　“不，我没那兴趣，”赫敏反驳道，”我只想为这个世界做点好事！” 
　　罗恩笑了出来。斯克林杰把目光移向他，当哈利说话时又移开了。 
　　“那你又怎么会决定要把我们的东西还回来呢？难道是想不出什么借口扣下？” 
　　“不是，那是因为已经过了三十一天了。”赫敏立刻接口，”除非能证明那些东西有危险否则就不能继续扣押。对吧？” 
　　“邓布利多是不是跟你关系很亲密，罗纳德？” 
　　“我？不——不太密切……好像哈利才是……” 
　　罗恩看了看哈利和赫敏，赫敏一直在给他”快闭嘴”的眼神，然而太晚了，斯克林杰看上去似乎得到了他所想要的答案。他像扑食的恶鸟一样对罗恩穷追不舍。 
　　“既然你和他的关系没那么亲密，又为什么会在遗嘱中提到你呢？他留给个人的遗产非常少，大部分财产——他的私人图书馆，魔法物品和其他私人财产——都留给了霍格沃茨。你觉得你为什么就能被选中呢？” 
　　“我……不知道，”罗恩说，”我……我说没那么亲密……我的意思是，我想他是喜欢我的……” 
　　“你总那么谦虚，罗恩，”赫敏说，”邓布利多非常喜欢你呢。” 
　　这似乎并不怎么靠谱，据哈利所知，罗恩和邓布利多从来没有单独相处过，直接接触的情况也可以忽略不计。但是，斯克林杰看起来并没有听进去。他把手伸进斗篷里，掏出一个比海格送给哈利那个大得多的驴皮口袋，从里面拿出一卷羊皮纸，展开大声读道： 
　　“阿不思·珀西瓦尔·伍尔弗里克·布赖恩·邓布利多最后的遗愿……啊，在这儿……把我的熄灯器留给罗纳德·比利尔斯·韦斯莱，希望每当他用到的时候都会想起我。” 
　　斯克林杰从包里拿出一件哈利以前见过的东西：它看起来有点象一只银色的打火机，但哈利知道，这东西有着吸走一个地方所有光线的力量，只需轻敲一下就又可以恢复。斯克林杰向前倾了下身子，把熄灯器递给了罗恩，罗恩迷茫得把它拿在手里翻来覆去的看。 
　　“那可是件价值连城的东西。”斯克林杰看着罗恩说道，”而且可能世上仅此一个。这肯定是邓布利多自己设计造出来的，他为什么要留给你这么稀罕的东西？” 
　　罗恩迷惑不解的摇了摇头。 
　　“邓布利多教了数千学生，”斯
Chapter 8 The Wedding
Three o’clock on the following afternoon found Harry, Ron, Fred and George standing outside the great white marquee in the orchard, awaiting the arrival of the wedding guests. Harry had taken a large dose of Polyjuice Potion and was now the double of a redheaded Muggle boy from the local village, Ottery St. Catchpole, from whom Fred had stolen hairs using a Summoning Charm. The plan was to introduce Harry as “Cousin Barny” and trust to the great number of Weasley relatives to camouflage him.
All four of them were clutching seating plans, so that they could help show people to the right seats. A host of white-robed waiters had arrived an hour earlier, along with a golden jacketed band, and all of these wizards were currently sitting a short distance away under a tree. Harry could see a blue haze of pipe smoke issuing from the spot. Behind Harry, the entrance to the marquee revealed rows and rows of fragile golden chairs set on either side of a long purple carpet. The supporting poles were entwined with white and gold flowers. Fred and George had fastened an enormous bunch of golden balloons over the exact point where Bill and Fleur would shortly become husband and wife. Outside, butterflies and bees were hovering lazily over the grass and hedgerow. Harry was rather uncomfortable. The Muggle boy whose appearance he was affecting was slightly fatter than him and his dress robes felt hot and tight in the full glare of a summer’s day.
“When I get married,” said Fred, tugging at the collar of his own robes, “I won’t be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and I’ll put a full Body Bird Curse on Mum until it’s all over.”
“She wasn’t too bad this morning, considering,” said George. “Cried a bit about Percy not being here, but who wants him. Oh blimey, brace yourselves, here they come, look.”
Brightly colored figures were appearing, one by one out of nowhere at the distant boundary of the yard. Within minutes a procession had formed, which began to snake its way up through the garden toward the marquee. Exotic flowers and bewitched birds fluttered on the witches’ hats, while precious gems glittered from many of the wizards’ cravats; a hum of excited chatter grew louder and louder, drowning the sound of the bees as the crowd approached the tent.
“Excellent, I think I see a few veela cousins,” said George, craning his neck for a better look. “They’ll need help understanding our English customs, I’ll look after them….”
“Not so fast, Your Holeyness,” said Fred, and darting past the gaggle of middle-aged witches heading for the procession, he said, “Here – permetiez moi to assister vous,” to a pair of pretty French girls, who giggled and allowed him to escort them inside. George was left to deal with the middle-aged witches and Ron took charge of Mr. Weasley’s old Ministry-colleague Perkins, while a rather deaf old couple fell to Harry’s lot.
“Wotcher,” said a familiar voice as he came out of the marquee again and found Tonks and Lupin at the front of the queue. She had turned blonde for the occasion. 
“Arthur told us you were the one with the curly hair. Sorry about last night,” she added in a whisper as Harry led them up the aisle. “The Ministry’s being very anti-werewolf at the museum and we thought our presence might not do you any favors.”
“It’s fine, I understand,” said Harry, speaking more to Lupin than Tonks. Lupin gave him a swift smile, but as they turned away Harry saw Lupin’s face fall again into lines of misery. He did not understand it, but there was no time to dwell on the matter. Hagrid was causing a certain amount of disruption. Having misunderstood Fred’s directions as he had sat himself, not upon the magically enlarged and reinforced seat set aside for him in the back row, but on five sets that now resembled a large pile of golden matchsticks.
While Mr. Weasley repaired the damage and Hagrid shouted apologies to anybody who would listen, Harry hurried back to the entrance to find Ron face-to-face with a most eccentric-looking wizard. Slightly cross-eyed, with shoulder-length white hair the texture of candyfloss, he wore a cap whose tassel dangled in front of his nose and robes of an eye-watering shade of egg-yolk yellow. An odd symbol, rather like a triangular eye, glistened from a golden chain around his neck.
“Xenophilius Lovegood,” he said, extending a hand to Harry, “my daughter and I live just over the hill, so kind of the good Weasleys to invite us. But I think you know my Luna?” he added to Ron.
“Yes,” said Ron. “Isn’t she with you?”
“She lingered in that charming little garden to say hello to the gnomes, such a glorious infestation! How few wizards realize just how much we can learn from the wise little gnomes – or, to give them their correct name, the Gernumbli gardensi.”
“Ours do know a lot of excellent swear words,” said Ron, “but I think Fred and George taught them those.”
He led a party of warlocks into the marquee as Luna rushed up.
“Hello, Harry!” she said.
“Er – my name’s Barry,” said Harry, flummoxed.
“Oh, have you changed that too?” she asked brightly.
“How did you know -?”
“Oh, just your expression,” she said.
Like her father, Luna was wearing bright yellow robes, which she had accessorized with a large sunflower in her hair. Once you get over the brightness of it all, the general effect was quite pleasant. At least there were no radishes dangling from her ears.
Xenophilius, who was deep in conversation with an acquaintance, had missed the exchange between Luna and Harry. Biding the wizard farewell, he turned to his daughter, who held up her finger and said, “Daddy, look – one of the gnomes actually bit me.”
“How wonderful! Gnome saliva is enormously beneficial.” Said Mr. Lovegood, seizing Luna’s outstretched fingers and examining the bleeding puncture marks. “Luna, my love, if you should feel any burgeoning talent today – perhaps an unexpected urge to sing opera or to declaims in Mermish – do not repress it! You may have been gifted by the Gernumblies!”
Ron, passing them in the opposite direction let out a loud snort.
“Ron can laugh,” said Luna serenely as Harry led her and Xenophilius toward their seats, “but my father has done a lot of research on Gernumbli magic.”
“Really?” said Harry, who had long since decided not to challenge Luna or her father’s peculiar views. “Are you sure you don’t want to put anything on that bite, though?”
“Oh, it’s fine,” said Luna, sucking her finger in a dreamy fashion and looking Harry up and down. “You look smart. I told Daddy most people would probably wear dress robes, but he believes you ought to wear sun colors to a wedding, for luck, you know.”
As she drifted off after her father, Ron reappeared with an elderly witch clutching his arm. Her beaky nose, red-rimmed eyes, and leathery pink hat gave her the look of a bad-tempered flamingo.
“…and your hair’s much too long, Ronald, for a moment I thought you were Ginevra. Merlin’s beard, what is Xenophilius Lovegood wearing? He looks like an omelet. And who are you?” she barked at Harry.
“Oh yeah, Auntie Muriel, this is our cousin Barny.”
“Another Weasley? You breed like gnomes. Isn’t Harry Potter here? I was hoping to meet him. I thought he was a friend of yours, Ronald, or have you merely been boasting?”
“No – he couldn’t come – ”
“Hmm. Made an excuse, did he? Not as gormless as he looks in press photographs, then. I’ve just been instructing the bride on how best to wear my tiara,” she shouted at Harry. “Goblin-made, you know, and been in my family for centuries. She’s a good-looking girl, but still – French. Well, well, find me a good seat, Ronald, I am a hundred and seven and I ought not to be on my feet too long.”
Ron gave Harry a meaningful look as he passed and did not reappear for some time. When next they met at the entrance, Harry had shown a dozen more people to their places. The Marquee was nearly full now and for the first time there was no queue outside.
“Nightmare, Muriel is,” said Ron, mopping his forehead on his sleeve. “She used to come for Christmas every year, then, thank God, she took offense because Fred and George set off a Dungbomb under her chair at diner. Dad always says she’ll have written them out of her will – like they care, they’re going to end up richer than anyone in the family, rate they’re going… Wow,” he added, blinking rather rapidly as Hermione came hurrying toward them. “You look great!”
“Always the tone of surprise,” said Hermione, though she smiled. She was wearing a floaty, lilac-colored dress with matching high heels; her hair was sleek and shiny. 
“Your Great-Aunt Muriel doesn’t agree, I just met her upstairs while she was giving Fleur the tiara. She said, ‘Oh dear, is this the Muggle-born?’ and then, ‘Bad posture and skinny ankles.’”
“Don’t take it personally, she’s rude to everyone,” said Ron.
“Talking about Muriel?” inquired George, reemerging from the marquee with Fred. “Yeah, she’s just told me my ears are lopsided. Old bat. I wish old Uncle Bilius was still with us, though; he was a right laugh at weddings.”
“Wasn’t he the one who saw a Grim and died twenty-four hours later?” asked Hermione.
“Well, yeah, he went a bit odd toward the end,” conceded George.
“But before he went loopy he was the life and soul of the party,” said Fred. “He used to down an entire bottle of firewhisky, then run onto the dance floor, hoist up his robes, and start pulling bunches of flowers out of his – ”
“Yes, he sounds a real charmer,” said Hermione, while Harry roared with laughter.
“Never married, for some reason,” said Ron.
“You amaze me,” said Hermione.
They were all laughing so much that none of them noticed the latecomer, a dark-haired young man with a large, curved nose and thick black eyebrows, until he held out his invitation to Ron and said, with his eyes on Hermione, “You look vunderful.”
“Viktor!” she shrieked, and dropped her small beaded bag, which made a loud thump quite disproportionate to its size. As she scrambled, blushing, to pick it up, she said “I didn’t know you were – goodness – it’s lovely to see – how are you?”
Ron’s ears had turned bright red again. After glancing at Krum’s invitation as if he did not believe a word of it, he said, much too loudly, “how come you’re here?”
“Fleur invited me,” said Krum, eyebrows raised.
Harry, who had no grudge against Krum, shook hands; then feeling that it would be prudent to remove Krum from Ron’s vicinity, offered to show him his seat.
“Your friend is not pleased to see me,” said Krum, as they entered the now packed marquee. “Or is he a relative?” he added with a glance at Harry’s red curly hair.
“Cousin.” Harry muttered, but Krum was not really listening. His appearance was causing a stir, particularly amongst the veela cousins: He was, after all, a famous Quidditch player. While people were still craning their necks to get a good look at him, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George came hurrying down the aisle.
“Time to sit down,” Fred told Harry, “or we’re going to get run over by the bride.”
Harry, Ron and Hermione took their seats in the second row behind Fred and George. Hermione looked rather pink and Ron’s ears were still scarlet. After a few moments he muttered to Harry, “Did you see he’s grown a stupid little beard?”
Harry gave a noncommittal grunt.
A sense of jittery anticipation had filled the warm tent, the general murmuring broken by occasional spurts of excited laughter. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley strolled up the aisle, smiling and waving at relatives; Mrs. Weasley was wearing a brand-new set of amethyst colored robes with a matching hat.
A moment later Bill and Charlie stood up at the front of the marquee, both wearing dress robes, with larger white roses in their buttonholes; Fred wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of giggling from the veela cousins. Then the crowd fell silent as music swelled from what seemed to be the golden balloons.
“Ooooh!” said Hermione, swiveling around in her seat to look at the entrance.
A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and wizards as Monsieur Delacour and Fleur came walking up the aisle, Fleur gliding, Monsieur Delacour bouncing and beaming. Fleur was wearing a very simple white dress and seemed to be emitting a strong, silvery glow. While her radiance usually dimmed everyone else by comparison, today it beautified everybody it fell upon. Ginny and Gabrielle, both wearing golden dresses, looked even prettier than usual and once Fleur had reached for him, Bill did not look as though he had ever met Fenrit Greyback.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said a slightly singsong voice, and with a slight shock, Harry saw the same small, tufty-hired wizard who had presided at Dumbledore’s funeral, now standing in front of Bill and Fleur. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls…”
“Yes, my tiara set off the whole thing nicely,” said Auntie Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. “But I must say, Ginevra’s dress is far too low cut.”
Ginny glanced around, grinning, winked at Harry, then quickly faced the front again. Harry’s mind wandered a long way from the marquee, back to the afternoons spent alone with Ginny in lonely parts of the school grounds. They seemed so long ago; they had always seemed too good to be true, as though he had been stealing shining hours from a normal person’s life, a person without a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead….
“Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle…?”
In the front row, Mrs. Weasley and Madame Delacour were both sobbing quietly into scraps of lace. Trumpetlike sounds from the back of the marquee told everyone that Hagrid had taken out one of his own tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs. Hermione turned around and beamed at Harry; her eyes too were full of tears.
“…then I declare you bonded for life.”
The tufty-haired wizard waved his hand high over the heads of Bill and Fleur and a shower of silver stars fell upon them, spiraling around their now entwined figures. 
As Fred and George led a round of applause, the golden balloons overhead burst. Birds of paradise and tiny golden bells flew and floated out of them, adding their songs and chimes to the din.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” called the tufty-haired wizard. “If you would please stand up!”
They all did so, Auntie Muriel grumbling audibly; he waved his wand again. The scars on which they had been sitting rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanished, so that they stood beneath a canopy supported by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit orchard and surrounding countryside. Next, a pool of molten gold spread from the center of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor; the hovering chairs grouped themselves around small, white-clothed tables, which all floated gracefully back to earth round it, and the golden-jacketed hand trooped toward a podium.
“Smooth,” said Ron approvingly as the waiters popped up on all sides, some hearing silver trays of pumpkin juice, butterbeer, and firewhisky, others tottering piles of tarts and sandwiches.
“We should go and congratulate them!” said Hermione, standing on tiptoe to see the place where Bill and Fleur had vanished amid a crowd of well-wishers.
“We’ll have time later,” shrugged Ron, snatching three butterbeers from a passing tray and handing one to Harry. “Hermione, cop hold, let’s grab a table…. Not there! Nowhere near Muriel – ”
Ron led the way across the empty dance floor, glancing left and right as he went; Harry felt sure that he was keeping an eye out for Krum. By the time they had reached the other side of the marquee, most of the tables were occupied: The emptiest was the one where Luna sat alone.
“All right if we join you?” asked Ron.
“Oh yes,” she said happily. “Daddy’s just gone to give Bill and Fleur our present.”
“What is it, a lifetime’s supply of Gurdyroots?” asked Ron.
Hermione aimed a kick at him under the table, but caught Harry instead. Eyes watering in pain, Harry lost track of the conversation for a few moments.
The band had begun to play, Bill and Fleur took to the dance floor first, to great applause; after a while, Mr. Weasley led Madame Delacour onto the floor, followed by Mr. Weasley and Fleur’s father.
“I like this song,” said Luna, swaying in time to the waltzlike tune, and a few seconds later she stood up and glided onto the dance floor, where she revolved on the spot, quite alone, eyes closed and waving her arms.
“She’s great isn’t she?” said Ron admiringly. “Always good value.”
But the smile vanished from his face at once: Viktor Krum had dropped into Luna’s vacant seat. Hermione looked pleasurably flustered but this time Krum had not come to compliment her. With a scowl on his face he said, “Who is that man in the yellow?”
“That’s Xenophilius Lovegood, he’s the father of a friend of ours,” said Ron. His pugnacious tone indicated that they were not about to laugh at Xenophilius, despite the clear provocation. “Come and dance,” he added abruptly to Hermione.
She looked taken aback, but pleased too, and got up. They vanished together into the growing throng on the dance floor.
“Ah, they are together now?” asked Krum, momentarily distracted.
“Er – sort of,” said Harry.
“Who are you?” Krum asked.
“Barny Weasley.”
They shook hands.
“You, Barny – you know this man Lovegood well?”
“No, I only met him today. Why?”
Krum glowered over the top of his drink, watching Xenophilius, who was chatting to several warlocks on the other side of the dance floor.
“Because,” said Krum, “If he vus not a guest of Fleur’s I vould dud him, here and now, for veering that filthy sign upon his chest.”
“Sign?” said Harry, looking over at Xenophilius too. The strange triangular eye was gleaming on his chest. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“Grindelvald. That is Grindelvald’s sign.”
“Grindelwald… the Dark wizard Dumbledore defeated?”
“Exactly.”
Krum’s jaw muscles worked as if he were chewing, then he said, “Grindelvald killed many people, my grandfather, for instance. Of course, he vos never powerful in this country, they said he feared Dumbledore – and rightly, seeing how he vos finished. But this” – he pointed a finger at Xenophilius – “this is his symbol, I recognized it at vunce: Grindelvald carved it into a vall at Durmstrang ver he vos a pupil there. Some idiots copied it onto their books and clothes thinking to shock, make themselves impressive – until those of us who had lost family members to Grindelvald taught them better.”
Krum cracked his knuckles menacingly and glowered at Xenophilius. Harry felt perplexed. It seemed incredibly unlikely that Luna’s father was a supporter of the Dark Arts, and nobody else in the tent seemed to have recognized the triangular, finlike shape.
“Are you – er – quite sure it’s Grindelwald’s -?”
“I am not mistaken,” said Krum coldly. “I walked past that sign for several years, I know it vell.”
“Well, there’s a chance,” said Harry, “that Xenophilius doesn’t actually know what the symbol means, the Lovegoods are quite… unusual. He could have easily picked it up somewhere and think it’s a cross section of the head of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack or something.”
“The cross section of a vot?”
“Well, I don’t know what they are, but apparently he and his daughter go on holiday looking for them….”
Harry felt he was doing a bad job explaining Luna and her father.
“That’s her,” he said, pointing at Luna, who was still dancing alone, waving her arms around her head like someone attempting to beat off midges.
“Vy is she doing that?” asked Krum.
“Probably trying to get rid of a Wrackspurt,” said Harry, who recognized the symptoms.
Krum did not seem to know whether or not Harry was making fun of him. He drew his hand from inside his robe and tapped it menacingly on his thighs; sparks flew out of the end.
“Gregorovitch!” said Harry loudly, and Krum started, but Harry was too excited to care; the memory had come back to him at the sight of Krum’s wand: Ollivander taking it and examining it carefully before the Triwizard Tournament.
“Vot about him?” asked Krum suspiciously.
“He’s a wandmaker!”
“I know that,” said Krum.
“He made your wand! That’s why I thought – Quidditch – ”
Krum was looking more and more suspicious.
“How do you know Gregorovitch made my wand?”
“I…I read it somewhere, I think,” said Harry. “In a – a fan magazine,” he improvised wildly and Krum looked mollified.
“I had not realized I ever discussed my vand with fans,” he said.
“So… er… where is Gregorowitch these days?”
Krum looked puzzled.
“He retired several years ago. I was one of the last to purchase a Gregorovitch vand. They are the best –although I know, of course, that your Britons set much store by Ollivander.”
Harry did not answer. He pretended to watch the dancers, like Krum, but he was thinking hard. So Voldemort was looking for a celebrated wandmaker and Harry did not have to search far for a reason. It was surely because of what Harry’ wand had done on the night that Voldemort pursued him across the skies. The holly and phoenix feather wand had conquered the borrowed wand, some thing that Ollivander had not anticipated or understood. Would Gregorowitch know better? Was he truly more skilled than Ollivander, did he know secrets of wands that Ollivander did not?
“This girl is very nice-looking,” Krum said, recalling Harry to his surroundings. Krum was pointing at Ginny, who had just joined Luna. “She is also a relative of yours?”
“Yeah,” said Harry, suddenly irritated, “and she’s seeing someone. Jealous type. Big bloke. You wouldn’t want to cross him.”
Krum grunted.
“Vot,” he said, draining his goblet and getting to his feet again, “is the point of being an international Quidditch player if all the good-looking girls are taken?”
And he strode off leaving Harry to take a sandwich from a passing waiter and make his way around the edge of the crowded dance floor. He wanted to find Ron, to tell him about Gregorovitch, but he was dancing with Hermione out in the middle of the floor. Harry leaned up against one of the golden pillars and watched Ginny, who was now dancing with Fred and George’s friend Lee Jordan, trying not to feel resentful about the promise he had given Ron.
He had never been to a wedding before, so he could not judge how Wizarding celebrations differed from Muggle ones, though he was pretty sure that the latter would not involve a wedding cake topped with two model phoenixes that took flight when the cake was cut, or bottles of champagne that floated unsupported through the crowd. As the evening drew in, and moths began to swoop under the canopy, now lit with floating golden lanterns, the revelry became more and more uncontained. Fred and George had long since disappeared into the darkness with a pair of Fleur’s cousins; Charlie, Hagrid, and a squat wizard in a purple porkpie hat were singing “Odo the Hero” in the corner.
Wandering through the crowd so as to escape a drunken uncle of Ron’s who seemed unsure whether or not Harry was his son, Harry spotted an old wizard sitting alone at a table. His cloud of white hair made him look rather like an aged dandelion clock and was topped by a moth-eaten fez. He was vaguely familiar: Racking his brains, Harry suddenly realized that this was Elphias Doge, member of the Order of the Phoenix and the writer of Dumbledore’s obituary.
Harry approached him.
“May I sit down?”
“Of course, of course,” said Doge; he had a rather high-pitched, wheezy voice.
Harry leaned in.
“Mr. Doge, I’m Harry Potter.”
Doge gasped.
“My dear boy! Arthur told me you were here, disguised…. I am so glad, so honored!”
In a flutter of nervous pleasure Doge poured Harry a goblet of champagne.
“I thought of writing to you,” he whispered, “after Dumbledore… the shock… and for you, I am sure…”
Doge’s tiny eyes filled with sudden tears.
“I saw the obituary you wrote for the Daily Prophet,” said Harry. “I didn’t realize you knew Professor Dumbledore so well.”
“As well as anyone,” said Doge, dabbing his eyes with a napkin. “Certainly I knew him longest, if you don’t count Aberforth – and somehow, people never do seem to count Aberforth.”
“Speaking of the Daily Prophet… I don’t know whether you saw, Mr. Doge -?”
“Oh, please call me Elphias, dear boy.”
“Elphias, I don’t know whether you saw the interview Rita Skeeter gave about Dumbledore?”
Doge’s face flooded with angry color.
“Oh yes, Harry, I saw it. That woman, or vulture might be a more accurate term, positively pestered me to talk to her, I am ashamed to say that I became rather rude, called her an interfering trout, which resulted, as you my have seen, in aspersions cast upon my sanity.”
“Well, in that interview,” Harry went on, “Rita Skeeter hinted that Professor Dumbledore was involved in the Dark Arts when he was young.”
“Don’t believe a word of it!” said Doge at once. “Not a word, Harry! Let nothing tarnish your memories of Albus Dumbledore!”
Harry looked into Doge’s earnest, pained face, and felt, not reassured, but frustrated. Did Doge really think it was that easy, that Harry could simply choose not to believe? Didn’t Doge understand Harry’s need to be sure, to know everything?
Perhaps Doge suspected Harry’s feelings, for he looked concerned and hurried on, “Harry, Rita Skeeter is a dreadful – ”
But he was interrupted by a shrill cackle.
“Rita Skeeter? Oh, I love her, always read her!”
Harry and Doge looked up to see Auntie Muriel standing there, the plumes dancing on her hair, a goblet of champagne in her hand. “She’s written a book about Dumbledore, you know!”
“Hello, Muriel,” said Doge, “Yes, we were just discussing – ”
“You there! Give me your chair, I’m a hundred and seven!”
Another redheaded Weasley cousin jumped off his seat, looking alarmed, and Auntie Muriel swung it around with surprising strength and plopped herself down upon it between Doge and Harry.
“Hello again, Barry or whatever your name is,” she said to Harry, “Now what were you saying about Rita Skeeter, Elphias? You know, she’s written a biography of Dumbledore? I can’t wait to read it. I must remember to place an order at Flourish and Blotts!”
Doge looked stiff and solemn at this but Auntie Muriel drained her goblet and clicked her bony fingers at a passing waiter for a replacement. She took another large gulp of champagne, belched and then said, “There’s no need to look like a pair of stuffed frogs! Before he became so respected and respectable and all that tosh, there were some mighty funny rumors about Albus!”
“Ill-informed sniping,” said Doge, turning radish-colored again.
“You would say that, Elphias,” cackled Auntie Muriel. “I noticed how you skated over the sticky patches in that obituary of yours!”
“I’m sorry you think so,” said Doge, more coldly still. “I assure you I was writing from the heart.”
“Oh, we all know you worshipped Dumbledore; I daresay you’ll still think he was a saint even if it does turn out that he did away with his Squib sister!”
“Muriel!” exclaimed Doge.
A chill that had nothing to do with the iced champagne was stealing through Harry’s chest.
“What do you mean?” he asked Muriel. “Who said his sister was a Squib? I thought she was ill?”
“Thought wrong, then, didn’t you, Barry!” said Auntie Muriel, looking delighted at the effect she had produced. “Anyway, how could you expect to know anything about it! It all happened years and years before you were even thought of, my dear, and the truth is that those of us who were alive then never knew what really happened. 
That’s why I can’t wait to find out what Skeeter’s unearthed! Dumbledore kept that sister of his quiet for a long time!”
“Untrue!” wheezed Doge, “Absolutely untrue!”
“He never told me his sister as a Squib,” said Harry, without thinking, still cold inside.
“And why on earth would he tell you?” screeched Muriel, swaying a little in her seat as she attempted to focus upon Harry.
“The reason Albus never spoke about Ariana,” began Elphias in a voice stiff with emotion, “is, I should have thought, quite clear. He was so devastated by her death – ”
“Why did nobody ever see her, Elphias?” squawked Muriel, “Why did half of us never even know she existed, until they carried the coffin out of the house and held a funeral for her? Where was saintly Albus while Ariana was locked in the cellar? Off being brilliant at Hogwarts, and never mind what was going on in his own house!”
“What d’you mean, locked in the cellar?” asked Harry. “What is this?”
Doge looked wretched. Auntie Muriel cackled again and answered Harry.
“Dumbledore’s mother was a terrifying woman, simply terrifying. Muggle-born, though I heard she pretended otherwise-”
“She never pretended anything of the sort! Kendra was a fine woman,” whispered Doge miserably, but Auntie Muriel ignored him.
“- proud and very domineering, the sort of witch who would have been mortified to produce a Squib-”
“Ariana was not a Squib!” wheezed Doge.
“So you say, Elphias, but explain, then, why she never attended Hogwarts!” said Auntie Muriel. She turned back to Harry. “In our day, Squibs were often hushed up, thought to take it to the extreme of actually imprisoning a little girl in the house and pretending she didn’t exist – ”
“I tell you, that’s not what happened!” said Doge, but Auntie Muriel steamrollered on, still addressing Harry.
Squibs were usually shipped off to Muggle schools and encouraged to integrate into the Muggle community… much kinder than trying to find them a place in the Wizarding world, where they must always be second class, but naturally Kendra Dumbledore wouldn’t have dreamed of letting her daughter go to a Muggle school – 
“Ariana was delicate!” said Doge desperately. “Her health was always too poor to permit her – ”
“- to permit her to leave the house?” cackled Muriel. “And yet she was never taken to St. Mungo’s and no Healer was ever summoned to see her!”
“Really, Muriel, how can you possibly know whether – ”
“For your information, Elphias, my cousin Lancelot was a Healer at St. Mungo’s at the time, and he told my family in strictest confidence that Ariana had never been seen there. All most suspicious, Lancelot thought!”
Doge looked to be on the verge of tears. Auntie Muriel, who seemed to be enjoying herself hugely, snapped her fingers for more champagne. Numbly Harry thought of how the Dursleys had once shut him up, locked him away, kept him out of sight, all for the crime of being a wizard. Had Dumbledore’s sister suffered the same fate in reverse: imprisoned for her lack of magic? And had Dumbledore truly left her to her fate while he went off to Hogwarts to prove himself brilliant and talented?
“Now, if Kendra hadn’t died first,” Muriel resumed, “I’d have said that it was she who finished off Ariana – ”
“How can you, Muriel!” groaned Doge. “A mother kill her own daughter? Think what you’re saying!”
“If the mother in question was capable of imprisoning her daughter for years on end, why not?” shrugged Auntie Muriel. “But as I say, it doesn’t fit, because Kendra died before Ariana – of what, nobody ever seemed sure-”
“Yes, Ariana might have made a desperate bid for freedom and killed Kendra in the struggle,” said Auntie Muriel thoughtfully. “Shake your head all you like, Elphias. 
You were at Ariana’s funeral, were you not?”
“Yes I was,” said Doge, through trembling lips, “and a more desperately sad occasion I cannot remember. Albus was heartbroken-”
“His heart wasn’t the only thing. Didn’t Aberforth break Albus’ nose halfway through the service?”
If Doge had looked horrified before this, it was nothing to how he looked now. Muriel might have stabbed him. She cackled loudly and took another swig of champagne, which dribbled down her chin.
“How do you -?” croaked Doge.
“My mother was friendly with old Bathilda Bagshot,” said Auntie Muriel happily. “Bathilda described the whole thing to mother while I was listening at the door. A coffin-side brawl. The way Bathilda told it, Aberforth shouted that it was all Albus’ fault that Ariana was dead and then punched him in the face. According to Bathilda, Albus did not even defend himself, and that’s odd enough in itself. Albus could have destroyed Aberforth in a duel with both hands tied behind his back.”
Muriel swigged yet more champagne. The recitation of those old scandals seemed to elate her as much as they horrified Doge. Harry did not know what to think, what to believe. He wanted the truth and yet all Doge did was sit there and bleat feebly that Ariana had been ill. Harry could hardly believe that Dumbledore would not have intervened if such cruelty was happening inside his own house, and yet there was undoubtedly something odd about the story.
“And I’ll tell you something else,” Muriel said, hiccupping slightly as she lowered her goblet. “I think Bathilda has spilled the beans to Rita Skeeter. All those hints in Skeeter’s interview about an important source close to the Dumbledores – goodness knows she was there all through the Ariana business, and it would fit!”
“Bathilda, would never talk to Rita Skeeter!” whispered Doge.
“Bathilda Bagshot?” Harry said. “The author of A History of Magic?”
The name was printed on the front of one of Harry’s textbooks, though admittedly not one of the ones he had read more attentively.
“Yes,” said Doge, clutching at Harry’s question like a drowning man at a life heir. “A most gifted magical historian and an old friend of Albus’s.”
“Quite gaga these days, I’ve heard,” said Auntie Muriel cheerfully.
“If that is so, it is even more dishonorable for Skeeter to have taken advantage of her,” said Doge, “and no reliance can be placed on anything Bathilda may have said!”
“Oh, there are ways of bringing back memories, and I’m sure Rita Skeeter knows them all,” said Auntie Muriel “But even if Bathilda’s completely cuckoo, I’m sure she’d still have old photographs, maybe even letters. She knew the Dumbledores for years…. Well worth a trip to Godric’s Hollow, I’d have thought.”
Harry, who had been taking a sip of butterbeer, choked. Doge banged him on the back as Harry coughed, looking at Auntie Muriel through streaming eyes. Once he had control of his voice again, he asked, “Bathilda Bagshot lives in Godric’s Hollow?”
“Oh yes, she’s been there forever! The Dumbledores moved there after Percival was imprisoned, and she was their neighbor.”
“The Dumbledores lived in Godric’s Hollows?”
“Yes, Barry, that’s what I just said,” said Auntie Muriel testily.
Harry felt drained, empty. Never once, in six years, had Dumbledore told Harry that they had both lived and lost loved ones in Godric’s Hollow. Why? Were Lily and James buried close to Dumbledore’s mother and sister? Had Dumbledore visited their graves, perhaps walked past Lily’s and James’s to do so? And he had never once told Harry … never bothered to say…
And why it was so important, Harry could not explain even to himself, yet he felt it had been tantamount to a lie not to tell him that they had this place and these experiences in common. He stared ahead of him, barely noticing what was going on around him, and did not realize that Hermione had appeared out of the crowd until she drew up a chair beside him.
“I simply can’t dance anymore,” she panted, slipping of one of her shoes and rubbing the sole of her foot. “Ron’s gone looking to find more butterbeers. It’s a bit odd. I’ve just seen Viktor storming away from Luna’s father, it looked like they’d been arguing – ” She dropped her voice, staring at him. “Harry, are you okay?”
Harry did not know where to begin, but it did not matter, at that moment, something large and silver came falling through the canopy over the dance floor. Graceful and gleaming, the lynx landed lightly in the middle of the astonished dancers. Heads turned, as those nearest it froze absurdly in mid-dance. Then the Patronus’s mouth opened wide and it spoke in the loud, deep, slow voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”
第二天下午三点，哈利、罗恩、弗雷德和乔治都准时地站在了果园内那巨大的白色帐篷外，恭候着前来参加会礼的礼宾们。哈利喝下了一大份复方药剂，现在俨然已经变成了一个长着红头发的小伙子，看起来就像是那个在本地奥特里·圣卡奇波尔上学的麻瓜男孩。当然，弗雷德很巧妙地用飞来咒“借”来了那小子的几根头发加入到了药剂中。按照计划，哈利要把名字改作“巴尼表弟”，况且，韦斯莱家族庞大的亲戚数目也确保不会有人怀疑他的身份。 
　　他们四个手里都拿着一份婚礼的座位安排表，所以可以驾轻就熟指引每位客人找到他们的正确的座位。许多身着白色长袍的乐师已经在一小时前抵达了婚礼现场，手里拿着他们各式各样的金色乐器，而这些巫师全都坐在树下的不远处。哈利看到现场飘溢着魔幻般的蓝色轻烟，恍如仙境。而在他身后，从帐篷入口处可以看到，长长的紫色地毯的两侧整齐的摆放着一排排精致的金色座椅。而且帐篷的支柱也被各色的鲜花盘绕，装点一新。弗雷德和乔治正试图把一大束金色的气球装点在比尔和芙蓉宣誓成婚的地点上方。场地外边，三三两两的蜜蜂和蝴蝶正悠闲地在草坪和灌木丛中盘旋嬉戏。然而，眼前的一片祥和却怎么也抵消不了哈利心中那一份驱之不散的不安。那个麻瓜男孩的身材比哈利偏胖，自然的，在这个阳光明媚的夏日午后，身上略显紧绷的礼服长袍也让哈利倍感到天气的闷热和心中的焦躁。 
　　“等我结婚的时候，”弗雷德一边松着自己礼服的衣领，一边抱怨道，“我绝不整这么多烦人的规矩，大家随便，想怎么折腾就怎么折腾，只要给老妈用一个全身束缚咒就好了。” 
　　“说真的，老妈今天的表现不错，就是因为珀西没来伤心了一阵子，不过还有谁在乎那个笨蛋？”乔治说，“哎呀，大家精神点，看，他们来了！” 
　　许多装扮各异的身影一个接一个的在场地边不远处显形，没几分钟，宾客的队伍就已初具规模，随后，人群开始沿着各自的路线穿过果园，朝帐篷赶来。充满异国情调的鲜花和被魔法魅惑的小鸟在女巫们的帽子上盘旋，男巫们的饰带上则闪烁着各色宝石的光芒，随着人们兴奋的交谈声逐渐清晰，先前的蜂鸣声也随着人群的出现而被淹没了。 
　　“天呐，我发誓我看到了几个媚娃表亲，”乔治伸着脖子想看得更清楚些，“我想她们肯定需要一些私人的英语辅导，我想我可以胜任……” 
　　“嘿，别急，小心呐，”弗雷德说着，径直穿过一群中年女巫，朝他的目标冲了过去，“这里——能否允许我为两位小姐效劳？（法语）”面对着直截了当的搭讪，这对漂亮的双胞胎姐妹咯咯笑着接受了他的邀请。 
　　而另一方面，被撇下的乔治只能无奈地接待这群中年女巫，罗恩的职责是招呼韦斯莱先生的魔法部同事，至于哈利，只得去照顾一对几近失聪的老夫妇。 
　　“嗨！”当哈利再次走出帐篷时，一个熟悉的声音跟他打着招呼，唐克斯和卢平出现在他面前，这次她给自己弄了一头金发，“亚瑟告诉我们那个卷头发的就是你。另外，昨晚的事情，真的很抱歉。”当哈利带着他们走过过道时她补充说，“魔法部对于狼人的抵触情绪越来越大，所以我们想昨天如果我们继续留在那里的话对你不会有任何好处” 
　　“没事的，我理解，”哈利边说，便把更多的目光投向了卢平。卢平对他还以一个微笑，但当他们转身离开哈利的时候，哈利却注意到卢平的脸色又变得暗淡了。他对此并不是很理解，但现在也没有什么时间来仔细琢磨了。 
　　海格引起了一场不小的骚动。当他准备落座的时候，误会了弗雷德指示，没有等他那个后排的椅子被施上加大加固的咒语就直接一屁股坐了下去，结果，五把金光闪闪的椅子刹那间成了棍棒和粉末。 
　　当韦斯莱先生清理这些破坏现场的时候，海格向每一个愿意听他述说的人喋喋不休的道着歉。哈利赶回入口的时候发现罗恩正和一个穿着行为非常古怪的男巫在面对面说着话：一双细长的对眼，像棉花糖似的齐肩白发，戴着一顶奇怪的帽子，帽子上的长穗直甩到他面前，挡住了他的鼻子，身上穿的是一件蛋黄色的长袍。除此之外，还有一个比他胸前那个三角眼更引人注目的特征，就是他脖子上的那条金链发出的亮闪闪的光芒。 
　　“谢农费里厄斯·洛夫古德，”他一边自我介绍着，一边把手伸向哈利，“我和我的女儿住在山上，所以，能够收到韦斯莱家的邀请实在是太棒了，而且，我想你应该认识我的女儿卢娜吧？”他转向罗恩补充说。 
　　“是的，”罗恩说，“她没和您一起来么？” 
　　“哦，她要在那边迷人的小庄园上逛一逛，去和那些地精们打个招呼，那些伟大的小生命们！现在几乎没几个人能够意识到我们可以从这些聪明的小东西们身上可以学到多少东西……更有甚者，我们甚至不能给他们一个合适的名字，这些不知疲倦的园丁。” 
　　“我想我们其实是知道不少绝妙的诅咒字眼的”罗恩嘀咕着，“而且我想弗雷德和乔治早就教过那些可恶的小东西了。” 
　　当卢娜出现的时候，他正带着一批巫师往帐篷走。 
　　“你好，哈利！”她一如既往地打着招呼。 
　　“呃——我的名字叫巴里——”哈利慌乱的答道。 
　　“哦，已经改成这名字了么？”她爽朗的问道。 
　　“你怎么会知道……” 
　　“哦，仅仅是你的表情告诉我的而已”她说。 
　　像她父亲一样，卢娜也是身着亮黄色长袍，头发上依旧装饰着那朵夸张的大向日葵，也许是习惯成自然了吧，哈利并没有觉得卢娜的打扮有什么不妥，至少，他没有戴那副惹眼的胡萝卜耳环。 
　　谢农费里厄斯此时正兴致勃勃地和一位熟人攀谈，因而并没有注意到卢娜和哈利。直到与对方道别后，才转身看到自己的女儿，而卢娜正举着她的手指对他说：“爸爸，看——居然有一个地精咬了我。” 
　　“太奇妙了！要知道，地精的唾液可是非常棒的。”洛古夫德先生抓着卢娜伸出的手指，一边检查着伤口一边说，“卢娜，我的宝贝儿，如果你今天感觉到自己有前所未有的类似于演唱歌剧或像美人鱼一样高声朗诵的冲动的话，千万别克制自己。我敢打赌，你会成为地精们赐予我们的一份神奇的礼物。” 
　　罗恩转过头去，背对着这对父女大声地咳嗽着。 
　　“罗恩可能会觉得很搞笑，”卢娜在哈利带着她和父亲走去落座的时候平静地说，“但我爸爸的确在地精魔法上颇有研究的。” 
　　“真的？”哈利问道，由于他拿不准是否该向卢娜父女的古怪观点提出异议，所以这句话的声音拉得很长，“话说回来，你确定你不打算对你的伤口进行些什么处理么？” 
　　“哦，没事的，”卢娜回答，她一边吸着自己受伤的手指，一边上下打量着哈利，“你看上去有心事啊，我告诉爸爸说大家多会选择穿礼服长袍来参加婚礼，但爸爸坚持认为婚礼上应该穿阳光样的亮色衣服，这是为了好运，我想你可以理解。” 
　　离开了卢娜父女，哈利看到一个上了年纪的女巫拉着罗恩走了过来，那个女巫长着一个鹰钩鼻，红红的眼圈，再配上那粉红色的皮质帽子，让她怎么看都像是一只脾气暴躁的火烈鸟。 
　　“……你的头发太长了，罗恩，这样下去，过不了多久，连我都会把你当成金妮了。天呐！谢农费里厄斯那是什么打扮？他看起来像一个煎蛋卷。还有，你是谁？”他冲哈利嚷嚷道。 
　　“哦……啊……穆莉尔姨妈，他只是我们的巴尼表弟。” 
　　“又一个韦斯莱？你长得像个地精，哈利波特不在这里么？我倒是很想见见他，我想他是你的朋友吧，罗恩，还是说那只是你在说大话？” 
　　“不……他只是不方便来罢了。” 
　　“嗯，在找借口，对么？不像他在照片上的样子啊。他们告诉我说新娘和我的头冠非常相配，”她冲着哈利嚷道，“那是妖精造的，你知道，而且在我们家族代代相传已经好几个世纪了。
她是个很漂亮的姑娘，但，怎么说也仍然是个法国人。好吧好吧，给我找个好位置，罗恩，我已经107岁了，不能站太久的。”经过哈利身边的时候罗恩给了他一个别有深意的眼神，然后就不见了。当下一次他们在入口碰面的时候，哈利正带着一大群客人在找位置落座。帐篷里这时已经几乎满员了，而在帐篷外，也第一次没有了排队等待入场的宾客。 
　　“穆莉尔姨妈简直就是场噩梦，”罗恩一边说，还一边用袖子在擦他的额头，“她以前是每年圣诞节过来一趟，但是后来，感谢上帝，她受到了攻击，因为弗雷德和乔治在一次晚餐时在她椅子后面丢了个大粪弹。爸爸一直说姨妈对他们失望透了——不过事实上，他们现在正在变成整个家族里最有钱的人，而且，他们会……喔！”罗恩看到赫敏正急匆匆地向他们跑来，他的眼睛就马上恢复了兴奋的光彩，“你看上去还不赖嘛。” 
　　“老样子，”赫敏笑着回答，她穿了一件轻质的淡紫色连衣裙，配上一双高跟鞋，向上次的圣诞舞会一样，头发也打理得很顺滑，“你的穆莉尔姨妈对我很不认同啊，刚才他在楼上给芙蓉头冠的时候我见到她了，她用夸张的声音说：‘哦，亲爱的，你居然是个麻瓜？’还说‘多差劲的仪态和肤质’。” 
　　“甭理那个老家伙，她对每个人都那么无理的。”罗恩说。 
　　“有人在说那个穆莉尔么？”乔治插话道，他和弗雷德刚从帐篷里走出来，“唉，刚才还跟我说，我的耳朵现在失衡了，那个老蝙蝠，真希望比琉斯叔叔还活着啊，他肯定可以让婚礼变得更有趣些。” 
　　“他不是据说已经在24年前暴毙了么？”赫敏问道。 
　　“没错，他死的确实有些莫明其妙。”乔治承认。 
　　“但他生前从来都是宴会上的焦点和笑料，”弗雷德补充说，“他曾经一口气喝下整瓶的火焰威士忌，然后跑到舞池里，撩起他的长袍，变出整束整束的鲜花，你们绝对想不到，那变出花的地方居然是他的……” 
　　“哦，听起来像是个白马王子啊，”赫敏说，一旁的哈利早就笑得前仰后合了。 
　　“但他从没结过婚，出于某种原因，”罗恩接着补充。 
　　“真太不可思议了，”赫敏说。 
　　当他们正聊得热闹的时候，谁也没注意到，有一位客人姗姗来迟。这位一头黑发，长着鹰钩鼻，眉毛粗重的男士走过来，一边向罗恩出示婚礼请柬，一边却把目光投向另一侧的赫敏，用蹩脚的英语说“你的气色不错啊。” 
　　“威克多尔！”赫敏吃惊得大叫，手里的袖珍包也掉在地上，还发出了与它小小个头极不相符的巨大声响。她赶忙红着脸，手忙脚乱的把手包捡起来，“我实在没想到你会来——当然——见到你很高兴——你最近好么？”一旁的罗恩耳根又开始红了，他一脸疑惑地扫了一眼请柬，大声问：“你是怎么来的？” 
　　“芙蓉把我邀请来的。”克鲁姆眉毛一挑，答道。 
　　哈利并没有机会和克鲁姆搭话，但他马上意识到他最好还是尽快把克鲁姆从罗恩身边弄走，带他去找座位。 
　　“你的朋友见到我好像不大乐意，”克鲁姆跟着哈利走进帐篷，问道，“你是他亲戚吧？”他注意到了哈利的一头红发。 
　　“我是他表弟，”哈利嘀咕着说，但克鲁姆似乎根本就没在听。克鲁姆的出现，在现场，尤其是在那些媚娃表亲中引起了小小的骚动：毕竟他是一个魁地奇明星。很多人都伸着脖子来争睹他的风采，罗恩、赫敏、弗雷德和乔治也随后跟了过来。 
　　“入场的时间差不多了，”弗雷德对哈利说，“也许我们应该到新人那去。” 
　　哈利、罗恩和赫敏在弗雷德和乔治身后坐在第二排。 
　　赫敏看起来很不自然，罗恩的耳根也依旧通红。过了一会，他扭头对哈利嘀咕说，“瞧那小子的胡子多滑稽，对吧？”哈利含糊地应承着。 
　　帐篷里的气氛很庄重，忽然，这种平静的氛围被一阵兴奋的说笑声打破了，韦斯莱夫妇从过道走了过来，笑着和亲友们打着招呼，韦斯莱夫人一身紫色礼服的打扮，头上的帽子也搭配得十分得体。 
　　随后，比尔和查理身着礼服站在了礼堂最前方，胸前都佩着一大朵雪白的玫瑰，弗雷德兴奋的打着口哨，媚娃们也爆发出一阵咯咯的笑声。随着像是从那些金色气球里飘出的礼乐声音渐大，现场也重新回复了安静。 
　　“喔！”赫敏说着，在座位上转过身往入口张望。 
　　随着德拉库尔先生挽着芙蓉入场，人群中也爆发出了阵阵欢呼，芙蓉看起来神情自若，德拉库尔先生则喜形于色。芙蓉身着一身简单的白色长裙，却散发着无比迷人的魅力，相形之下，也让周围众人的风采完全被她掩盖，今天芙蓉的美让所有人为之倾倒。金妮和加布里埃尔双双身着金色礼服，看上去也比平时更加的动人。芙蓉把手伸给比尔，比尔就像从来没有遇到过芬里尔·格雷伯克那样精神。 
　　“女士们、先生们，”一个略带唱音的声音响起来了，哈利看到一个头发蓬乱的小个巫师——那个主持邓布利多葬礼的巫师，现在了比尔和芙蓉的面前，“今天我们齐聚一堂，共同见证两位新人的天赐良缘……” 
　　“确实，我的头冠让整个婚礼变得更加完美了，”穆莉尔姨妈低声感慨，“但我必须得说，金妮的装扮不是很得体。” 
　　金妮偷偷扭头转向哈利，微微一笑，然后马上又转向前方。哈利的思维马上从婚礼溜开，飘到了那个在学校操场上与金妮独处的午后，不过，那好像已经是很久之前的事情了，而且幸福得让人感觉不真实，就好像是他从别人——一个正常人，一个额头上没有闪电疤痕的人那里偷到的一小段幸福…… 
　　“好了，比尔·亚瑟，请携手芙蓉·伊莎贝拉……” 
　　在最前排，韦斯莱夫人和德拉库尔夫人两人的手帕都早已被幸福的泪水浸透，吹喇叭一样的抽鼻声也在后排响了起来，不用问，海格已经拿出了标志性的桌布大小的手帕开始抽泣，而哈利身边的赫敏，也早已热泪盈眶了。 
　　“……现在，我宣布你们正式结为夫妻” 
　　那个头发蓬乱的司仪在比尔和芙蓉头上一挥魔杖，奇幻的银色小星星在他们四周升起盘旋，随着乔治和弗雷德所引领的一片掌声，金色的气球纷纷爆炸，变成一只只快乐的飞鸟和金色的挂钟在空中飘摆，美妙的乐曲声也随即响起。 
　　“女士们先生们，”司仪再次开口，“请全体起立。” 
　　大家全都照做了，只是穆莉尔姨妈有些抱怨，巫师再次挥动魔杖，帐篷随之消失，他们刚才落座的座位也飞了起来，天空中幻化成华美的金色的拱顶，令人叹为观止。随后，一点金光从中央向四周铺展开来，变成一个巨大的舞池，刚才飞起的座椅纷纷落下，围着一张张的白色小桌分布在舞池周边，乐队也随之登上了舞台。 
　　“太棒了。”当罗恩看到各处突然冒出来的侍者们用银盘端着南瓜汁、黄油啤酒、火焰威士忌、小薄饼和三明治的时候发出了由衷赞叹。 
　　“我们应该过去向他们道贺，”赫敏说，她踮脚望向已被祝福者们包围的比尔和芙蓉。 
　　“我们待会会有机会的，”罗恩耸耸肩，顺手拿过三杯黄油啤酒，递了一杯给哈利，“赫敏，接着。让我们先找张桌子坐吧……那里不行，千万不能靠着穆莉尔姨妈……” 
　　罗恩带头穿过舞池，东一头西一头地找着合适的座位。但哈利可以肯定罗恩一直都在盯着克鲁姆，他们钻到了场地的另一头，这里的大部分座位都已经有人了，只有一张桌子上有空位，卢娜孤零零的坐在旁边。 
　　“不介意我们坐在这吧？”罗恩问。 
　　“当然，”她开心的回答，“爸爸跑去给比尔和芙蓉送贺礼了” 
　　“什么礼物？不会是终身免费供应戈迪根吧？”罗恩问。 
　　赫敏习惯性的想去踩罗恩，警告他别乱说话，不过错踩到了哈利，哈利忍着痛半天没说话。 
　　舞曲响起，比尔夫妇在掌声中步入舞池开始领舞，随后，韦斯莱夫妇和德拉库尔夫妇也开始加入其中。 
　　“我喜欢这首曲子，”卢娜说，她伴着节奏摇摆了一小会，随后，她起身走到舞池边，闭着眼睛，舞着胳膊，自顾自地跳起舞来。 
　　“她真的很伟大，对吧，”罗恩钦佩地说，“总是这么自我感觉良好！” 
　　但他脸上的笑容很快就消失不见了，威克多尔·克鲁姆坐在了卢娜留下的空位上，赫敏显得很局促和紧张，但这次克鲁姆并不是过来和她搭讪，他一脸怒气的问：“那个穿黄衣服的男人是谁？” 
　　“谢农费里厄斯·洛夫古德，是我们朋友的父亲，”罗恩回答，并用警告的语气表明这里并不欢迎取笑谢农费里厄斯的言辞，那会被当作是一种挑衅的，“我们去跳舞吧。”他突然对赫敏说。 
　　她肯定被吓了一大跳，但却也十分开心，随即起身应邀，并和罗恩一起消失在舞池里逐渐壮大的跳舞队伍中。 
　　“啊，他们现在在一起了么？”克鲁姆烦躁地问道。 
　　“呃——一定程度上吧，”哈利回答说。 
　　“你是谁？”克鲁姆接着问。 
　　“巴尼·韦斯莱” 
　　他们握了握手。 
　　“那巴尼，你和那个洛古夫德熟么？” 
　　“不熟，我也仅仅是今天才和他见的面。怎么了？” 
　　克鲁姆透过他面前的饮料，盯着在舞池边正和别人相聊甚欢的谢农费里厄斯。 
　　“那是因为……”克鲁姆说，“如果他不是芙蓉的客人的话，我早就杀了他了，因为在他胸前我发现了那个可恶的标志。” 
　　“标志？”哈利也转头看着谢农费里厄斯，注意着他胸前的那个奇怪的三角眼标志，“怎么回事？有什么不对么？” 
　　“格林沃德，那是格林沃德的标志” 
　　“格林沃德……那个被邓布利多击败的黑巫师？” 
　　“没错。” 
　　克鲁姆下巴的肌肉紧绷着，然后他说，“格林沃德杀了很多人，其中就包括我的祖父，当然，对现在的人来讲，也许他的恐怖早就被淡忘了。他们说他害怕邓布利多——的确，看看他怎么死的就知道了。但这个，”他指着谢农费里厄斯，“那是他的标志，我永远不会忘记：格林沃德小时候就已经把它刻在了德姆斯特朗的一面墙上。许多小孩在课本上衣服上复制这个标记来装酷，可是格林沃德害了他们的家人，他们就酷不起来了” 
　　克鲁姆一边捏着自己的指节一边死死盯着谢农费里厄斯，哈利觉得有些不可思议，卢娜的父亲居然会是黑魔法的拥趸？而且在场的其他人似乎也并没有觉得这个三角形的标志有什么不妥。 
　　“你真的……嗯……确信那就是格林沃德的……” 
　　“不会错的，”克鲁姆冷冷的回答，“我看着这个标志长大的，绝不可能记错。” 
　　“好吧，但还有一种可能，”哈利说，“谢农费里厄斯会不会根本就不明白那个标志的特殊含义，我的意思是，洛夫古德一家实在是……不太寻常，他可能只是从什么地方偶然得到那个东西的，然后就把它当成弯角鼾兽头部的侧视图什么的了。” 
　　“什么东西的侧视图？” 
　　“好吧，我承认，其实我也不知道那是个什么东西，但很明显他和他女儿却为了寻找他们而搭上了整个假期……” 
　　哈利觉得他正在为解释卢娜和他父亲的古怪行为而白费力气。 
　　“就是她，”他指着卢娜说，此时的卢娜仍旧在那自我陶醉，像是赶蚊子似的挥舞着自己的双臂。 
　　“她那是在干什么？”克鲁姆问。 
　　“也许正在试图摆脱一只骚扰?。”哈利说，他觉得这种症状应该就是这样。 
　　克鲁姆现在已经拿不准面前这个人是不是在拿自己找乐，他把魔杖从长袍中抽了出来放在腿上，准备起身离开了。 
　　“格里戈维奇！”哈利大叫，克鲁姆吓了一跳，但哈利顾不了许多，他太兴奋了；在看到克鲁姆的魔杖的时候他都记起来了，三强争霸赛时，奥利凡德在检查大家魔杖的时候曾经提到过。 
　　“他怎么了？”克鲁姆惊奇地说。 
　　“他是魔杖制作师。” 
　　“这我知道，”克鲁姆说。 
　　“他给你做的魔杖！那就是为什么我会想到——魁地奇——” 
　　克鲁姆越听越糊涂。 
　　“你怎么会知道格里戈维奇给我做的魔杖？” 
　　“啊，我……我想是在什么地方读到的”哈利说，“是在——一份球迷杂志上，”他这次的即兴发挥好像让克鲁姆紧绷的神经放松了一些。 
　　“我怎么没记得和球迷讨论过魔杖的事情。”他嘀咕着。 
　　“那么……嗯……现在格里戈维奇在哪？” 
　　克鲁姆不解的看着他。 
　　“他退隐多年了，我的魔杖是他最后一批产品，我想，他做的魔杖是最棒的——当然，我明白，你们英国人大多比较喜欢奥利凡登的产品。” 
　　哈利不再说什么了，他假装和克鲁姆一起观看舞会，但脑子里却在飞快地思索着。 
　　伏地魔煞费苦心的寻找这样一位著名魔杖制作者的原因哈利不难想到。肯定是由于伏地魔复活那天他们魔杖之间发出的闪回咒。这两根有着同样凤凰尾羽的魔杖为何会产生那样的共鸣，恐怕即使是奥利凡登也不能完全理解。那格里戈维奇又会知道多少呢？它比奥利凡登懂得更多么？他又知道多少奥利凡登所不知道的魔杖秘密呢？ 
　　“那个女孩很漂亮啊。”克鲁姆的话把哈利从沉思中唤醒。 
　　克鲁姆指的正是金妮，她现在正和卢娜在一起，“她也是你的亲戚吧？” 
　　“是啊，”哈利感到有些恼火，回答说，“倒是挺漂亮，不过这人已经跟了别人了，那人是个小心眼，惹不起啊。” 
　　“是么，”克鲁姆垂头丧气地说，“当一个国际著名的魁地奇球员的代价，就是漂亮姑娘都被人挑走了？”说罢，从身边经过的侍者那里取了份三明治，然后转身沿着舞池边离开了。哈利想尽快找到罗恩，告诉他格里戈维奇的事情，但那家伙正和赫敏在舞池中间跳得不可开交呢。 
　　哈利又想去找金妮，可金妮现在正跟李·乔丹跳呢，哈利想到对罗恩的保证，痛苦的走开了。 
　　哈利以前没参加过麻瓜婚礼，所以他不能比较巫师婚礼和麻瓜婚礼的优劣，他只能弄明白的一点是，随着夜越来越深，晚会变成了狂欢，婚礼上的欢声笑语跟所有其它的美好时刻一样，都是稍纵即逝。 
　　弗雷德和乔治和芙蓉的表亲一起跑到不知什么地方疯玩去了；查理，海格等人坐在角落里，唱着著名的《英雄奥多》。 
　　哈利在四处闲逛中遇到了罗恩的叔父，他喝的烂醉，费了半天劲才分辨出哈利是不是他的儿子。哈利发现了一位在桌旁独坐的老巫师。他白云一样雪白的头发令他看起来更像是一朵老蒲公英，头上还带着一顶被虫子蛀过的毡帽。他看起来很面熟。哈利绞尽脑汁的回想着。忽然间，他记起来了，这是埃非亚·多戈，凤凰社的成员，邓布利多的悼词也是由他执笔的。 
　　哈利向他走了过去。 
　　“我能坐在这么？” 
　　“当然，当然，”多戈回答说。他声调很高，声音也很苍老。哈利往前凑了凑。 

Chapter 9 A Place to Hide
Everything seemed fuzzy, slow. Harry and Hermione jumped to their feet and drew their wands. Many people were only just realizing that something strange had happened; heads were still turning toward the silver cat as it vanished. Silence spread outward in cold ripples from the place where the Patronus had landed. Then somebody screamed.
Harry and Hermione threw themselves into the panicking crowd. Guests were sprinting in all directions; many were Disapparating; the protective enchantments around the Burrow had broken.
“Ron!” Hermione cried. “Ron, where are you?”
As they pushed their way across the dance floor, Harry saw cloaked and masked figures appearing in the crowd; then he saw Lupin and Tonks, their wands raised, and heard both of them shout, “Protego!”, a cry that was echoed on all sides –
“Ron! Ron!” Hermione called, half sobbing as she and Harry were buffered by terrified guests: Harry seized her hand to make sure they weren’t separated as a streak of light whizzed over their heads, whether a protective charm or something more sinister he did not know –
And then Ron was there. He caught hold of Hermione’s free arm, and Harry felt her turn on the spot; sight and sound were extinguished as darkness pressed in upon him; all he could feel was Hermione’s hand as he was squeezed through space and time, away from the Burrow, away from the descending Death Eaters, away, perhaps, from 
Voldemort himself….
“Where are we?” said Ron’s voice.
Harry opened his eyes. For a moment he thought they had not left the wedding after all; They still seemed to be surrounded by people.
“Tottenham Court Road,” panted Hermione. “Walk, just walk, we need to find somewhere for you to change.”
Harry did as she asked. They half walked, half ran up the wide dark street thronged with late-night revelers and lined with closed shops, stars twinkling above them. A double-decker bus rumbled by and a group of merry pub-goers ogled them as they passed; Harry and Ron were still wearing dress robes.
“Hermione, we haven’t got anything to change into,” Ron told her, as a young woman burst into raucous giggles at the sight of him.
“Why didn’t I make sure I had the Invisibility Cloak with me?” said Harry, inwardly cursing his own stupidity. “All last year I kept it on me and – ”
“It’s okay, I’ve got the Cloak, I’ve got clothes for both of you,” said Hermione, “Just try and act naturally until – this will do.”
She led them down a side street, then into the shelter of a shadowy alleyway.
“When you say you’ve got the Cloak, and clothes…” said Harry, frowning at Hermione, who was carrying nothing except her small beaded handbag, in which she was now rummaging.
“Yes, they’re here,” said Hermione, and to Harry and Ron’s utter astonishment, she pulled out a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, some maroon socks, and finally the silvery Invisibility Cloak.
“How the ruddy hell –?”
“Undetectable Extension Charm,” said Hermione. “Tricky, but I think I’ve done it okay; anyway, I managed to fit everything we need in here.” She gave the fragile-looking bag a little shake and it echoed like a cargo hold as a number of heavy objects rolled around inside it. “Oh, damn, that’ll be the books,” she said, peering into it, “and I had them all stacked by subject…. Oh well…. Harry, you’d better take the Invisibility Cloak. Ron, hurry up and change….”
“When did you do all this?” Harry asked as Ron stripped off his robes.
“I told you at the Burrow, I’ve had the essentials packed for days, you know, in case we needed to make a quick getaway. I packed your rucksack this morning, Harry, after you changed, and put it in here…. I just had a feeling….”
“You’re amazing, you are,” said Ron, handing her his bundled-up robes.
“Thank you,” said Hermione, managing a small smile as she pushed the robes into the bag. “Please, Harry, get that Cloak on!”
Harry threw his Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders and pulled it up over his head, vanishing from sight. He was only just beginning to appreciate what had happened.
“The others – everybody at the wedding – ”
“We can’t worry about that now,” whispered Hermione. “It’s you they’re after, Harry, and we’ll just put everyone in even more danger by going back.”
“She’s right,” said Ron, who seemed to know that Harry was about to argue, even if he could not see his face. “Most of the Order was there, they’ll look after everyone.”
Harry nodded, then remembered that they could not see him, and said, “Yeah.” But he thought of Ginny, and fear bubbled like acid in his stomach.
“Come on, I think we ought to keep moving,” said Hermione.
They moved back up the side street and onto the main road again, where a group of men on the opposite side was singing and weaving across the pavement.
“Just as a matter of interest, why Tottenham Court Road?” Ron asked Hermione.
“I’ve no idea, it just popped into my head, but I’m sure we’re safer out in the Muggle world, it’s not where they’ll expect us to be.”
“True,” said Ron, looking around, “but don’t you feel a bit – exposed?”
“Where else is there?” asked Hermione, cringing as the men on the other side of the road started wolf-whistling at her. “We can hardly book rooms at the Leaky Cauldron, can we? And Grimmauld Place is out if Snape can get in there…. I suppose we could try my parents’ home, though I think there’s a chance they might check there…. Oh, I wish they’d shut up!”
“All right, darling?” the drunkest of the men on the other pavement was yelling. “Fancy a drink? Ditch ginger and come and have a pint!”
“Let’s sit down somewhere,” Hermione said hastily as Ron opened his mouth to shout back across the road. “Look, this will do, in here!”
It was a small and shabby all-night café. A light layer of grease lay on all the Formica-topped tables, but it was at least empty. Harry slipped into a booth first and Ron sat next to him opposite Hermione, who had her back to the entrance and did not like it: She glanced over her shoulder so frequently she appeared to have a twitch. 
Harry did not like being stationary; walking had given the illusion that they had a goal. Beneath the Cloak he could feel the last vestiges of Polyjuice leaving him, his hands returning to their usual length and shape. He pulled his glasses out of his pocket and put them on again.
After a minute or two, Ron said, “You know, we’re not far from the Leaky Cauldron here, it’s only in Charing Cross – ”
“Ron, we can’t!” said Hermione at once.
“Not to stay there, but to find out what’s going on!”
“We know what’s going on! Voldemort’s taken over the Ministry, what else do we need to know?”
“Okay, okay, it was just an idea!”
They relapsed into a prickly silence. The gum-chewing waitress shuffled over and Hermione ordered two cappuccinos: As Harry was invisible, it would have looked odd to order him one. A pair of burly workmen entered the café and squeezed into the next booth. Hermione dropped her voice to a whisper.
“I say we find a quiet place to Disapparate and head for the countryside. Once we’re there, we could send a message to the Order.”
“Can you do that talking Patronus thing, then?” asked Ron.
“I’ve been practicing and I think so,” said Hermione.
“Well, as long as it doesn’t get them into trouble, though they might’ve been arrested already. God, that’s revolting,” Ron added after one sip of the foamy, grayish coffee. The waitress had heard; she shot Ron a nasty look as she shuffled off to take the new customers’ orders. The larger of the two workmen, who was blond and quite huge, now that Harry came to look at him, waved her away. She stared, affronted.
“Let’s get going, then, I don’t want to drink this muck,” said Ron. “Hermione, have you got Muggle money to pay for this?”
“Yes, I took out all my Building Society savings before I came to the Burrow. I’ll bet all the change is at the bottom,” sighed Hermione, reaching for her beaded bag.
The two workmen made identical movements, and Harry mirrored them without conscious thought: All three of them drew their wands. Ron, a few seconds late in realizing what was going on, lunged across the table, pushing Hermione sideways onto her bench. The force of the Death Eaters’ spells shattered the tiled wall where Ron’s head had just been, as Harry, still invisible, yelled, “Stupefy!”
The great blond Death Eater was hit in the face by a jet of red light: He slumped sideways, unconscious. His companion, unable to see who had cast the spell, fired another at Ron: Shining black ropes flew from his wand-tip and bound Ron head to foot – the waitress screamed and ran for the door – Harry sent another Stunning Spell it the Death Eater with the twisted face who had tied up Ron, but the spell missed, rebounded on the window, and hit the waitress, who collapsed in front of the door.
“Expulso!” bellowed the Death Eater, and the table behind which Harry was standing blew up: The force of the explosion slammed him into the wall and he felt his wand leave his hand as the Cloak slipped off him.
“Petrificus Totalus!” screamed Hermione from out of sight, and the Death Eater fell forward like a statue to land with a crunching thud on the mess of broken china, table, and coffee. Hermione crawled out from underneath the bench, shaking bits of glass ashtray out of her hair and trembling all over.
“D-diffindo,” she said, pointing her wand at Ron, who roared in pain as she slashed open the knee of his jeans, leaving a deep cut. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Ron, my hand’s shaking! Diffindo!”
The severed ropes fell away. Ron got to his feet, shaking his arms to regain feeling in them. Harry picked up his wand and climbed over all the debris to where the large blond Death Eater was sprawled across the bench.
“I should’ve recognized him, he was there the night Dumbledore died,” he said. He turned over the darker Death Eater with his foot; the man’s eyes moved rapidly between Harry, Ron and Hermione.
“That’s Dolohov,” said Ron. “I recognize him from the old wanted posters. I think the big one’s Thorfinn Rowle.”
“Never mind what they’re called!” said Hermione a little hysterically. “How did they find us? What are we going to do?”
Somehow her panic seemed to clear Harry’s head.
“Lock the door,” he told her, “and Ron, turn out the lights.”
He looked down at the paralyzed Dolohov, thinking fast as the lock clicked and Ron used the Deluminator to plunge the café into darkness. Harry could hear the men who had jeered at Hermione earlier, yelling at another girl in the distance.
“What are we going to do with them?” Ron whispered to Harry through the dark; then, even more quietly, “Kill them? They’d kill us. They had a good go just now.”
Hermione shuddered and took a step backward. Harry shook his head.
“We just need to wipe their memories,” said Harry. “It’s better like that, it’ll throw them off the scent. If we killed them it’d be obvious we were here.”
“You’re the boss,” said Ron, sounding profoundly relieved. “But I’ve never down a Memory Charm.”
“Nor have I,” said Hermione, “but I know the theory.”
She took a deep, calming breath, then pointed her wand at Dolohov’s forehead and said, “Obliviate.”
At once, Dolohov’s eyes became unfocused and dreamy.
“Brilliant!” said Harry, clapping her on the back. “Take care of the other one and the waitress while Ron and I clear up.”
“Clear up?” said Ron, looking around at the partly destroyed café. “Why?”
“Don’t you think they might wonder what’s happened if they wake up and find themselves in a place that looks like it’s just been bombed?”
“Oh right, yeah…”
Ron struggled for a moment before managing to extract his wand from his pocket.
“It’s no wonder I can’t get it out, Hermione, you packed my old jeans, they’re tight.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” hissed Hermione, and as she dragged the waitress out of sight of the windows, Harry heard her mutter a suggestion as to where Ron could stick his wand instead.
Once the café was restored to its previous condition, they heaved the Death Eaters back into their booth and propped them up facing each other. “But how did they find us?” Hermione asked, looking from one inert man to the other. “How did they know where we were?”
She turned to Harry.
“You – you don’t think you’ve still got your Trace on you, do you, Harry?”
“He can’t have,” said Ron. “The Trace breaks at seventeen, that’s Wizarding law, you can’t put it on an adult.”
“As far as you know,” said Hermione. “What if the Death Eaters have found a way to put it on a seventeen-year-old?”
“But Harry hasn’t been near a Death Eater in the last twenty-four hours. Who’s supposed to have put a Trace back on him?”
Hermione did not reply. Harry felt contaminated, tainted: Was that really how the Death Eaters had found them?
“If I can’t use magic, and you can’t use magic near me, without us giving away our position – ” he began.
“We’re not splitting up!” said Hermione firmly.
“We need a safe place to hide,” said Ron. “Give us time to think things through.”
“Grimmauld Place,” said Harry.
The other two gaped.
“Don’t be silly, Harry, Snape can get in there!”
“Ron’s dad said they’ve put up jinxes against him – and even if they haven’t worked,” he pressed on as Hermione began to argue “so what? I swear, I’d like nothing better than to meet Snape!”
“But – ”
“Hermione, where else is there? It’s the best chance we’ve got. Snape’s only one Death Eater. If I’ve still got the Trace on me, we’ll have whole crowds of them on us wherever else we go.”
She could not argue, though she looked as if she would have liked to. While she unlocked the café door, Ron clicked the Deluminator to release the café’s light. Then, on Harry’s count of three, they reversed the spells upon their three victims, and before the waitress or either of the Death Eaters could do more than stir sleepily, Harry, Ron and Hermione had turned on the spot and vanished into the compressing darkness once more.
Seconds later Harry’s lungs expanded gratefully and he opened his eyes: They were now standing in the middle of a familiar small and shabby square. Tall, dilapidated houses looked down on them from every side. Number twelve was visible to them, for they had been told of its existence by Dumbledore, its Secret-Keeper, and they rushed toward it, checking every few yards that they were not being followed or observed. They raced up the stone steps, and Harry tapped the front door once with his wand. 
They heard a series of metallic clicks and the clatter of a chain, then the door swung open with a creak and they hurried over the threshold.
As Harry closed the door behind them, the old-fashioned gas lamps sprang into life, casting flickering light along the length of the hallway. It looked just as Harry remembered it: eerie, cobwebbed, the outlines of the house-elf heads on the wall throwing odd shadows up the staircase. Long dark curtains concealed the portrait of Sirius’s mother. The only thing that was out of place was the troll’s leg umbrella stand, which was lying on its side as if Tonks had just knocked it over again.
“I think somebody’s been in here,” Hermione whispered, pointing toward it.
“That could’ve happened as the Order left,” Ron murmured back.
“So where are these jinxes they put up against Snape?” Harry asked.
“Maybe they’re only activated if he shows up?” suggested Ron.
Yet they remained close together on the doormat, backs against the door, scared to move farther into the house.
“Well, we can’t stay here forever,” said Harry, and he took a step forward.
“Severus Snape?”
Mad-Eye Moody’s voice whispered out of the darkness, making all three of them jump back in fright. “We’re not Snape!” croaked Harry, before something whooshed over him like cold air and his tongue curled backward on itself, making it impossible to speak. Before he had time to feel inside his mouth, however, his tongue had unraveled again.
The other two seemed to have experienced the same unpleasant sensation. Ron was making retching noises; Hermione stammered, “That m-must have b-been the T-Tongue-Tying Curse Mad-Eye set up for Snape!”
Gingerly Harry took another step forward. Something shifted in the shadows at the end of the hall, and before any of them could say another word, a figure had risen up out of the carpet, tall, dust-colored, and terrible; Hermione screamed and so did Mrs. Black, her curtains flying open; the gray figure was gliding toward them, faster and faster, its waist-length hair and beard streaming behind it, its face sunken, fleshless, with empty eye sockets: Horribly familiar, dreadfully altered, it raised a wasted arm, pointing at Harry.
“No!” Harry shouted, and though he had raised his wand no spell occurred to him. “No! It wasn’t us! We didn’t kill you – ”
On the word kill, the figure exploded in a great cloud of dust: Coughing, his eyes watering, Harry looked around to see Hermione crouched on the floor by the door with her arms over her head, and Ron, who was shaking from head to foot, patting her clumsily on the shoulder and saying, “It’s all r-right…. It’s g-gone….”
Dust swirled around Harry like mist, catching the blue gaslight, as Mrs. Black continued to scream.
“Mudbloods, filth, stains of dishonor, taint of shame on the house of my fathers – ”
“SHUT UP!” Harry bellowed, directing his wand at her, and with a bang and a burst of red sparks, the curtains swung shut again, silencing her.
“That… that was…” Hermione whimpered, as Ron helped her to her feet.
“Yeah,” said Harry, “but it wasn’t really him, was it? Just something to scare Snape.”
Had it worked, Harry wondered, or had Snape already blasted the horror-figure aside as casually as he had killed the real Dumbledore? Nerves still tingling, he led the other two up the hall, half-expecting some new terror to reveal itself, but nothing moved except for a mouse skittering along the skirting board.
“Before we go any farther, I think we’d better check,” whispered Hermione, and she raised her wand and said, “Homenum revelio.”
Nothing happened.
“Well, you’ve just had a big shock,” said Ron kindly. “What was that supposed to do?”
“It did what I meant it to do!” said Hermione rather crossly. “That was a spell to reveal human presence, and there’s nobody here except us!”
“And old Dusty,” said Ron, glancing at the patch of carpet from which the corpse-figure had risen.
“Let’s go up,” said Hermione with a frightened look at the same spot, and she led the way up the creaking stairs to the drawing room on the first floor.
Hermione waved her wand to ignite the old gas lamps, then, shivering slightly in the drafty room, she perched on the sofa, her arms wrapped tightly around her. Ron crossed to the window and moved the heavy velvet curtains aside an inch.
“Can’t see anyone out there,” he reported. “And you’d think, if Harry still had a Trace on him, they’d have followed us here. I know they can’t get in the house, but – what’s up, Harry?”
Harry had given a cry of pain: His scar had burned against as something flashed across his mind like a bright light on water. He saw a large shadow and felt a fury that was not his own pound through his body, violent and brief as an electric shock.
“What did you see?” Ron asked, advancing on Harry. “Did you see him at my place?”
“No, I just felt anger – he’s really angry – ”
“But that could be at the Burrow,” said Ron loudly. “What else? Didn’t you see anything? Was he cursing someone?”
“No, I just felt anger – I couldn’t tell – ”
Harry felt badgered, confused, and Hermione did not help as she said in a frightened voice, “Your scar, again? But what’s going on? I thought that connection had closed!”
“It did, for a while,” muttered Harry; his scar was still painful, which made it hard to concentrate. “I – I think it’s started opening again whenever he loses control, that’s how it used to – ”
“But then you’ve got to close your mind!” said Hermione shrilly. “Harry, Dumbledore didn’t want you to use that connection, he wanted you to shut it down, that’s why you were supposed to use Occlumency! Otherwise Voldemort can plant false images in your mind, remember – ”
“Yeah, I do remember, thanks,” said Harry through gritted teeth; he did not need Hermione to tell him that Voldemort had once used this selfsame connection between them to lead him into a trap, nor that it had resulted in Sirius’s death. He wished that he had not told them what he had seen and felt; it made Voldemort more threatening, as though he were pressing against the window of the room, and still the pain in his scar was building and he fought it: It was like resisting the urge to be sick.
He turned his back on Ron and Hermione, pretending to examine the old tapestry of the Black family tree on the wall. Then Hermione shrieked: Harry drew his wand again and spun around to see a silver Patronus soar through the drawing room window and land upon the floor in front of them, where it solidified into the weasel that spoke with the voice of Ron’s father.
“Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched.”
The Patronus dissolved into nothingness. Ron let out a noise between a whimper and a groan and dropped onto the sofa: Hermione joined him, gripping his arm.
“They’re all right, they’re all right!” she whispered, and Ron half laughed and hugged her.
“Harry,” he said over Hermione’s shoulder, “I – ”
“It’s not a problem,” said Harry, sickened by the pain in his head. “It’s your family, ‘course you were worried. I’d feel the same way.” He thought of Ginny. “I do feel the same way.”
The pain in his scar was reaching a peak, burning as it had back in the garden of the Burrow. Faintly he heard Hermione say “I don’t want to be on my own. Could we use the sleeping bags I’ve brought and camp in here tonight?”
He heard Ron agree. He could not fight the pain much longer. He had to succumb.
“Bathroom,” he muttered, and he left the room as fast as he could without running.
He barely made it: Bolting the door behind him with trembling hands, he grasped his pounding head and fell to the floor, then in an explosion of agony, he felt the rage that did not belong to him possess his soul, saw a long room lit only by firelight, and the giant blond Death Eater on the floor, screaming and writhing, and a slighter figure standing over him, wand outstretched, while Harry spoke in a high, cold, merciless voice.
“More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini? Lord Voldemort is not sure that he will forgive this time…. You called me back for this, to tell me that Harry Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure…. Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!”
A log fell in the fire: Flames reared, their light darting across a terrified, pointed white face – with a sense of emerging from deep water, Harry drew heaving breaths and opened his eyes.
He was spread-eagled on the cold black marble floor, his nose inches from one of the silver serpent tails that supported the large bathtub. He sat up. Malfoy’s gaunt, petrified face seemed burned on the inside of his eyes. Harry felt sickened by what he had seen, by the use to which Draco was now being put by Voldemort.
There was a sharp rap on the door, and Harry jumped as Hermione’s voice rang out.
“Harry, do you want your toothbrush? I’ve got it here.”
“Yeah, great, thanks,” he said, fighting to keep his voice casual as he stood up to let her in.
身边所有的一切似乎都变得失真和呆滞，哈利和赫敏一跃而起，抽出魔杖。很多人只是感觉到刚才好象了发生什么奇怪的事情，还在四处张望着寻找那只早已消失不见了的银猫。死寂如冰冷的水波一般从守护神出现的地方向四周弥漫开来，接着有人尖叫了一声。 
　　哈利和赫敏冲进惊恐的人群，客人们慌乱地四处逃散，很多人使用了幻影移形，陋居附近的保护咒已经完全被破坏了。 
　　“罗恩！”赫敏哭叫着，“罗恩，你在哪儿？” 
　　当他们推开拥挤的人群穿过舞池的时候，哈利看见几个穿着斗篷，戴着面具的人影出现在人群中。然后他看到了卢平和唐克斯挥舞着魔杖，一起叫道：“盔甲护身！”紧接着一声尖叫回荡开来。 
　　“罗恩！罗恩！”赫敏大喊着，她和哈利被惊恐的人群挤的汗流浃背。哈利抓紧了赫敏的手，以免他俩被挤散，就在这时，一道不晓得是保护咒还是恶咒的光从他们头顶飞过。 
　　他们终于找到了罗恩，罗恩抓住赫敏的另一只手，哈利感觉到赫敏正带着他俩幻影显形，黑暗朝他扑面而来，哈利看不见，也听不见，唯一能感觉到的就是赫敏的手，他仿佛穿行在时间和空间之中，陋居离他越来越远，身后的食死徒越来越少，越来越远，甚至也许，伏地魔也离他越来越远…… 
　　“我们这是在哪儿？”罗恩的声音响了起来。 
　　哈利睁开眼睛，有那么一会儿的功夫，他以为自己仍然没有离开婚礼现场，他们的周围仍然满是宾客。 
　　“托特纳姆法院路，”赫敏气喘吁吁地说，“走，继续走，我们要找个地方把衣服换掉。” 
　　哈利依她所言，他们三人在黑暗的街道上走走跑跑，街道两边聚集着夜不归宿的饮酒狂欢者，还有一长排已经关门的商店，星星在上空闪烁着。一辆双层巴士隆隆地驶过，一群愉快的酒吧女郎对他们抛着媚眼——而哈利和罗恩还穿着巫师长袍。 
　　“赫敏，我们没有衣服可以换。”罗恩告诉她。这时路边的一位年轻姑娘看见他，爆发出沙哑的大笑。 
　　“为什么我没有确定一下是否把隐身衣带在身上了呢?"哈利说，小声地咒骂着自己的愚蠢。“去年我一直把它带在身边并且……” 
　　“放心吧，我拿了隐身衣，我也给你们两个拿了衣服。”赫敏说，“尽量表现的自然一点，直到……就是这里了。” 
　　她领着他们走过街道，拐进一条阴暗的小巷，到了一处可以避身的地方。 
　　“你说你拿了隐身衣，还有衣服……”哈利皱眉盯着赫敏，除了一只小小的绣了珠子的手提包，赫敏什么都没有拿，此刻她正在那个小包里面翻来翻去。 
　　“找到了，”赫敏说，在哈利和罗恩满脸诧异中，她从包里抽出一条牛仔裤，一件运动衫，一些栗色的袜子，最后是那件闪着银色光泽的隐身衣。 
　　“真是见鬼了，你是怎么……” 
　　“空间扩增咒” 赫敏说，“很难办的咒语, 但我认为我做的还不错，总之, 我把我们需要的东西都放进去了。” 
　　她轻轻地晃了晃那个精致的小包，里面传出一阵装满了货物的船舱才会发出沉闷的回响声。 
　　“哦, 该死的，这些书,” 她说道, 探头向包里看了看, “我本来把它们按学科分好了类……那么，哈利，你最好穿上隐身衣。罗恩，快来换衣服……” 
　　“你什么时候做的这些事？”罗恩脱巫师袍的时候，哈利问赫敏。 
　　“我在陋居的时候就告诉过你，我早就把这些必须品准备好了，以防哪天我们要突然逃亡。今天早上你换好衣服以后，我把你的帆布包收拾好放了进去……我只是有一种预感……” 
　　“你太不可思议了！真的！”罗恩说着，把折好的巫师袍递给她。 
　　“谢谢。”赫敏微微一笑，把袍子塞进包里，“快，哈利，穿上隐身衣！” 
　　哈利把他的隐身衣在肩上一披，拉上头顶，从空气中消失了。直到现在他才开始意识到发生了什么事。 
　　“其他人呢，婚礼上的其他人——” 
　　“我们管不了那么多了，”赫敏低声说，“他们要的是你，哈利，我们回去只会使大家更危险。” 
　　“她说的对，”罗恩说，虽然看不见哈利的脸，他仍然知道哈利想要反驳。 
　　“凤凰社大部分成员都在那儿, 他们会保护大家的。” 
　　哈利点点头, 然后想起来他们看不见他，于是说：“好吧。” 
　　但是他想到了金妮, 他的恐惧顿时像胃酸一样开始冒泡。 
　　“走吧，我们最好别停下来,” 赫敏说。 
　　他们走出小巷，重新到了大路上,一群男人在对街唱着歌，摇晃地穿越人行道。 
　　“只是随便问问，为什么选择托特纳姆法院路？” 罗恩问赫敏。 
　　“我也不知道，突然想到的这个地方,但是我确定我们在麻瓜世界会更安全，他们想不到我们会在这儿。” 
　　“那倒是，”罗恩说，他四处望了望，问，“但是你不觉得这里有一点……太暴露了么？” 
　　“那还有什么别的地方么?”看到街对面的男人们对她吹口哨，赫敏畏缩了一下，“我们在破釜酒吧很难订到房间，不是么？格里莫广场也不行，斯内普知道那儿……我想我们可以试试去我父母那儿，虽然我认为他们也有可能查到那儿……哦，我真希望他们闭嘴！” 
　　“怎么了，亲爱的？”这群醉汉里醉得最厉害的那个在街对面大声嚷道。 
　　“想喝点什么吗？别没精打采的，过来喝点。” 
　　“我们得找个地方坐下来，” 赫敏匆忙地说，而罗恩对着背后的街道大喊：“瞧，这里不错！” 
　　这是一个很小很破旧的通宵营业的咖啡厅。咖啡厅里的福米卡牌桌子上薄薄地覆盖着一层油渍，但至少这里面没人。哈利首先悄悄溜到了一个小阁间，罗恩坐在他的旁边，赫敏的对面。赫敏背对着入口坐着，她不喜欢这个位子，不断地左右张望，好象随时准备离开。哈利不想就这么干坐着，刚才的持续行走让他觉得他们似乎有个目标。在隐身衣之下，他能感觉到复方汤剂最后的药效正在消失，他的手开始慢慢恢复成原样。他从口袋中拿出眼镜重新戴上。 
　　过了一两分钟,罗恩说，“知道吗，我们已经离破釜酒吧不远了, 它就在查理十字……” 
　　“罗恩，我们不能那么做！”赫敏立刻打断了他 
　　“我们也不能呆在这里，我们得知道到底发生了什么！” 
　　“我们当然知道发生了什么！伏地魔已经控制了魔法部，我们还要知道什么？” 
　　“好吧，好吧，我只是提个建议！” 
　　他们重新陷入沉默。一个嚼着口香糖的女侍者慢吞吞地走来，赫敏点了两杯卡布其诺咖啡。哈利是隐身的，如果给他也点一杯就太奇怪了。这时，两个魁梧的工人走进了这家咖啡馆，走进了旁边的小隔间，赫敏立刻压低了声音：“我建议，我们找个偏僻点的地方幻影移型，然后往郊区走。我们一到那儿就可以给凤凰社报信了。” 
　　“你能让守护神讲话吗？”罗恩问。 
　　“我想应该可以，我练习很久了。”赫敏回答道。 
　　“好吧，只要那不会给他们惹麻烦，天知道他们现在被抓住了没。天啊，这咖啡太恶心了。”罗恩喝了一口那满是泡沫的灰灰的咖啡。女侍者听到了罗恩的话，恶狠狠地看了他一眼，拖着步子去招呼新来的顾客了。哈利看到两个工人之中一头金发、看起来更壮的那个家伙挥手把女侍者支走了。她像是被侮辱了一般，盯着他们看。 
　　“那，我们快走吧。我不想喝这玩意儿了，”罗恩说，“赫敏，你身上有麻瓜的钱来付帐吗？” 
　　“当然，我去陋居前把我在建屋互助会的存款都取了出来，我敢打赌我取钱时亏了不少。”赫敏叹了口气，把手伸进了她那镶满珠子的手袋。 
　　这时，那两个工人突然一起冲了过来，哈利立刻就感觉到了他们要干什么。他们三人同时抽出了魔杖。罗恩这才反应过来是怎么回事，他飞身越过桌子,，把赫敏压在了身下。食死徒放出的魔法击碎了几秒前罗恩脑袋旁边的墙，说时迟那时快，隐身衣下的哈利大叫：“昏昏倒地！” 
　　魔杖射出的红光击中了那个高大的金发食死徒的脸，他慢慢倒了下去失去了知觉。他的同伙不知道那魔法是从哪儿射来的，又对罗恩展开了进攻——他的魔杖顶端放出亮晶晶的黑色绳子，把罗恩捆得结结实实。女侍者尖叫着逃向门边，哈利瞄准把罗恩捆起来的食死徒的脸施了一记昏迷魔法，没有打中，魔法在玻璃上反射了一下，把女侍者放倒在了门前。 
　　“轰轰爆炸！”食死徒喊道，炸碎了哈利前面的桌子。爆炸产生的冲击波让哈利重重地摔到了墙上，魔杖脱手了，隐身衣也滑下来了。 
　　“统统石化！”赫敏不知在哪里大喊，那个食死徒像一座雕像一样，顿时随着摔得粉碎的瓷器、桌子、还有喷洒的咖啡砰的一声倒在了地上。赫敏从椅子下爬了出来，理了理头发里的玻璃渣，哈利看到她全身都在颤抖。 
　　“四分五裂。”赫敏用魔杖指着罗恩，却不小心把罗恩牛仔裤的膝盖处割了一个很深的口子，罗恩痛苦地呻吟了一声，“噢，对不起，罗恩，我的手在抖！四分五裂！” 
　　捆得严严实实的绳子顿时散开来，罗恩站了起来，晃了晃他那麻木的手臂。哈利捡起他的魔杖，越过废墟爬到了那个被击晕的食死徒面前。 
　　“我早该认出他来的，邓布利多教授被谋杀的那天晚上他也在现场，”哈利说。他又走向那个长的黑一点的食死徒，那个食死徒的眼睛飞快地在他们三人中间扫视着。 
　　“那是杜鲁哈，”罗恩说，“我在一张很旧的悬赏令上见过这张脸。我想那个大个子是索菲力·莱尔。” 
　　“我才不管他们叫什么！”赫敏歇斯底里地说，“他们是怎么找到我们的？我们还能去哪儿呢？” 
　　她的抓狂突然提醒了哈利，“快把门锁上，赫敏。”哈利说，“罗恩，你把灯灭了。” 
　　他低头看着瘫倒在地的杜鲁哈，脑子像滴答作响的时钟一样飞速运转着。罗恩用熄灯器使咖啡馆陷入一片黑暗。哈利听见刚才在街上对着赫敏调笑的醉汉又在对其他姑娘瞎嚷嚷。 
　　“我们把他们怎么办呢？”罗恩在黑暗中对哈利低声说道，他把声音压的更低了一些，说道： “杀了他们？不然我们就会被杀掉，刚才他们差点就得手了！” 
　　赫敏打了一个寒战，往后退了一步。哈利摇了摇头。 
　　“我们只要消除他们的记忆就行了，”哈利说道。”那样的话，他们追踪的线索就断了，如果我们杀了他们，那无疑是在暴露自己的位置。” 
　　“你说了算，”罗恩说道，听起来大大松了口气。”但是我从来没有使用过记忆咒啊” 
　　“我也没有用过，”赫敏说，“但是我知道原理。” 
　　她深吸了一口气镇定下来，用魔杖指着杜鲁哈的前额，“一忘皆空！”杜鲁哈的眼神立刻变得散漫而空洞。 
　　“太聪明了！”哈利拍拍她的背，“我和罗恩收拾下残局，你要看好那个食死徒，还有那个服务生。” 
　　“收拾？”罗恩看看已经被毁掉大半的咖啡馆。“为什么要收拾？” 
　　“要是你醒来发现自己在一个像是刚刚被轰炸过的地方，你难道不想知道到底发生了什么事吗？” 
　　“哦，也对……” 
　　罗恩费了好大劲才把他的魔杖从自己的衣袋中拔出来。“怪不得我拔不出来呢，赫敏，你把我的旧牛仔裤塞得太紧了。” 
　　“噢，对不起，”她把服务生拖到一个从窗外看不见的地方。哈利听见她自言自语的念叨着罗恩应该把魔杖放到别的什么地方去。 
　　咖啡馆恢复原样后，他们把食死徒抬回隔间，让他们面对面坐好。 
　　“但是他们是怎么找到我们的呢？”赫敏看着两个毫无知觉的食死徒问道，“他们怎么知道我们在这里？”她转向哈利。”你——你觉得你身上还有那个印记吗，哈利？” 
　　“不可能，”罗恩说道。”根据巫术定律，印记会在十七岁时失效，成年人身上不可能有那种印记。” 
　　“那么你认为，”赫敏说道。“那几个食死徒有可能找到一种把它放在成年人身上的方法吗？” 
　　“哈利在最近的二十四小时内并没有接近过食死徒啊，谁会把那印记又放回到他身上呢？” 
　　赫敏没有回答。 
　　哈利有点动摇了:食死徒真是这样找到他们的吗？ 
　　“如果我不用魔法，你们也不在我附近使用魔法，我们的位置就不会泄露——”哈利说。 
　　“我们绝不分开！”赫敏坚定的说。 
　　“我们需要一个藏身之处，”罗恩道。”好让我们把事情的来龙去脉想清楚。” 
　　“格里莫广场，”哈利说。 
　　罗恩和赫敏同时打了个哈欠。 
　　“别傻了，哈利，要是碰到斯内普怎么办！” 
　　“罗恩的爸爸说他们已经设置好了对付他的恶咒——而且就算没有设置，”他加强了语气，因为赫敏就要开始反驳了，“那又怎样？我发誓，我迫不及待想见斯内普一面！” 
　　“但是——” 
　　“赫敏，我们还能去哪儿？这是我们现在唯一的选择。斯内普只是一个食死徒罢了。而且如果我身上还有印记，我们无论去哪里都会有大批食死徒尾随而来。” 
　　尽管她看起来还是很想反驳，但是终究没有讲话。赫敏默默地打开咖啡馆的门，罗恩用熄灯器把灯又全都打开了。然后，哈利数了三下，他们一起解除了那三个可怜虫身上的咒语，在女服务员和食死徒还在睡意朦胧地翻身的时候，哈利，罗恩和赫敏幻影显形，再一次消失在令人压抑的黑暗中。 
　　几秒钟以后，哈利觉得他又能呼吸了，睁开了眼睛，看到他们正站在一个熟悉又简陋的广场中央，四周都是摇摇欲坠的老房子。他们很一下子就找到了十二号，因为保密人邓布利多告诉过他们房子的位置。他们冲向那里，一路上小心翼翼地检查是不是有人在跟踪。他们跑上石阶，哈利用魔杖敲了一下前门。在一连串金属的滴答声和链条的喀嗒声之后，门吱呀一声打开了，三个人走了进去。 
　　哈利关上门的同时，那些老式的煤气灯突然亮了起来，摇曳的光照亮了走廊。这房子和哈利记得的一模一样，怪诞不经，蛛网密布，挂在墙上的精灵脑袋在楼梯上投射出奇怪的影子，长长的黑色帷幔遮住了小天狼星母亲的肖像。唯一不在原位的是巨怪腿坐的伞架，它静静地倒在一边，好象唐克斯又把它撞倒了一次。 
　　“我觉得有人来过这儿，”赫敏指着它小声说道。 
　　“凤凰社的人离开时可能就已经是这样了。”罗恩咕哝着回道。 
　　“他们用来对付斯内普的恶咒呢？”哈利问道。 
　　“也许等他出现了那些恶咒才启动？”罗恩说。 
　　他们始终紧紧的靠在一起，站在门口的擦鞋垫上，背靠着门，不敢进到房子里面去。 
　　“噢，我们不能在这里不走吧，”哈利说道，并向前跨了一步。 
　　“西弗勒斯·斯内普？”疯眼汉穆迪的声音低低地从黑暗中传出，吓得他们三个人全往后跳了一步。 
　　“我们不是斯内普！”哈利抢在一股飞快袭来的冷气般的东西之前答道，差点没让他舌头绞成一团。只一瞬间，他的舌头又恢复了正常。罗恩和赫敏似乎也经历了这样不快的感觉。罗恩正在作呕，赫敏结结巴巴地说道，“那肯——肯定是——是疯——疯眼汉为斯内普设置的结——结舌咒！” 
　　哈利小心翼翼地再向前迈了一步。顿时，不知什么东西开始在走廊尽头的阴影中移动，他们还没反应过来是怎么回事，一个可怕的灰褐色高大身影忽然从地毯中升起；赫敏尖叫起来，布莱克夫人也尖叫起来，还掀开了她的帷幔；这个灰色的身影滑向他们，越来越快，它及腰的长发和胡须在身后飘动，脸深深的向内凹陷，没有肉，眼窝空洞——那么熟悉，却又那么陌生，他抬起一条废掉的手臂，指着哈利。 
　　“不！”哈利叫道，他举起魔杖，却不知道该用什么咒语。 
　　“不！不是我们！不是我们杀的你——” 
　　刚说到杀字，那个身影顿时自我爆炸，只留下一大片灰尘。哈利咳嗽着，噙着泪水望向周围，赫敏用手臂盖着脑袋，靠着门蜷缩在地板上，而罗恩，虽然他自己全身都在发抖，但还是笨拙地拍着她地肩膀说道，”好——好了……他已经消失——消失了……” 
　　布莱克夫人还在尖叫着，灰尘带着煤气灯的蓝光，像薄雾一样在哈利身边盘绕。 
　　“泥巴种，脏东西， 令人蒙羞的污点，我的祖先们的房子里可耻的污点——” 
　　“闭嘴！”哈利吼道，将魔杖径直指向她，随着一声巨响和一道红色的火花，帷幔立刻合上了，声音也消失了。 
　　“那……那是……”当罗恩扶着赫敏站起来时，她小声说道。 
　　“邓布利多教授，”哈利说，”但是那不是真的他，只是用来吓唬斯内普的东西。” 
　　但那真的有用吗？哈利不知道，斯内普真的可以轻易就将这个可怕的人影炸毁吗？就像杀死真正的邓布利多一样？他的神经仍然感到刺痛，哈利领着另外两个人往门厅走去，警惕着新的恐怖事件出现，但除了一只老鼠掠过壁脚板外，没有任何动静。 
　　“在我们继续往里走之前，我想我们最好检查一下，”赫敏小声说道，她举起魔杖念道：“通通显形！” 
　　什么事情都没有发生。 
　　“哦，你一定是被吓坏了，”罗恩温和地说，“那能有什么用呢？” 
　　“它能起我想让它起的作用！”赫敏相当生气的说道，“那是让藏起来的人现身的咒语，而这里除了我们没有别人！” 
　　“除了我们，还有陈年的灰尘，”罗恩扫了一眼那地毯的补丁，刚才那个尸体般的人影就是从那里升起来的。 
　　“我们上楼去，”赫敏同样有些害怕的看着那个地方，她带头走上吱吱作响的楼梯，来到二楼的客厅。 
　　赫敏在这个阴风阵阵的房间里微微地颤抖着· 
　　挥着魔杖点亮那些老式的煤气灯，她一屁股陷进沙发里，手臂紧紧地抱在胸前。罗恩穿过客厅走到窗户边，将沉重的天鹅绒窗帘拉开了一条缝。 
　　“外面没有人”，他说，“你们想想，如果哈利身上还带着印记，他们早就跟着我们到这里了，我知道他们进不来，但——你怎么了，哈利？” 
　　哈利痛苦的叫了一声，他的伤疤再次灼痛，有些东西像水面上的亮光一样在他脑海里一闪而过。他看见一个巨大的阴影，感到一阵不属于自己的狂怒，像电击一样猛烈而短促。 
　　“你看见什么了？”罗恩走向哈利，“你看见他在我家吗？” 
　　“不，我只是感到愤怒——他是真的很愤怒——” 
　　“他可能是在陋居，”罗恩大声说道，”还有什么？你还看到了什么？他是不是正在对谁施咒？” 
　　“不，我只感觉到愤怒——我说不出来——” 
　　他感觉自己像在被逼供，他十分迷惑，但赫敏也帮不了他，只是担心的说：“你的伤疤又痛了？怎么会这样呢？我还以为那种联系早就已经关闭了！” 
　　“只是关闭了一段时间，”哈利咕哝道，他的伤疤仍然在痛，这使得他很难集中精神，“我——我觉得只要他失去控制的时候，这个联系就会打开，这就是他以前——” 
　　“但是你必须封闭你的大脑！”赫敏尖声说。”哈利，邓布利多不希望你使用那种联系，他希望你封闭它，所以你才应该用大脑封闭术！否则伏地魔就可以在你的脑中放一些假的图像，你还记得——” 
　　“是的，我记得，谢谢，”哈利紧紧咬着牙；他不需要赫敏提醒他伏地魔曾经就是利用这种联系将他诱入圈套，更不用提醒他小天狼星就是因此而死。他真希望自己没有告诉过他们他的所见所感——这使得伏地魔更危险了。他把伤疤紧紧的压在房间的窗户上，但它还是不住的痛，他强忍着巨痛，就像强迫自己忍住恶心的感觉一样。 
　　哈利转过身，背对着罗恩和赫敏，假装在检查挂在墙上的一件旧挂毯——上面有布莱克家族家谱图。这时赫敏尖叫起来，哈利举起魔杖，四下望去，只见一个银色的守护神从客厅的窗户飘了进来，落在他们面前的地板上，变成一只鼬鼠，用罗恩父亲的声音说道：“家人都安全，不要回复，我们正在被监视。” 
　　守护神消散了，罗恩发出了一声介于呜咽和呻吟的声音，重重摔倒在沙发里，赫敏在他身边，紧紧抓着他的手臂。 
　　“他们是安全的，安全的！”她低声说道。罗恩露出一点笑意抱住了她。 
　　“哈利，”他越过赫敏的肩膀说，”我——” 
　　“没关系，”哈利说道，他的头已经痛得发晕了，“这是你的家人，你当然会担心。我也有这种感觉。”他想到了金妮。“我确实也有这种感觉。” 
　　伤疤比刚才更痛了，就像在陋居花园里的那次一样痛。他模模糊糊听到赫敏说“我不想一个人呆着。我们用我带来的睡袋在这里睡一夜吧？” 
　　哈利听到罗恩同意了。伤疤的剧痛让他觉得难以忍受，他也不得不同意了。 
　　“我去厕所，”他咕哝道，尽快走出了房间。他好不容易才用颤抖着的手拴紧了厕所的门，抱住他那快要裂开的脑袋倒在了地上，然后一阵剧烈的痛苦袭来，一种他从未体验过的不属于他的狂怒占据了他的灵魂，他看见一个被火光照亮的狭长房间，一个高大的金发食死徒倒在地上，尖叫着，翻滚着，一个小一号的人影拿着魔杖站在他身前，这时，一种傲慢，冷酷，残忍的声音从哈利嘴里传了出来。 
　　“你还有什么要说的吗，莱尔，要不我们就到此结束，然后把你喂给纳吉尼？这次伏地魔大人可不一定会再原谅你……你叫我回来，是为了告诉我哈利波特又逃走了吗？ 
　　德拉科，让莱尔尝尝惹我们不高兴是什么滋味吧……让他尝尝，要不你就来尝尝我愤怒的滋味！” 
　　一块木头掉进了火中，火焰窜高了，火光投到一张惊恐的，煞白的脸上——那脸像是在深水里浸泡过一般，哈利深吸一口气睁开了眼睛。 
　　他手脚摊开躺在冰冷的黑色大理石地板上，他的鼻子离支撑大浴缸的银制毒蛇的尾巴只有几英寸。他坐了起来，马尔福憔悴又呆滞的脸似乎还在他眼前浮现。哈利感到一阵恶心，为他所看到的事情，也为德拉科现在被伏地魔驱使的样子。 
　　门上传来一阵急促的敲门声，哈利听到赫敏的声音，一下子跳了起来。 
　　“哈利，要牙刷吗？我给你拿来了。” 
　　“好的，好，谢谢，”他打开门，尽力使自己的声音恢复正常。　
Chapter 11 The Bribe
If Kreacher could escape a lake full of Inferi, Harry was confident that the capture of Mundungus would take a few hours at most, and he prowled the house all morning in a state of high anticipation. However, Kreacher did not return that morning or even that afternoon. By nightfall, Harry felt discouraged and anxious, and a supper composed largely of moldy bread, upon which Hermione had tried a variety of unsuccessful Transfigurations, did nothing to help.
Kreacher did not return the following day, nor the day after that. However, two cloaked men had appeared in the square outside number twelve, and they remained there into the night, gazing in the direction of the house that they could not see.
“Death Eaters, for sure,” said Ron, as he, Harry, and Hermione watched from the drawing room windows. “Reckon they know we’re in here?”
“I don’t think so,” said Hermione, though she looked frightened, “or they’d have sent Snape in after us, wouldn’t they?”
“D’you reckon he’s been in here and has his tongue tied by Moody’s curse?” asked Ron.
“Yes,” said Hermione, “otherwise he’d have been able to tell that lot how to get in, wouldn’t he? But they’re probably watching to see whether we turn up. They know that Harry owns the house, after all.”
“How do they –?” began Harry.
“Wizarding wills are examined by the Ministry, remember? They’ll know Sirius left you the place.”
The presence of the Death Eaters outside increased the ominous mood inside number twelve. They had not heard a word form anyone beyond Grimmauld Place since Mr. Weasley’s Patronus, and the strain was starting to tell. Restless and irritable, Ron had developed an annoying habit of playing with the Deluminator in his pocket; This particularly infuriated Hermione, who was whiling away the wait for Kreacher by studying The Tales of Beedle the Bard and did not appreciate the way the lights kept flashing on and off.
“Will you stop it!” she cried on the third evening of Kreacher’s absence, as all the light was sucked from the drawing room yet again.
“Sorry, sorry!” said Ron, clicking the Deluminator and restoring the lights. “I don’t know I’m doing it!”
“Well, can’t you find something useful to occupy yourself?”
“What, like reading kids’ stories?”
“Dumbledore left me this book, Ron – ”
“ – and he left me the Deluminator, maybe I’m supposed to use it!”
Unable to stand the bickering, Harry slipped out of the room unnoticed by either of them. He headed downstairs toward the kitchen, which he kept visiting because he was sure that was where Kreacher was most likely to reappear. Halfway down the flight of stairs into the hall, however, he heard a tap on the front door, then metallic clicks and the grinding of the chain.
Every nerve in his body seemed to tauten: He pulled out his wand, moved into the shadows beside the decapitated elf heads, and waited. The door opened: He saw a glimpse of the lamplit square outside, and a cloaked figure edged into the hall and closed the door behind it. The intruder took a step forward, and Moody’s voice asked, “Severus Snape?” Then the dust figure rose from the end of the hall and rushed him, raising its dead hand.
“It was not I who killed you, Albus,” said a quiet voice.
The jinx broke: The dust-figure exploded again, and it was impossible to make out the newcomer through the dense gray cloud it left behind.
Harry pointed the wand into the middle of it.
“Don’t move!”
He had forgotten the portrait of Mrs. Black: At the sound of his yell, the curtains hiding her flew open and she began to scream, “Mudbloods and filth dishonoring my house – ”
Ron and Hermione came crashing down the stairs behind Harry, wands pointing, like his, at the unknown man now standing with his arms raised in the hall below.
“Hold your fire, it’s me, Remus!”
“Oh, thank goodness,” said Hermione weakly, pointing her wand at Mrs. Black instead; with a bang, the curtains swished shut again and silence fell. Ron too lowered his wand, but Harry did not.
“Show yourself!” he called back.
Lupin moved forward into the lamplight, hands still held high in a gesture of surrender.
“I am Remus John Lupin, werewolf, sometimes known as Moony, one of the four creators of the Marauder’s Map, married to Nymphadora, usually known as Tonks, and I taught you how to produce a Patronus, Harry, which takes the form of a stag.”
“Oh, all right,” said Harry, lowering his wand, “but I had to check, didn’t I?”
“Speaking as your ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, I quite agree that you had to check. Ron, Hermione, you shouldn’t be so quick to lower your defenses.”
They ran down the stairs towards him. Wrapped in a thick black traveling cloak, he looked exhausted, but pleased to see them.
“No sign of Severus, then?” he asked.
“No,” said Harry. “What’s going on? Is everyone okay?”
“Yes,” said Lupin, “but we’re all being watched. There are a couple of Death Eaters in the square outside – ”
“We know – ”
“I had to Apparate very precisely onto the top step outside the front door to be sure that they would not see me. They can’t know you’re in here or I’m sure they’d have more people out there; they’re staking out everywhere that’s got any connection with you, Harry. Let’s go downstairs, there’s a lot to tell you, and I want to know what happened after you left the Burrow.”
They descended into the kitchen, where Hermione pointed her wand at the grate. A fire sprang up instantly: It gave the illusion of coziness to the stark stone walls and glistened off the long wooden table. Lupin pulled a few butterbeers from beneath his traveling cloak and they sat down.
“I’d have been here three days ago but I needed to shake off the Death Eater tailing me,” said Lupin. “So, you came straight here after the wedding?”
“No,” said Harry, “only after we ran into a couple of Death Eaters in a café on Tottenham Court Road.”
Lupin slopped most of his butterbeer down his front.
“What?”
They explained what had happened; when they had finished, Lupin looked aghast.
“But how did they find you so quickly? It’s impossible to track anyone who Apparates, unless you grab hold of them as they disappear.”
“And it doesn’t seem likely they were just strolling down Tottenham Court Road at the time, does it?” said Harry.
“We wondered,” said Hermione tentatively, “whether Harry could still have the Trace on him?”
“Impossible,” said Lupin. Ron looked smug, and Harry felt hugely relieved. “Apart from anything else, they’d know for sure Harry was here if he still had the Trace on him, wouldn’t they? But I can’t see how they could have tracked you to Tottenham Court Road, that’s worrying, really worrying.”
He looked disturbed, but as far as Harry was concerned, that question could wait.
“Tell us what happened after we left, we haven’t heard a thing since Ron’s dad told us the family was safe.”
“Well, Kingsley saved us,” said Lupin. “Thanks to his warning most of the wedding guests were able to Disapparate before they arrived.”
“Were they Death Eaters or Ministry people?” interjected Hermione.
“A mixture; but to all intents and purposes they’re the same thing now,” said Lupin. “There were about a dozen of them, but they didn’t know you were there, Harry. 
Arthur heard a rumor that they tried to torture your whereabouts out of Scrimgeour before they killed him; if it’s true, he didn’t give you away.”
Harry looked at Ron and Hermione; their expressions reflected the mingled shock and gratitude he felt. He had never liked Scrimgeour much, but if what Lupin said was true, the man’s final act had been to try to protect Harry.
“The Death Eaters searched the Burrow from top to bottom,” Lupin went on. “They found the ghoul, but didn’t want to get too close – and then they interrogated those of us who remained for hours. They were trying to get information on you, Harry, but of course nobody apart from the Order knew that you had been there.”
“At the same time that they were smashing up the wedding, more Death Eaters were forcing their way into every Order-connected house in the country. No deaths,” he added quickly, forestalling the question, “but they were rough. They burned down Dedalus Diggle’s house, but as you know he wasn’t there, and they used the Cruciarus Curse on Tonks’s family. Again, trying to find out where you went after you visited them. They’re all right – shaken, obviously, but otherwise okay.”
“The Death Eaters got through all those protective charms?”
Harry asked, remembering how effective these had been on the night he had crashed in Tonks’s parents’ garden.
“What you’ve got to realize, Harry, is that the Death Eaters have got the full might of the Ministry on their side now,” said Lupin. “They’ve got the power to perform brutal spells without fear of identification or arrest. They managed to penetrate every defensive spell we’d cast against them, and once inside, they were completely open about why they’d come.”
“And are they bothering to give an excuse for torturing Harry’s whereabouts out of people?” asked Hermione, an edge to her voice.
“Well,” Lupin said. He hesitated, then pulled out a folded copy of the Daily Prophet.
“Here,” he said, pushing it across the table to Harry, “you’ll know sooner or later anyway. That’s their pretext for going after you.”
Harry smoothed out the paper. A huge photograph of his own face filled the front page. He read the headline over it:
 
WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORERon and Hermione gave roars of outrage, but Harry said nothing. He pushed the newspaper away; he did not want to read anymore: He knew what it would say. Nobody but those who had been on top of the tower when Dumbledore died knew who had really killed him and, as Rita Skeeter had already told the Wizarding world, Harry had been seen running from the place moments after Dumbledore had fallen.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” Lupin said.
“So Death Eaters have taken over the Daily Prophet too?” asked Hermione furiously.
Lupin nodded.
“But surely people realize what’s going on?”
“The coup has been smooth and virtually silent,” said Lupin.
“The official version of Scrimgeour’s murder is that he resigned; he has been replaced by Pius Thicknesse, who is under the Imperius Curse.”
“Why didn’t Voldemort declare himself Minister of Magic?” asked Ron.
Lupin laughed.
“He doesn’t need to, Ron. Effectively, he is the Minister, but why should he sit behind a desk at the Ministry? His puppet, Thicknesse, is taking care of everyday business, leaving Voldemort free to extend his power beyond the Ministry.”
“Naturally many people have deduced what has happened: There has been such a dramatic change in Ministry policy in the last few days, and many are whispering that Voldemort must be behind it. However, that is the point: They whisper. They daren’t confide in each other, not knowing whom to trust; they are scared to speak out, in case their suspicions are true and their families are targeted. Yes, Voldemort is playing a very clever game. Declaring himself might have provoked open rebellion: 
Remaining masked has created confusion, uncertainty, and fear.”
“And this dramatic change in Ministry policy,” said Harry, “involves warning the Wizarding world against me instead of Voldemort?”
“That’s certainly a part of it,” said Lupin, “and it is a masterstroke. Now that Dumbledore is dead, you – the Boy Who Lived – were sure to be the symbol and rallying point for any resistance to Voldemort. But by suggesting that you had a hand in the old hat’s death, Voldemort has not only set a price upon your head, but sown doubt and fear amongst many who would have defended you.”
“Meanwhile, the Ministry has started moving against Muggle-borns.”
Lupin pointed at the Daily Prophet.
“Look at page two.”
Hermione turned the pages with much the same expression of distaste she had when handling Secrets of the Darkest Art.
“Muggle-born Register!” she read aloud. “‘The Ministry of Magic is undertaking a survey of so-called ”Muggle-borns“ the better to understand how they came to possess magical secrets.
“‘Recent research undertaken by the Department of Mysteries reveals that magic can only be passed from person to person when Wizards reproduce. Where no proven Wizarding ancestry exists, therefore, the so-called Muggle-born is likely to have obtained magical power by theft or force.
“‘The Ministry is determined to root out such usurpers of magical power, and to this end has issued an invitation to every so-called Muggle-born to present themselves for interview by the newly appointed Muggle-born Registration Commission.’”
“People won’t let this happen,” said Ron.
“It is happening, Ron,” said Lupin. “Muggle-borns are being rounded up as we speak.”
“But how are they supposed to have ‘stolen’ magic?” said Ron. “It’s mental, if you could steal magic there wouldn’t be any Squibs, would there?”
“I know,” said Lupin. “Nevertheless, unless you can prove that you have at least one close Wizarding relative, you are now deemed to have obtained your magical power illegally and must suffer the punishment.”
Ron glanced at Hermione, then said, “What if purebloods and halfbloods swear a Muggle-born’s part of their family? I’ll tell everyone Hermione’s my cousin – ”
Hermione covered Ron’s hand with hers and squeezed it.
“Thank you, Ron, but I couldn’t let you – ”
“You won’t have a choice,” said Ron fiercely, gripping her hand back. “I’ll teach you my family tree so you can answer questions on it.”
Hermione gave a shaky laugh.
“Ron, as we’re on the run with Harry Potter, the most wanted person in the country, I don’t think it matters. If I was going back to school it would be different. 
What’s Voldemort planning for Hogwarts?” she asked Lupin.
“Attendance is now compulsory for every young witch and wizard,” he replied. “That was announced yesterday. It’s a change, because it was never obligatory before. 
Of course, nearly every witch and wizard in Britain has been educated at Hogwarts, but their parents had the right to teach them at home or send them abroad if they preferred. This way, Voldemort will have the whole Wizarding population under his eye from a young age. And it’s also another way of weeding out Muggle-borns, because students must be given Blood Status – meaning that they have proven to the Ministry that they are of Wizard descent – before they are allowed to attend.”
Harry felt sickened and angry: At this moment, excited eleven-year-olds would be poring over stacks of newly purchased spell-books, unaware that they would never see Hogwarts, perhaps never see their families again either.
“It’s… it’s…” he muttered, struggling to find words that did justice to the horror of his thoughts, but Lupin said quietly, “I know.”
Lupin hesitated.
“I’ll understand if you can’t confirm this, Harry, but the Order is under the impression that Dumbledore left you a mission.”
“He did,” Harry replied, “and Ron and Hermione are in on it and they’re coming with me.”
“Can you confide in me what the mission is?”
Harry looked into the prematurely lined face, framed in thick but graying hair, and wished that he could return a different answer.
“I can’t, Remus, I’m sorry. If Dumbledore didn’t tell you I don’t think I can.”
“I thought you’d say that,” said Lupin, looking disappointed. “But I might still be of some use to you. You know what I am and what I can do. I could come with you to provide protection. There would be no need to tell me exactly what you were up to.”
Harry hesitated. It was a very tempting offer, though how they would be able to keep their mission secret from Lupin if he were with them all the time he could not imagine.
Hermione, however, looked puzzled.
“But what about Tonks?” she asked.
“What about her?” said Lupin.
“Well,” said Hermione, frowning, “you’re married! How does she feel about you going away with us?”
“Tonks will be perfectly safe,” said Lupin, “She’ll be at her parents’ house.”
There was something strange in Lupin’s tone, it was almost cold. There was also something odd in the idea of Tonks remaining hidden at her parents’ house; she was, after all, a member of the Order and, as far as Harry knew, was likely to want to be in the thick of the action.
“Remus,” said Hermione tentatively, “is everything all right… you know… between you and – ”
“Everything is fine, thank you,” said Lupin pointedly.
Hermione turned pink. There was another pause, an awkward and embarrassed one, and then Lupin said, with an air of forcing himself to admit something unpleasant, “Tonks is going to have a baby.”
“Oh, how wonderful!” squealed Hermione.
“Excellent!” said Ron enthusiastically.
“Congratulations,” said Harry.
Lupin gave an artificial smile that was more like a grimace, then said, “So… do you accept my offer? Will three become four? I cannot believe that Dumbledore would have disapproved, he appointed me your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, after all. And I must tell you that I believe we are facing magic many of us have never encountered or imagined.”
Ron and Hermione both looked at Harry.
“Just – just to be clear,” he said. “You want to leave Tonks at her parents’ house and come away with us?”
“She’ll be perfectly safe there, they’ll look after her,” said Lupin. He spoke with a finality bordering on indifference: “Harry, I’m sure James would have wanted me to stick with you.”
“Well,” said Harry slowly, “I’m not. I’m pretty sure my father would have wanted to know why you aren’t sticking with your own kid, actually.”
Lupin’s face drained of color. The temperature in the kitchen might have dropped ten degrees. Ron stared around the room as though he had been bidden to memorize it, while Hermione’s eyes swiveled backward and forward from Harry to Lupin.
“You don’t understand,” said Lupin at last.
“Explain, then,” said Harry.
Lupin swallowed.
“I – I made a grave mistake in marrying Tonks. I did it against my better judgment and have regretted it very much every since.”
“I see,” said Harry, “so you’re just going to dump her and the kid and run off with us?”
Lupin sprang to his feet: His chair toppled over backward, and he glared at them so fiercely that Harry saw, for the first time ever, she shadow of the wolf upon his human face.
“Don’t you understand what I’ve done to my wife and my unborn child? I should never have married her, I’ve made her an outcast!”
Lupin kicked aside the chair he had overturned.
“You have only ever seen me amongst the Order, or under Dumbledore’s protection at Hogwarts! You don’t know how most of the Wizarding world sees creatures like me! 
When they know of my affliction, they can barely talk to me! Don’t you see what I’ve done?
Even her own family is disgusted by our marriage, what parents want their only daughter to marry a werewolf? And the child – the child – “
Lupin actually seized handfuls of his own hair; he looked quite deranged.
“My kind don’t usually breed! It will be like me, I am convinced of it – how can I forgive myself, when I knowingly risked passing on my own condition to an innocent child? And if, by some miracle, it is not like me, then it will be better off, a hundred times so, without a father of whom it must always be ashamed!”
“Remus!” whispered Hermione, tears in her eyes. “Don’t say that – how could any child be ashamed of you?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Hermione,” said Harry. “I’d be pretty ashamed of him.”
Harry did not know where his rage was coming from, but it had propelled him to his feet too. Lupin looked as though Harry had hit him.
“If the new regime thinks Muggle-borns are bad,” Harry said, “what will they do to a half-werewolf whose father’s in the Order? My father died trying to protect my mother and me, and you reckon he’d tell you to abandon your kid to go on an adventure with us?”
“How – how dare you?” said Lupin. “This is not about a desire for – for danger or personal glory – how dare you suggest such a – ”
“I think you’re feeling a bit of a daredevil,” Harry said, “You fancy stepping into Sirius’s shoes – ”
“Harry, no!” Hermione begged him, but he continued to glare into Lupin’s livid face.
“I’d never have believed this,” Harry said. “The man who taught me to fight dementors – a coward.”
Lupin drew his wand so fast that Harry had barely reached for his own; there was a loud bang and he felt himself flying backward as if punched; as he slammed into the kitchen wall and slid to the floor, he glimpsed the tail of Lupin’s cloak disappearing around the door.
“Remus, Remus, come back!” Hermione cried, but Lupin did not respond. A moment later they heard the front door slam.
“Harry!” wailed Hermione. “How could you?”
“It was easy,” said Harry. He stood up, he could feel a lump swelling where his head had hit the wall. He was still so full of anger he was shaking.
“Don’t look at me like that!” he snapped at Hermione.
“Don’t you start on her!” snarled Ron.
“No – no – we mustn’t fight!” said Hermione, launching herself between them.
“You shouldn’t have said that stuff to Lupin,” Ron told Harry.
“He had it coming to him,” said Harry. Broken images were racing each other through his mind: Sirius falling through the veil; Dumbledore suspended, broken, in midair; a flash of green light and his mother’s voice, begging for mercy…
“Parents,” said Harry, “shouldn’t leave their kids unless – unless they’ve got to.”
“Harry – ” said Hermione, stretching out a consoling hand, but he shrugged it off and walked away, his eyes on the fire Hermione had conjured. He had once spoken to Lupin out of that fireplace, seeking reassurance about James, and Lupin had consoled him. Now Lupin’s tortured white face seemed to swim in the air before him. He felt a sickening surge of remorse. Neither Ron nor Hermione spoke, but Harry felt sure that they were looking at each other behind his back, communicating silently.
He turned around and caught them turning hurriedly away form each other.
“I know I shouldn’t have called him a coward.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” said Ron at once.
“But he’s acting like one.”
“All the same…” said Hermione.
“I know,” said Harry. “But if it makes him go back to Tonks, it’ll be worth it, won’t it?”
He could not keep the plea out of his voice. Hermione looked sympathetic, Ron uncertain. Harry looked down at his feet, thinking of his father. Would James have backed Harry in what he had said to Lupin, or would he have been angry at how his son had treated his old friend?
The silent kitchen seemed to hum with the shock of the recent scene and with Ron and Hermione’s unspoken reproaches. The Daily Prophet Lupin had brought was still lying on the table, Harry’s own face staring up at the ceiling from the front page. He walked over to it and sat down, opened the paper at random, and pretended to read. He could not take in the words; his mind was still too full of the encounter with Lupin. He was sure that Ron and Hermione had resumed their silent communications on the other side of the Prophet. He turned a page loudly, and Dumbledore’s name leapt out at him. It was a moment or two before he took in the meaning of the photograph, which showed a family group. Beneath the photograph were the words: The Dumbledore family, left to right: Albus; Percival, holding newborn Ariana; Kendra, and Aberforth.
His attention caught, Harry examined the picture more carefully. Dumbledore’s father, Percival, was a good-looking man with eyes that seemed to twinkle even in this faded old photograph. The baby, Ariana, was a little longer than a loaf of bread and no more distinctive-looking. The mother, Kendra, had jet black hair pulled into a high bun. Her face had a carved quality about it. Harry thought of photos of Native Americans he’d seen as he studied her dark eyes, high cheekbones, and straight nose, formally composed above a high-necked silk gown. Albus and Aberforth wore matching lacy collared jackets and had identical, shoulder-length hairstyles. Albus looked several years older, but otherwise the two boys looked very alike, for this was before Albus’s nose had been broken and before he started wearing glasses.
The family looked quite happy and normal, smiling serenely up out of the newspaper. Baby Ariana’s arm waved vaguely out of her shawl. Harry looked above the picture and saw the headline:
 
EXCLUSIVE EXTRACT FROM UPCOMINGBIOGRAPHY OF ALBUS DUMBLEDOREby Rita Skeeter
 
Thinking it could hardly make him feel any worse than he already did, Harry began to read:
 
Proud and haughty, Kendra Dumbledore could not bear to remain in Mould-on-the-Wold after her husband Percival’s well-publicized arrest and imprisonment in Azkaban. She therefore decided to uproot the family and relocate to Godric’s Hollow, the village that was later to gain fame as the scene of Harry Potter’s strange escape from You-Know-Who.
Like Mould-on-the-Wold, Godric’s Hollow was home to a number of Wizarding families, but as Kendra knew none of them, she would be spared the curiosity about her husband’s crime she had faced in her former village. By repeatedly rebuffing the friendly advances of her new Wizarding neighbors, she soon ensured that her family was left well alone.
“Slammed the door in my face when I went around to welcome her with a batch of homemade Cauldron Cakes,” says Bathilda Bagshot. “The first year they were there I only ever saw the two boys. Wouldn’t have known there was a daughter if I hadn’t been picking Plangentines by moonlight the winter after they moved in, and saw Kendra leading Ariana out into the back garden. Walked her round the lawn once, keeping a firm grip on her, then took her back inside. Didn’t know what to make of it.”
It seems that Kendra thought the move to Godric’s Hollow was the perfect opportunity to hide Ariana once and for all, something she had probably been planning for years. The timing was significant. Ariana was barely seven years old when she vanished from sight, and seven is the age by which most experts agree that magic will have revealed itself, if present. Nobody now alive remembers Ariana ever demonstrating even the slightest sign of magical ability. It seems clear, therefore, that Kendra made a decision to hide her daughter’s existence rather than suffer the shame of admitting that she had produced a Squib. Moving away from the friends and neighbors who knew Ariana would, of course, make imprisoning her all the easier. The tiny number of people who henceforth knew of Ariana’s existence could be counted upon to keep the secret, including her two brothers, who had deflected awkward questions with the answer their mother had taught them. “My sister is too frail for school.”
 
Next week: Albus Dumbledore at Hogwarts – the Prizes and the Pretense.Harry had been wrong: What he had read had indeed made him feel worse. He looked back at the photograph of the apparently happy family. Was it true? How could he find out? He wanted to go to Godric’s Hollow, even if Bathilda was in no fit state to talk to him: he wanted to visit the place where he and Dumbledore had both lost loved ones. He was in the process of lowering the newspaper, to ask Ron’s and Hermione’s opinions, when a deafening crack echoed around the kitchen.For the first time in three days Harry had forgotten all about Kreacher. His immediate thought was that Lupin had burst back into the room, and for a split second, he did not take in the mass of struggling limbs that had appeared out of thin air right beside his chair. He hurried to his feet as Kreacher disentangled himself and, bowing low to Harry, croaked, “Kreacher has returned with the thief Mundungus Fletcher, Master.”
Mundungus scrambled up and pulled out his wand; Hermione, however, was too quick for him.
“Expelliarmus!”
Mundungus’s wand soared into the air, and Hermione caught it. Wild-eyed, Mundungus dived for the stairs. Ron rugby-tackled him and Mundungus hit the stone floor with a muffled crunch.
“What?” he bellowed, writhing in his attempts to free himself from Ron’s grip. “Wha’ve I done? Setting a bleedin’ ‘house-elf on me, what are you playing at, wha’ve I done, lemme go, lemme go, of – ”
“You’re not in much of a position to make threats,” said Harry. He threw aside the newspaper, crossed the kitchen in a few strides, and dropped to his knees beside Mundungus, who stopped struggling and looked terrified. Ron got up, panting, and watched as Harry pointed his wand deliberately at Mundungus’s nose. Mundungus stank of stale sweat and tobacco smoke. His hair was matted and his robes stained.
“Kreacher apologizes for the delay in bringing the thief, Master,” croaked the elf. “Fletcher knows how to avoid capture, has many hidey-holes and accomplices. 
Nevertheless, Kreacher cornered the thief in the end.”
“You’ve done really well, Kreacher,” said Harry, and the elf bowed low.
“Right, we’ve got a few questions for you,” Harry told Mundungus, who shouted at once.
“I panicked, okay? I never wanted to come along, no offense, mate, but I never volunteered to die for you, an’ that was bleedin’ You-Know-Who come flying at me, anyone woulda got outta there. I said all along I didn’t wanna do it – ”
“For your information, none of the rest of us Disapparated,” said Hermione.
“Well, you’re a bunch of bleedin’ ‘eroes then, aren’t you, but I never pretended I was up for killing meself – ”
“We’re not interested in why you ran out on Mad-Eye,” said Harry, moving his wand a little closer to Mundungus’s baggy, bloodshot eyes. “We already knew you were an unreliable bit of scum.”
“Well then, why the ‘ell am I being ‘unted down by ‘ouse-elves? Or is this about them goblets again? I ain’t got none of ‘em left, or you could ‘ave ‘em – ”
“It’s not about the goblets either, although you’re getting warmer,” said Harry. “Shut up and listen.”
It felt wonderful to have something to do, someone of whom he could demand some small portion of truth. Harry’s wand was now so close to the bridge of Mundungus’s nose that Mundungus had gone cross-eyed trying to keep it in view.
“When you cleaned out this house of anything valuable,” Harry began, but Mundungus interrupted him again.
“Sirius never cared about any of the junk – ”
There was the sound of pattering fee, a blaze of shining copper, an echoing clang, and a shriek of agony; Kreacher had taken a run at Mundungus and hit him over the head with a saucepan.
“Call ‘im off, call ‘im off, ‘e should be locked up!” screamed Mundungus, cowering as Kreacher raised the heavy-bottomed pan again.
“Kreacher, no!” shouted Harry.
Kreacher’s thin arms trembled with the weight of the pan, still held aloft.
“Perhaps just one more, Master Harry, for luck?”
Ron laughed.
“We need him conscious, Kreacher, but if he needs persuading, you can do the honors,” said Harry.
“Thank you very much, Master,” said Kreacher with a bow, and he retreated a short distance, his great pale eyes still fixed upon Mundungus with loathing.
“When you stripped this house of all the valuables you could find,” Harry began again, “you took a bunch of stuff from the kitchen cupboard. There was a locket there.” Harry’s mouth was suddenly dry: He could sense Ron and Hermione’s tension and excitement too. “What did you do with it?”
“Why?” asked Mundungus. “Is it valuable?”
“You’ve still got it!” cried Hermione.
“No, he hasn’t,” said Ron shrewdly. “He’s wondering whether he should have asked more money for it.”
“More?” said Mundungus. “That wouldn’t have been effing difficult…bleedin’ gave it away, di’n’ I? No choice.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was selling in Diagon Alley and she come up to me and asks if I’ve got a license for trading in magical artifacts. Bleedin’ snoop. She was gonna fine me, but she took a fancy to the locket an’ told me she’d take it and let me off that time, and to fink meself lucky.”
“Who was this woman?” asked Harry.
“I dunno, some Ministry hag.”
Mundungus considered for a moment, brow wrinkled.
“Little woman. Bow on top of ‘er head.”
He frowned and then added, “Looked like a toad.”
Harry dropped his wand: It hit Mundungus on the nose and shot red sparks into his eyebrows, which ignited.
“Aquamenti!” screamed Hermione, and a jet of water streamed from her wand, engulfing a spluttering and choking Mundungus.
Harry looked up and saw his own shock reflected in Ron’s and Hermione’s faces. The scars on the back of his right hand seemed to be tingling again.
如果克利切能从一整湖的阴尸中逃脱，那么哈利确信他俘虏蒙顿格斯最多也就花费几个小时，他整个上午都抱着很大的期望在屋子里走来走去。然而，克利切上午并没有回来，甚至至下午也没有，直到黄昏，哈利有些泄气了，他感到了担忧。面前是一大块赫敏尝试了多种方式都没能使它变形的腐臭面包，当然它起不到任何帮助。 
　　第二天，克利切没有回来，第三天也没有回来。然而，有两个披斗篷的人出现在格里莫广场12号的门外，他们一直待到晚上，凝视着那个他们根本看不见的房子。 
　　“肯定是食死徒。”哈利和赫敏从休息室的窗户向外看时，罗恩说。”难道他们知道我们在这儿了？” 
　　“我认为不是。”赫敏说，虽然她看起来有些恐惧，“要不他们早就去报告斯内普了，是不是？” 
　　“难道你没有想过他们站在那儿时被穆迪施了一个锁舌咒？”罗恩问道。 
　　“是的”，赫敏说，“另外，他们一定知道了很多能进来的方法，是不是？但是他们想看看我们是否会出现，毕竟他们知道这房子是哈利的。” 
　　“他们是怎么知——？”哈利开口说。 
　　“巫师的遗嘱会被政府检查，记得吗？他们一定会知道小天狼星把这房子留给了你。” 
　　食死徒的到场引发了格里莫广场12号里的不详预感，在韦斯莱先生的守护神之后，他们没有得到任何格里莫广场外的任何人的消息，紧张的情绪也开始显示出来。缺乏休息，急躁易怒，罗恩养成了一个另人讨厌的习惯——在口袋里把玩着熄灯器。这很明显地惹恼了正在读吟游诗人比伯的故事的赫敏，她并不怎么喜欢灯光的忽明忽灭。 
　　“你就不能停下吗？”她在克利切离开的第三个晚上终于爆发了，客厅里所有的灯都被一次又一次地开启和关闭。 
　　“对不起，对不起。”罗恩说，他按了按熄灯器，恢复了所有的灯。”我不知道我在做什么。” 
　　“唉，你就不能给自己找一些有意义的事情做吗？” 
　　“什么呢？比如读玩笑故事？” 
　　“邓布利多留给我这本书，罗恩——” 
　　“——而他留给我这个熄灯器，也许是告诉我应该去用它!” 
　　没等他们开始争吵，哈利就走了出去，他俩任何一个人也没注意到。他向着他去过无数次的厨房走去，因为他确信那是克利切最有可能再次出现的地方。在从楼梯走向门厅的时候，他听见前门有轻微的敲击声，接着是金属的叮当声和链条的摩擦声。 
　　他体内的所有神经都绷紧了:他拔出魔杖，慢慢地移动到那排被砍下来的家养小精灵脑袋旁边的影子里，等待着。门开了:他瞥见了外面灯火通明的广场，一个斗篷状的身影移动进来，关上了身后的门。入侵者向前走了一步，这时穆迪的声音响起，“西弗勒斯·斯内普？”那具烟尘似的身躯从门厅的尽头向他移动过来，迫不及待地举起它那死气沉沉的手。 
　　“杀死你的不是我，阿不思。”一个安静的声音说。 
　　倒霉的事情发生了，那个烟尘身躯又一次爆破，新来者怎么也无法穿过它爆破后留下的浓密的白烟，哈利用他的魔杖指向烟雾的正中间。 
　　“不许动!” 
　　可他忘了布莱克夫人的肖像了，在他的喊声中，用来遮住肖像的帷幔被掀开了，她开始尖叫:”泥巴种和贱货玷污了我祖上的家宅——” 
　　罗恩和赫敏从楼上跑下来，站在哈利身后，像他一样也举着魔杖。那个未知的人站在门厅里，举着双手。 
　　“冷静下来，是我，莱姆斯!” 
　　“哦，谢天谢地。”赫敏无力地说，转身把魔杖指向了布莱克夫人，伴随着砰的一声，帷幔嗖嗖地合上了，房子重新安静下来。罗恩放下了魔杖，但哈利没有。 
　　“证明一下你自己!”他回答道。 
　　卢平走到灯光下，双手依然保持着投降的姿势。 
　　“我是莱姆斯·约翰·卢平，狼人，有时被称为月亮脸，是活点地图的四个制作者之一，和尼法朵拉—通常被叫做唐克斯—结了婚，我教了你怎么召唤守护神，哈利，是牡鹿形状的。” 
　　“哦，确实。”哈利说，放下了他的魔杖，“但是我不得不核实一下，不是吗？” 
　　“对你的前任黑魔法防御教师也不可以降低防备，我非常赞同你进行核实。罗恩，赫敏，你们不应该这么快就放松警惕。” 
　　他们向他走过去。他穿着一件很厚的黑色斗篷，看上去很疲惫，但见到他们他很高兴。 
　　“还没有西弗勒斯的消息吗？”他问道。 
　　“没有。”哈利回答说。”一切都顺利吗？大家都好吗？” 
　　“还行。”卢平说。”但是我们都被监视了，有几个食死徒在外面的广场上——” 
　　“我们知道——” 
　　“我不得不十分准确地幻影显形到前门外的顶踏台阶上以确保他们不会看见我。他们一定不知道你们在这儿，要不我敢肯定他们会派更多的人来外面。他们在监视所有与你有关联的事物，哈利。我们到楼下去，我有很多事情要和你说，我也想知道你在离开陋居后都发生了什么。” 
　　他们进入了厨房，赫敏用魔杖指向壁炉，火焰立刻燃烧起来，这使那坚硬的石墙也给了人舒适的感觉，长木桌子闪起了光亮。卢平从他的旅行斗篷下取出几瓶黄油啤酒，他们坐了下来。 
　　“我三天前就到这儿了，可我不得不想方设法甩掉跟着我的那几个食死徒。”卢平说。”这么说，你在婚礼之后就到这儿来了？” 
　　“没有，是在我们托特汉姆法庭路上的一家咖啡馆里遇上几个食死徒之后。” 
　　卢平几乎把他所有的黄油啤酒都喷在了他衣服的前襟上。 
　　“什么？” 
　　于是他们开始讲述发生的事情，当他们讲完的时候，卢平看上去好像是吓呆了。 
　　“但是他们怎么会这么快就找到你呢？跟踪幻影显形的人是不可能的，除非你在他们消失的瞬间抓紧他们。” 
　　“而且他们不像是恰巧在托特汉姆法庭路巡游，是不是？”哈利说。 
　　“我们想知道，”赫敏试探着问，“是不是哈利和他还存在着那种联系？” 
　　“不可能的。” 卢平说，罗恩看起来很得意，而哈利终于放下心来。 
　　“先不说别的，如果哈利和他真的还存在联系的话，那他们早就知道哈利在这儿了。但是我不知道他们是如何跟踪你到托特汉姆法庭路的，这是令人担心的，非常令人担心。” 
　　他看起来有些混乱，但是与哈利所关心的事情相比，这个问题可以暂且放在一边。 
　　“告诉我们在我们离开后都发生了什么，自从罗恩的爸爸告诉我们一家人都安全之后我们就再没有得到任何消息。” 
　　“哦，金斯莱救了我们。”卢平说，“幸亏他警告了大多数的婚宴来宾，多数人在他们到达之前就幻影移形了。” 
　　“是食死徒还是部里的人？”赫敏突然插嘴说。 
　　“都有，但实际上，他们现在都是一回事了。”卢平说，“他们大概有12个人，但是他们并不知道你在这儿，哈利。亚瑟说他听说他们在杀斯克林杰之前曾拷问你的行踪，如果这是真的，那看来他就没有出卖你。” 
　　哈利看着罗恩和赫敏，他通过他们脸上的表情能感觉到他们的心情很复杂， 
　　混合着震惊和感激。他从来没像现在这样喜欢斯克林杰，但如果卢平说的是真的，那么这个人最后的行动就是拼命地保护哈利。 
　　“食死徒把陋居搜了个底朝天。”卢平继续说。”他们找到了食尸鬼，但是并不愿意靠近它——然后他们把我们中那些还没来得及逃走的人审问了好几个小时。他们想试图获得你的信息，哈利，但是当然除了社里的人没人知道你已经在这儿了。” 
　　“同时他们彻底破坏了这个婚宴，更多的食死徒想强行闯入郊外的每一个和凤凰社有联系的房子。但没有人死去，”他急忙加上一句，堵住了他们的问题，“但是他们很粗暴，他们把德达洛·迪歌的房子烧成了平地，可你们知道他并不在家。他们对唐克斯一家施了钻心咒，同样的，也是想知道你在他们家做客之后去了哪儿。他们还好——吓坏了，很明显的，但从别的方面说，还好。” 
　　“那些食死徒通过了所有的保护咒语吗？”哈利问，他回忆起他坠落到唐克斯父母的花园里那天晚上，那些咒语的法力有多么强。 
　　“你应该认识到的，哈利，食死徒现在已经额外地得到了魔法部的所有力量。”卢平说。”他们可以不用害怕鉴定或逮捕，他们得到了权力可以施行那些残忍的魔咒。他们正设法打破每一个我们对他们设下的防御咒语，他们完全公开了他们来的原因。” 
　　“难道他们没有为拷问人们哈利行踪的行为而给出一个解释吗？”赫敏问道，声音相当尖锐。 
　　“哦，”卢平说，他犹豫着，然后抽出了一份折叠起来的预言家日报。 
　　“这儿，”他说，通过桌子把它推到哈利面前，“你是迟早会知道的——无论如何，这就是他们追逐你的借口。” 
　　哈利把报纸摊平，一张他自己的巨幅照片占据了整个报纸的第一版，他把新闻的题目念了一遍： 
　　关于阿不思邓布利多之死——我们需要质问 
　　罗恩和赫敏愤怒地喊了起来，但是哈利没出声。他把报纸推到一边，他一点也不想看:他知道他们会说什么，除了当时在塔上目睹了邓布利多死的人以外，谁也不知道到底是谁杀了他，然而，丽塔·斯基特已经告诉了整个巫师世界，在邓布利多坠落的几分钟之后，有人看见哈利从事发地点逃跑出来。 
　　“我很遗憾，哈利。”卢平说。 
　　“这么说食死徒也控制了预言家日报是吗？”赫敏气急败坏地说。 
　　卢平点了点头。 
　　“但是，人们真的知道将要发生什么吗？” 
　　“实际上他们已经悄悄地取得了政权。”卢平说。 
　　官方已经解释了斯克林杰的死，说他是自然死亡的，他的职位已经被中了夺魂咒的毕尤斯·底克尼斯代替。 
　　“为什么伏地魔不宣告他自己是魔法部长啊？”罗恩问。 
　　卢平笑了。 
　　“他不需要，罗恩。权威地说，他的确是一个部长，那为什么他就非得在部里坐在办公桌后面呢？他的傀儡底克尼斯正在替他处理每天的政务，留给他自由的空间在远离魔法部的地方扩张势力。” 
　　“当然很多人已经推测出发生了什么。在最近一段时间里魔法部的政策发生了如此戏剧性的变化，很多人在偷偷议论伏地魔一定在背后掌控，然而，这就是重点，他们偷偷议论，他们不敢相互信任，不知道谁是可信赖的，他们吓得要命不敢大声地说，害怕他们的猜测是真的，而他们的家庭就成了目标。是的，伏地魔在玩一个非常聪明的把戏，宣称他自己可能已经激发了叛乱，他仅仅是保持伪装就已经制造出了混乱，不信任和恐惧。” 
　　“这个魔法部政策的戏剧性变化，”哈利问，“包括警告整个巫师世界来反对我而不再是伏地魔？” 
　　“这当然是它的一部分，”卢平说，“而且这是一个妙举，现在邓布利多死了，而你——大难不死的男孩——当然就是抵抗伏地魔这场长期战争的标志，但是暗示你在老领导的死中有一手，伏地魔就不仅在你的头上贴了个标签，而且还在那些过去曾保卫你的人们中间散布了恐惧和怀疑。” 
　　“在这期间，部长已经行动起来反对麻瓜出身的人。”卢平指了指预言家日报。 
　　“看第二版。” 
　　赫敏带着和当初手握着黑魔法秘密时相同的厌恶表情翻开第二版。 
　　“麻瓜出身登记簿，”她大声念着，“魔法部正在承诺会采取行动调查所谓的麻瓜出身的人群，更好地了解他们掌握的魔法秘密。 
　　“最近，神秘事物司的调查表明魔法只能通过巫师的繁殖才能传承，没有被证明是巫师家族血统的人，也就是所谓的麻瓜出身的人，可能是通过偷窃或武力等方式获得魔力的。 
　　“魔法部决心找出篡夺魔力的人，结束后将会给每一个麻瓜出身的人发请柬，邀请他们出席由新成立的麻瓜出身登记委员会组织的会见。” 
　　“大家是不会让这种事情发生的。”罗恩说。 
　　“但它发生了，罗恩，”卢平说，“在我们说话的这一刻，麻瓜出身的人们就正在被围捕。” 
　　“可他们怎么能说是`偷`的魔力呢？”罗恩说，“那是精神和智力上的表现，如果你能偷魔力，那就不会有那么多哑炮了，不是吗？” 
　　“我知道，”卢平说，“不过，除非你能证明你至少有一个巫师近亲，否则你的魔力将会被视为是不合法获得的，要接受法律的制裁。” 
　　罗恩看了一眼赫敏，然后说:”如果一个纯血统的人和一个混血的人发誓一个麻瓜出身的人是他们家庭的一份子那又会怎么样？我会告诉每一个人，赫敏是我的表妹—” 
　　赫敏紧紧地握住了罗恩的手。 
　　“谢谢你，罗恩，但是我不能让你这么做－” 
　　“你没有选择，”罗恩激烈地说，把她的手放了回去，“我会教你熟悉我的家谱，这样你就可以面对任何质问了。”赫敏给了他一个虚弱的笑容 
　　“罗恩，和我们现在和这个国家最大的通缉犯哈利波特一起逃跑比起来，我认为这都不算什么。如果我回到学校，那也会是不一样的感觉。伏地魔打算把霍格沃茨怎么样？”她问卢平。 
　　“每个年轻的男女巫师都被强迫出席。”他回答说。 
　　“是昨天宣布的，这是一项改变，这在以前从来都不是强制的。当然几乎整个英国的男女巫师都是霍格沃茨毕业的，但父母有权利选择自己在家里教孩子或者把孩子送到国外去，如果他们觉得这会更好的话。而像现在这样，所有的巫师人口都将会在伏地魔的眼皮底下成长，从小到大。这也是清除麻瓜出身的人的另一种办法，因为在他们入学之前他们必须出示他们的血统身份，这就意味着他们不得不去魔法部证明自己的巫师血统。” 
　　哈利又恶心又气愤地想到:此刻，11岁的新生可能正注视着一堆新要买的咒语书的单子，不知道他们可能永远也见不到霍格沃茨，也可能不会再见到他们的家人了。 
　　“这简直……简直……”他嘟哝着，尽力想找到一个词来表达他刚才的恐怖的想象，但是卢平静静地说，“我懂。” 
　　卢平犹豫着。 
　　“我明白你不会认可这些的，哈利，但是凤凰社的人都感觉邓布利多似乎给你留下了一个任务。” 
　　“是的，”哈利回答说，“而且罗恩和赫敏也参与其中，他们将和我一起。” 
　　“你对我有足够的信任以至于可以告诉我那是什么任务吗？” 
　　哈利注视着这张过早衰老的已经有了皱纹的脸庞，头发浓密却泛着灰色，他真的希望自己可以不这样回答。 
　　“我不能，莱姆斯，我很抱歉，如果邓布利多没有告诉你，那么我认为我也不可以。” 
　　“我就知道你会这么说。”卢平说，看起来很失望，“但我可能仍然会对你有帮助的，你知道我是什么人，是做什么的，我可以跟着你，为你提供保护，你没必要明确地告诉我你要做什么。” 
　　哈利踌躇着，这是一个很诱人的提议，如果卢平一直跟着他们，即使他们能够保守秘密，这也是难以想象的。 
　　然而，赫敏，看上去很疑惑。 
　　“但是，唐克斯呢？”她问道。 
　　“她怎么？”卢平说。 
　　“唉，”赫敏皱起眉头，“你已经结婚了！如果你离开她跟我们一起走，那她会是什么感受？” 
　　“唐克斯会非常安全的，”卢平说，“她会待在她父母的住所。” 
　　卢平的语调有些奇怪，近乎是冰冷的，好像是对唐克斯一直躲在她父母的家里有什么想法。她，毕竟，是凤凰社的一员，据哈利所知，她好像是很想参加这场战斗。 
　　“莱姆斯，”赫敏试探地问，“一切都还好吗……你知道我的意思……你和她之间……” 
　　“一切都好，谢谢关心。”卢平尖锐地说。 
　　赫敏很尴尬，一时间不知所措，觉得笨拙而困窘。 
　　然后，卢平开口了，带着承认某些不愉快事情的语气说:“唐克斯将要有一个孩子了。” 
　　“哦，这多么令人高兴啊!”赫敏尖叫道。 
　　“太棒了!”罗恩狂热地说。 
　　“祝贺你了。”哈利说。 
　　卢平努力地假装出笑容，但那更像是痛苦的表情，“那么……你们能接受我的帮助了吗？让三人组变成四个？我认为邓布利多不会反对的，毕竟，他还指定我做你的黑魔法防御术课教师。
而且我必须告诉你我们将面对的是我们以前从来没有遇见过的难以想象的魔法。 
　　罗恩和赫敏一起看着哈利。 
　　“清楚地说，你想离开唐克斯父母的房子，来加入我们？” 
　　“她在那儿会很安全的，他们会照顾好她。”卢平说，声音里混合着无所畏惧和毫不关心，“哈利，我确信詹姆会希望我和你并肩战斗的。” 
　　“是吗，”哈利不紧不慢地说，“我不这么认为，我确信我的父亲更想知道你为什么竟然不愿去陪着你自己的孩子。” 
　　卢平的脸变了颜色，厨房里的温度似乎降了10度，罗恩目光在屋子内移动着，好像他被迫要记住这一切似的，而赫敏的目光则在哈利和卢平两人间不停地移动。 
　　“你不懂。”最后卢平说。 
　　“那么请你解释。”哈利说。 
　　卢平哽住了。”我觉得我和唐克斯结婚是一个严重的错误，我的判断失误了，而之后我一直在后悔。” 
　　“我懂了，所以你想抛弃她和孩子，和我们一起逃跑？” 
　　卢平猛地跃起，他的凳子被撞翻在地上，哈利看见他看他们的眼神是很激动的，他人形的脸上显露出狼的影子。 
　　“你知道我对我的妻子和我未出世的孩子做了什么吗？我本来永远也不应该和她结婚的，我使她成为了一个被驱逐被排斥的人!” 
　　卢平用力地踢他刚撞翻的椅子。“你只在凤凰社里见到我，或者在霍格沃茨，在邓布利多的保护下见到我!你不知道在巫师世界里大多数人是怎样看待我这样的生物的!当他们知道我的痛苦的时候，就几乎不再与我交谈了，你难道没有看到我都做了什么吗？甚至她的家庭都因为我们的婚姻而遭到别人的唾弃，什么样的父母会让他们惟一的女儿嫁给一个狼人？而那个孩子——孩子——”卢平紧紧地抓住他的椅子，他看起来像是失去了理智…… 
　　“我这种物种通常是不应该繁殖的，他会和我一样，当我认识到我会把我这种情形遗传给一个清白的孩子的时候，我怎么可能宽恕自己？如果，出现了奇迹，他没有像我，这当然是好的情况，但他一定会为有这样的父亲感到羞耻!” 
　　“莱姆斯，”赫敏轻声说，泪水在她的眼眶周围打转，不要这么说，孩子怎么会因为你而感到羞耻呢？” 
　　“哦，我不知道，赫敏，”哈利说，“但我会因为你而感到非常羞耻!”哈利不知道他的愤怒是从哪儿来的，但是它涌满了他的全身。 
　　卢平看起来好像哈利打了他一拳。 
　　“如果那个新政策认为麻瓜出身的人很坏，”哈利说，“那么他们会怎样对待一个父亲在凤凰社的半狼人呢？我的父亲临死前还在拼命保护我和我的母亲，你认为他会让你抛弃你的孩子然后和我们去冒险吗？” 
　　“你－你怎么敢－？”卢平说。”这不是对－对冒险或者个人荣誉的渴望－你怎么能这样说－” 
　　“我认为你有点铤而走险，”哈利说，“你甚至自负地想步小天狼星的后尘——” 
　　“哈利，不!”赫敏请求着他，但他继续怒视着卢平青紫色的脸。 
　　“我从来没想过会这样，”哈利说，“那个教我如何去战胜摄魂怪的人——是一个懦夫!” 
　　卢平快速地抽出魔杖，以至于哈利没有时间伸手去拿自己的，突然一声巨响，他感觉自己向后飞去，似乎被冲撞了一下，在他猛烈地撞上了厨房的墙壁然后滑到地板上时，他瞥见卢平斗篷的一角消失在了门边。 
　　“莱姆斯，莱姆斯，回来!”赫敏喊着，但卢平没有回应，片刻后他们听见前门被砰地关上了。 
　　“哈利，”赫敏悲叹着，“你是怎么能说出这种话的？” 
　　“这很容易，”哈利说，他站起身来，感觉到脑袋撞到墙的部位肿了起来，但愤怒仍然充满着他的全身，他在颤抖着。 
　　“不要用那种眼神看我!”他对赫敏厉声说。 
　　“你要开始和她吵架了吗？”罗恩咆哮着。 
　　“不－不，我们不能打架。”她走到他俩中间。 
　　“你不应该对卢平说那些话。”罗恩对哈利说。 
　　“他自找的。”哈利说，零碎的影像飞快地穿越他的脑海:小天狼星消失在帷幔背后;邓布利多在半空中停留了一秒钟，然后慢慢地仰面倒下去;一道绿光闪现，他的母亲哀求的声音。。。 
　　“任何一对父母，”哈利说，“绝对不可以抛弃他们的孩子，除非——除非他们已经——” 
　　“哈利，”赫敏说，她向他伸出一只安慰的手，但他耸了耸肩没有理会她，转身走了。他的目光停留在赫敏施魔法点燃的火焰上，他曾经通过这个壁炉和卢平说话，寻求对詹姆的放心，卢平安慰了他。现在卢平那痛苦苍白的脸庞仿佛在他面前的空气中涌动着。他感到厌恶，却又萌生一丝同情。罗恩和赫敏谁都没有出声，但哈利确信他们俩一定在他的身后注视着对方，无声地交流，他转身看见他们急忙把眼神从彼此身上移开。 
　　“我知道我不应该叫他懦夫。” 
　　“是的，你不应该。”罗恩马上说。 
　　“但是他正扮演着这样一个角色。” 
　　“那也不应该……”赫敏说。 
　　“我知道，”哈利说，“但如果这能使他回到唐克斯身边，那这就是值得的，不是吗？” 
　　他不能把辩解的语调从他的声音中去除，赫敏露出了同情的神色，而罗恩还是不能认同。哈利低头看自己的脚，想着他的父亲。詹姆会支持他对卢平说的那些话吗，还是他会因为他的儿子这样对待他的老朋友而生气？ 
　　厨房的寂静似乎被现在的这令人震惊的情形和罗恩赫敏尚未说出口的责备给扰乱了。卢平带来的预言家日报仍然躺在桌子上，报纸的头版上哈利自己的照片正盯着天花板，他走过去坐下来，随便地打开了报纸，假装在读，他根本看不进去，满脑子都是刚才与卢平的会面，他确信罗恩和赫敏又在继续着他们无声的交流，他很大声地翻开了一版，邓布利多的名字很显眼地出现在他面前，几分钟后他才体会到这照片的含义，它展示了一个家庭。在照片下面有一行字:邓布利多一家，从左到右:阿不思;珀西瓦尔， 抱着新出生的阿瑞娜;凯德拉和阿不福思。他的注意被吸引了，哈利更加认真地查看那张照片，邓布利多的父亲，珀西瓦尔，是一个英俊的男人，有着一双即使是在如此陈旧褪色的照片里也依然闪着光芒的明亮眼睛。婴儿阿瑞娜，比一条面包长不了多少，长相并无特别。母亲凯德拉，乌黑的头发挽成一个圆髻，脸像雕刻出来的，哈利看到她的黑眼睛，高颊骨和直鼻梁，紧身的王室律师绸服，带着一种形式化的沉着时他想起了他见过的那些本土美国人的照片。阿不思和阿不福思穿着匹配的带花边的圆领夹克衫，和同样的齐肩发型，阿不思看起来年龄要大几岁，但从另一个方面说，这两个男孩长得非常相似，因为阿不思还没有戴眼镜，他的鼻子还没有变形。 
　　这个家庭看上去是那么幸福，平凡，在报纸上安详地微笑着，婴儿阿瑞娜的手臂在她的围巾外胡乱地挥动着，哈利的目光移向照片的上方，他看见了大字标题:　
　　即将上市的《阿不思·邓布利多传记》--独家摘录 
　　文/丽塔 斯基特　
　　哈利觉得这个并不能使他感觉比他刚刚做的事还坏，于是他读了起来:　
　　狂妄傲慢的凯德拉·邓布利多在她的丈夫珀西瓦尔被宣布逮捕和关押在阿兹卡班之后，她无法再让自己呆在摩德沃的家里，因此她决定举家搬迁到一个不出名的村庄——高锥克山谷，这与哈利波特要逃避神秘人大同小异。同摩德沃一样，高维克山谷是许多巫师家庭的理想住所，但是因为凯德拉并不认识他们，她还是得面对在她以前的村庄所面对的人们对她丈夫罪行的好奇。在一次又一次地拒绝了所有邻居的好意以后，她终于确信她的家庭可以不受干扰地在这里住下了。 
　　“她在我面前关上了门，拒绝了为欢迎她而准备的一大锅炉的自制面包。”贝斯达巴格迪特说，“他们在那儿的第一年，我只见到过那两个男孩子，要不是我在他们搬来的那个冬天的一个晚上，在月光下采摘普兰根亭草，看见凯德拉把阿瑞娜带到后花园玩，我还不知道她家有一个女孩呢。” 
　　看来凯德拉坚决地认为搬到高维克山谷是把阿瑞娜藏起来的最佳机会，她可能已经计划了多年了，时间的拿捏是十分重要的。当她突然去世的时候，阿瑞娜才7岁，7岁是专家所赞同的魔力开始显现的年龄，如果有这个天赋的话。活着的人没有一个能记起阿瑞娜曾显示出哪怕轻微的魔力，很明显，凯德拉宁可把阿瑞娜藏起来也不愿承受自己生了一个哑炮的耻辱。远离所有认识凯德拉的朋友，邻居，使软禁她变得更容易。很少的几个知道阿瑞娜的存在的人都是能守住秘密的值得信赖的人，包括她的两个哥哥，他们都被妈妈教过了如何回答问题，“我的妹妹太虚弱了不能上学。” 
　　 
　　下周:阿不思·邓布利多在霍格沃茨时的奖励和主张　
　　哈利想错了，他刚刚读完的东西实际上真的使他感觉更坏了，他又看了看那个安详快乐的家庭。那是真的吗？他要怎么才能找出真相？他想去高维克山谷，即使巴希达没空与他交谈，他也想去那个使他和邓布利多都失去了至爱之人的地方。当一记震耳欲聋的爆响回荡在厨房里时，他正处在考虑的过程中，他想要去征求罗恩和赫敏的意见。这时他直接想到的是卢平又回到屋子里来了，但是瞬间的几秒，他并没有真正反应过来那在他椅子旁凭空出现的四肢，在克利切松开他后，他急忙地蹲下来，克利切用嘶哑的声音说:”克利切和坏蛋蒙顿格斯弗莱奇一起回来了，主人。”蒙顿格斯匆忙地爬起来并抽出魔杖，但赫敏比他快一步。 
　　“除你武器!” 
　　蒙顿格斯
Chapter 12 Magic is Might
August wore on, the square of unkempt grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place shriveled in the sun until it was brittle and brown. The inhabitants of number twelve were never seen by anyone in the surrounding houses, and nor was number twelve itself. The muggles who lived in Grimmauld Place had long since accepted the amusing mistake in the numbering that had caused number eleven to sit beside number thirteen.
And yet the square was now attracting a trickle of visitors who seemed to find the anomaly most intriguing. Barely a day passed without one or two people arriving in Grimmauld Place with no other purpose, or so it seemed, than to lean against the railings facing numbers eleven and thirteen, watching the join between the two houses. 
The lurkers were never the same two days running, although they all seemed to share a dislike for normal clothing. Most of the Londoners who passed them were used to eccentric dressers and took little notice, though occasionally one of them might glance back, wondering why anyone would wear cloaks in this heat.
The watchers seemed to be gleaning little satisfaction from their vigil. Occasionally one of them started forward excitedly, as if they had seen something interesting at last, only to fall back looking disappointed.
On the first day of September there were more people lurking in the square than ever before. Half a dozen men in long cloaks stood silent and watchful, gazing as ever at houses eleven and thirteen, but the thing for which they were waiting still appeared elusive. As evening drew in, bringing with it an unexpected gust of chilly rain for the first time in weeks, there occurred one of those inexplicable moments when they appeared to have seen something interesting. The man with the twisted face pointed and his closest companion, a podgy, pallid man, started forward, but a moment later they had relaxed into their previous state of inactivity, looking frustrated and disappointed.
Meanwhile, inside number twelve, Harry had just entered the hall. He had nearly lost his balance as he Apparated onto the top step just outside the front door, and thought that the Death Eaters might have caught a glimpse of his momentarily exposed elbow. Shutting the front door carefully behind him, he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, draped it over his arm, and hurried along the gloomy hallway toward the door that led to the basement, a stolen copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in his hand.
The usual low whisper of “Severus Snape” greeted him, the chill wind swept him, and his tongue rolled up for a moment.
“I didn’t kill you,” he said, once it had unrolled, then held his breath as the dusty jinx-figure exploded. He waited until he was halfway down the stairs to the kitchen, out of earshot of Mrs. Black and clear of the dust cloud, before calling, “I’ve got news, and you won’t like it.”
The kitchen was almost unrecognizable. Every surface now shone; Copper pots and pans had been burnished to a rosy glow; the wooden tabletop gleamed; the goblets and plates already laid for dinner glinted in the light from a merrily blazing fire, on which a cauldron was simmering. Nothing in the room, however, was more dramatically different than the house-elf who now came hurrying toward Harry, dressed in a snowy-white towel, his ear hair as clean and fluffy as cotton wool, Regulus’s locket bouncing on his thin chest.
“Shoes off, if you please, Master Harry, and hands washed before dinner,” croaked Kreacher, seizing the Invisibility Cloak and slouching off to hang it on a hook on the wall, beside a number of old-fashioned robes that had been freshly laundered.
“What’s happened?” Ron asked apprehensively. He are Hermione had been pouring over a sheaf of scribbled notes and hand drawn maps that littered the end of the long kitchen table, but now they watched Harry as he strode toward them and threw down the newspaper on top of their scattered parchment.
A large picture of a familiar, hook-nosed, black-haired man stared up at them all, beneath a headline that read:
 
SEVERUS SNAPE CONFIRMEDAS HOGWARTS HEADMASTER“No!“ said Ron and Hermione loudly.
Hermione was quickest; she snatched up the newspaper and began to read the accompanying story out loud.
“Severus Snape, long-standing Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and wizardry, was today appointed headmaster in the most important of several staffing changes at the ancient school. Following the resignation of the previous Muggle Studies teacher, Alecto Carrow will take over the post while her brother, Amycus, fills the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.“
“ ‘I welcome the opportunity to uphold our finest Wizarding traditions and values –’ Like committing murder and cutting off people’s ears, I suppose! Snape, headmaster! Snape in Dumbledore’s study – Merlin’s pants!“ she shrieked, making both Harry and Ron jump. She leapt up from the table and hurtled from the room, shouting as she went, ”I’ll be back in a minute!“
“‘Merlin’s pants’?” repeated Ron, looking amused. “She must be upset.” He pulled the newspaper toward him and perused the article about Snape.
“The other teachers won’t stand for this, McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout all know the truth, they know how Dumbledore died. They won’t accept Snape as headmaster. And who are these Carrows?“
“Death Eaters,” said Harry. “There are pictures of them inside. They were at the top of the tower when Snape killed Dumbledore, so it’s all friends together. And,” 
Harry went on bitterly, drawing up a chair, “I can’t see that the other teachers have got any choice but to stay. If the Ministry and Voldemort are behind Snape, it’ll be a choice between staying and teaching, or a nice few years in Azkaban – and that’s if they’re lucky. I reckon they’ll stay to try and protect the students.”
Kreacher came bustling to the table with a large curcen in his hands, and ladled out soup into pristine bowls, whistling between his teeth as he did so.
“Thanks, Kreacher,“ said Harry, flipping over the Prophet so as not to have to look at Snape’s face. ”Well, at least we know exactly where Snape is now.“He began to spoon soup into his mouth. The quality of Kreacher’s cooking had improved dramatically ever since he had been given Regulus’s locket: Today’s French onion was as good as Harry had ever tasted.
“There are still a load of Death Eaters watching this house,” he told Ron as he ate, “more than usual. It’s like they’re hoping we’ll march out carrying our school trunks and head off for the Hogwarts Express.”
Ron glanced at his watch.
“I’ve been thinking about that all day. It left nearly six hours ago. Weird, not being on it, isn’t it?”
In his mind’s eye Harry seemed to see the scarlet steam engine as he and Ron had once followed it by air, shimmering between fields and hills, a rippling scarlet caterpillar. He was sure Ginny, Neville, and Luna were sitting together at this moment, perhaps wondering where he, Ron, and Hermione were, or debating how best to undermine Snape’s new regime.
“They nearly saw me coming back in just now,” Harry said, “I landed badly on the top step, and the Cloak slipped.”
“I do that every time. Oh, here she is,” Ron added, craning around in his seat to watch Hermione reentering the kitchen. “And what in the name of Merlin’s most baggy Y Fronts was that about?”
“I remembered this,” Hermione panted.
She was carrying a large, framed picture, which she now lowered to the floor before seizing her small, beaded bag from the kitchen sideboard. Opening it, she proceeded to force the painting inside and despite the fact that it was patently too large to fit inside the tiny bag, within a few seconds it had vanished, like so much ease, into the bag’s capacious depths.
“Phineas Nigellus,” Hermione explained as she threw the bag onto the kitchen table with the usual sonorous, clanking crash.
“Sorry?“ said Ron, but Harry understood. The painted image of Phineas Nigellus Black was able to travel between his portrait in Grimmauld Place and the one that hung in the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts: the circular cower-top room where Snape was no doubt sitting right now, in triumphant possession of Dumbledore’s collection of delicate, silver magical instruments, the stone Pensieve, the Sorting Hat and, unless it ad been moved elsewhere, the sword of Gryffindor.
“Snape could send Phineas Nigellus to look inside this house for him,” Hermione explained to Ron as she resumed her seat. “But let him try it now, all Phineas Nigellus will be able to see is the inside of my handbag.”
“Good thinking!” said Ron, looking impressed.
“Thank you,” smiled Hermione, pulling her soup toward her. “So, Harry, what else happened today?”
“Nothing,” said Harry. “Watched the Ministry entrance for seven hours. No sign of her. Saw your dad though, Ron. He looks fine.”
Ron nodded his appreciation of this news. The had agreed that it was far too dangerous to try and communicate with Mr. Weasley while he walked in and out of the Ministry, because he was always surrounded by other Ministry workers. It was, however, reassuring to catch these glimpses of him, even if he did look very strained and anxious.
“Dad always told us most Ministry people use the Floo Network to get to work,” Ron said. “That’s why we haven’t seen Umbridge, she’d never walk, she’d think she’s too important.”
“And what about that funny old witch and that little wizard in the navy robes?” Hermione asked.
“Oh yeah, the bloke from Magical Maintenance,” said Ron.
“How do you know he works for Magical Maintenance?” Hermione asked, her soupspoon suspended in midair.
“Dad said everyone from Magical Maintenance wears navy blue robes.”
“But you never told us that!”
Hermione dropped her spoon and pulled toward her the sheaf of notes and maps that she and Ron had been examining when Harry had entered the kitchen.
“There’s nothing in here about navy blue robes, nothing!” she said, flipping feverishly through the pages.
“Well, does it really matter?”
“Ron, it all matters! If we’re going to get into the Ministry and not give ourselves away when they’re bound to be on the lookout for intruders, every little detail matters! We’ve been over and over this, I mean, what’s the point of all these reconnaissance trips if you aren’t even bothering to tell us – “
“Blimey, Hermione, I forget one little thing – ”
“You do realize, don’t you, that there’s probably no more dangerous place in the whole world for us to be right now than the Ministry of – “
“I think we should do it tomorrow,” said Harry.
Hermione stopped dead, her jaw hanging; Ron choked a little over his soup.
“Tomorrow?” repeated Hermione. “You aren’t serious, Harry?”
“I am,“ said Harry. ”I don’t think we’re going to be much better prepared than we are now even if we skulk around the Ministry entrance for another month. The longer we put it off, the farther away that locket could be. There’s already a good chance Umbridge has chucked it away; the thing doesn’t open.“
“Unless,” said Ron, “she’s found a way of opening it and she’s now possessed.”
“Wouldn’t make any difference to her, she was so evil in the first place,” Harry shrugged.
Hermione was biting her lip, deep in thought.
“We know everything important,“ Harry went on, addressing Hermione. ”We know they’ve stopped Apparition in and out of the Ministry; We know only the most senior Ministry members are allowed to connect their homes to the Floo Network now, because Ron heard those two Unspeakables complaining about it. And we know roughly where Umbridge’s office is, because of what you heard the bearded bloke saying to his mate – “
“‘I’ll be up on level one, Dolores wants to see me,’“ Hermione recited immediately.
“Exactly,” said Harry. “And we know you get in using those funny coins, or tokens, or whatever they are, because I saw that witch borrowing one from her friend – ”
“But we haven’t got any!”
“If the plan works, we will have,” Harry continued calmly.
“I don’t know, Harry, I don’t know … There are an awful lot of things that could go wrong, so much relies on chance …”
“That’ll be true even if we spend another three months preparing,“ said Harry. ”It’s time to act.“
He could tell from Ron’s and Hermione’s faces that they were scared; he was not particularly confident himself, and yet he was sure the time had come to put their plan into operation.
They had spent the previous four weeks taking it in turns to don the Invisibility Cloak and spy on the official entrance to the Ministry, which Ron, thanks to Mr. Weasley, had known since childhood. They had tailed Ministry workers on their way in, eavesdropped on their conversations, and learned by careful observation which of them could be relied upon to appear, alone, at the same time every day. Occasionally there had been a chance to sneak a Daily Prophet out of somebody’s briefcase. 
Slowly they had built up the sketchy maps and notes now stacked in front of Hermione.
“All right,” said Ron slowly, “let’s say we go for it tomorrow … I think it should just be me and Harry.”
“Oh, don’t start that again!” sighed Hermione. “I thought we’d settled this.”
“It’s one thing hanging around the entrances under the Cloak, but this is different. Hermione,“ Ron jabbed a finger at a copy of the Daily Prophet dated ten days previously. ”You’re on the list of Muggle-borns who didn’t present themselves for interrogation!“
“And you’re supposed to be dying of spattergroit at the Burrow! If anyone shouldn’t go, it’s Harry, he’s got a ten-thousand-Galleon price on his head – ”
“Fine, I’ll stay here,“ said Harry. ”Let me know if you ever defeat Voldemort, won’t you?“
As Ron and Hermione laughed, pain shot through the scar on Harry’s forehead. His hand jumped to it. He saw Hermione’s eyes narrow, and he tried to pass off the movement by brushing his hair out of his eyes.
“Well, if all three of us go we’ll have to Disapparate separately,” Ron was saying. “We can’t all fit under the Cloak anymore.”
Harry’s scar was becoming more and more painful. He stood up. At once, Kreacher hurried forward.
“Master has not finished his soup, would master prefer the savory stew, or else the treacle tart to which Master is so partial?”
“Thanks, Kreacher, but I’ll be back in a minute – er – bathroom.”
Aware that Hermione was watching him suspiciously, Harry hurried up the stairs to the hall and then to the first landing, where he dashed into the bathroom and bolted the door again. Grunting with pain, he slumped over the black basin with its taps in the form of open-mouthed serpents and closed his eyes ….
He was gliding along a twilit street. The buildings on either side of him had high, timbered gables; they looked like gingerbread houses. He approached one of them, then saw the whiteness of his own long-fingered hand against the door. He knocked. He felt a mounting excitement …
The door opened: A laughing woman stood there. Her face fell as she looked into Harry’s face: humor gone, terror replacing it ….
“Gregorovitch?” said a high, cold voice.
She shook her head: She was trying to close the door. A white hand held it steady, prevented her shutting him out …
“I want Gregorovitch.”
“Er wohnt hier nicht mehr!“ she cried, shaking her head. ”He no live here! He no live here! I know him not!“
Abandoning the attempt to close the door, she began to back away down the dark hall, and Harry followed, gliding toward her, and his long-fingered hand had drawn his wand.
“Where is he?”
“Das wei? ich nicht! He move! I know not, I know not!“
He raised his hand. She screamed. Two young children came running into the hall. She tried to shield them with her arms. There was a flash of green light –
“Harry! HARRY!”
He opened his eyes; he had sunk to the floor. Hermione was pounding on the door again.
“Harry, open up!”
He had shouted out, he knew it. He got up and unbolted the door; Hermione toppled inside at once, regained her balance, and looked around suspiciously. Ron was right behind her, looking unnerved as he pointed his wand into the corners of the chilly bathroom.
“What were you doing?” asked Hermione sternly.
“What d’you think I was doing?“ asked Harry with feeble bravado.
“You were yelling your head off!” said Ron.
“Oh yeah … I must’ve dozed off or – ”
“Harry, please don’t insult our intelligence,“ said Hermione, taking deep breaths. ”We know your scar hurt downstairs, and you’re white as a sheet.“
Harry sat down on the edge of the bath.
“Fine. I’ve just seen Voldemort murdering a woman. By now he’s probably killed her whole family. And he didn’t need to. It was Cedric all over again, they were just there …“
“Harry, you aren’t supposed to let this happen anymore!“ Hermione cried, her voice echoing through the bathroom. ”Dumbledore wanted you to use Occlumency! HE thought the connection was dangerous – Voldemort can use it, Harry! What good is it to watch him kill and torture, how can it help?“
“Because it means I know what he’s doing,” said Harry.
“So you’re not even going to try to shut him out?“
“Hermione, I can’t. You know I’m lousy at Occlumency. I never got the hang of it.”
“You never really tried!“ she said hotly. ”I don’t get it, Harry – do you like having this special connection or relationship or what – whatever – “
She faltered under the look he gave her as he stood up.
“Like it?“ he said quietly. ”Would you like it?“
“I – no – I’m sorry, Harry. I just didn’t mean – ”
“I hate it, I hate the fact that he can get inside me, that I have to watch him when he’s most dangerous. But I’m going to use it.”
“Dumbledore – ”
“Forget Dumbledore. This is my choice, nobody else’s. I want to know why he’s after Gregorovitch.”
“Who?”
“He’s a foreign wandmaker,” said Harry. “He made Krum’s wand and Krum reckons he’s brilliant.”
“But according to you,” said Ron, “Voldemort’s got Ollivander locked up somewhere. If he’s already got a wandmaker, what does he need another one for?”
“Maybe he agrees with Krum, maybe he thinks Gregorovitch is better … or else he thinks Gregorovitch will be able to explain what my wand did when he was chasing me, because Ollivander didn’t know.”
Harry glanced into the cracked, dusty mirror and saw Ron and Hermione exchanging skeptical looks behind his back.
“Harry, you keep talking about what your wand did,“ said Hermione, ”but you made it happen! Why are you so determined not to take responsibility for your own power?
“
“Because I know it wasn’t me! And so does Voldemort, Hermione! We both know what really happened!”
They glared at each other; Harry knew that he had not convinced Hermione and that she was marshaling counterarguments, against both his theory on his wand and the fact 
that he was permitting himself to see into Voldemort’s mind. To his relief, Ron intervened.
“Drop it,” he advised her. “It’s up to him. And if we’re going to the Ministry tomorrow, don’t you reckon we should go over the plan?”
Reluctantly, as the other two could tell, Hermione let the matter rest, though Harry was quite sure she would attack again at the first opportunity. In the meantime, they returned to the basement kitchen, where Kreacher served them all stew and treacle tart.
They did not get to bed until late that night, after spending hours going over and over their plan until they could recite it, word perfect, to each other. Harry, who was now sleeping in Sirius’s room, lay in bed with his wandlight trained on the old photograph of his father, Sirius, Lupin, and Pettigrew, and muttered the plan to himself for another ten minutes. As he extinguished his wand, however, he was thinking not of Polyjuice Potion, Puking Pastilles, or the navy blue robes of Magical Maintenance; he thought of Gregorovitch the wandmaker, and how long he could hope to remain hidden while Voldemort sought him so determinedly.
Dawn seemed to follow midnight with indecent haste.
“You look terrible,” was Ron’s greeting as he entered the room to wake Harry.
“Not for long,” said Harry, yawning.
They found Hermione downstairs in the kitchen. She was being served coffee and hot rolls by Kreacher and wearing the slightly manic expression that Harry associated with exam review.
“Robes,” she said under her breath, acknowledging their presence with a nervous nod and continuing to poke around in her beaded bag, “Polyjuice Potion … 
Invisibility Cloak … Decoy Detonators … You should each take a couple just in case … Puking Pastilles, Nosebleed Norgat, Extendable Ears …”
They gulped down their breakfast, then set off upstairs, Kreacher bowing them out and promising to have a steak-and-kidney pie ready for them when they returned.
“Bless him,“ said Ron fondly, ”and when you think I used to fantasize about cutting off his head and sticking it on the wall.“
They made their way onto the front step with immense caution. They could see a couple of puffy-eyed Death Eaters watching the house from across the misty square.
Hermione Disapparated with Ron first, then came back for Harry.
After the usual brief spell of darkness and near suffocation, Harry found himself in the tiny alleyway where the first phase of their plan was scheduled to take place. 
It was as yet deserted, except for a couple of large bins; the first Ministry workers did not usually appear here until at least eight o’clock.
“Right then,” said Hermione, checking her watch. “she ought to be here in about five minutes. When I’ve Stunned her – ”
“Hermione, we know,” said Ron sternly. “And I thought we were supposed to open the door before she got here?”
Hermione squealed.
“I nearly forgot! Stand back – ”
She pointed her wand at the padlocked and heavily graffitied fire door beside them, which burst open with a crash. The dark corridor behind it led, as they knew from their careful scouting trips, into an empty theater. Hermione pulled the door back toward her, to make it look as thought it was still closed.
“And now,“ she said, turning, back to face the other two in the alleyway, ”we put on the Cloak again – “
“ – and we wait,” Ron finished, throwing it over Hermione’s head like a blanket over a birdcage and rolling his eyes at Harry.
Little more than a minute later, there was a tiny pop and a little Ministry witch with flyaway gray hair Apparated feet from them, blinking a little in the sudden brightness: the sun had just come out from behind a cloud. She barely had time to enjoy the unexpected warmth, however, before Hermione’s silent Stunning Spell hit her in the chest and she toppled over.
“Nicely done, Hermione,“ said Ron, emerging behind a bin beside the theater door as Harry took off the Invisibility Cloak. Together they carried the little witch into the dark passageway that led backstage. Hermione plucked a few hairs from the witch’s head and added them to a flask of muddy Polyjuice Potion she had taken from the beaded bag. Ron was rummaging through the little witch’s handbag.
“She’s Mafalda Hopkirk,“ he said, reading a small card that identified their victim as an assistant in the Improper Use of Magic Office. ”You’d better take this, Hermione, and here are the tokens.“
He passed her several small golden coins, all embossed with the letters M.O.M. which he had taken from the witch’s purse.
Hermione drank the Polyjuice Potion, which was now a pleasant heliotrope color, and within seconds stood before them, the double of Mafalda Hopkirk. As she removed Mafalda’s spectacles and put them on, Harry checked his watch.
“We’re running late, Mr. Magical Maintenance will be here any second.”
They hurried to close the door on the real Mafalda; Harry and Ron threw the Invisibility Cloak over themselves but Hermione remained in view, waiting. Seconds later there was another pop, and a small, ferrety looking wizard appeared before them.
“Oh, hello, Mafalda.”
“Hello!“ said Hermione in a quavery voice, “How are you today?”
“Not so good, actually,” replied the little wizard, who looked thoroughly downcast.
As Hermione and the wizard headed for the main road, Harry and Ron crept along behind them.
“I’m sorry to hear you’re under the weather,” said Hermione, talking firmly over the little wizard and he tried to expound upon his problems; it was essential to stop him from reaching the street. “Here, have a sweet.”
“Eh? Oh, no thanks – ”
“I insist!“ said Hermione aggressively, shaking the bag of pastilles in his face. Looking rather alarmed, the little wizard took one.
The effect was instantaneous. The moment the pastille touched his tongue, the little wizard started vomiting so hard that he did not even notice as Hermione yanked a handful of hairs from the top of his head.
“Oh dear!” she said, as he splattered the alley with sick. “Perhaps you’d better take the day off!”
“No – no!” He choked and retched, trying to continue on his way despite being unable to walk straight. “I must – today – must go – ”
“But that’s just silly!” said Hermione, alarmed. “You can’t go to work in this state – I think you ought to go to St. Mungo’s and get them to sort you out.”
The wizard had collapsed, heaving, onto all fours, still trying to crawl toward the main street.
“You simply can’t go to work like this!” cried Hermione.
At last he seemed to accept the truth of her words. Using a reposed Hermione to claw his way back into a standing position, he turned on the spot and vanished, leaving nothing behind but the bag Ron had snatched from his hand as he went and some flying chunks of vomit.
“Urgh,” said Hermione, holding up the skirt of her robe to avoid the puddles of sick. “It would have made much less mess to Stun him too.”
“Yeah,” said Ron, emerging from under the cloak holding the wizard’s bag, “but I still think a whole pile of unconscious bodies would have drawn more attention. 
Keen on his job, though, isn’t he? Chuck us the hair and the potion, then.”
Within two minutes, Ron stood before them, as small and ferrety as the sick wizard, and wearing the navy blue robes that had been folded in his bag.
“Weird he wasn’t wearing them today, wasn’t it, seeing how much he wanted to go? Anyway, I’m Reg Cattermole, according to the label in the back.”
“Now wait here,” Hermione told Harry, who was still under the Invisibility Cloak, “and we’ll be back with some hairs for you.”
He had to wait ten minutes, but it seemed much longer to Harry, skulking alone in the sick-splattered alleyway beside the door concealing the Stunned Mafalda. Finally Ron and Hermione reappeared.
“We don’t know who he is,“ Hermione said, passing Harry several curly black hairs, ”but he’s gone home with a dreadful nosebleed! Here, he’s pretty tall, you’ll need bigger robes …“
She pulled out a set of the old robes Kreacher had laundered for them, and Harry retired to take the potion and change.
Once the painful transformation was complete he was more than six feet tall and, from what he could tell from his well-muscled arms, powerfully built. He also had a beard. Stowing the Invisibility Cloak and his glasses inside his new robes, he rejoined the other two.
“Blimey, that’s scary,” said Ron, looking up at Harry, who now towered over him.
“Take one of Mafalda’s tokens,” Hermione told Harry, “and let’s go, it’s nearly nine.”
They stepped out of the alleyway together. Fifty yards along the crowded pavement there were spiked black railings flanking two flights of stairs, one labeled GENTLEMEN, the other LADIES.
“See you in a moment, then,” said Hermione nervously, and she tottered off down the steps to LADIES. Harry and Ron joined a number of oddly dressed men descending into what appeared to be an ordinary underground public toilet, tiled in grimy black and white.
“Morning, Reg!” called another wizard in navy blue robes as he let himself into a cubicle by inserting his golden token into a slot in the door. “Blooming pain in the bum, this, eh? Forcing us all to get to work this way! Who are they expecting to turn up, Harry Potter?”
The wizard roared with laughter at his own wit. Ron gave a forced chuckle.
“Yeah,” he said, “stupid, isn’t it?”
And he and Harry let themselves into adjoining cubicles.
To Harry’s left and right came the sound of flushing. He crouched down and peered through the gap at the bottom of the cubicle, just in time to see a pair of booted feet climbing into the toilet next door. He looked left and saw Ron blinking at him.
“We have to flush ourselves in?” he whispered.
“Looks like it,” Harry whispered back; his voice came out deep and gravelly.
They both stood up. Feeling exceptionally foolish, Harry clambered into the toilet.
He knew at once that he had done the right thing; thought he appeared to be standing in water, his shoes, feet, and robes remained quite dry. He reached up, pulled the chain, and next moment had zoomed down a short chute, emerging out of a fireplace into the Ministry of Magic.
He got up clumsily; there was a lot more of his body than he was accustomed to. The great Atrium seemed darker than Harry remembered it. Previously a golden fountain had filled the center of the hall, casting shimmering spots of light over the polished wooden floor and walls. Now a gigantic statue of black stone dominated the scene. 
It was rather frightening, this vast sculpture of a witch and a wizard sitting on ornately carved thrones, looking down at the Ministry workers toppling out of fireplaces below them. Engraved in foot-high letters at the base of the statue were the words MAGIC IS MIGHT.
Harry received a heavy blow on the back of the legs. Another wizard had just flown out of the fireplace behind him.
“Out of the way, can’t y – oh, sorry, Runcorn.”
Clearly frightened, the balding wizard hurried away. Apparently the man who Harry was impersonating, Runcorn, was intimidating.
“Psst!” said a voice, and he looked around to see a whispy little witch and the ferrety wizard from Magical Maintenance gesturing to him from over beside the statue. 
Harry hastened to join them.
“You got in all right, then?” Hermione whispered to Harry.
“No, he’s still stuck in the hog,” said Ron.
“Oh, very funny … It’s horrible, isn’t it?” she said to Harry, who was staring up at the statue. “Have you seen what they’re sitting on?”
Harry looked more closely and realized that what he had thought were decoratively carved thrones were actually mounds of carved humans: hundreds and hundreds of naked bodies, men, women, and children, all with rather stupid, ugly faces, twisted and pressed together to support the weight of the handsomely robed wizards.
“Muggles,” whispered Hermione, “In their rightful place. Come on, let’s get going.”
They joined the stream of witches and wizards moving toward the golden gates at the end of the hall, looking around as surreptitiously as possible, but there was no sign of the distinctive figure of Dolores Umbridge. They passed through the gates and into a smaller hall, where queues were forming in front of twenty golden grilles housing as many lifts. They had barely joined the nearest one when a voice said, “Cattermole!”
They looked around: Harry’s stomach turned over. One of the Death Eaters who had witnessed Dumbledore’s death was striding toward them. The Ministry workers beside them fell silent, their eyes downcast; Harry could feel fear rippling through them.
The man’s scowling, slightly brutish face was somehow at odds with his magnificent, sweeping robes, which were embroidered with much gold thread. Someone in the crowd around the lifts called sycophantically, “Morning, Yaxley!” Yaxley ignored them.
“I requested somebody from Magical Maintenance to sort out my office, Cattermole. It’s still raining in there.”
Ron looked around as though hoping somebody else would intervene, but nobody spoke.
“Raining … in your office? That’s – that’s not good, is it?”
Ron gave a nervous laugh. Yaxley’s eyes widened.
“You think it’s funny, Cattermole, do you?”
A pair of witches broke away from the queue for the lift and bustled off.
“No,” said Ron, “no, of course – ”
“You realize that I am on my way downstairs to interrogate your wife, Cattermole? In fact, I’m quite surprised you’re not down there holding her hand while she waits. Already given her up as a bad job, have you? Probably wise. Be sure and marry a pureblood next time.”
Hermione had let out a little squeak of horror. Yaxley looked at her. She cough feebly and turned away.
“I – I – ” stammered Ron.
“But if my wife were accused of being a Mudblood,“ said Yaxley, ” – not that any woman I married would ever be mistaken for such filth – and the Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement needed a job doing, I would make it my priority to do this job, Cattermole. Do you understand me?“
“Yes,” whispered Ron.
“Then attend to it, Cattermole, and if my office is not completely dry within an hour, your wife’s Blood Status will be in even greater doubt than it is now.”
The golden grille before them clattered open. With a nod and unpleasant smile to Harry, who was evidently expected to appreciate this treatment of Cattermole, Yaxley swept away toward another lift. Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered theirs, but nobody followed them: It was as if they were infectious. The grilles shut with a clang and the lift began to move upward.
“What am I going to do?” Ron asked the other two at once; he looked stricken. “If I don’t turn up, my wife … I mean, Cattermole’s wife – ”
“We’ll come with you, we should stick together – ” began Harry, but Ron shook his head feverishly.
“That’s mental, we haven’t got much time. You two find Umbridge, I’ll go and sort out Yaxley’s office – but how do I stop a raining?”
“Try Finite Incantatem,” said Hermione at once, “that should stop the rain if it’s a hex or curse; if it doesn’t something’s gone wrong with an Atmospheric Charm, which will be more difficult to fix, so as an interim measure try Impervius to protect his belongings – ”
“Say it again, slowly – “ said Ron, searching his pockets desperately for a quill, but at that moment the lift juddered to a halt. A disembodied female voice said, ”Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau,“ and the grilles slid open again, admitting a couple of wizards and several pale violet paper airplanes that fluttered around the lamp in the ceiling of the lift.
“Morning, Albert,“ said a bushily whiskered man, smiling at Harry. He glanced over at Ron and Hermione as the lift creaked upward once more; Hermione was now whispering frantic instructions to Ron. The wizard leaned toward Harry, leering, and muttering ”Dirk Cresswell, eh? From Goblin Liaison? Nice one, Albert. I’m pretty confident I’ll get his job now!“
He winked. Harry smiled back, hoping that this would suffice. The lift stopped; the grilles opened once more.
“Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services,“ said the disembodied witch’s voice.
Harry saw Hermione give Ron a little push and he hurried out of the lift, followed by the other wizards, leaving Harry and Hermione alone. The moment the golden door had closed Hermione said, very fast, “Actually, Harry, I think I’d better go after him, I don’t think he knows what he’s doing and if he gets caught the whole thing – ”
“Level one, Minister of Magic and Support Staff.”
The golden grilles slid apart again and Hermione gasped. Four people stood before them, two of them deep in conversation: a long-haired wizard wearing magnificent robes of black and gold, and a squat, toadlike witch wearing a velvet bow in her short hair and clutching a clipboard to her chest.
八月渐尽，格里莫广场中央疯长的草坪在骄阳底下日趋枯萎，直到变得暗黄枯干。周围房子里面的人从来没有看见过12号的住户，也从没有看到过12号这幢房子。住在格里莫广场的麻瓜们早已接受了11号直接坐落在13号旁边的这个有趣的编号错误。 
　　然而广场现在却吸引了一些对这个异常非常感兴趣的人。几乎每一天都有一两个人到格里莫广场来是带着目的，或着好像是这样，只是倚着栏杆面对着11号和13号，观望着两幢房子之间的连接处。两天以来来得人从来都不一样，虽然他们都好像不喜欢正常的穿着。大多数路过他们的伦敦人都习惯了他们古怪的着装并不怎么注意，尽管偶尔他们当中的一个也许会扫视过来，惊讶为什么有人会在如此高的温度下穿着那么长的斗篷。 
　　监视者的密切观察并没有让他们找到多少乐子。偶尔他们当中的一个开始兴奋地走上前去，好像他们终于看到了有意思的事情，然而最后还是失望地回来。 
　　九月的第一天广场上比以往来了更多监视的人。六个穿着长斗篷的男人安静而警惕地站着，凝视着11和13号两幢房子，但是他们所等待的那件事情仍旧摸不着头脑。随着夜晚的到来，许多星期以来第一次下起了一场不期而至的寒冷的雨，当他们好像发现有意思的东西时一些不可思议的事情出现了，一个长着扭曲的脸的男人指着什么东西，离他最近的伙伴，一个矮胖，苍白的男人开始向前走去，但是只过了一会他们就又松驰到以前静止的状态，看上去懊恼又失望。与此同时，在12号的里面，哈利刚刚进了大厅。当他幻影移形到前门外面最高一层台阶时差点失去平衡，他觉得食死徒也许瞥到了他短暂暴露的手肘。哈利小心地把他身后的前门关上并脱下了他的隐形衣，披在他的手臂上并匆匆沿着昏暗的过道走向通往地下室的门，一份偷来的预言家日报紧紧攥在他的手里。 
　　他听到了那经常听到的低声细语“西弗勒斯 斯内普”，寒风横扫过他的脸，哈利卷了一下舌头。 
　　“不是我杀了你，”当他把舌头放下来的时候他说，然后屏着呼吸直到这肮脏的不详的人影消散。他等到他走下了厨房阶梯一半时，确信他在布莱克夫人的听力所及范围和纷纷扬扬的灰尘之外时叫道：“我有消息，但是你们不会喜欢的。” 
　　厨房几乎变得认不出来了。每样东西的表面现在都闪闪发光：铜锅和铜盘被擦得闪着玫瑰色的光，木桌面闪着微光，早已为晚餐准备好的高脚杯和碟子在愉快燃烧着的火焰的映衬下闪耀着微光，一个坩埚在火上慢慢地煮着。然而，房间里没有一样东西比匆匆向哈利跑去的家养小精灵更加显著的不同，他穿着雪白的毛巾，它耳朵里的毛发像棉花一样干净并且毛茸茸的，雷古拉斯的金属吊坠盒弹跳在他的胸前。 
　　“请把鞋脱下来，主人哈利，在晚饭前洗一下手，”克利切沙哑地说，抓住隐形衣懒洋洋地把他挂在墙上的一个钩子上，旁边挂着许多刚刚熨过的旧式长袍。 
　　“发生了什么事？”罗恩担心地问道。赫敏和罗恩一直在注视着杂乱布满厨房长桌尾部的一捆便条和手绘地图，但是现在他们看着哈利当他向他们迈着大步走去并在他们散乱的羊皮纸的顶部扔下一份报纸。 
　　一张十分大的有着鹰钩鼻，黑头发，他们熟悉的男人的照片注视着他们，在下面有一行头条写着：　
　　西弗勒斯·斯内普任命为霍格沃茨校长　
　　“不！”罗恩和赫敏同时大声喊道。 
　　赫敏反应最快；她抓起报纸并开始大声读剩下的内容。　
　　“西弗勒斯·斯内普，长期担任霍格沃茨魔法学校的魔药学教师，今天在这古老学校的最重要的一次教员调动时被任命为校长。还有由于前麻瓜研究老师的辞职，阿列克托 加罗将接管这个职位同时她的兄弟，阿米克斯，将填补黑魔法防御术教授这一席位的空缺。　
　　“我对这一可以继续支持我们最好的巫师传统和价值的机会表示欢迎”，“比如犯罪和割下人们的耳朵！斯内普，校长！斯内普在邓布利多的书房里——哦！天哪！”她尖叫道，使哈利罗恩两个人同时吓了一跳，她从桌子上跳下来，飞一般冲出房间，一边大喊，“我马上回来！” 
　　“天哪？”罗恩重复道，看上去觉得很开心。“她一定气死了。”他把报纸拉过来并细细阅读关于斯内普的那篇文章。 
　　“其他的老师不会赞同的。麦格，弗立维和斯普劳特都知道真相，他们知道邓布利多怎么死的。他们不会接受斯内普当校长。还有那些加罗是谁？” 
　　“食死徒，”哈利说。“里面有他们的照片，当斯内普杀死邓布利多时他们在塔楼顶上，所以他们几个朋友又在一起了。还有，”哈利苦涩地继续说道，抓起一把椅子，“我不认为其他老师除了留下来还有什么别的选择。如果魔法部和伏地魔在背后支持斯内普的话，对于他们，不是留下来任教就是去阿兹卡班度过“愉快”的几年——如果他们幸运的话。我认为他们会留下来并试图保护学生。” 
　　克利切拿着一个大蒸锅蹦跳地跑到桌子前，把汤舀到古旧的碗里，用两排牙齿吹着口哨。 
　　“谢谢，克利切，”哈利说，把报纸翻过来这样他就不用看着斯内普的脸。“嗯，至少我们现在确切地知道斯内普在哪里。” 
　　他开始舀出一勺汤并把它放入嘴里。自从他把雷古拉斯的吊坠盒给了克利切后他的厨艺有了显著的改善：今天的法国洋葱是哈利吃过的最好吃的。 
　　“还是有许多食死徒监视着这座房子，”他一边吃一边告诉罗恩，“比往常的还多。好像他们希望我们拖着我们的行李大踏步走向霍格沃茨特快列车。” 
　　罗恩扫了一眼他的手表。 
　　“我一整天都在想这个。它六个小时之前开走了。太奇怪了，我们竟没有在上面，不是吗？” 
　　从他的心里哈利好像看到了那一次他和罗恩乘着飞车在空中跟随它所看见的鲜红色冒着蒸汽的火车，在田野和山丘中闪着微光，像一条蠕动的鲜红毛虫。他十分确定金妮，纳威和卢娜这时候一定坐在一起，也许在猜想他，罗恩和赫敏在哪里，或者为怎样最好地暗中破坏斯内普的制度而辩论。 
　　“刚刚他们差点看到我进来，”哈利说。“我在最高一级阶梯糟糕地着陆，斗篷滑了一下。” 
　　“我每次都这样。哦，她来了，”罗恩加上了一句，随即在他的位子上伸长脖子看着赫敏再次踏入厨房，“天啊！” 
　　“我记起这个，”赫敏气喘吁吁地说道。 
　　她拿着一个很大的有镜框的画像。她把画像放低到地板上，然后一个珠子装饰的小袋从厨房的食具柜里抓出来。把它打开，她开始把画像强塞进去，尽管事实上这幅画像明显装不进这么个小袋，然而几秒钟内它就消失了，像许多别的一样，坠入小袋无尽的深渊。 
　　“菲尼阿斯 尼古拉斯，”当赫敏把小袋扔到桌子上，伴随着往常的响亮哐当声时她解释道。 
　　“什么？”罗恩说，但是哈利明白了。所画的菲尼阿斯 尼古拉斯 
　　布莱克能够在他的格里莫广场的肖像和挂在霍格沃茨校长办公室里的肖像上轻松来回行走：斯内普毫无疑问正坐在那塔楼顶部的圆形房间里，胜利的拥有了邓布利多所收集的精美的银制魔法器具，石制冥想盆，分院帽和格兰芬多的剑，除非它已经被放到别的地方。 
　　“斯内普可以派遣菲尼阿斯 尼古拉斯来这个屋子查看，“赫敏一边回到位子上一边对罗恩解释道，“但是现在让他试试吧，菲尼阿斯 
　　尼古拉斯所能够看见的就只有我的手提包的里面。” 
　　“想得太好了！”罗恩说道，对于赫敏所做的暗自佩服。 
　　“谢谢，”赫敏笑着说，把她的汤移到她面前。“那么哈利，今天还发生了什么事？” 
　　“没什么。”哈利说。“我监视了魔法部入口有七个小时。没有她的行踪。但是看见了你的爸爸了，罗恩，他看上去很好。” 
　　罗恩听了这个消息感谢地点点头。他们一致同意当韦斯莱先生出入魔法部时去和他沟通太危险，因为他周围一直都有魔法部工作人员，然而，匆匆瞥了他几眼还是很让人放心的，虽然他看上去确实有些勉强和紧张。 
　　“爸爸一直告诉我大部分魔法部工作人员都用飞路网去上班，”罗恩说。“这就是为什么我们没有看到乌姆里奇，她从来不走着来，她把她自己看得太重要了。” 
　　“那个滑稽的老女巫和穿着藏青色袍子的小巫师呢？”赫敏问。 
　　“哦，是魔法维修司的家伙，”罗恩说。 
　　“你怎么知道他在魔法维修司工作？”赫敏问，她的汤勺悬浮在空中。 
　　“爸爸说魔法维修司的每个人都穿着藏青色的袍子。” 
　　“你从来都没有告诉过我们那个！” 
　　赫敏放下勺子并把刚刚哈利进来时她和罗恩正在检查的一捆便条和地图拉过来。 
　　“这里没有谈到藏青色的袍子，没有！“赫敏说，激动地翻看着。 
　　“那个这真的要紧吗？“ 
　　“罗恩，它们都要紧！如果我们想要去魔法部并且在他们都密切注视侵入者的情况下不暴露自己，每个小细节都很重要！我们一直在这样做，我是说，这些侦查工作有什么意义，如果你都不愿意告诉我们——” 
　　“哎呀，赫敏，我只是忘了一件小事情——” 
　　“你还没有意识到，不是吗，现在世界上任何地方不会比我们到魔法部更危险——” 
　　“我认为我们明天应该开始行动，”哈利说。 
　　赫敏呆住了，惊讶得张着嘴；罗恩被汤呛着了。 
　　“明天？”赫敏重复道。“你不是认真的吧，哈利？” 
　　“我是认真的，”哈利说，“我不认为再在魔法部路口偷偷摸摸监视一个月会比我们现在更有准备。我们拖得越久，挂坠盒离我们就越远。乌姆里奇已经有足够的机会把它扔掉；这样东西打不开。” 
　　“除非，”罗恩说，“她已经找到一种打开它的方法并已得到了它。” 
　　“对于她来说并不会有什么区别，她那么邪恶，”哈利耸了耸肩。 
　　赫敏紧咬着嘴唇，陷入沉思。 
　　“我们了解的每样东西都很重要，”哈利继续对赫敏说道，“我们知道他们已经停止了在部里幻影移形。我们知道现在只有最高层的部门成员才被允许用飞路网和他们家里连接，因为罗恩听到两个缄默人在抱怨此事。并且我们粗略地知道乌姆里奇的办公室在哪里，因为你听到那个有着胡须的家伙在和他的同事说——“ 
　　“我要到第一层去，多洛雷丝想要见我，”赫敏立刻背了出来。 
　　“没错，”哈利说。“而且我们知道要用那些滑稽的硬币，或辅币，随便它们是什么来进入，因为我看见那个女巫从她朋友那借了一个——” 
　　“但是我们没有！” 
　　“如果计划成功，我们会有，”哈利镇静地说。 
　　“我不知道，哈利，我不知道…有一大堆事情会出问题，那么多需要靠运气…” 
　　“就算我们再准备三个月情况还会这样，”哈利说。“是时候行动了。” 
　　他们花了前面四个星期的时间轮流披着隐形衣去监视魔法部的官方入口，那要感谢罗恩的父亲，因为罗恩自童年起就知道那个入口。他们尾随着工作人员进入入口，偷听他们的谈话并仔细观察他们当中哪个每天同一时间独自出现。偶尔有机会从某人的箱子里偷到一份预言家日报。慢慢的，他们就积累了现在正堆在赫敏面前的粗略的地图和便条。 
　　“好吧，”罗恩慢悠悠的说，“那就是说我们明天行动……我认为应该由我和哈利去” 
　　“噢，别再提这个了！”赫敏叹口气说。“我以为我们已经决定了。” 
　　“那是穿着隐形衣在入口附近侦查，但这可不一样，赫敏，”罗恩用手戳着一份十天前的预言家日报说。“你已经上了没有参加审讯的麻瓜出身的巫师黑名单！” 
　　“而你有可能在陋居得死斑谷病死掉！如果有谁不能去，应该是哈利，他的脑袋悬赏一万加隆呢” 
　　“好吧，我留在这儿，”哈利说。“让我等着你们打败伏地魔的好消息，你们会吧” 
　　罗恩和赫敏笑了起来，哈利额头上的伤疤突然疼了起来。他的手一下子捂住了它，看到赫敏疑惑的眼神，他假装把挡着眼睛的头发捋了捋。 
　　“好吧，我们三个都去，我们最好分开移行幻影，”罗恩说着。“我们不可能都藏在隐形衣下” 
　　哈利的伤疤越来越疼了，他站了起来，这时克利切冲了过来。 
　　“主人还没有喝完汤呢，主人还想要点美味的炖肉吗？还是主人一直偏爱的糖松饼？” 
　　“谢谢，克利切，我去趟……恩……洗手间，马上回来。” 
　　意识到赫敏正疑惑地看着他，哈利迅速下楼来到大厅并跑到一楼，他冲进浴室并再次闩上了门。哈利痛苦地咕哝着，把身体沉入有着张着大嘴形状的蛇形水龙头的黑色浴盆，闭上了眼睛…… 
　　他正沿着一条沉浸在柔和的微光中的街道滑行，在他两侧的建筑物有着大大的木制山形墙，它们看上去就象是华而不实的房子。他接近了其中一幢房子，然后看到自己苍白的长着长指甲的手放在了门上。他开始敲门，并感到一种内心升起一种兴奋…… 
　　门开了，一位女士大笑着站在那儿。当她低下头看到哈利的脸时，她脸上的笑容消失了，取而代之的是恐惧…… 
　　一个冷冰冰的高音问道：“格里戈维奇？” 
　　她摇着头，一边试图把门关上。一支苍白的手牢牢地抓着门，以防她把他关在门外…… 
　　“我要找格里戈维奇。” 
　　“他不在这（德语）!”她边摇头边叫起来，“他不住在这儿！他不住在这儿！我认识不他！” 
　　放弃了关门的努力，她开始向身后车黑暗的大厅里退去。哈利紧跟着向她滑行过去，长着长指甲的手抽出了魔杖…… 
　　“他在哪？” 
　　“他走了（德语）!走了！我知不道！我知不道！” 
　　他抬起手，她尖叫着。两个小孩子跑进了大厅里，她试图用自己的双臂保护他们。一道绿光闪过—— 
　　“哈利! 哈利！” 
　　他睁开眼，发现自己已经出溜到了地板上。赫敏又在重重地砸着门。 
　　“哈利，快开门！” 
　　他刚才肯定是大喊了，他知道。哈利站起身打开门，赫敏立刻栽了进来，但她很快恢复了平衡并且疑惑地四下查看着。罗恩就在她身后，看上去有点失常。他正用魔杖指着寒冷浴室的角落。 
　　“你刚才在干什么？”赫敏严厉地责问道。 
　　“你觉得我在干什么？”哈利底气不足地反问。 
　　“你刚才在高喊你的头要掉了。”罗恩说。 
　　“是吗……我刚才打瞌睡了，要不然就是——” 
　　“哈利，请别侮辱我们的智力。”赫敏边说边深深地喘着气，“我们知道你在楼下，伤疤痛得利害，而且你的脸色白得象张纸。” 
　　哈利在浴室门边坐下。 
　　“好吧。刚才我看到伏地魔谋杀了一个女人，而且他很可能杀了她的全家。他根本没必要这么做。这简直就象是杀害另一个塞德里克一样，他们不过只是呆在那里……” 
　　“哈利，你不该再让这样的情况发生。”赫敏叫起来，她的声音在浴室里回荡着。“邓布利多让你要使用大脑封闭术。他认为你们之间的联系是危险的——伏地魔也能利用它，哈利！只是能看到他在杀人折磨人，有什么用处？” 
　　“至少我知道他在干什么。”哈利说。 
　　“所以你甚至都没有试过要把他关在你的脑子外面？” 
　　“赫敏，我做不到。你知道我对大脑封闭术恶心坏了。我从来没有掌握过它。” 
　　“你根本没有真正试过！”赫敏激烈地说道，“我不管，哈利——你是不是一直都喜欢这种特殊的联系，或是关系，或是——不管什么——” 
　　当她看到哈利站起身看她的样子时，赫敏语无伦次了。 
　　“喜欢它？”哈利平静地说，“你会喜欢它吗？” 
　　“我——不——我很抱歉，哈利。我并不是这个意思——” 
　　“我恨它，我恨他进入到我脑子里的那张脸。在他最危险的时候我不得不看着他。但我还是要用它！” 
　　“邓布利多——” 
　　“忘了邓布利多吧。这是我们自己的选择，不是别人的。我想知道他为什么要追杀。” 
　　“谁？” 
　　“格里戈维奇是国外的一个魔杖制作商。”哈利说道，“他为克鲁姆制造了魔杖，克鲁姆认为他很有才气。” 
　　“可是据你所说，”罗恩说，“伏地魔已经把奥利凡德关在了什么地方。他已经有了一个魔杖制作商，还要另外一个做什么？” 
　　“也许伏地魔同意克鲁姆的想法，认为格里戈维奇更优秀些……要不然就是伏地魔觉得格里戈维奇能够解释在他追杀我时我的魔杖作出的反应。因为奥利凡德不知道。” 
　　哈利瞥了一眼破裂肮脏的镜子，看到赫敏和罗恩在他身后交换着怀疑的目光。 
　　“哈利你一直在说你的魔杖干了什么，”赫敏说，“但是你让它发生了。为什么你如此坚决地不为你自己的力量承担责任呢？” 
　　“因为我知道那不是我！伏地魔也知道，赫敏。我们都知道到底发生了什么。” 
　　他们两人瞪着对方；哈利知道他还没有说服赫敏，而她正在准备与他争辩：不仅要反驳他所提出的他的魔杖的说法，还要反对他允许自己窥探伏地魔的想法这一事实。使哈利感到安慰的是罗恩岔开了话题。 
　　“得了吧。”他向她建议道，“让他去吧。如果明天我们要到魔法部去，你不认为我们应该把计划再过一遍吗？” 
　　在另外两人能够开口前，赫敏极不情愿地把这事放下了。然而哈利清楚地意识到，只要一有机会她就会再次反驳他。这时他们回到地下室的厨房里，克利切向他们提供了炖肉和蜜糖小烘饼。 
　　他们花了几个小时一遍遍地复习他们的计划，直至他们彼此可以一字不漏地背诵它为止。这天晚上他们很晚才上床。哈利现在已经睡到了小天狼星的房间里。他躺在床上，一边用魔杖的光在他父亲、小天狼星、卢平和小矮星的旧照片上划着轨迹，一边又花了十分钟自个儿嘀咕着计划。然而当他熄灭魔杖的光芒时，他想到的不是复方汤剂、昏迷花糖或是魔法维护司藏青色的袍子，而是魔杖商格里戈维奇。在伏地魔如此坚决的搜寻下，他还能够躲藏多久呢？ 
　　黎明似乎很不礼貌地急勿勿地紧跟着午夜之后到来了。 
　　“你看起来很糟糕，”罗恩走进房间叫醒哈利的时候说。 
　　“一会就好了，”哈利打着哈欠说。 
　　他们发现赫敏在楼下的厨房里，克利切给她端上咖啡和热丸子。她脸上有点神经质的表情让哈利联想到考试复习。 
　　“长袍，”她低声说着，看见他们来了，紧张的点了点头，接着在她那个用珠子装饰的袋子里翻着，“复方汤剂……隐形衣……诱饵炸弹……以防万一你最好带两个……呕吐片，鼻血牛扎糖，顺风耳……” 
　　他们胡乱吞下了早餐，向楼上出发，克利切送他们出去，并许诺等他们回来给他们做鱼肾饼。 
　　“上帝保佑它，”罗恩亲切地说，“你们知道我曾经想过把它的头拧下来摔到墙上。” 
　　他们万份小心的走到门前的台阶，可以看见两个监视的食死徒正透着广场的迷雾盯着房子。 
　　赫敏和罗恩先幻影移行，哈利跟在后面。 
　　一段短暂的黑暗和窒息后，哈里发现自己在他们制定好的计划第一步的小巷里，这里空荡荡的，除了几个大箱子。至少在八点以前第一批魔法部的工人通常是不会出现的。 
　　“下一步，”赫敏对了对表说。“她大约五分钟内就到这里，我们把她弄晕—” 
　　“赫敏，我们知道，”罗恩尖刻的说。“我觉得在她来之前我们应该把门打开？” 
　　赫敏尖叫起来。 
　　“我差点忘了，往后站—” 
　　她用魔杖对着他们身后紧锁着涂抹地很严重的防火门挥去，伴着金属撞击的声，门被打开了。一条阴暗的走廊在面前，他们通过仔细的侦察知道，它通向一个空置的戏院。 
　　“现在，”她转过身对着小巷里的两个人说，“我们再穿上隐形衣—” 
　　“然后我们等着，”罗恩说完，把隐形衣盖到赫敏的头上，就像把一个毯子盖在鸟笼上一样，然后对着哈里转了转眼珠。 
　　不到一分钟后，随着细微的爆破声，一个蓬松灰色头发的小个魔法部女巫移行幻影在他们面前。刚刚从云中露出脸的太阳发出的光亮晃得她睁不开眼。她还没来得及享受着意外的温暖，就被赫敏用无声昏迷咒击中了胸部倒在地上。 
　　“好样的，赫敏，”罗恩说，哈利脱下了隐形衣，他们出现在一个大箱子后面。他们一起把这个小个女巫抬到通向后台的阴暗的过道里。赫敏拔下女巫的几根头发，把它们放进她从她那个用珠子装饰的袋子中拿出的一瓶装着泥一样的复方汤剂中。罗恩则翻着这个小个女 
　　巫的手袋。 
　　“她是马法尔达·霍普柯克，”他看着一个小卡片说，那写着他们的受害者是禁止滥用魔法司的一名助理。“你最好拿着这个，赫敏，这是代币。” 
　　他递给她几个刻着M·O·M字母的小金币，这是她从女巫的钱包中拿出来的。 
　　赫敏喝下有着令人愉快的淡紫色的复方汤剂，几秒钟后，又一个马法尔达·霍普柯克站在他们面前，她拿下马法尔达的眼睛戴上。哈利对了对表。 
　　“我们要晚了，魔法维护司的人随时会到。” 
　　他们赶紧关上门，把真正的马法尔达关在里面；哈利和罗恩再次披上隐形衣。赫敏还在外面等着，几秒钟后又是一阵微弱的爆破声，一个长得像雪貂一样的小个巫师出现在他们面前。 
　　“噢，你好，马法尔达。” 
　　“你好！”赫敏用带着颤音的声音说，“你今天怎么样？” 
　　“事实上不是很好，”小个巫师回答说，看上去十分沮丧。 
　　赫敏和巫师走向大道时，哈利和罗恩跟在后面。 
　　“听到你的回答我感到很遗憾，”当小个巫师解释他的问题时，赫敏镇静的回答。必须在他们走到街上前阻止他。“来，吃块糖。” 
　　“嗯？哦，不用了，谢谢—” 
　　“我坚持！”赫敏强势地说，把一袋子的药在他面前晃着。小个巫师看起来很害怕，就拿出一个吃下去。 
　　效果马上就显现出来，药片一放到他嘴里，小个巫师就开始猛烈的呕吐，以至于都没注意到赫敏拽下了他一把头发。 
　　“噢，该死！”她说，看着他把呕吐物溅在小巷里。“也许你应该休息一天！” 
　　“不—不！”他吐的都快窒息了，还是坚持继续走，即使已经不能直着走路了。“我必须—今天—必须去—” 
　　“别傻了！”赫敏警告他，“你这样根本不能工作—我觉得你应该去圣芒戈医院让他们看看你。” 
　　巫师倒在地上，试图用四肢站起来，仍然试着爬向大街。 
　　“你这样根本不能工作！”赫敏大叫着 
　　最后他总算接受了她所说的事实，抓着赫敏好能站起来，他渐渐消失在路的尽头，只留下罗恩从他手里抓下来的皮包，以及一些还在飞溅的呕吐物。 
　　“嗯，”赫敏说，拎起她长袍的裙子以免沾上呕吐物。“也把他弄晕的话就没有这么脏了。” 
　　“是呀，”罗恩说
Chapter 13 The Muggle-born Registration Commission
Ah, Mafalda!” said Umbridge, looking at Hermione. “Travers sent you, did he?”
“Y-yes,” squeaked Hermione.
“God, you’ll do perfectly well.” Umbridge spoke to the wizard in black and gold. “That’s that problem solved. Minister, if Mafalda can be spared for record-keeping we shall be able to start straightaway.” She consulted her clipboard. “Ten people today and one of them the wife of a Ministry employee! Tut, tut… even here, in the heart of the Ministry!” She stepped into the lift besides Hermione, as did the two wizards who had been listening to Umbridge’s conversation with the Minister. “We’ll go straight down, Mafalda, you’ll find everything you need in the courtroom. Good morning, Albert, aren’t you getting out?”
“Yes, of course,” said Harry in Runcorn’s deep voice.
Harry stepped out of the life. The golden grilles clanged shut behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry saw Hermione’s anxious face sinking back out of sight, a tall wizard on either side of her, Umbridge’s velvet hair-bow level with her shoulder.
“What brings you here, Runcorn?” asked the new Minister of Magic. His long black hair and beard were streaked with silver and a great overhanging forehead shadowed his glinting eyes, putting Harry in the mind of a crab looking out from beneath a rock.
“Needed a quick word with,” Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second, “Arthur Weasley. Someone said he was up on level one.”
“Ah,” said Plum Thicknesse. “Has he been caught having contact with an Undesirable?”
“No,” said Harry, his throat dry. “No, nothing like that.”
“Ah, well. It’s only a matter of time,” said Thicknesse. “If you ask me, the blood traitors are as bad as the Mudbloods. Good day, Runcorn.”
“Good day, Minister.”
Harry watched Thicknesse march away along the thickly carpeted corridor. The moment the Minister had passed out of sight, Harry tugged the Invisibility Cloak out from under his heavy black cloak, threw it over himself, and set off along the corridor in the opposite direction. Runcorn was so tall that Harry was forced to stoop to make sure his big feet were hidden.
Panic pulsed in the pit of his stomach. As he passed gleaming wooden door after gleaming wooden door, each bearing a small plaque with the owner’s name and occupation upon it, the might of the Ministry, its complexity, its impenetrability, seemed to force itself upon him so that the plan he had been carefully concocting with Ron and Hermione over the past four weeks seemed laughably childish. They had concentrated all their efforts on getting inside without being detected: They had not given a moment’s thought to what they would do if they were forced to separate. Now Hermione was stuck in court proceedings, which would undoubtedly last hours; Ron was struggling to do magic that Harry was sure was beyond him, a woman’s liberty possibly depending on the outcome, and he, Harry, was wandering around on the top floor when he knew perfectly well that his quarry had just gone down in the lift.
He stopped walking, leaned against a wall, and tried to decide what to do. The silence pressed upon him: There was no bustling or talk or swift footsteps here the purple-carpeted corridors were as hushed as though the Muffliato charm had been cast over the place.
Her office must be up here, Harry thought.
It seemed most unlikely that Umbridge would keep her jewelry in her office, but on the other hand it seemed foolish not to search it to make sure. He therefore set off along the corridor again, passing nobody but a frowning wizard who was murmuring instructions to a quill that floated in front of him, scribbling on a trail of parchment.
Now paying attention to the names on the doors, Harry turned a corner. Halfway along the next corridor he emerged into a wide, open space where a dozen witches and wizards sat in rows at small desks not unlike school desks, though much more highly polished and free from graffiti. Harry paused to watch them, for the effect was quite mesmerizing. They were all waving and twiddling their wands in unison, and squares of colored paper were flying in every direction like little pink kites. After a few seconds, Harry realized that there was a rhythm to the proceedings, that the papers all formed the same pattern and after a few more seconds he realized what he was watching was the creation of pamphlets – that the paper squares were pages, which, when assembled, folded and magicked into place, fell into neat stacks beside each witch or wizard.
Harry crept closer, although the workers were so intent on what they were doing that he doubted they would notice a carpet-muffled footstep, and he slid a completed pamphlet from the pile beside a young witch. He examined it beneath the Invisibility Cloak. Its pink cover was emblazoned with a golden title:
 
Mudbloodsand the Dangers They Pose to a Peaceful Pure-Blood SocietyBeneath the title was a picture of a red rose with a simpering face in the middle of its petals, being strangled by a green weed with fangs and a scowl. There was no author’s name upon the pamphlet, but again, the scars on the back of his right hand seemed to tingle as he examined it. Then the young witch beside him confirmed his suspicion as she said, still waving and twirling her wand, “Will the old hag be interrogating Mudbloods all day, does anyone know?”
“Careful,” said the wizard beside her, glancing around nervously; one of his pages slipped and fell to the floor.
“What, has she got magic ears as well as an eye, now?”
The witch glanced toward the shining mahogany door facing the space full of pamphlet-makers; Harry looked too, and the rage reared in him like a snake. Where there might have been a peephole on a Muggle front door, a large, round eye with a bright blue iris had been set into the wood – an eye that was shockingly familiar to anybody who had known Alastor Moody.
For a split second Harry forgot where he was and what he was doing there: He even forgot that he was invisible. He strode straight over to the door to examine the eye. 
It was not moving. It gazed blindly upward, frozen. The plaque beneath it read:
 
Dolores UmbridgeSenior Undersecretary to the Minister
 
Below that a slightly shinier new plaque read:
 
Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission
 
Harry looked back at the dozen pamphlet-makers: Though they were intent upon their work, he could hardly suppose that they would not notice if the door of an empty office opened in front of them. He therefore withdrew from an inner pocket an odd object with little waving legs and a rubber-bulbed horn for a body. Crouching down beneath the Cloak, he placed the Decoy Detonator on the ground.
It scuttled away at once through the legs of the witches and wizards in front of him. A few moments later, during which Harry waited with his hand upon the doorknob, there came a loud bang and a great deal of acrid smoke billowed from a corner. The young witch in the front row shrieked: Pink pages flew everywhere as she and her fellows jumped up, looking around for the source of the commotion. Harry turned the doorknob, stepped into Umbridge’s office, and closed the door behind him.
He felt he had stepped back in time. The room was exactly like Umbridge’s office at Hogwarts: Lace draperies, doilies and dried flowers covered every surface. The walls bore the same ornamental plates, each featuring a highly colored, beribboned kitten, gamboling and frisking with sickening cuteness. The desk was covered with a flouncy, flowered cloth. Behind Mad-eye’s eye, a telescopic attachment enabled Umbridge to spy on the workers on the other side of the door. Harry took a look through it and saw that they were all still gathered around the Decoy Detonator. He wrenched the telescope out of the door, leaving a hole behind, pulled the magical eyeball out of it, and placed it in his pocket. The he turned to face the room again, raised his wand, and murmured, “Accio Locker.”
Nothing happened, but he had not expected it to; no doubt Umbridge knew all about protective charms and spells. He therefore hurried behind her desk and began pulling open all the drawers. He saw quills and notebooks and Spellotape; enchanted paper clips that coiled snakelike from their drawer and had be beaten back; a fussy little lace box full of spare hair bows and clips; but no sign of a locket.
There was a filing cabinet behind the desk: Harry set to searching it. Like Filch’s filing cabinet at Hogwarts, it was full of folders, each labeled with a name. It was not until Harry reached the bottommost drawer that he saw something to distract him from the search: Mr. Weasley’s file.
He pulled it out and opened it.
 
Arthur Weasley
 
Blood Status:  Pureblood, but with unacceptable pro-Muggle leanings. Known member of the Order of the Phoenix.  Family:  Wife (pureblood), seven children, two youngest at Hogwarts. NB: Youngest son currently at home, seriously ill, Ministry inspectors have confirmed.  Security Status:  TRACKED. All movements are being monitored. Strong likelihood Undesirable No. 1 will contact (has stayed with Weasley family previously)  
 
 
 
“Undesirable Number One,“ Harry muttered under his breath as he replaced Mr. Weasley’s folder and shut the drawer. He had an idea he knew who that was, and sure enough, as he straightened up and glanced around the office for fresh hiding places he saw a poster of himself on the wall, with the words UNDESIRABLE NO. 1 emblazoned across his chest. A little pink note was stuck to it with a picture of a kitten in the corner. Harry moved across to read it and saw that Umbridge had written, ”To be punished.“
Angrier than ever, he proceeded to grope in the bottoms of the vases and baskets of dried flowers, but was not at all surprised that the locket was not there. He gave the office one last sweeping look, and his heart skipped a beat. Dumbledore was staring at him from a small rectangular mirror, propped up on a bookcase beside the desk.
Harry crossed the room at a run and snatched it up, but realized that the moment he touched it that it was not a mirror at all. Dumbledore was smiling wistfully out of the front cover of a glossy book. Harry had not immediately noticed the curly green writing across his hat – The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore – nor the slightly smaller writing across his chest: “by Rita Skeeter, bestselling author of Armando Dippet: Master or Moron?”
Harry opened the book at random and saw a full-page photograph of two teenage boys, both laughing immoderately with their arms around each other’s shoulders. 
Dumbledore, now with elbow-length hair, had grown a tiny wispy beard that recalled the one on Krum’s chin that had so annoyed Ron. The boy who roared in silent amusement beside Dumbledore had a gleeful, wild look about him. His golden hair fell in curls to his shoulders. Harry wondered whether it was a young Doge, but before he could check the caption, the door of the office opened.
If Thicknesse had not been looking over his shoulder as he entered, Harry would not have had time to pull the Invisibility Cloak over himself. As it was, he thought Thicknesse might have caught a glimpse of movement, because for a moment or two he remained quite still, staring curiously at the place where Harry had just vanished. 
Perhaps deciding that that all he had seen was Dumbledore scratching his nose on the front of the book, for Harry had hastily replaced it upon the shelf. Thicknesse finally walked to the desk and pointed his wand at the quill standing ready in the ink pot. It sprang out and began scribbling a note to Umbridge. Very slowly, hardly daring to breathe, Harry backed out of the office into the open area beyond.
The pamphlet-makers were still clustered around the remains of the Decoy Detonator, which continued to hoot feebly as it smoked. Harry hurried off up the corridor as the young witch said, “I bet it sneaked up here from Experimental Charms, they’re so careless, remember that poisonous duck?”
Speeding back toward the lifts, Harry reviewed his options. It had never been likely that the locket was here at the Ministry, and there was no hope of bewitching its whereabouts out of Umbridge while she was sitting in a crowded court. Their priority now had to be to leave the Ministry before they were exposed, and try again another day. The first thing to do was to find Ron, and then they could work out a way of extracting Hermione from the courtroom.
The lift was empty when it arrived. Harry jumped in and pulled off the Invisibility Cloak as it started its descent. To his enormous relief, when it rattled to a halt at level two, a soaking-wet and wild-eyed Ron got in.
“M-morning,” he stammered to Harry as the lift set off again.
“Ron, it’s me, Harry!”
“Harry! Blimey, I forgot what you looked like – why isn’t Hermione with you?”
“She had to go down to the courtrooms with Umbridge, she couldn’t refuse, and – ”
But before Harry could finish the lift had stopped again. The doors opened and Mr. Weasley walked inside, talking to an elderly witch whose blonde hair was teased so high it resembled an anthill.
“… I quite understand what you’re saying, Wakanda, but I’m afraid I cannot be party to – ”
Mr. Weasley broke off; he had noticed Harry. It was very strange to have Mr. Weasley glare at him with that much dislike. The lift doors closed and the four of them trundled downward once more.
“Oh hello, Reg,” said Mr. Weasley, looking around at the sound of steady dripping from Ron’s robes. “Isn’t your wife in for questioning today? Er – what’s happened to you? Why are you so wet?”
“Yaxley’s office is raining,” said Ron. He addressed Mr. Weasley’s shoulder, and Harry felt sure he was scared that his father might recognize him if they looked directly into each other’s eyes. “I couldn’t stop it, so they’ve sent me to get Bernie – Pillsworth, I think they said – ”
“Yes, a lot of offices have been raining lately,” said Mr. Weasley. “Did you try Meterolojinx Recanto? It worked for Bletchley.”
“Meteolojinx Recanto?” whispered Ron. “No, I didn’t. Thanks, D – I mean, thanks, Arthur.”
The lift doors opened; the old witch with the anthill hair left, and Ron darted past her out of sight. Harry made to follow him, but found his path blocked as Percy Weasley strode into the lift, his nose buried in some papers he was reading.
Not until the doors had clanged shut again did Percy realize he was in a lit with his father. He glanced up, saw Mr. Weasley, turned radish red, and left the lift the moment the doors opened again. For the second time, Harry tried to get out, but this time found his way blocked by Mr. Weasley’s arm.
“One moment, Runcorn.”
The lift doors closed and as they clanked down another floor, Mr. Weasley said, “I hear you had information about Dirk Cresswell.”
Harry had the impression that Mr. Weasley’s anger was no less because of the brush with Percy. He decided his best chance was to act stupid.
“Sorry?” he said.
“Don’t pretend, Runcorn,” said Mr. Weasley fiercely. “You tracked down the wizard who faked his family tree, didn’t you?”
“I – so what if I did?” said Harry.
“So Dirk Cresswell is ten times the wizard you are,” said Mr. Weasley quietly, as the lift sank ever lower. “And if he survives Azkaban, you’ll have to answer to him, not to mention his wife, his sons, and his friends – ”
“Arthur,” Harry interrupted, “you know you’re being tracked, don’t you?”
“Is that a threat, Runcorn?” said Mr. Weasley loudly.
“No,” said Harry, “it’s a fact! They’re watching your every move – ”
The lift doors opened. They had reached the Atrium. Mr. Weasley gave Harry a scathing look and swept from the lift. Harry stood there, shaken. He wished he was impersonating somebody other than Runcorn…. The lift doors clanged shut.
Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak and put it back on. He would try to extricate Hermione on his own while Ron was dealing with the raining office. When the doors opened, he stepped out into a torch-lit stone passageway quite different from the wood-paneled and carpeted corridors above. As the left rattled away again, Harry shivered slightly, looking toward the distant black door that marked the entrance to the Department of Mysteries.
He set off, his destination not the black door, but the doorway he remembered on the left hand side, which opened onto the flight of stairs down to the court chambers. 
His mind grappled with possibilities as he crept down them: He still had a couple of Decoy Detonators, but perhaps it would be better to simply knock on the courtroom door, enter as Runcorn, and ask for a quick word with Mafalda? Of course, he did not know whether Runcorn was sufficiently important to get away with this, and even if he managed it, Hermione’s non-reappearance might trigger a search before they were clear of the Ministry….
Lost in thought, he did not immediately register the unnatural chill that was creeping over him, as if he were descending into fog. It was becoming colder and colder with every step he took; a cold that reached right down his throat and tore at his lungs. And then he felt that stealing sense of despair, or hopelessness, filling him, expanding inside him….
Dementors, he thought.
And as he reached the foot of the stairs and turned to his right he saw a dreadful scene. The dark passage outside the courtrooms was packed with tall, black-hooded figures, their faces completely hidden, their ragged breathing the only sound in the place. The petrified Muggle-borns brought in for questioning sat huddled and shivering on hard wooden benches. Most of them were hiding their faces in their hands, perhaps in an instinctive attempt to shield themselves from the dementors’ greedy mouths. Some were accompanied by families, others sat alone. The dementors were gliding up and down in front of them, and the cold, and the hopelessness, and the despair of the place laid themselves upon Harry like a curse….
Fight it, he told himself, but he knew that he could not conjure a Patronus here without revealing himself instantly. So he moved forward as silently as he could, and with every step he took numbness seemed to steal over his brain, but he forced himself to think of Hermione and of Ron, who needed him.
Moving through the towering black figures was terrifying: The eyeless faces hidden beneath their hoods turned as he passed, and he felt sure that they sensed him, sensed, perhaps, a human presence that still had some hope, some resilience….
And then, abruptly and shockingly amid the frozen silence, one of the dungeon doors on the left of the corridor was flung open and screams echoed out of it.
“No, no, I’m half-blood, I’m half-blood, I tell you! My father was a wizard, he was, look him up, Arkie Alderton, he’s a well known broomstick designer, look him up, I tell you – get your hands off me, get your hands off – ”
“This is your final warning,” said Umbridge’s soft voice, magically magnified so that it sounded clearly over the man’s desperate screams. “If you struggle, you will be subjected to the Dementor’s Kiss.”
The man’s screams subsided, but dry sobs echoed through the corridor.
“Take him away,” said Umbridge.
Two dementors appeared in the doorway of the courtroom, their rotting, scabbed hands clutching the upper arms of a wizard who appeared to be fainting. They glided away down the corridor with him, and the darkness they trailed behind them swallowed him from sight.
“Next – Mary Cattermole,” called Umbridge.
A small woman stood up; she was trembling from head to foot. Her dark hair was smoothed back into a bun and she wore long plain robes. Her face was completely bloodless. As she passed the dementors, Harry saw her shudder.
He did it instinctively, without any sort of plan, because he hated the sight of her walking alone into the dungeon: As the door began to swing closed, he slipped into the courtroom behind her.
It was not the same room in which he had once been interrogated for improper use of magic. This one was much smaller, though the ceiling was quite as high it gave the claustrophobic sense of being stuck at the bottom of a deep well.
There were more dementors in here, casting their freezing aura over the place; they stood like faceless sentinels in the corners farthest from the high, raised platform. Here, behind a balustrade, sat Umbridge, with Yaxley on one side of her, and Hermione, quite as white-faced as Mrs. Cattermole, on the other. At the foot of the platform, a bight-silver, long-haired cat prowled up and down, up and down, and Harry realized that it was there to protect the prosecutors from the despair that emanated from the dementors: That was for the accused to feel, not the accusers.
“Sit down,” said Umbridge in her soft, silky voice.
Mrs. Cattermole stumbled to the single seat in the middle of the floor beneath the raised platform. The moment she had sat down, chains clinked out of the arms of the chair and bound her there.
“You are Mary Elizabeth Cattermole?” asked Umbridge.
Mrs. Cattermole gave a single, shaky nod.
“Married to Reginald Cattermole of the Magical Maintenance Department?”
Mrs. Cattermole burst into tears.
“I don’t know where he is, he was supposed to meet me here!”
Umbridge ignored her.
“Mother to Maisie, Ellie and Alfred Cattermole?”
Mrs. Cattermole sobbed harder than ever.
“They’re frightened, they think that I might not come home – ”
“Spare us,” spat Yaxley. “The brats of Mudbloods do not stir our sympathies.”
Mrs. Cattermole’s sobs masked Harry’s footsteps as he made his way carefully toward the steps that led up to the raised platform. The moment he had passed the place where the Patronus cat patrolled, he felt the change in temperature: It was warm and comfortable here. The Patronus, he was sure, was Umbridge’s, and it glowed brightly because she was so happy here, in her element, upholding the twisted laws she had helped to write. Slowly and very carefully he edged his way along the platform behind Umbridge, Yaxley, and Hermione, taking a seat behind the latter. He was worried about making Hermione jump. He thought of casting the Muffliato charm upon Umbridge and Yaxley, but even murmuring the word might cause Hermione alarm. Then Umbridge raised her voice to address Mrs. Cattermole, and Harry seized his chance.
“I’m behind you,” he whispered into Hermione’s ear.
As he had expected, she jumped so violently she nearly overturned the bottle of ink with which she was supposed to be recording the interview, but both Umbridge and Yaxley were concentrating upon Mrs. Cattermole, and this went unnoticed.
“A wand was taken from you upon your arrival at the Ministry today, Mrs. Cattermole,” Umbridge was saying. “Eight-and-three-quarter inches, cherry, unicorn-hair core. Do you recognize the description?”
Mrs. Cattermole nodded, mopping her eyes on her sleeve.
“Could you please tell us from which witch or wizard you took that wand?”
“T-took?” sobbed Mrs. Cattermole. “I didn’t t-take it from anybody. I b-bought it when I was eleven years old. It – it – it – chose me.”
She cried harder than ever.
Umbridge laughed a soft girlish laugh that made Harry want to attack her. She leaned forward over the barrier, the better to observe her victim, and something gold swung forward too, and dangled over the void: the locket.
Hermione had seen it; she let out a little squeak, but Umbridge and Yaxley, still intent upon their prey, were deaf to everything else.
“No,” said Umbridge, “no, I don’t think so, Mrs. Cattermole. Wands only choose witches or wizards. You are not a witch. I have your responses to the questionnaire that was sent to you here – Mafalda, pass them to me.”
Umbridge held out a small hand: She looked so toadlike at that moment that Harry was quite surprised not to see webs between the stubby fingers. Hermione’s hands were shaking with shock. She fumbled in a pile of documents balanced on the chair beside her, finally withdrawing a sheaf of parchment with Mrs. Cattermole’s name on it.
“That’s – that’s pretty, Dolores,” she said, pointing at the pendant gleaming in the ruffled folds of Umbridge’s blouse.
“What?” snapped Umbridge, glancing down. “Oh yes – an old family heirloom,” she said, patting the locket lying on her large bosom. “The S stands for Selwyn…. I am related to the Selwyns…. Indeed, there are few pure-blood families to whom I am not related. …A pity,” she continued in a louder voice, flicking through Mrs. Cattermole’s questionnaire, “that the same cannot be said for you. ‘Parents professions: greengrocers’.”
Yaxley laughed jeeringly. Below, the fluffy silver cat patrolled up and down, and the dementors stood waiting in the corners.
It was Umbridge’s lie that brought the blood surging into Harry’s brain and obliterated his sense of caution – that the locket she had taken as a bribe from a petty criminal was being used to bolster her own pure-blood credentials. He raised his wand, not even troubling to keep it concealed beneath the Invisibility Cloak, and said, “Stupefy!”
There was a flash of red light; Umbridge crumpled and her forehead hit the edge of the balustrade: Mrs. Cattermole’s papers slid off her lap onto the floor and, down below, the prowling silver cat vanished. Ice-cold air hit them like an oncoming wind: Yaxley, confused, looked around for the source of the trouble and saw Harry’s disembodied hand and wand pointing at him. He tried to draw his own wand, but too late: “Stupefy!”
Yaxley slid to the ground to lie curled on the floor.
“Harry!”
“Hermione, if you think I was going to sit here and let her pretend – ”
“Harry, Mrs. Cattermole!”
Harry whirled around, throwing off the Invisibility Cloak; down below, the dementors had moved out of their corners; they were gliding toward the woman chained to the chair: Whether because the Patronus had vanished or because they sensed that their masters were no longer in control, they seemed to have abandoned restraint. Mrs. Cattermole let out a terrible scream of fear as a slimy, scabbed hand grasped her chin and forced her face back.
“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”
The silver stag soared from the tip of Harry’s wand and leaped toward the dementors, which fell back and melted into the dark shadows again. The stag’s light, more powerful and more warming than the cat’s protection, filled the whole dungeon as it cantered around the room.
“Get the Horcrux,” Harry told Hermione.
He ran back down the steps, stuffing the Invisibility Cloak into his back, and approached Mrs. Cattermole.
“You?” she whispered, gazing into his face. “But – but Reg said you were the one who submitted my name for questioning!”
“Did I?” muttered Harry, tugging at the chains binding her arms, “Well, I’ve had a change of heart. Diffindo!” Nothing happened. “Hermione, how do I get rid of these chains?”
“Wait, I’m trying something up here – ”
“Hermione, we’re surrounded by dementors!”
“I know that, Harry, but if she wakes up and the locket’s gone – I need to duplicate it – Geminio! There… That should fool her….”
Hermione came running downstairs.
“Let’s see…. Relashio!”
The chains clinked and withdrew into the arms of the chair. Mrs. Cattermole looked just as frightened as ever before.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
“You’re going to leave here with us,” said Harry, pulling her to her feet. “Go home, grab your children, and get out, get out of the country if you’ve got to. 
Disguise yourselves and run. You’ve seen how it is, you won’t get anything like a fair hearing here.”
“Harry,” said Hermione, “how are we going to get out of here with all those dementors outside the door?”
“Patronuses,” said Harry, pointing his wand at his own. The stag slowed and walked, still gleaming brightly, toward the door. “As many as we can muster; do yours, Hermione.”
“Expec – Expecto patronum,” said Hermione. Nothing happened.
“It’s the only spell she ever has trouble with,” Harry told a completely bemused Mrs. Cattermole. “Bit unfortunate, really… Come on Hermione….”
“Expecto patronum!“
A silver otter burst from the end of Hermione’s wand and swam gracefully through the air to join the stag.
“C’mon,” said Harry, and he led Hermione and Mrs. Cattermole to the door.
When the Patronuses glided out of the dungeon there were cries of shock from the people waiting outside. Harry looked around; the dementors were falling back on both sides of them, melding into the darkness, scattering before the silver creatures.
“It’s been decided that you should all go home and go into hiding with your families,“ Harry told the waiting Muggle-born, who were dazzled by the light of the Patronuses and still cowering slightly. ”Go abroad if you can. Just get well away from the Ministry. That’s the – er – new official position. Now, if you’ll just follow the Patronuses, you’ll be able to leave the Atrium.“
They managed to get up the stone stops without being intercepted, but as they approached the lifts Harry started to have misgivings. If they emerged into the Atrium with a silver stag, and otter soaring alongside it, and twenty or so people, half of them accused Muggle-borns, he could not help feeling that they would attract unwanted attention. He had just reached this unwelcome conclusion when the lift clanged to a halt in front of them.
“Reg!” screamed Mrs. Cattermole, and she threw herself into Ron’s arms. “Runcorn let me out, he attacked Umbridge and Yaxley, and he’s told all of us to leave the country. I think we’d better do it, Reg, I really do, let’s hurry home and fetch the children and – why are you so wet?”
“Water,” muttered Ron, disengaging himself. “Harry, they know there are intruders inside the Ministry, something about a hole in Umbridge’s office door. I reckon we’ve got five minutes if that – ”
Hermione’s Patronus vanished with a pop as she turned a horror struck face to Harry.
“Harry, if we’re trapped here –!”
“We won’t be if we move fast,“ said Harry. He addressed the silent group behind them, who were all gawping at him.
“Who’s got wands?”
About half of them raised their hands.
“Okay, all of you who haven’t got wands need to attach yourself to somebody who has. We’ll need to be fast before they stop us. Come on.”
They managed to cram themselves into two lifts. Harry’s Patronus stood sentinel before the golden grilles as they shut and the lifts began to rise.
“Level eight,” said the witch’s cool voice, “Atrium.”
Harry knew at once that they were in trouble. The Atrium was full of people moving from fireplace to fireplace, sealing them off.
“Harry!” squeaked Hermione. “What are we going to –?”
“STOP!” Harry thundered, and the powerful voice of Runcorn echoed through the Atrium: The wizards sealing the fireplaces froze. “Follow me,” he whispered to the group of terrified Muggle-borns, who moved forward in a huddle, shepherded by Ron and Hermione.
“What’s up, Albert?“ said the same balding wizard who had followed Harry out of the fireplace earlier. He looked nervous.
“This lot need to leave before you seal the exits,” said Harry with all the authority he could muster.
The group of wizards in front of him looked at one another.
“We’ve been told to seal all exits and not let anyone – ”
“Are you contradicting me?“ Harry blustered. ”Would you like me to have your family tree examined, like I had Dirk Cresswell’s?“
“Sorry!” gasped the balding wizard, backing away. “I didn’t mean nothing, Albert, but I thought… I thought they were in for questioning and…”
“Their blood is pure,“ said Harry, and his deep voice echoed impressively through the hall. ”Purer than many of yours, I daresay. Off you go,“ he boomed to the Muggle-borns, who scurried forward into the fireplaces and began to vanish in pairs. The Ministry wizards hung back, some looking confused, others scared and fearful. 
Then:
“Mary!”
Mrs. Cattermole looked over her shoulder. The real Reg Cattermole, no longer vomiting but pale and wan, had just come running out of a lift.
“R- Reg?”
She looked from her husband to Ron, who swore loudly.
The balding wizard gaped, his head turning ludicrously from one Reg Cattermole to the other.
“Hey – what’s going on? What is this?”
“Seal the exit! SEAL IT!”
Yaxley had burst out of another lift and was running toward the group beside the fireplaces, into which all of the Muggle-borns but Mrs. Cattermole had now vanished. As the balding wizard lifted his wand, Harry raised an enormous fist and punched him, sending him flying through the air.
“He’s been helping Muggle-borns escape, Yaxley!” Harry shouted.
The balding wizard’s colleagues set up and uproar, under cover of which Ron grabbed Mrs. Cattermole, pulled her into the still-open fireplace, and disappeared. 
Confused, Yaxley looked from Harry to the punched wizard, while the real Reg Cattermole screamed, “My wife! Who was that with my wife? What’s going on?”
Harry saw Yaxley’s head turn, saw an inkling of truth dawn on that brutish face.
“Come on!” Harry shouted at Hermione; he seized her hand and they jumped into the fireplace together as Yaxley’s curse sailed over Harry’s head. They spun for a few seconds before shooting up out of a toilet into a cubicle. Harry flung open the door: Ron was standing there beside the sinks, still wrestling with Mrs. Cattermole.
“Reg, I don’t understand – “
“Let go, I’m not your husband, you’ve got to go home!”
There was a noise in the cubicle behind them; Harry looked around; Yaxley had just appeared.
“LET’S GO!” Harry yelled. He seized Hermione by the hand and Ron by the arm and turned on the stop.
Darkness engulfed them, along with the sensation of compressing hands, but something was wrong…. Hermione’s hand seemed to be sliding out of his grip….
He wondered whether he was going to suffocate; he could not breathe or see and the only solid things in the world were Ron’s arm and Hermione’s fingers, which were slowly slipping away….
And then he saw the door to number twelve, Grimmauld Place, with its serpent door knocker, but before he could draw breath, there was a scream and a flash of purple light: Hermione’s hand was suddenly vicelike upon his and everything went dark again.
“哦，玛法达！”乌姆里奇看着赫敏说道，“特拉弗斯送你来的，是不是？” 
　　“哦—是的，”赫敏尖声回答。 
　　“哦，天哪，你一定会做得很好！”乌姆里奇对那个身穿黑色与金色相间衣服的男巫说道。 
　　“那么那个问题解决了。部长，如果玛法达能抽空帮忙保管记录的话，我们就可以直接开始了。”说完，她查了查笔记板。“今天有十个人接受审问，其中还有一个是魔法部雇员的妻子！
啧，啧……在魔法部内部要地居然还会有泥巴种！”她走进电梯站在赫敏旁边，刚才在一旁听她和部长谈话的两名男巫尾随着走了进来。“我们直接下去，玛法达，你会在审判室中找到你需要的一切。早上好，阿尔伯特，你不在这层下吗？” 
　　“是的，我就下。”哈利用蓝科恩低沉的声音说。 
　　哈利走出电梯。金色的格子电梯门在他身后叮叮当当地关上了。 
　　他回过头去，看到赫敏满脸紧张地被两个高个子男巫夹在中间，肩上搭着乌姆里奇的天鹅绒披肩，慢慢慢慢地随着下降的电梯消失在了视线里。 
　　“什么风把你吹来了，蓝科恩？”这时，新上任的魔法部长问道。他修长的黑色头发以及胡须中都夹着银丝，突出的前额遮住了他闪闪发光的眼睛，让哈利感觉仿佛是在一只岩石下向外偷看的螃蟹。 
　　“我想和——”那一瞬间哈利有些犹豫，“亚瑟韦斯莱谈一谈。有人说他在一楼。” 
　　“哦，”普拉姆·西克尼斯说道，“他被发现与那个不受欢迎的人有联系，对吗？” 
　　“没，”哈利说，感觉喉咙有些干。“没有，没那种事。” 
　　“哦，好吧。但那在我看来只是时间问题，”西克尼斯说。“要我说，纯种血统的背叛者和泥巴种一样可恶。回见，蓝科恩。” 
　　“回见，部长。” 
　　哈利目视着西克尼斯顺着铺了厚地毯的走廊渐渐走远。部长一走出他的视线，哈利就马上把隐形衣从他厚重的黑色长袍下拖出来罩在自己身上，然后顺着走廊向相反方向走去。蓝科恩长得太高了，他不得不弯下腰才能把那双大脚也藏在隐形衣里面。 
　　他走过一扇扇反射着微光的木门——每一扇上都挂着标有部门和使用者姓名的金属牌。魔法部的权力，复杂以及深不可测都使哈利心中感到一阵阵恐慌，并且给了他一种无形的重压。他开始觉得他和罗恩，赫敏在过去的四个礼拜中精心策划的计划简直幼稚得可笑。他们将所有的精力花在研究如何能深不知鬼不觉地溜进魔法部内部：可他们一点儿也没考虑过一旦他们被迫分开该怎么办。现在赫敏被困在法庭上作记录，那毫无疑问要持续好几个小时；罗恩在努力地施展魔法——哈利确定那些魔法超出了他的能力范围——而结果则很有可能决定一个女人的自由与否；而他，哈利，正在魔法部顶层转悠，心里很清楚他的智囊团刚刚坐着电梯下了楼。 
　　哈利停下来斜倚着一堵墙，试着决定该怎么办。周围是一片寂静：这里没有忙乱的人群，没有七嘴八舌的说话声，也没有踢踢踏踏的脚步声。铺着紫色地毯的走廊就像被人施了‘闭耳塞听’咒一样安静。 
　　她的办公室一定就在这附近，哈利想。 
　　乌姆里奇把她的珠宝放在办公室里似乎是最不可能的事情，但从另一方面来说不去搜查一下她的办公室以确认似乎也很愚蠢。因此哈利又重新沿着走廊出发了，途中没有遇到什么人，除了一个正皱着眉头小声地向一支漂浮在他面前的羽毛笔发出指令的男巫，而那支羽毛笔正在一卷羊皮纸上胡乱涂写着什么。 
　　哈利一边走一边注意着每扇门上的名字。当他转过弯，顺着另一条走廊走到一半的时候，眼前出现了一块宽敞开阔的空地。有十二名男女巫师坐在排列成行的小桌子后面——尽管十分的光滑并且没有涂鸦，但那些桌子和学校里面的并没什么不同。哈利停下脚步注视着他们，因为那场面确实很吸引人。所有的人整齐划一地挥舞，旋动着他们的魔杖，许多彩色的正方形纸片像粉红色的小风筝似的向各个方向飞舞。过了一会儿，哈利意识到他们的行动是有节奏有规则的——因为他们身边的纸片全都组成了同样的图案。又过了一会儿，哈利意识到他所看到的是魔法手册的制作——那些正方形纸片是书页，当它们被装订，折叠，再施上魔法之后，就在每个男巫或者女巫的旁边摞成整齐的书堆。尽管他们如此专注于自己的工作，以至于哈利怀疑如果有人从地毯上走过他们都注意不到。但他还是尽量蹑手蹑脚地靠近，从一个年轻女巫身边抽出一本已经完成的手册，在隐形衣下察看了一下。手册粉红色的封面上醒目地印着金色的标题： 
　　 
　　《泥巴种，以及他们给平静的纯血社会带来的危害》 
　　 
　　标题下面有这样一幅画：一朵红玫瑰的花瓣中间画着一张痴笑的脸，旁边一株满脸怒容浑身利刺的野草正试图扼死它。手册上面没有作者的名字，但是当哈利查看手册时，他右手手背上的伤口似乎又有一些刺痛。这时他旁边那个年轻女巫的话证实了他的猜测：“谁知道那个老巫婆会不会审问那些泥巴种们一整天？”她一边说还一边挥舞旋动着她的魔杖。 
　　“小声点，”她旁边的一个男巫紧张地四处看了看；他桌上的一页书滑落到了地上。 
　　“怎么，难道现在她除了一只魔眼之外又搞到了一副魔耳吗？” 
　　那个女巫冲他们身处之地对面的一扇华丽的桃花心木门看去；哈利也向那儿一看，顿时火冒三丈。本来应该是麻瓜前门猫眼的位置上现在嵌进了一只又大又圆，微微泛蓝的眼球——这是一件对任何一个曾见过阿拉斯特穆迪的人来说再熟悉不过的东西。 
　　有那么一瞬间，哈利忘记了他在哪里以及他该做什么：他甚至忘记了他身穿隐形衣。他大步走向那扇门去查看那只眼球。那东西静止着，一动不动，直直地向上盯着。下面的金属牌上写着： 
　　 
　　德洛丽斯　乌姆里奇 
　　魔法部高级副部长 
　　　 
　　那下面的一块略新的金属牌上写着： 
　　 
　　混血巫师登记委员会会长 
　　 
　　哈利回头看着那些正在制作手册的巫师：尽管他们专注于自己的工作，他也不敢保证假如面前的一间空办公室的门开了，他们不会注意到。因此他伸手从里面的口袋里掏出了一个带有会动的腿以及橡胶制的球状触角的玩意——那是弗雷德兄弟去年送给他的诱饵炸弹。他在隐形衣中蹲下，把诱饵炸弹放在了地上。 
　　那个小玩意儿立刻从那群人的腿间跑了出去。哈利把他的手放在门把手上等待着，片刻之后，角落里传来了一声巨响，伴随着滚滚翻腾、辛辣刺鼻的烟雾。第一排的那个年轻女巫尖叫了一声，吓得她的同事们也跳起来，惊慌失措地在漫天飞舞的粉红色纸片四处寻找这场骚乱的源头。哈利趁机转动门把手打开门，溜进乌姆里奇的办公室，回身关上了门。 
　　哈利走进办公室，差点以为时光倒流了——这间办公室与乌姆里奇在霍格沃茨的那个几乎一模一样：蕾丝花边的织物，小块桌布和干花铺得到处都是。墙上挂着同样的装饰盘子，每个盘子上都画着一只颜色夸张系着缎带的小猫，玩耍嬉戏中带着令人作呕的装腔作势。桌子上铺着一块装饰着花边的桌布。在疯眼汉的魔眼后面，还设置了一个能望远的伸缩装置，以便乌姆里奇监视门外的工作人员。哈利凑到魔眼跟前——他们依然围在诱敌炸药旁边。他猛地把望远镜从门上扭下来，只留下门上的洞，再把魔眼从里面抠出来装进自己的口袋。然后他再次转过身面对整个房间，举起魔杖，低声说道：“储物盒飞来。” 
　　什么也没发生。不过哈利也没指望会发生什么，毫无疑问乌姆里奇很精通保护性的魔法和咒语。他只好快步走到她的桌子后面，一个抽屉一个抽屉地翻找起来。他找到一些羽毛笔、笔记本、魔法胶布，还有被施了魔法的盘绕成蛇一般的纸夹——它们把哈利的手咬了回去；一只装满了备用发带和发夹的小箱子——上边满是装饰繁琐的花边；但是没有储物盒。 
　　桌子后面还有一个档案橱柜，哈里转而开始在橱柜里翻找。就费尔奇在霍格沃茨的档案橱柜一样，它里面装满了文件夹，每个上面都贴着一张写有姓名的标签。哈利的搜索一无所获，直到他翻到最后一个抽屉的时候才看见一样吸引了他注意力的东西：韦斯莱先生的档案。 
　　他抽出那份档案打开读了起来： 
　　 
　　亚瑟·韦斯莱 
　　血统情况：纯种，但有令人无法接受的支持麻瓜倾向。凤凰社的已知成员。 
　　家庭情况：妻子（纯种），七个子女，最小的两个现就读于霍格沃茨。注意：经魔法部检查员确认，其最小的儿子现重病在家。 
　　安全情况：被监视。一切行动均受到监视。头号不受欢迎人物极有可能与之联系（曾与韦斯莱一家共同居住） 
　　 
　　“头号不受欢迎人物，”哈利一边小声嘟囔着，一边把韦斯莱先生的文件夹放回原处，关上了抽屉。当他站起身来扫视整间办公室以寻找新的可能藏物品的地方时，注意到墙上有一幅他自己的海报，“头号不受欢迎人物”几个大字醒目地印在他的胸口上，这下他可知道“头号不受欢迎人物”是谁了，而且确信无疑。那幅海报上还贴着一小张粉红色的便签，便签角上画着一只小猫。哈利走过去，看到乌姆里奇在上面写着：“即将归案。” 
　　哈利从未像现在这样生气，但他还是强压住怒火，在那些装干花的瓶子和篮子里胡乱摸索，不出他的意料，储物盒也不在那些地方。哈利最后一次扫视了一下这间办公室，突然间心脏仿佛停止了跳动。邓布利多正从一面小小的，长方形的，搁在桌子旁边的书柜上的镜子里，凝视着他。哈利跑着穿过房间，一把拿起那面镜子，他顿时泄了气——那跟本就不是一面镜子。邓布利多是在一本平滑的书的封面上充满希望地向他微笑。哈利并没有马上注意到邓布利多帽子上那些卷曲的绿色字体——邓布利多的人生与谎言——也没有注意到他胸口那些稍小一些的字：“丽塔斯基曼著，预言家日报畅销作家：智者还是痴人？” 
　　哈利随便一翻，就看到一张占满了整个页面的照片，上面是两个互相搂着肩膀大笑着的年轻人。如今的邓布利多银发已及肘长，那时却只有几根稀疏柔软的胡须，让人想起克拉布唇上那些曾令罗恩如此厌恶的东西。站在邓布利多旁边无声地大笑着的那个男孩子脸上带着愉快而兴奋的表情，金色的头发卷曲着披在肩部。哈利怀疑也许这是年轻时的多戈。他还没来得及查看照片的说明，乌姆里奇办公室的门突然开了。 
　　如果西克尼斯进来时没有回头看的话，那么哈利决不会有时间把隐形衣罩在自己身上。事实上，他认为西克尼斯可能瞥见了他的动作，因为有那么一会儿他一动不动，好奇地盯着哈利刚才消失的地方。也许他是在认定自己刚才所看见的不过是封面上的邓布利多抠鼻子的动作，因为哈利在慌乱中将那本书放回了架子上。西克尼斯最后还是走向桌子，拿起他的魔杖指向墨水瓶里的羽毛笔。羽毛笔跳了出来，潦草地书写着给乌姆里奇的便签。这时哈利大气儿都不敢出，慢慢地退出办公室来到外面的空地上。 
　　那些制作手册的巫师们仍然围在诱饵炸弹旁，它的残骸仍在时不时发出微弱的呜呜声并散发出小股的烟雾。那个年轻的女巫说：“我敢打赌这是新型魔法试验部在搞鬼，他们总是那么不小心，还记得上次那只有毒的鸭子吗？”趁着她说话的工夫，哈利赶紧顺着走廊跑开了。 
　　在飞速跑回电梯的路上，哈利想着下一步该干什么。那个储物盒绝不可能在魔法部里，他也绝不可能给身处拥挤的法庭里的乌姆里奇下咒让她说出那东西的下落。当务之急是在身份暴露之前离开魔法部，然后改天再尝试。所以现在要做的就是设法找到罗恩，这样他们就可以想出一个办法把赫敏从审判室里给救出来。 
　　电梯到达时空空如也，哈利一跳进去就把隐形衣从身上拽了下来。这时电梯也开始下降，到达二层时却突然‘咔哒’一声猛地停了下来。看到走进来的是浑身湿透，愤怒不已的罗恩，哈利一下子松了口气。 
　　“早-早上好。”他结结巴巴地冲哈利说，电梯又重新出发了。 
　　“罗恩，是我，哈利！” 
　　“哈利！啊呀，我忘了你长什么样了——赫敏怎么没和你在一起？” 
　　“她不得不和乌姆里奇一起去下面的审判室，她没法拒绝，而且——” 
　　哈利还没把话说完，电梯又停下了。门打开后，韦斯莱先生同一位老年女巫边谈边走了进来，她的头发扎的很高，就像是一座蚁丘。 
　　“哦，你好，雷，”韦斯莱先生听到罗恩长袍上的水滴持续滴下的声音，四处张望着。“今天你的妻子没来打听什么吗？呃－那是怎么了？你怎么浑身都湿透了？” 
　　“亚克斯利的办公室在下雨，”罗恩对着韦斯莱先生的肩膀说。哈利可以肯定罗恩是在担心如果他们直视对方的眼睛，那么他的父亲就可能认出他来。“我没办法让它停下来，所以他们派我去找伯尼·皮尔斯沃斯，我想他们说的是——” 
　　“是的，最近很多办公室都在下雨，”韦斯莱先生说。“你试过去找麦特罗洛金克斯·雷卡托了吗？它为布莱切利工作。” 
　　“麦特罗洛金克斯·雷卡托？”罗恩小声说。“不，我还没有。谢谢你，爸－我是说，谢谢你，亚瑟。” 
　　电梯门打开了，梳着蚁丘发型的那个老年女巫走了出去，罗恩飞奔着跑过她的身边，消失在了哈利的视野中。哈利想跟上他，却发现这时珀西 
　　韦斯莱大步走进电梯堵住了他的路。珀西正把头埋在几页纸中读着什么，电梯门又叮叮当当地关上后，他才意识到他正和自己的父亲在一个电梯里。他抬起头看见韦斯莱先生，脸立刻变得像胡萝卜一样红。电梯门再开的时候他飞快地跑了出去。于是哈利再次试着下电梯，可这次，韦斯莱先生用胳膊挡住了他。 
　　“等一下，蓝科恩。” 
　　电梯关上了，载着他们叮叮当当地向下行。这时韦斯莱先生说：“我听说你有德克·克莱斯韦的消息。” 
　　哈利感觉韦斯莱先生的怒火因为刚才和珀西的小冲突而加剧了，所以他认为他最好的选择就是装傻。 
　　“你说什么？” 
　　“别装傻了，蓝科恩，”韦斯莱先生暴躁地说，“你抓到了那个伪造他家谱的巫师，是不是？” 
　　“我——就算我抓到了那又怎么样？”哈利说。 
　　‘我说，德克·克莱斯韦是一个胜过你十倍的巫师，”韦斯莱先生轻声说，电梯下得更深了。“如果他从阿兹卡班活着逃出来的话，你得对他有个交待，更不用说他的妻子，儿子，和他的朋友——” 
　　“亚瑟，”哈利打断了他的话，“你知道你正在被监视，是吧？” 
　　“你是在威胁我吗，蓝科恩？”韦斯莱先生大声说。 
　　“不，”哈利说，“这是事实！他们在监视你的一举一动－” 
　　电梯门打开。他们已经抵达了中厅。韦斯莱先生严厉地看了哈利一眼，快步走出电梯。哈利站在那里，微微有些发抖。他多么希望他变成的是其他人而不是蓝科恩……电梯门又叮叮当当地关上了。哈利拿出隐形衣重新披在身上，罗恩去处理那些下雨的办公室的时候他得试着一个人去救出赫敏。电梯门打开时，他步入了一条与上面那些嵌着木地板铺着地毯的走廊完全不同的被火把照亮的石制通道。电梯又吱吱作响地离开了，哈利微微颤抖着，看着远处神秘事物司入口处那扇黑色的大门。 
　　他迈开了脚步，不是向那扇黑门，而是向记忆中那个通往能下到审判室的一段楼梯的门道走去。他一边缓缓走下楼梯，一边在脑中构想着各种可能的计划：他身上还有一些诱饵炸弹，不过也许直接敲响审判室的门，以蓝科恩的身份直接进去要求和玛法达说几句话会更好？当然，他并不知道蓝科恩是否是一个重要到足以成功完成这个计划的人物，而且即使他设法做到了，在他们逃离魔法部的情况之前，赫敏的失踪也可能引发一场搜查—— 
　　哈利陷入了沉思，并没有立刻察觉正在渐渐逼近他的那种不寻常的寒意，他好像掉进了冰冷的迷雾中。每走一步都会觉得更加寒冷，那是一种足以冻结他的喉咙，撕碎他的内脏的寒冷。然后他感到那种绝望，无助的感觉笼罩了他，在他的身体里面扩散…… 
　　是摄魂怪，哈利想。 
　　当他下到那段楼梯的底部，向右一转，哈利看到了可怕的一幕。审判室外面黑暗的通道上挤满了高大的，带着黑色头巾的身影，他们的脸完全藏在斗篷里面，寂静的通道里只有他们呼吸时断断续续嘶哑的声音。那些被带来问话的麻瓜巫师们显然被吓坏了，在冰冷的木制长椅上蜷缩成一团瑟瑟发抖。他们中的大部分人都把脸深深地埋进自己的手中，也许是出于本能地想要在摄魂怪那充满渴望的贪婪的嘴唇下保护自己。有些人有家人陪同，其他的则独自坐着。那些摄魂怪在他们面前来回滑行。那里的寒冷，无助以及绝望让哈利觉得简直像是一场灾难。 
　　战胜它，哈利告诉自己，但是他知道，在这里他无法在不暴露自己的情况下召唤出一个守护神。所以他只好尽可能悄无声息地向前走，每走一步他都能感到悄悄弥漫在他头脑中的麻木感，但是他强迫自己去想赫敏和罗恩，他们需要他。 
　　穿过那些高大的黑色身影是很可怕的事情：哈利从他们身旁经过时，那隐藏在斗篷下面的没有眼睛的脸突然转了过来。他确信那些摄魂怪感觉到了他，感觉到了，也许，一个仍然有一些希望和欢乐的生命的存在．．． 
　　就在那时，在那可怕地，在几乎要冻结的寂静中，走廊左边一间地牢的门突然被打开了，尖叫声回响着传了出来。 
　　“不，不，我是混血，我是混血，我告诉你！我父亲是个男巫，他是，去查查他的资料，阿奇·阿尔德通，他是个有名的帚柄设计师，去查查他的资料，我告诉你——把你的手从我身上拿开，把你的手拿开——” 
　　“这是给你的最后一次警告，”乌姆里奇用她甜腻的，用魔法放大过的嗓音说，使之在那男人绝望的喊叫声中听起来依然清晰。“如果再你挣扎，就给你一个‘摄魂怪的吻’．” 
　　男人的尖叫声平息了，但是他干涩的抽泣声依然在走廊中回响。 
　　“把他带走。”乌姆里奇说。 
　　两个摄魂怪出现在审判室外的走廊上，用他们腐臭，结痂的双手抓住那个看起来已经不省人事的男巫的胳膊。他们架着他，沿着走廊滑行离开，他们所到之处都慢慢暗了下来，失去了光明，直到什么也看不见。 
　　“下一个——玛丽 凯特莫尔，”乌姆里奇叫道。 
　　一个小个子女人站了起来，从头到脚都在发抖。她穿着朴素的长袍，黑色的头发在脑后柔顺地绾成一个髻。她的脸毫无血色。她穿过那些摄魂怪时，哈利看到她在颤抖。 
　　当门缓缓关上时，哈利跟在她身后溜进了地牢——他那样做了完全是出自本能，事先没有任何计划，因为他讨厌她独自走进地牢时的情景。 
　　这不是哈利过去因为滥用魔法而被审问的那个地牢，这个要小一些，尽管天花板还是一样矮——这让人有一种被囚禁在深井井底，像是患了幽闭恐惧症的感觉。 
　　里面有更多的摄魂怪，面无表情地像哨兵一样站在房间的角落里，所散发出的寒意笼罩着整个地牢。审判台的栏杆后面坐着乌姆里奇，她的一边是亚克斯利，另一边是同凯特莫尔夫人一样脸色苍白的赫敏。在平台的底下，一只银色的长毛猫来来去去的巡游着。哈利意识到它是用来保护那些原告，不让他们被摄魂怪释放出的绝望所感染的：绝望是为被告，而不是为原告准备的。 
　　“请坐吧。” 乌姆里奇依旧用她那甜腻的声音说道。 
　　凯特莫尔夫人跌跌撞撞地走下平台，在底层地板正中央的单人椅上坐下了。椅子扶手上弹出的镣铐立刻将她绑住了。 
　　“你就是玛丽－伊丽莎白－凯特莫尔吗？”乌姆里奇问。 
　　凯特莫尔夫人浑身颤抖着点了一下头。 
　　“你同魔法维修保养处的雷金纳德－凯特莫尔结婚了是吗？” 
　　凯特莫尔夫人突然大哭起来。“我不知道他在哪里，他本该在这儿等我的！” 
　　乌姆里奇没有理她。“你是梅齐，埃莉和阿尔弗雷德- 凯特莫尔的母亲是吗？” 
　　凯特莫尔夫人哭得更加厉害了。“他们一定吓坏了。他们以为我回不了家了——” 
　　“请原谅，”亚克斯利打断了她。“我们不会同情泥巴种的孩子。” 
　　凯特莫尔夫人的抽泣掩盖了哈利的脚步声，让他得以小心翼翼地来到通往审判台的楼梯前。穿过守护神猫巡游的地带的那一瞬间，哈利明显感到了气氛的不同：这里温暖而舒适。他可以肯定那只猫是乌姆里奇召唤的守护神，而且它浑身散发着耀眼的光芒，这是因为乌姆里奇在这里很开心——这是她的地盘，又是在施行她帮忙编写的那部一点也不正直的法律。 
　　哈利十分小心地在乌姆里奇，亚克斯利和赫敏身后的平台上慢慢移动着，然后在后面没有人的一排坐了下来。他担心他会让赫敏吓得跳起来。他甚至考虑着给乌姆里奇和亚克斯利施一个‘闭耳塞听’咒，可即使是小声念咒语的声音也会引起赫敏的警觉。这时乌姆里奇抬高了声音对凯特莫尔夫人说话，哈利抓住了这次机会。 
　　“我在你后面。”他在赫敏的耳旁低声说。 
　　正如他所料，赫敏猛地一惊，差点打翻那个用来记录谈话内容的墨水瓶，不过乌姆里奇和亚克斯利的注意力都在凯特莫尔夫人的身上，所以赫敏的举动并没有被发现。 
　　“今天你到达魔法部的时候，我们从你身上搜出了一根魔杖，凯特莫尔夫人，”乌姆里奇说道，“八又四分之三英寸，樱桃木，里面是一根独角兽的毛。对吗？” 
　　凯特莫尔夫人点点头，用她的袖子擦了擦眼睛。 
　　“你能告诉我们你是从哪个巫师的手中夺得这根魔杖的吗？” 
　　“夺……夺得？”凯特莫尔夫人抽噎着说，“我没有从任何人手中夺……夺得它。这根魔杖是我十一岁时买的，它……它……它选择了我。” 
　　她哭得比之前更厉害了。 
　　乌姆里奇发出了一声小女孩般的笑声，让哈利有一种想扁她的冲动。她把身体前倾越过栏杆，以便更好的观察她的‘受害者’。一件金色的东西也随之蹦了出来，在她胸前来回晃动：是那个储物盒。 
　　赫敏看到它，发出了一声低低的惊呼，不过乌姆里奇和亚克斯利的注意力仍在他们的‘猎物’身上，根本听不见其它的声音。 
　　“不，”乌姆里奇说，“不，不是这样，凯特莫尔夫人。魔杖只选择巫师，而你不是巫师。我这儿有一份你填的问卷调查表——玛法达，把它递给我。” 
　　乌姆里奇伸出她那小小的手：那一刻她显得如此的令人厌恶，以至于哈利居然没有看见她又短又粗的手指间的蹼。赫敏的手因为震惊而颤抖着。她在放在身边椅子上的那堆文件中摸索着，最后终于拿出了一卷写有凯特莫尔夫人名字的羊皮纸。 
　　“那——那真漂亮，德洛丽斯，”她用手指了指乌姆里奇上衣褶皱中那个闪闪发光的挂坠。 
　　“什么？”乌姆里奇突然严厉地说，同时向下看了看，“哦，是的——一件旧的传家宝。”她拍了拍挂在胸口的那个小盒。“这个‘Ｓ’代表着塞尔温……我和塞尔温家族有些亲缘关系……事实上，我几乎和所有纯血家族都保有这种关系……真遗憾，”她浏览了一下凯特莫尔夫人的问卷，用更大的声音说，“你和我可不一样，‘父母职业：蔬菜水果商。’” 
　　亚克斯利嘲弄似的笑了一下。平台下面，毛茸茸的守护神猫依然在来来回回地巡视着，摄魂怪站在角落里等待着。 
　　乌姆里奇的谎言让哈利的血液直往上涌，把谨慎小心抛到了脑后——一个卑微的罪犯用来贿赂她的坠饰盒，现在却被她用来证明她自己的纯巫师血统。他举起自己的魔杖，甚至懒得把它藏在隐形衣下面，大喊道：“昏昏倒地！” 
　　一道红光闪过，乌姆里奇倒了下来，头撞在栏杆的边缘。凯特莫尔夫人的文件从她的大腿上滑落到地板上，平台下面那只正在巡视的银色的猫也突然消失了。顿时阵阵寒意向他们袭来。亚克斯利困惑地四处张望着寻找事故的来源，看到哈利隐形衣下的手正拿着魔杖指向他，他试着拔出他自己的魔杖，可是已经太晚了：“昏昏倒地！” 
　　亚克斯利倒了下去，在地板上蜷成一团。 
　　“哈利！” 
　　“赫敏，如果你认为我应该坐在这儿听任她胡说八道——” 
　　“哈利，快救救凯特莫尔夫人！ ” 
　　哈利一把拽下隐形衣，转过身去。平台下面，那些摄魂怪已经离开了角落，向那个被锁在椅子上的女人滑行过去。不知是因为守护神消失了，还是因为他们感觉到他们的主人已经失去了控制他们的力量，那些摄魂怪没有继续克制他们的渴望。 
　　当一只结痂的，粘乎乎的手抓住凯特莫尔夫人的下巴并把她的脸抬起来的时候，凯特莫尔夫人发出了一声凄
Chapter 14 The Theif
Harry opened his eyes and was dazzled by gold and green; he had no idea what had happened, he only knew that he was lying on what seemed to be leaves and twigs. 
Struggling to draw breath into lungs that felt flattened, he blinked and realized that the gaudy glare was sunlight streaming through a canopy of leaves far above him. 
Then an object twitched close to his face. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees, ready to face some small, fierce creature, but saw that the object was Ron’s foot. Looking around, Harry saw that they and Hermione were lying on a forest floor, apparently alone.
Harry’s first thought was of the Forbidden Forest, and for a moment, even though he knew how foolish and dangerous it would be for them to appear in the grounds of Hogwarts, his heart leapt at the thought of sneaking through the trees to Hagrid’s hut. However, in the few moments it took for Ron to give a low groan and Harry to start crawling toward him, he realized that this was not the Forbidden Forest; The trees looked younger, they were more widely spaced, the ground clearer.
He met Hermione, also on her hands and knees, at Ron’s head. The moment his eyes fell upon Ron, all other concerns fled Harry’s mind, for blood drenched the whole of Ron’s left side and his face stood out, grayish-white, against the leaf-strewn earth. The Polyjuice Potion was wearing off now: Ron was halfway between Cattermole and himself in appearance, his hair turning redder and redder as his face drained of the little color it had left.
“What’s happened to him?”
“Splinched,” said Hermione, her fingers already busy at Ron’s sleeve, where the blood was wettest and darkest.
Harry watched, horrified, as she tore open Ron’s short. He had always thought of Splinching as something comical, but this… His insides crawled unpleasantly as Hermione laid bare Ron’s upper arm, where a great chunk of flesh was missing, scooped cleanly away as though by a knife.
“Harry, quickly, in my bag, there’s a small bottle labeled ‘Essence of Dittany’– “
“Bag – right – ”
Harry sped to the place where Hermione had landed, seized the tiny beaded bag, and thrust his hand inside it. At once, object after object began presenting itself to his touch: He felt the leather spines of books, woolly sleeves of jumpers, heels of shoes –
“Quickly!“
He grabbed his wand from the ground and pointed it into the depths of the magical bag.
“Accio Dittany!“
A small brown bottle zoomed out of the bag; he caught it and hastened back to Hermione and Ron, whose eyes were now half-closed, strips of white eyeball all that were visible between his lids.
“He’s fainted,” said Hermione, who was also rather pale; she no longer looked like Mafalda, though her hair was still gray in places. “Unstopper it for me, Harry, my hands are shaking.”
Harry wrenched the stopper off the little bottle, Hermione took it and poured three drops of the potion onto the bleeding wound. Greenish smoke billowed upward and when it had cleared, Harry saw that the bleeding had stopped. The wound now looked several days old; new skin stretched over what had just been open flesh.
“Wow,” said Harry.
“It’s all I feel safe doing,” said Hermione shakily. “There are spells that would put him completely right, but I daren’t try in case I do them wrong and cause more damage…. He’s lost so much blood already….”
“How did he get hurt? I mean” – Harry shook his head, trying to clear it, to make sense of whatever had just taken place – “why are we here? I thought we were going back to Grimmauld Place?”
Hermione took a deep breath. She looked close to tears.
“Harry, I don’t think we’re going to be able to go back there.”
“What d’you –?”
“As we Disapparated, Yaxley caught hold of me and I couldn’t get rid of him, he was too strong, and he was still holding on when we arrived at Grimmauld Place, and then – well, I think he must have seen the door, and thought we were stopping there, so he slackened his grip and I managed to sake him off and I brought us here instead!“
“But then, where’s he? Hang on…. You don’t mean he’s at Grimmauld Place? He can’t get in there?”
Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears as she nodded.
“Harry, I think he can. I – I forced him to let go with a Revulsion Jinx, but I’d already taken him inside the Fidelius Charm’s protection. Since Dumbledore died, we’re Secret-Keepers, so I’ve given him the secret, haven’t I?“
There was no pretending; Harry was sure she was right. It was a serious blow. If Yaxley could now get inside the house, there was no way that they could return. Even now, he could be bringing other Death Eaters in there by Apparition. Gloomy and oppressive though the house was, it had been their one safe refuge; even, now that Kreacher was so much happier and friendlier, a kind of home. With a twinge of regret that had nothing to do with food, Harry imagined the house-elf busying himself over the steak-and-kidney pie that Harry, Ron, and Hermione would never eat.
“Harry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”
“Don’t be stupid, it wasn’t your fault! If anything, it was mine….”
Harry put his hand in his pocket and drew out Mad-Eye’s eye. Hermione recoiled, looking horrified.
“Umbridge had stuck it to her office door, to spy on people. I couldn’t leave it there… but that’s how they knew there were intruders.“
Before Hermione could answer, Ron groaned and opened his eyes. He was still gray and his face glistened with sweat.
“How d’you feel?” Hermione whispered.
“Lousy,” croaked Ron, wincing as he felt his injured arm. “Where are we?”
“In the woods where they held the Quidditch World Cup,” said Hermione. “I wanted somewhere enclosed, undercover, and this was – ”
“– the first place you thought of,“ Harry finished for her, glancing around at the apparently deserted glade. He could not help remembering what had happened the last time they had Apparated to the first place Hermione had thought of – how Death Eaters had found them within minutes. Had it been Legilimency? Did Voldemort or his henchmen know, even now, where Hermione had taken them?
“D’you reckon we should move on?” Ron asked Harry, and Harry could tell by the look on Ron’s face that he was thinking the same.
“I dunno.”
Ron still looked pale and clammy. He had made no attempt to sit up and it looked as though he was too weak to do so. The prospect of moving him was daunting.
“Let’s stay here for now,” Harry said.
Looking relieved, Hermione sprang to her feet.
“Where are you going?” asked Ron.
“If we’re staying, we should put some protective enchantments around the place,” she replied, and raising her wand, she began to walk in a wide circle around Harry and Ron, murmuring incantations as she went. Harry saw little disturbances in the surrounding air: It was as if Hermione had cast a heat haze upon their clearing.
“Salvio Hexia… Protego Totalum… Repello Muggletum… Muffliato… You could get out the tent, Harry….“
“Tent?”
“In the bag!”
“In the… of course,” said Harry.
He did not bother to grope inside it this time, but used another Summoning Charm. The tent emerged in a lumpy mass of canvas, ropes, and poles. Harry recognized it, partly because of the smell of cats, as the same tent in which they had slept on the night of the Quidditch World Cup.
“I thought this belonged to that bloke Perkins at the Ministry?” he asked, starting to disentangle the pent pegs.
“Apparently he didn’t want it back, his lumbago’s so bad,“ said Hermione, now performing complicated figure-of-eight movements with her wand. ”so Ron’s dad said I could borrow it. Erecto!“ she added, pointing her wand at the misshapen canvas, which in one fluid motion rose into the air and settled, fully constructed, onto the ground before Harry, out of whose startled hands a tent peg soared, to land with a final thud at the end of a guy rope.
“Cave Inimicum,“ Hermione finished with a skyward flourish. ”That’s as much as I can do. At the very least, we should know they’re coming; I can’t guarantee it will keep out Vol – “
“Don’t say the name!” Ron cut across her, his voice harsh.
Harry and Hermione looked at each other.
“I’m sorry,” Ron said, moaning a little as he raised himself to look at them, “but it feels like a – a jinx or something. Can’t we call him You-Know-Who – please?”
“Dumbledore said fear of a name – ” began Harry.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, mate, calling You-Know-Who by his name didn’t do Dumbledore much good in the end,” Ron snapped back. “Just – just show You-Know-Who some respect, will you?”
“Respect?“ Harry repeated, but Hermione shot him a warning look; apparently he was not to argue with Ron while the latter was in such a weakened condition.
Harry and Hermione half carried, half dragged Ron through the entrance of the tent. The interior was exactly as Harry remembered it; a small flat, complete with bathroom and tiny kitchen. He shoved aside an old armchair and lowered Ron carefully onto the lower berth of a bunk bed. Even this very short journey had turned Ron whiter still, and once they had settled him on the mattress he closed his eyes again and did not speak for a while.
“I’ll make some tea,” said Hermione breathlessly, pulling kettle and mugs from the depths of her bag and heading toward the kitchen.
Harry found the hot drink as welcome as the firewhisky had been on the night that Mad-Eye had died; it seemed to burn away a little of the fear fluttering in his chest. 
After a minute or two, Ron broke the silence.
“What d’you reckon happened to the Cattermoles?”
“With any luck, they’ll have got away,” said Hermione, clutching her hot mug for comfort. “As long as Mr. Cattermole had his wits about him, he’ll have transported Mrs. Cattermole by Side-Along-Apparition and they’ll be fleeing the country right now with their children. That’s what Harry told her to do.”
“Blimey, I hope they escaped,“ said Ron, leaning back on his pillows. The tea seemed to be doing him good; a little of his color had returned. ”I didn’t get the feeling Reg Cattermole was all that quick-witted, though, the way everyone was talking to me when I was him. God, I hope they made it…. If they both end up in Azkaban because of us…“
Harry looked over at Hermione and the question he had been about to ask – about whether Mrs. Cattermole’s lack of a wand would prevent her Apparating alongside her husband – died in his throat. Hermione was watching Ron fret over the fate of the Cattermoles, and there was such tenderness in her expression that Harry felt almost as if he had surprised her in the act of kissing him.
“So, have you got it?” Harry asked her, partly to remind her that he was there.
“Got – got what?” she said with a little start.
“What did we just go through all that for? The locket! Where’s the locket?”
“You got it?“ shouted Ron, raising himself a little higher on his pillows. ”No one tells me anything! Blimey, you could have mentioned it!“
“Well, we were running for our lives from the Death Eaters, weren’t we?” said Hermione. “Here.”
And she pulled the locket out of the pocket of her robes and handed it to Ron.
It was as large as a chicken’s egg. An ornate letter S, inlaid with many small green stones, glinted dully in the diffused light shining through the tent’s canvas roof.
“There isn’t any chance someone’s destroyed it since Kreacher had it?“ asked Ron hopefully. ”I mean, are we sure it’s still a Horcrux?“
“I think so,“ said Hermione, taking it back from him and looking at it closely. ”There’d be some sign of damage if it had been magically destroyed.“
She passed it to Harry, who turned it over in his fingers. The thing looked perfect, pristine. He remembered the mangled remains of the diary, and how the stone in the Horcrux ring had been cracked open when Dumbledore destroyed it.
“I reckon Kreacher’s right,” said Harry. “We’re going to have to work out how to open this thing before we can destroy it.”
Sudden awareness of what he was holding, of what lived behind the little golden doors, hit Harry as he spoke. Even after all their efforts to find it, he felt a violent urge to fling the locket from him. Mastering himself again, he tried to pry the locket apart with his fingers, then attempted the charm Hermione had used to open Regulus’s bedroom door. Neither worked. He handed the locket back to Ron and Hermione, each of whom did their best, but were no more successful at opening it than he had been.
“Can you feel it, though?” Ron asked in a hushed voice, as he held it tight in his clenched fist.
“What d’you mean?”
Ron passed the Horcrux to Harry. After a moment or two, Harry thought he knew what Ron meant. Was it his own blood pulsing through his veins that he could feel, or was it something beating inside the locket, like a tiny metal heart?
“What are we going to do with it?” Hermione asked.
“Keep it safe till we work out how to destroy it.” Harry replied, and, little though he wanted to, he hung the chain around his own neck, dropping the locket out of sight beneath his robes, where it rested against his chest beside the pouch Hagrid had given him.
“I think we should take it in turns to keep watch outside the tent,” he added to Hermione, standing up and stretching. “And we’ll need to think about some food as well. You stay there,” he added sharply, as Ron attempted to sit up and turned a nasty shade of green.
With the Sneakoscope Hermione had given Harry for his birthday set carefully upon the table in the tent, Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the day sharing the role of lookout. However, the Sneakoscope remained silent and still upon its point all day, and whether because of the protective enchantments and Muggle-repelling charms Hermione had spread around them, or because people rarely ventured this way, their patch of wood remained deserted, apart from occasional birds and squirrels. Evening brought no change; Harry lit his wand as he swapped places with Hermione at ten o’clock, and looked out upon a deserted scene, noting the bats fluttering high above him across the single patch of starry sky visible from their protected clearing.
He felt hungry now, and a little light-headed. Hermione had not packed any food in her magical bag, as she had assumed that they would be returning to Grimmauld Place that night, so they had had nothing to eat except some wild mushrooms that Hermione had collected from amongst the nearest trees and stewed in a Billycan. After a couple of mouthfuls Ron had pushed his portion away, looking queasy; Harry had only persevered so as to not hurt Hermione’s feelings.
The surrounding silence was broken by odd rustlings and what sounded like crackings of twigs: Harry thought that they were caused by animals rather than people, yet he kept his wand held tight at the ready. His insides, already uncomfortable due to their inadequate helping of rubbery mushrooms, tingled with unease.
He had though that he would feel elated if they managed to steal back the Horcrux, but somehow he did not; all he felt as he sat looking out at the darkness, of which his wand lit only a tiny part, was worry about what would happen next. It was as though he had been hurtling toward this point for weeks, months, maybe even years, but how he had come to an abrupt halt, run out of road.
There were other Horcruxes out there somewhere, but he did not have the faintest idea where they could be. He did not even know what all of them were. Meanwhile he was at a loss to know how to destroy the only one that they had found, the Horcrux that currently lay against the bare flesh of his chest. Curiously, it had not taken heat from his body, but lay so cold against his skin it might just have emerged from icy water. From time to time Harry thought, or perhaps imagined, that he could feel the tiny heartbeat ticking irregularly alongside his own. Nameless forebodings crept upon him as he sat there in the dark. He tried to resist them, push them away, yet they came at him relentlessly. Neither can live while the other survives. Ron and Hermione, now talking softly behind him in the tent, could walk away if they wanted to: He could not. And it seemed to Harry as he sat there trying to master his own fear and exhaustion, that the Horcrux against his chest was ticking away the time he had left…. Stupid idea, he told himself, don’t think that….
His scar was starting to prickle again. He was afraid that he was making it happen by having these thoughts, and tried to direct them into another channel. He thought of poor Kreacher, who had expected them home and had received Yaxley instead. Would the elf keep silent or would he tell the Death Eater everything he knew? Harry wanted to believe that Kreacher had changed towards him in the past month, that he would be loyal now, but who knew what would happen? What if the Death Eaters tortured the elf? Sick images swarmed into Harry’s head and he tried to push these away too, for there was nothing he could do for Kreacher: He and Hermione had already decided against trying to summon him; what if someone from the Ministry came too? They could not count on elfish Apparition being free from the same flaw that had taken Yaxley to Grimmauld Place on the hem of Hermione’s sleeve.
Harry’s scar was burning now. He thought that there was so much they did not know: Lupin had been right about magic they had never encountered or imagined. Why hadn’t Dumbledore explained more? Had he thought that there would be time; that he would live for years, for centuries perhaps, like his friend Nicolas Flamel? If so, he had been wrong…. Snape had seen to that…. Snape, the sleeping snake, who had struck at the top of the tower…
And Dumbledore had fallen… fallen…
“Give it to me, Gregorovitch.“
Harry’s voice was high, clear, and cold, his wand held in front of him by a long-fingered white hand. The man at whom he was pointing was suspended upside down in midair, though there were no ropes holding him; he swung there, invisibly and eerily bound, his limbs wrapped about him, his terrified face, on a level with Harry’s ruddy due to the blood that had rushed to his head. He had pure-white hair and a thick, bushy beard: a trussed-up Father Christmas.
“I have it not, I have it no more! It was, many years ago, stolen from me!”
“Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Gregorovitch. He knows…. He always knows.”
The hanging man’s pupils were wide, dilated with fear, and they seemed to swell, bigger and bigger until their blackness swallowed Harry whole –
And how Harry was hurrying along a dark corridor in stout little Gregorovitch’s wake as he held a lantern aloft: Gregorovitch burst into the room at the end of the passage and his lantern illuminated what looked like a workshop; wood shavings and gold gleamed in the swinging pool of light, and there on the window ledge sat perched, like a giant bird, a young man with golden hair. In the split second that the lantern’s light illuminated him, Harry saw the delight upon his handsome face, then the intruder shot a Stunning Spell from his wand and jumped neatly backward out of the window with a crow of laughter.
And Harry was hurtling back out of those wide, tunnellike pupils and Gregorovitch’s face was stricken with terror.
“Who was the thief, Gregorovitch?“ said the high cold voice.
“I do not know, I never knew, a young man – no – please – PLEASE!“
A scream that went on and on and then a burst of green light –
“Harry!“
He opened his eyes, panting, his forehead throbbing. He had passed out against the side of the tent, had slid sideways down the canvas, and was sprawled on the ground. 
He looked up at Hermione, whose bushy hair obscured the tiny patch of sky visible through the dark branches high above them.
“Dream,“ he said, sitting up quickly and attempting to meet Hermione’s glower with a look of innocence. ”Must’ve dozed off, sorry.”
“I know it was your scar! I can tell by the look on your face! You were looking into Vol – ”
“Don’t say his name!” came Ron’s angry voice from the depths of the tent.
“Fine,“ retorted Hermione, “You-Know-Who’s mind, then!”
“I didn’t mean it to happen!“ Harry said. ”It was a dream! Can you control what you dream about, Hermione?“
“If you just learned to apply Occlumency – ”
But Harry was not interested in being told off; he wanted to discuss what he had just seen.
“He’s found Gregorovitch, Hermione, and I think he’s killed him, but before he killed him he read Gregorovitch’s mind and I saw – ”
“I think I’d better take over the watch if you’re so tired you’re falling sleep,” said Hermione coldly.
“I can finish the watch!”
“No, you’re obviously exhausted. Go and lie down.”
She dropped down in the mouth of the tent, looking stubborn. Angry, but wishing to avoid a row, Harry ducked back inside.
Ron’s still-pale face was poking out from the lower bunk; Harry climbed into the one above him, lay down, and looked up at the dark canvas ceiling. After several moments, Ron spoke in a voice so low that it would not carry to Hermione, huddle in the entrance.
“What’s You-Know-Who doing?”
Harry screwed up his eyes in the effort to remember every detail, then whispered into the darkness.
“He found Gregorovitch. He had him tied up, he was torturing him.”
“How’s Gregorovitch supposed to make him a new wand if he’s tied up?”
“I dunno…. It’s weird, isn’t it?”
Harry closed his eyes, thinking of all that he had seen and heard. The more he recalled, the less sense it made…. Voldemort had said nothing about Harry’s wand, nothing about the twin cores, nothing about Gregorovitch making a new and more powerful wand to beat Harry’s….
“He wanted something from Gregorovitch,” Harry said, eyes still closed tight. “He asked him to hand it over, but Gregorovitch said it had been stolen from him… and then… then…”
He remembered how he, as Voldemort, had seemed to hurtle through Gregorovitch’s eyes, into his memories….
“He read Gregorovitch’s mind, and I saw this young bloke perched on a windowsill, and he fired a curse at Gregorovitch and jumped out of sight. He stole it, he stole whatever You-Know-Who’s after. And I… I think I’ve seen him somewhere….”
Harry wished he could have another glimpse of the laughing boy’s face. The theft had happened many years ago, according to Gregorovitch. Why did the young thief look familiar?
The noises of the surrounding woods were muffled inside the tent; all Harry could hear was Ron’s breathing. After a while, Ron whispered, “Couldn’t you see what the thief was holding?”
“No… it must’ve been something small.”
“Harry?”
The wooden slats of Ron’s bunk creaked as he repositioned himself in bed.
“Harry, you don’t reckon You-Know-Who’s after something else to turn into a Horcrux?”
“I don’t know,” said Harry slowly. “Maybe. But wouldn’t it be dangerous for him to make another one? Didn’t Hermione say he had pushed his soul to the limit already?”
“Yeah, but maybe he doesn’t know that.”
“Yeah…maybe,” said Harry.
He had been sure that Voldemort had been looking for a way around the problem of the twin cores, sure that Voldemort sought a solution from the old wandmaker… and yet he had killed him, apparently without asking him a single question about wandlore.
What was Voldemort trying to find? Why, with the Ministry of Magic and the Wizarding world at his feet, was he far away, intent on the pursuit of an object that Gregorovitch had once owned, and which had been stolen by the unknown thief?
Harry could still see the blond-haired youth’s face; it was merry, wild; there was a Fred and George-ish air of triumphant trickery about him. He had soared from the windowsill like a bird, and Harry had seen him before, but he could not think where….
With Gregorovitch dead, it was the merry-faced thief who was in danger now, and it was on him that Harry’s thoughts dwelled, as Ron’s snores began to rumble from the lower bunk and as he himself drifted slowly into sleep once more.
哈利睁开眼睛，被映入眼帘的金色和绿色弄得一阵眩晕，他不知道发生了什么，只知道自己此刻躺在一堆看似枝叶的东西上。他努力地吸了几口空气试图平服一下心情，眨了眨眼睛，意识到那股强烈的光是阳光透过遮在他头顶上的树叶洒下来的。突然有什么靠近他脸的东西抽搐了一下，他用手和膝盖支起身体，以为会看见个野蛮的小生物，却发现那其实是罗恩的脚。哈利环顾四周，发现他们和赫敏都躺在一片森林里，孤立无援。 
　　哈利刚开始想到的是禁林，片刻之后，虽然他知道他们就这样出现在霍格沃次的场地上有多危险多愚蠢，但一想到可以悄悄地穿过森林到海格的小屋去，他就不由的激动万分。然而，在这时罗恩低声呻吟了一声。哈利开始爬向他，这才意识到这不是禁林，这些树看起来要幼嫩些，树之间的间隔也更大，场地也更干净。 
　　他看见赫敏也醒了，在罗恩的头上方正用手和膝盖支撑着身体试图起来。这一瞬间他的目光落到了罗恩身上，所有其他事情都消失在哈利的脑海中，因为血浸透了罗恩身体的左边，让他靠在布满杂草地上的惨白的脸显得分外醒目。复方汤剂的效力正在漫漫消失：罗恩的外貌正介于凯特莫尔和他自己之间，他的头发正变得越来越红，可他脸上的最后一抹生气却消失了。 
　　“他怎么了？” 
　　“分体，”赫敏说，她已经开始解开罗恩的袖子，那里的血迹最潮湿也是颜色最深的。她撕开了罗恩的短衣，哈利 
　　恐惧地看着，他一直觉得分体是件很可笑的事情，但这次……他心里很不舒服地蠕动着，看着赫敏把罗恩赤裸的上臂放平，那里的一大块肉没有了，就像被一把刀利落地挖掉了一样。 
　　“哈利，快！在我包里找一个贴着“白鲜”的小瓶子——” 
　　“包——好的——” 
　　哈利急忙到刚刚赫敏幻影显形的地方，一把抓过那个小巧的珠绣包，把手伸了进去。立刻，他摸到了一样接一样的东西，他感觉到有皮革的书脊，套头外衣的羊毛袖子，还有鞋的后跟—— 
　　“快点！” 
　　他从地上抓起自己的魔杖，指向这个神奇的小包深处。 
　　“白鲜飞来！” 
　　一个棕色的小瓶子从包里急速飞出，他抓住了它，匆忙回到赫敏和罗恩那里，罗恩的眼睛此时半睁着，眼睑里只看得到眼白。 
　　“他昏倒了，”赫敏说，她的脸色也很苍白，尽管看起来不再像马法尔达一样，但她的一些头发还是灰色的。“帮我把它打开，哈利，我的手抖的不行了。” 
　　哈利拔掉小瓶子上的塞子，赫敏把它拿过去，将三滴药剂滴在罗恩血淋淋的伤口上。绿色的烟雾立刻升腾起来，烟雾散去后，哈利看见血已经止住了。现在伤口看起来像是愈合了好几天之后的样子；新的皮肤覆在长出的嫩肉上。 
　　“喔。”哈利叹道。 
　　“这是我确保安全能做的最大限度的事了，”赫敏虚弱地说，“还有些药片可以使他完全康复，但我不敢再尝试了，万一出错了有可能会引发更大的伤害……他已经流了太多的血了……” 
　　“他是怎么受伤的？我的意思是——”哈利摇了摇头，试图将思路整理清楚，想搞明白刚才到底发生了什么——“为什么我们会在这？我想我们应该是要回到格里莫广场的？” 
　　赫敏深深地吸了一口气。她看起来快要哭了。 
　　“哈利，我不认为我们能够回到那儿了。” 
　　“你是说——” 
　　“当我们移形幻影的时候，亚历克斯抓住并控制了我，我无法从他那儿逃掉，他太强壮了，当我们抵达格里莫广场的时候他依然抓着我，然后——是的，我想他一定看到那扇门了，并且认为我们停在那儿了，于是他放松了掌控。我设法逃离了他，而接下来我让我们显形在这里了！” 
　　“但是这么说来，他在哪儿？等等……你指的不会是他还在格里莫广场吧？他不是到不了那里吗？” 
　　她点着头，眼睛里闪着泪光。 
　　“哈利，我想他可以。我——我中了他的夺魂咒，我几乎已经带他破了赤胆忠心咒。自从邓布利多死后，我们就成了保密人，所以我已经告诉他那个秘密了，是不是？” 
　　不可能是假的；哈利已经肯定她是对的了。这真是个可怕的打击！如果亚历克斯现在能够进入房子，那他们就无法返回了。甚至现在，亚历克斯可能已经幻影显形把其他食死徒带到那儿了，虽然那个屋子阴暗而且又令人压抑，但那儿起码是个安全的庇护所：甚至，现在想来克利切也变的友好得多了，那儿也似乎更像个家了。被一种跟食物无关的悔恨刺痛着，哈利想象着那个家养小精灵一直忙里忙外地准备着哈利、罗恩和赫敏永远不会吃的牛排腰花馅饼。 
　　“哈利，对不起，我真的很抱歉！” 
　　“别傻了，这不是你的错！如果发生了什么事的话，那都是我的错……” 
　　哈利把手伸进口袋掏出了疯眼汉的魔眼，赫敏畏缩了一下，显得很惊恐。 
　　“乌姆里奇把这个粘在她办公室的门上来监视人，我不能把它留在那儿……但他们就是这样知道有侵入者的。” 
　　赫敏还没来得及回答，罗恩呻吟了一声睁开了眼睛，他的脸色依然惨白，脸上的汗水反着光。 
　　“感觉怎么样？”赫敏轻声问。 
　　“难受，”罗恩用嘶哑的声音说，好象感觉到他的胳膊受伤了一样畏缩了一下。“我们现在在哪儿？” 
　　“在举行魁地奇世界杯的那片树林里，”赫敏说，“我想要某个封闭而隐秘的地方，而这个地方—” 
　　“是你第一个想到的地方，”哈利替她说完，扫视了一下这块看起来很荒芜的林间空地，不由地想起了上一次他们 
　　幻影移形到赫敏想到的第一个地方----而食死徒又是怎样在几分钟内就找到了他们，用的是摄神取念吗？伏地魔和他的属下知 道此刻赫敏把他们带到哪里了吗？” 
　　“你说我们还能继续前进吗？”罗恩问哈利，哈利从罗恩脸上看到了同样的答案。 
　　“我不知道。” 
　　罗恩看起来还是虚弱的苍白的，他无法努力坐起身来，好像他还太虚弱不能做到这一点。看来移动他的想法是不切实际的。 
　　“现在我们待在这儿好了。”哈利说。 
　　赫敏看起来放心多了，于是正要抬起她的脚。 
　　“你要去哪？”罗恩问。 
　　“如果我们要在这儿待着，我们就要采取一些保护措施，在周围释放一些魔法。”她回应道，拿起她的魔杖，开始在哈利和罗恩周围走动，绕出一个较大的圈，并且喃喃低语着。哈利看见一些紊乱的气流在空气中游移：似乎赫敏在他们周围的空地上制造了一道热浪。 
　　“萨维尔埃希亚……盔甲护身……雷贝穆戈勒督姆……闭耳塞听……哈利你去把帐篷拿出来……” 
　　“帐篷？” 
　　“在我包里！” 
　　“在……当然。”哈利答道。 
　　他现在可不想在里面乱找，而是可以使用一个飞来咒。帐篷从大量成团的帆布中逐渐凸现出来，包括绳索和帐篷柱子，哈利认出了它，有猫的味道是一部分原因，这帐篷就是魁地奇世界杯那晚上睡的那个。 
　　“我想这帐篷属于魔法部的珀金斯那家伙的吧？”他问道，开始解开帐篷的定位针。 
　　“显然他不想再要它了，他的腰痛太严重了，”赫敏说，她正用很复杂的8字形动作挥动着她的魔杖，“所以罗恩的爸爸说可以借给我用，快快打开！”她补充说，将她的魔杖指向那个奇形怪状的帆布，让它在一股气流中升到空中，落在哈利前面的空地上，就像完全建好了，然后从惊讶的哈利手上的帐篷钉子飞出去，砰地一声砸在绳索上之后固定在地上。 
　　“房屋固定！”赫敏最后向天空挥了一下魔杖，“我只能做到这么多了，最起码，我们必须知道他们要来了，我不能保证这个魔法能够阻挡住伏——” 
　　“别说那个名字！”罗恩打断了她，他的声音都嘶哑了。哈利和赫敏看了看彼此。 
　　“抱歉，”罗恩说，当他支撑起身体想看看他们的时候呻吟了几下，“但是这个名字总让我想到不祥的什么东西，我们难道不能称呼他为‘神秘人’吗？” 
　　“邓布利多说过，对一个名字抱有恐惧……”哈利刚开始说。 
　　“除非你没有意识到，哥们，直接称呼神秘人的名字最后并没有给邓布利多带来什么好处，”罗恩回敬说：“就、就给神秘人一些尊敬，不行吗？” 
　　“尊重？”哈利重复道，但赫敏警告似的瞄了他一眼；显然他并不想和罗恩争吵，尤其是在他如此虚弱的时候。 
　　哈利和赫敏半拖半拉地让罗恩穿过帐篷的入口，里面正如哈利所记得的那样，一所小公寓的样子，配有洗澡间和微型厨房。他将一张旧扶手椅撞到一旁，小心地将罗恩放在一张双层床的下铺。即使这是段非常短暂的旅行，还是让罗恩的脸色变的更加苍白了，他们将他放在垫子上的时候他眼睛再次闭上，一时间他什么都没说。 
　　“我马上去沏些茶，”赫敏喘息着说，从她的包里拿出水壶和大杯子，然后走向厨房。 
　　哈利发现这种热饮和疯眼汉死的那天晚上的火威士忌一样好喝，它似乎消灭了一些在他胸口中颤动的恐惧感，过了一两分钟，罗恩打破了沉默。 
　　“你们说，凯特莫尔一家怎么样了？” 
　　“幸运的话，他们应该逃脱了，”赫敏说，舒服的抓着自己热腾腾的杯子，”只要凯特莫尔先生保持警觉，他应该会运用随从显形把凯特莫尔太太带出去，他们和他们的孩子现在也应该已经逃出了那个镇，这是哈利告诉他们要做的事情。” 
　　“哎呀，希望他们能逃脱，”罗恩说，仰靠在他的枕头上，茶看起来对他起了点作用，他的脸上恢复了一些血色，“可我并不觉得雷和凯特莫尔是那种反应很快的人，我是通过变成他的时候人们和我说话的方式感觉的。我的天，我希望他们能逃脱……如果他们俩因为我们而被关进阿兹卡班的话……” 
　　哈利看向赫敏，那个他正要问出口的问题堵在他的喉咙，就是关于凯特莫尔太太会不会因为没有魔杖而不能跟着她的丈夫随从显形。此时赫敏正注视着罗恩为凯特莫尔一家子的命运而发愁，她的表情如此温柔以至于哈利觉得就她好像就要吻他了似的。 
　　“那，你拿到了没有？”哈利问她，一方面也是提醒她还有他在这儿。 
　　“拿——拿到什么？”她小小地吃了一惊。 
　　“我们经历所有这一切为的是什么？挂坠盒！那个挂坠盒在哪儿？” 
　　“你拿到了？”罗恩叫起来，把身子从枕头上微微抬高了一点，“没人告诉我任何事情，哎呀，你都没提过这事！” 
　　“我们是从食死徒手中逃出来的，不是吗？”赫敏说，“那个挂坠盒在这儿。” 
　　她从长袍的口袋中掏出挂坠盒递给了罗恩。 
　　它和鸡蛋差不多大小，一个华丽的字母“S”，镶嵌着许多小的绿宝石，在透过帐篷的帆布顶洒下来的阳光里闪着淡淡的光芒。 
　　“克利切拿到之后应该没人有机会摧毁它吧？”罗恩满怀希望地问，“我的意思是，你们确定它仍然是个魂器吗？” 
　　“我想是的，”赫敏说，从他手中拿过挂坠盒，仔细地观察。“如果被魔法摧毁过，应该会留下损坏的痕迹。” 
　　她把它递给哈利，哈利拿在手里翻来覆去地看，这个挂坠盒看上去完美而又毫无损伤。他回忆起里德尔日记被损坏后的残骸，还有被邓布利多摧毁的那个魂器戒指上面裂开的石头。 
　　“我想克利切是对的，”哈利说，“我们得先研究出怎样打开这玩意，才能摧毁它。” 
　　当他开口说话的时候，一种突如其来的意识来自他此刻握住的这小小的金色的门里面住着的东西，冲击着他。就算他们用尽力气地找到它，他现在却有股强烈的冲动把它扔得远远的。他重新让自己理智起来，他试着不再去碰它，然后对它试了试赫敏用过的打开雷古勒斯卧室门的那个魔法，没起作用。他把挂坠盒递回给罗恩和赫敏，他们俩也尽力而为地试了一下，但是效果不比哈利用过的好多少。 
　　“你能感觉得到它，是吗？”罗恩压低声音问，他把它握紧在自己的手里。 
　　“什么意思？”罗恩将魂器递给哈利，片刻之后，哈利认为他懂得罗恩的意思了，他感觉到的是他自己的血液冲击着他的静脉吗？还是挂坠盒中有什么东西在跳动着，像一个小的金属心脏？” 
　　“我们现在该拿它怎么办？”赫敏问。 
　　“妥善地保管，直到我们想出怎样摧毁它为止。”哈利回答道，然后，尽管他不想，但还是把链子挂在自己的脖子上，把挂坠盒藏进了长袍里，贴在他的胸口上，海格送给他的小袋子就在它旁边。 
　　“我想我们应该轮流到帐篷外面去放哨，”他站起来伸展开身子，对赫敏接着说，“我们也需要考虑一下食物问题，你待在这儿。”当罗恩试图站起来时，脸都变绿了，他急忙加了一句。 
　　赫敏作为生日礼物送给哈利的那个窥镜被小心地摆在帐篷里的桌子上，这一天剩下的时间里，哈利和赫敏都在轮流值班，然而那个窥镜一整天都安静地静止在支点上。是因为赫敏在他们周围施展了保护魔法和麻瓜驱逐咒，还是因为人们很少涉足这条路？他们这一小块树林仍然很寂静，除了偶尔经过的鸟儿和松鼠。夜晚的降临也没有带来任何改变，十点钟，哈利在和赫敏交换值班后点亮了他的魔杖，然后在废弃的场地上巡视警戒。抬头向寂静的天空望去，注意到蝙蝠在他上空飞越了一片经由他们保护的，星光璀璨的天空。 
　　他现在感到饥饿和轻微的头晕。赫敏那个魔法包里没有带任何吃的，因为当时她认为他们晚上就会回到格里莫广场，所以他们没有任何东西可吃，除了那些赫敏从周围树林中采到的野蘑菇，用茶罐炖着吃了。罗恩吃了两大口就把他的那份推开了，看上去想吐。哈利为了不伤害赫敏的感情只能坚持吃完。 
　　四周的寂静被一种古怪的沙沙声打破了，听起来像是树枝间的摩擦，哈利觉得这更可能是动物而不是人引起的动静，但他还是握紧了魔杖准备着，因为消化没能炖烂的蘑菇而机能不足已经让他的胃很难受了，现在更加不舒服地绞在了一起。 
　　他以前认为一旦他们偷回魂器，他会很受鼓舞的，但不知为何他没有，当他静坐着看向黑暗中的时候，他的魔杖只照亮了黑暗的一小部分，他所有的感觉只有对即将发生的事情感到担心，这就好象他一直努力朝着一个目标前进了几个星期，几个月，或许几年，但现在他突然停了下来，无路可走了。 
　　在某些地方还有其它魂器存在，但他一点也不知道在哪儿，他甚至都不知道它们是什么。并且他也不知道如何摧毁仅有的找到的这个魂器，它此刻正贴着他赤裸的胸膛。很奇怪，它似乎并没有从他身体里吸取热量，却依然是冷冰冰地贴着他的皮肤，就像是刚从冰水里捞出来的一样，哈利时不时地觉得，或者只是他的想象，他可以感觉到那个微弱的心跳伴着他自己的心跳不规则地响起。当他坐在黑暗中时，一股无名的不祥预感总向他袭来，他试图抵抗它们，赶走它们，然而它们却执拗地叨扰着他。两个人不可能同时存活下来。罗恩和赫敏在他身后的帐篷里低声说着话，只要他们想，他们随时可以退出，可他不能。哈利感觉他坐在那儿努力控制着自己的恐惧和疲惫的时候，贴着他胸膛的那个魂器正“滴答”跳着吞噬着他剩下的时间……愚蠢的想法，他对自己说，别想那个…… 
　　他的伤疤又开始刺痛，他恐怕这是因为自己有了这些想法才痛的，于是试图把思想引到别的方面，他想到了可怜的克利切，它盼着他们回家却盼到了亚历克斯，那个小精灵会保持沉默吗？
还是他会把所有他知道的事情都告诉食死徒？哈利宁愿相信在过去的一个月里克利切已经站在他这一边，现在它应该会忠实于他，但谁又知道还会发生什么？如果食死徒折磨那个小精灵怎么办？一些令人不快的画面涌现进哈利的脑海中，他尝试着将这些想法抛开，因为现在他没法帮到克利切什么：他和赫敏已经决定不再试图召唤它，否则如果魔法部的什么人跟过来怎么办？在赫敏的带领下尚且将亚历克斯带到了格里莫广场，他们也就不能指望小精灵的幻影显形没有同样的缺陷了。 
　　哈利的伤疤此刻如燃烧一般，他想到他们不知道的事情太多了：卢平是对的,那些魔法是他们从未接触过,甚至想象过的· 邓布利多过去为什么没多解释一点呢？他认为他还有时间吗？认为他可以活上几年，或者几个世纪，像他的朋友尼古拉斯·勒梅一样？如果是这样，那么他错了……斯内普保证了这一点……斯内普，沉睡的蛇，在塔楼的顶上发起了突袭…… 
　　邓布利多在坠落……坠落…… 
　　“把它给我，格里戈维奇。” 
　　哈利的声音尖刻，清晰而冷酷，他的魔杖被一只修长的苍白的手握在身前，魔杖指着的那个男人倒挂着悬在半空，却没有绳索栓住他，他晃动着，被无形怪异地束缚在空中，他的四肢紧紧地贴在身上，他可怕的脸与哈利因血液上冲而涨红的脸处于同一水平上， 
　　他有一头纯白色的头发和一把浓密的灌木丛似的胡子：仿佛一个被捆着的，挂在空中的圣诞老人。 
　　“我没有，已经不在我这儿了！它，很多年前……从我这被偷走了！” 
　　“不要对伏地魔大人撒谎，格里戈维奇，他知道……他什么都知道！”被挂着的男人因为恐惧瞳孔放大了，它们似乎扩张得越来越大，直到那黑色的瞳孔把哈利整个淹没了--- 
　　然后哈利沿着一条黑暗的回廊跟着提灯笼的矮胖格里戈维奇的脚步走 
　　。格里戈维奇突然闯进走廊的最后一个房间，他的灯笼照亮了这个看起来像车间的屋子，木屑和黄金在荡漾的光亮中闪着微光，在一边的窗台上坐着一个金黄色头发，像只巨大的鸟的年轻人，一瞬间，灯光照亮了他，哈利看见他英俊的脸上满是兴奋，闯入者对他发射了昏迷咒，伴着欢笑敏捷地跳出后窗。 
　　哈利又从那对扩张的，隧道般的瞳孔里退了出来，格里戈维奇的脸上写满了恐惧。 
　　“谁偷的？格里戈维奇。”那个尖刻冷酷的声音又响起了。 
　　“我不知道，我一直都不知道，一个年轻人——不——求您---请求您！” 
　　一个尖叫声一直在回荡，然后闪过一道绿光…… 
　　“哈利！” 
　　他睁开双眼，喘息着，他的前额抽动着。他刚刚昏倒了靠在帐篷的一边，把帆布弄歪了，他发现自己滑落在地上。他抬头看着赫敏，她浓密的头发遮住了透过他们上方茂密的树枝可以看得到的一小块天空。 
　　“做了个梦。”他说，赶紧坐起来，无辜地试图去看赫敏生气的眼睛，“肯定是打起了瞌睡，对不起。” 
　　“我知道是你的伤疤！我可以从你的表情得知！你侵入了伏---” 
　　“别说那个名字！”罗恩生气的声音从帐篷里传出。 
　　“好吧，”赫敏回敬道，“神秘人的大脑，行了吧？” 
　　“我并没要它发生！”哈利说，“这是个梦！你能控制你做的梦吗？赫敏？” 
　　“如果你学会大脑封闭术——” 
　　但哈利对她的责备不感兴趣，他想谈谈他刚刚看到的情景。 
　　“他找到了格里戈维奇，赫敏，我想他已经杀了他，但在这之前，他侵入了格里戈维奇的大脑，我看见了——” 
　　“我想我们最好换班，如果你累了，想要睡觉的话。”赫敏冷冷地说。 
　　“我可以继续值班！” 
　　“不，很显然你是太累了，去躺一会儿吧。” 
　　她顽固地在帐篷口坐了下了，哈利尽管生气，但不想和她吵架，只好俯身进了帐篷。 
　　罗恩依然苍白的脸从下铺探了出来，哈利爬上上铺，躺了下来，盯着黑黑的帆布顶看，过了一会儿，罗恩用低得蜷缩着坐在门口的赫敏听不到的声音说： 
　　“神秘人做了什么？” 
　　哈利眯起双眼努力回忆每一个细节，然后对着黑暗轻声说：“他找到了格里戈维奇，他把他捆起来了，他在折磨他。” 
　　“把格里戈维奇捆住了？那他怎么给他做一根新魔杖呢？” 
　　“不知道……很奇怪，不是吗？” 
　　哈利闭上眼睛，回忆他所看到听到的一切，他回忆得越多，就越没有意义……伏地魔没说任何关于哈利的魔杖，关于同一个凤凰的尾羽，关于让格里戈维奇制造一根更强大的新魔杖去打败哈利的话。 
　　“他想要格里戈维奇的什么东西，”哈利说，眼睛仍然紧闭着，”他让他交出来，但格里戈维奇说那个东西已经被偷走了……然后……然后……” 
　　他回忆起他作为伏地魔，好像是从格里戈维奇的眼睛里进去了，侵入到他的记忆中………… 
　　“他看到了格里戈维奇的记忆，我看到了一个年轻人坐在窗台上，然后他向格里戈维奇发射了一个咒语就跳出窗外逃走了，他偷了它，那个神秘人想要的什么东西。我……我觉得我以前在哪儿见过他……” 
　　哈利希望他当时能多看一眼那个大笑着的男孩的脸，根据格里戈维奇的说法，这事过去很多年了。可为什么这个年轻的窃贼会看上去眼熟呢？ 
　　周围的树林发出的声音在帐篷中听不清，哈利所能听到的仅仅是罗恩的呼吸声。过了一会儿，罗恩耳语般地说，“你没看到那个贼手里握住的东西了吗？” 
　　“没有……那东西一定很小。” 
　　“哈利？” 
　　罗恩重新躺回床上，床扳发出“吱呀”的响声。 
　　“哈利，你不觉得神秘人想要那个东西，是想把它变成魂器吗？” 
　　“我不知道，”哈利慢慢地说，“也许，但再制造一个魂器对他来说不是很危险吗？赫敏不是说过他已经把他的灵魂分裂到极限了吗？” 
　　“对……但可能他自己不知道。” 
　　“是啊……可能。”哈利说。 
　　他已经确定伏地魔已经在同一只凤凰上的魔杖芯问题上找到了解决方法，可以肯定伏地魔已经从老魔杖商那里寻找到了解决方案……但他仍然杀死了他，很显然并没有问他关于魔杖的那个问题。 
　　伏地魔在试图寻找什么？魔法部和魔法界都在他掌控之下，为什么他还长时间的努力一个寻找格里戈维奇曾经拥有过，却被某个不知名小偷偷走的东西？ 
　　哈利仍然会想起那个金发年轻人的面孔，满是兴奋和不羁，他身上有种恶作剧成功之后弗雷德和乔治式的气质。他从那高高的窗台上跳了出去就像只鸟，而哈利之前曾见过他，但他想不起是在哪了…… 
　　由于格里戈维奇的死，那个快乐的小偷也已处于危险之中，哈利在思考他的问题，他陷入了沉思，当罗恩隆隆的鼾声从下铺传来，他自己也再一次慢慢进入梦乡。
Chapter 18 The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore
The sun was coming up: The pure, colorless vastness of the sky stretched over him, indifferent to him and his suffering. Harry sat down in the tent entrance and took a deep breath of clean air. Simply to be alive to watch the sun rise over the sparkling snowy hillside ought to have been the greatest treasure on earth, yet he could not appreciate it: His senses had been spiked by the calamity of losing his want. He looked out over a valley blanketed in snow, distant church bells chiming through the glittering silence.
Without realizing it, he was digging his fingers into his arms as if he were trying to resist physical pain. He had spilled his own blood more times than he could count; he had lost all bones in his right arm once; this journey had already given him scars to his chest and forearm to join those on his hand and forehead, but never, until this moment, had he felt himself to be fatally weakened, vulnerable, and naked, as though the best part of his magical power had been torn from him. He knew exactly what Hermione would say if he expressed any of this: The wand is only as good as the wizard. But she was wrong, his case was different. She had not felt the wand spin like the needle of a compass and shoot golden flames at his enemy. He had lost the protection of the twin cores, and only now that it was gone did he realize how much he had been counting on it.
He pulled the pieces of the broken wand out of his pocket and, without looking at them, tucked them away in Hagrid’s pouch around his neck. The pouch was now too full of broken and useless objects to take any more. Harry’s hand brushed the old Snitch through the moleskin and for a moment he had to fight the temptation to pull it out and throw it away. Impenetrable, unhelpful, useless, like everything else Dumbledore had left behind –
And his fury at Dumbledore broke over him now like lava, scorching him inside, wiping out every other feeling. Out of sheer desperation they had talked themselves into believing that Godric’s Hollow held answers, convinced themselves that they were supposed to go back, that it was all part of some secret path laid out for them by Dumbledore: but there was no map, no plan. Dumbledore had left them to grope in the darkness, to wrestle with unknown and undreamed-of terrors, alone and unaided: Nothing was explained, nothing was given freely, they had no sword, and now, Harry had no wand. And he had dropped the photograph of the thief, and it would surely be easy now for Voldemort to find out who he was…
Voldemort had all the information now…
“Harry?”
Hermione looked frightened that he might curse her with her own wand. Her face streaked with tears, she crouched down beside him, two cups of tea trembling in her hands and something bulky under her arm.
“Thanks,” he said, taking one of the cups.
“Do you mind if I talk to you?”
“No,” he said because he did not want to hurt her feelings.
“Harry, you wanted to know who that man in the picture was. Well… I’ve got the book.”
Timidly she pushed it onto his lap, a pristine copy of The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore.
“Where – how –?”
“It was in Bathilda’s sitting room, just lying there…. This note was sticking out of the top of it.”
Hermione read the few lines of spiky, acid-green writing aloud.
 
“‘Dear Bally, Thanks for your help. Here’s a copy of the book, hope you like it. You said everything, even if you don’t remember it. Rita.’ 
 
I think it must have arrived while the real Bathilda was alive, but perhaps she wasn’t in any fit state to read it?“
“No, she probably wasn’t.”
Harry looked down upon Dumbledore’s face and experienced a surge of savage pleasure: Now he would know if all the things that Dumbledore had never thought it worth telling him, whether Dumbledore wanted him to or not.
“You’re still really angry at me, aren’t you?” said Hermione; he looked up to see fresh tears leaking out of her eyes, and knew that his anger must have shown in his face.
“No,” he said quietly. “No, Hermione, I know it was an accident. You were trying to get us out of there alive, and you were incredible. I’d be dead if you hadn’t been there to help me.”
He tried to return her watery smile, then turned his attention to the book. Its spine was stiff; it had clearly never been opened before. He riffled through the pages, looking for photographs. He came across the one he sought almost at once, the young Dumbledore and his handsome companion, roaring with laughter at some long-forgotten joke. Harry dropped his eyes to the caption.
Albus Dumbledore, shortly after his mother’s death, With his friend Gellert Grindelwald.
Harry gaped at the last word for several long moments. Grindelwald. His friend Grindelwald. He looked sideways at Hermione, who was still contemplating the name as though she could not believe her eyes. Slowly she looked up at Harry.
“Grindelwald!“
Ignoring the remainder of the photographs, Harry searched the pages around them for a recurrence of that fatal name. He soon discovered it and read greedily, but became lost: It was necessary to go farther back to make sense of it all, and eventually he found himself at the start of a chapter entitled “The Greater Good.” Together, he and Hermione started to read:
 
Now approaching his eighteenth birthday, Dumbledore left Hogwarts in a blaze of glory – Head Boy, Prefect, Winner of the Barnabus Finkley Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting, British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot, Gold Medal-Winner for Ground-Breaking Contribution to the International Alchemical Conference in Cairo. Dumbledore intended, next, to take a Grand Tour with Elphias “Dogbreath” Doge, the dim-witted but devoted sidekick he had picked up at school.
The two young men were staying at the Leaky Cauldron in London, preparing to depart for Greece the following morning, when an owl arrived bearing news of Dumbledore’s mother’s death. “Dogbreath” Doge, who refused to be interviewed for this book, has given the public his own sentimental version of what happened next. He represents Kendra’s death as a tragic blow, and Dumbledore’s decision to give up his expedition as an act of noble self-sacrifice.
Certainly Dumbledore returned to Godric’s Hollow at once, supposedly to “care” for his younger brother and sister. But how much care did he actually give them?
“He were a head case, that Aberforth,” said Enid Smeek, whose family lived on the outskirts of Godric’s Hollow at that time. “Ran wild. ‘Course, with his mum and dad gone you’d have felt sorry for him, only he kept chucking goat dung at my head. I don’t think Albus was fussed about him. I never saw them together, anyway.”
So what was Albus doing, if not comforting his wild young brother? The answer, it seems, is ensuring the continued imprisonment of his sister. For though her first jailer had died, there was no change in the pitiful condition of Ariana Dumbledore. Her very existence continued to be known only to those few outsiders who, like “Dogbreath” Doge, could be counted upon to believe in the story of her “ill health.”
Another such easily satisfied friend of the family was Bathilda Bagshot, the celebrated magical historian who has lived in Godric’s Hollow for many years. Kendra, of course, had rebuffed Bathilda when she first attempted to welcome the family to the village. Several years later, however, the author sent an owl to Albus at Hogwarts, having been favorably impressed by his paper on trans-species transformation in Transfiguration Today. This initial contract led to acquaintance with the entire Dumbledore family. At the time of Kendra’s death, Bathilda was the only person in Godric’s Hollow who was on speaking terms with Dumbledore’s mother.
Unfortunately, the brilliance that Bathilda exhibited earlier in her life has now dimmed. “The fire’s lit, but the cauldron’s empty,” as Ivor Dillonsby put it to me, or, in Enid Smeek’s slightly earthier phrase, “She’s nutty as squirrel poo.” Nevertheless, a combination of tried-and-tested reporting techniques enabled me to extract enough nuggets of hard fact to string together the whole scandalous story.
Like the rest of the Wizarding world, Bathilda puts Kendra’s premature death down to a backfiring charm, a story repeated by Albus and Aberforth in later years. Bathilda also parrots the family line on Ariana, calling her “frail” and “delicate.” On one subject, however, Bathilda is well worth the effort I put into procuring Veritaserum, for she, and she alone, knows the full story of the best-kept secret of Albus Dumbledore’s life. Now revealed for the first time, it calls into question everything that his admirers believed of Dumbledore: his supposed hatred of the Dark Arts, his opposition into the oppression of Muggles, even his devotion to his own family.
The very same summer that Dumbledore went home to Godric’s Hollow, now an orphan and head of the family, Bathilda Bagshot agreed to accept into her home her great-nephew, Gellert Grindelwald.
The name of Grindelwald is justly famous: In a list of Most Dangerous Dark Wizards of All Time, he would miss out on the top spot only because You- Know-Who arrived, a generation later, to steal his crown. As Grindelwald never extended his campaign of terror to Britain, however, the details of his rise to power are not widely known here.
Educated at Durmstrang, a school famous even then for its unfortunate tolerance of the Dark Arts, Grindelwald showed himself quite as precociously brilliant as Dumbledore. Rather than channel his abilities into the attainment of awards and prizes, however, Gellert Grindelwald devoted himself to other pursuits. At sixteen years old, even Durmstrang felt it could no longer turn a blind eye to the twisted experiments of Gellert Grindelwald, and he was expelled.
Hitherto, all that has been known of Grindelwald’s next movements is that he “traveled around for some months.” It can now be revealed that Grindelwald chose to visit his great-aunt in Godric’s Hollow, and that there, intensely shocking though it will be for many to hear it, he struck up a close friendship with none other than Albus Dumbledore.
“He seemed a charming boy to me,” babbles Bathilda, “whatever he became later. Naturally I introduced him to poor Albus, who was missing the company of lads his own age. The boys took to each other at once.”
They certainly did. Bathilda shows me a letter, kept by her that Albus Dumbledore sent Gellert Grindelwald in the dead of night.
“Yes, even after they’d spent all day in discussion – both such brilliant young boys, they got on like a cauldron on fire – I’d sometimes hear an owl tapping at Gellert’s bedroom window, delivering a letter from Albus! An idea would have struck him and he had to let Gellert know immediately!”
And what ideas they were. Profoundly shocking though Albus Dumbledore’s fans will find it, here are the thoughts of their seventeen-year-old hero, as relayed to his new best friend. (A copy of the original letter may be seen on page 463.)
 
Gellert –Your point about Wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLES’ OWN GOOD – this, I think, is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given power and yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibilities over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we surely will be, this must be the basis of all our counterarguments. We seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no more. (This was your mistake at Durmstrang! But I do not complain, because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)Albus
 
Astonished and appalled though his many admirers will be, this letter constitutes the Statute of Secrecy and establishing Wizard rule over Muggles. What a blow for those who have always portrayed Dumbledore as the Muggle-borns’ greatest champion! How hollow those speeches promoting Muggle rights seem in the light of this damning new evidence! How despicable does Albus Dumbledore appear, busy plotting his rise to power when he should have been mourning his mother and caring for his sister!
No doubt those determined to keep Dumbledore on his crumbling pedestal will bleat that he did not, after all, put his plans into action, that he must have suffered a change of heart, that he came to his senses. However, the truth seems altogether more shocking.
Barely two months into their great new friendship, Dumbledore and Grindelwald parted, never to see each other again until they met for their legendary duel (for more, see chapter 22). What caused this abrupt rupture? Had Dumbledore come to his senses? Had he told Grindelwald he wanted no more part in his plans? Alas, no.
“It was poor little Ariana dying, I think, that did it,” says Bathilda. “It came as an awful shock. Gellert was there in the house when it happened, and he came back to my house all of a dither, told me he wanted to go home the next day. Terribly distressed, you know. So I arranged a Portkey and that was the last I saw of him.”
“Albus was beside himself at Ariana’s death. It was so dreadful for those two brothers. They had lost everybody except for each other. No wonder tempers ran a little high. Aberforth blamed Albus, you know, as people will under these dreadful circumstances. But Aberforth always talked a little madly, poor boy. All the same, breaking Albus’s nose at the funeral was not decent. It would have destroyed Kendra to see her sons fighting like that, across her daughter’s body. A shame Gellert could not have stayed for the funeral…. He would have been a comfort to Albus, at least….
This dreadful coffin-side brawl, known only to those few who attended Ariana Dumbledore’s funeral, raises several questions. Why exactly did Aberforth Dumbledore blame Albus for his sister’s death? Was it, as “Batty” pretends, a mere effusion of grief? Or could there have been some more concrete reason for his fury? Grindelwald, expelled from Durmstrang for the near-fatal attacks upon fellow students, fled the country hours after the girl’s death, and Albus (out of shame or fear?) never saw him again, not until forced to do so by the pleas of the Wizarding world.
Neither Dumbledore nor Grindelwald ever seems to have referred to this brief boyhood friendship in later life. However, there can be no doubt that Dumbledore delayed, for some five years of turmoil, fatalities, and disappearances, his attack upon Gellert Grindelwald. Was it lingering affection for the man or fear of exposure as his once best friend that caused Dumbledore to hesitate? Was it only reluctantly that Dumbledore set out to capture the man he was once so delighted he had met?
And how did the mysterious Ariana die? Was she the inadvertent victim of some Dark rite? Did she stumble across something she ought not to have done, as the two young men sat practicing for their attempt at glory and domination? Is it possible that Ariana Dumbledore was the first person to die “for the greater good”?
 
The chapter ended here and Harry looked up. Hermione had reached the bottom of the page before him. She tugged the book out of Harry’s hands, looking a little alarmed by his expression, and closed it without looking at it, as though hiding something indecent.
“Harry –”
But he shook his head. Some inner certainty had crashed down inside him; it was exactly as he had felt after Ron left. He had trusted Dumbledore, believed him the embodiment of goodness and wisdom. All was ashes: How much more could he lose? Ron, Dumbledore, the phoenix wand…
“Harry.” She seemed to have heard his thoughts. “Listen to me. It – it doesn’t make a very nice reading –”
“Yeah, you could say that –”
“– but don’t forget, Harry, this is Rita Skeeter writing.”
“You did read that letter to Grindelwald, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I – I did.” She hesitated, looking upset, cradling her tea in her cold hands. “I think that’s the worst bit. I know Bathilda thought it was all just talk, but ‘For the Greater Good’ became Grindelwald’s slogan, his justification for all the atrocities he committed later. And… from that… it looks like Dumbledore gave him the idea. They say ‘For the Greater Good’ was even carved over the entrance to Nurmengard.”
“What’s Nurmengard?”
“The prison Grindelwald had built to hold his opponents. He ended up in there himself, once Dumbledore had caught him. Anyway, it’s – it’s an awful thought that Dumbledore’s ideas helped Grindelwald rise to power. But on the other hand, even Rita can’t pretend that they knew each other for more than a few months one summer when they were both really young, and –”
“I thought you’d say that,” said Harry. He did not want to let his anger spill out at her, but it was hard to keep his voice steady. “I thought you’d say ‘They were young.’ They were the same age as we are now. And here we are, risking our lives to fight the Dark Arts, and there he was, in a huddle with his new best friend, plotting their rise to power over the Muggles.”
His temper would not remain in check much longer: He stood up and walked around, trying to work some of it off.
“I’m not trying to defend what Dumbledore wrote,” said Hermione. “All that ‘right to rule’ rubbish, it’s ‘Magic Is Might’ all over again. But Harry, his mother had just died, he was stuck alone in the house –”
“Alone? He wasn’t alone! He had his brother and sister for company, his Squib sister he was keeping locked up –”
“I don’t believe it,” said Hermione. She stood up too. “Whatever was wrong with that girl, I don’t think she was a Squib. The Dumbledore we knew would never, ever have allowed–”
“The Dumbledore we thought we knew didn’t want to conquer Muggles by force!” Harry shouted, his voice echoing across the empty hilltop, and several blackbirds rose into the air, squawking and spiraling against the pearly sky.
“He changed, Harry, he changed! It’s as simple as that! Maybe he did believe these things when he was seventeen, but the whole of the rest of his life was devoted to fighting the Dark Arts! Dumbledore was the one who stopped Grindelwald, the one who always voted for Muggle protection and Muggle born rights, who fought You-Know-Who from the start, and who died trying to bring him down!”
Rita’s book lay on the ground between them, so that the face of Albus Dumbledore smiled dolefully at both.
“Harry, I’m sorry, but I think the real reason you’re so angry is that Dumbledore never told you any of this himself.”
“Maybe I am!” Harry bellowed, and he flung his arms over his head, hardly knowing whether he was trying to hold in his anger or protect himself from the weight of his own disillusionment. “Look what he asked from me, Hermione! Risk your life, Harry! And again! And again! And don’t expect me to explain everything, just trust me blindly, trust that I know what I’m doing, trust me even though I don’t trust you! Never the whole truth! Never!”
His voice cracked with the strain, and they stood looking at each other in the whiteness and emptiness, and Harry felt they were as insignificant as insects beneath that wide sky.
“He loved you,” Hermione whispered. “I know he loved you.”
Harry dropped his arms.
“I don’t know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me. This isn’t love, the mess he’s left me in. He shared a damn sight more of what he was really thinking with Gellert Grindelwald than he ever shared with me.”
Harry picked up Hermione’s wand, which he had dropped in the snow, and sat back down in the entrance of the tent.
“Thanks for the tea. I’ll finish the watch. You get back in the warm.” She hesitated, but recognized the dismissal. She picked up the book and then walked back past him into the tent, but as she did so, she brushed the top of his head lightly with her hand. He closed his eyes at her touch, and hated himself for wishing that what she said was true: that Dumbledore had really cared.
太阳出来了：哈利头顶上是一片纯洁无色的广袤天空。但这对他此时所处的困境无关紧要。哈利坐在帐篷门口，深吸了一口新鲜空气。能像这样活着，在闪着光芒的白雪皑皑的山坡上看日出，应该是世界上最美好的事了，但是他却无心欣赏这些。他还沉浸在失去魔杖的那场灾难中。他俯视着被白雪覆盖的山谷，远处教堂的钟声打破了沉寂。 
　　他的手指不自觉地狠狠掐住自己的胳膊，像是在尝试着减轻痛楚一样。他以前不知流过多少次血；有一次还失去了右臂的骨头；他的手臂和额头原本就有伤，这次的旅途又给他胸口和前臂添了新的伤疤，但他以前从未感到像现在这样极度虚弱，手无缚鸡之力又无依无靠，似乎他身上最强的魔力都消失了。他非常了解如果赫敏听到他形容现在的境况会怎么说：魔杖和它的主人一样棒。但是她错了，他的情况不一样。她不懂那种魔杖像指南针的指针一般旋转，在敌人的身上击出金色的火花的感觉。他失去了孪生魔杖的保护，直到现在魔杖没了他才知道这对他来说有多重要。 
　　他从口袋里掏出了魔杖的碎片，看都没看就塞进了挂在他脖子上海格送的小袋子里。现在这个袋子太满了，再也装不了那些破烂没用的东西。哈利的手在布袋里摸索着旧的金色飞贼，心里斗争了好半天，才痛下决心把它取出来扔了。就像邓布利多留给他的所有那些难以参透，毫无帮助，没用的东西一样。 
　　此时他对邓布利多的愤怒如火山爆发，怒火在他心里灼烧着，并取代了其他一切情感。绝望迫使他们让自己相信答案就在高椎克山谷，相信他们应该回去——相信那是邓布利多留给他们的仅有的一些秘密线索；但是没有地图，没有计划。邓布利多让他们独自在黑暗中摸索，和未知的无法想象的对手斗争，孤独无援：没有任何原因，而且付出了惨重的代价，他们没有武器，哈利又失去了魔杖。他还丢失了小偷的照片，现在对于伏地魔来说发现他是谁是再简单不过的事情。 
　　伏地魔已经得到了所有信息。 
　　“哈利？” 
　　赫敏看上去很害怕哈利会用她的魔杖来诅咒她。她的脸上都是泪痕，她在哈利身后蜷伏着，握着两杯热茶的手在发抖，在她的胳膊下还夹着个什么大东西。 
　　“谢谢，”哈利说，接过一杯热茶。 
　　“我能跟你说会儿话吗？” 
　　“不，”他这么说因为他不想伤害赫敏· 
　　“哈利，你想知道照片上的人是谁，好吧——我有这本书。” 
　　她胆怯的把书放到他的大腿上。是一件简装的书——阿不……邓布利多的一生与谎言。 
　　“在哪…你怎么会有这本书…?” 
　　“我是在巴希达的起居室找到的，就在那放着……这张纸在放在书的最上面。” 
　　赫敏大声地读着尖刻的，带有讽刺意味的开头几行。 
　　“‘亲爱的巴利，谢谢你的帮助，这是书的复制版，希望你会喜欢它。可能你不记得了，但你确实讲了很多事情。丽塔。’我觉得在真正的巴希达活着的时候这书就已经在这里了，但也许她没有仔细读过？” 
　　“嗯，我想也是这样。” 
　　哈利低头看着邓布利多的脸，感到一阵狂野的快乐：现在邓布利多管不着了，他将知道那些他永远都不会对他提起的事。 
　　“你还在生我的气，对吗？”赫敏说；他抬头看到她的眼睛又湿了，就知道自己的怒气一定是表现在脸上了。 
　　“不是的，”他静静地说。“不，赫敏，我知道那是个意外。你试图让我们活着离开那里，你实在是太好了，如果那时你没有帮我，我早就死了。” 
　　他向赫敏挂着眼泪的笑脸报以微笑，然后把注意力都放在了书上。书脊还很硬，显然从未被打开过。他飞快地翻着书页寻找照片，立刻就找到了一张——年轻的邓布利多和他帅气的伙伴因某个早就被遗忘了的笑话暴笑着。哈利的目光停留在了说明上。 
　　阿不思·邓布利多，在母亲去世不久后和他的朋友吉莱特·格林沃德 
　　哈利目瞪口呆地看了最后几个字很久——格林沃德。他的朋友格林沃德。他看了看在一旁的赫敏，她还凝视着那名字，似乎无法相信自己的眼睛。慢慢地她转向哈利。 
　　“格林沃德！” 
　　无视其他的照片，哈利翻起书来想要再次找到那个让他窒息的名字。他很快就找到了并且迫不及待的读起来，但是根本看不懂：必须要翻前面的内容才能知道在说什么，最终他找到这么一章： 
　　“伟大的善行。”他和赫敏马上开始读了起来： 
　　 
　　眼看就要到他十八岁的生日了，邓布利多带着一系列令人瞠目的光辉荣耀离开了霍格沃茨——全优的学习成绩，学生会主席，巴纳巴斯芬克利特殊贡献奖得主，驻威森加摩的英国青年魔法师代表，开罗举行的国际炼金术会议上被授予的开拓性贡献奖金奖等等。按照原定计划，他本打算毕业后和他在学校时结识的好友，绰号“狗喘”的埃非亚·多戈一起去进行一次伟大的旅行。 
　　但就在他们两个在伦敦的破釜酒吧准备前往希腊旅行的前一天，猫头鹰却带来了邓布利多母亲逝世的噩耗。“狗喘”多戈，这个拒绝接受本书作者采访的家伙，向公众介绍了接下来所发生的悲伤情景。他描述说，凯德拉的死无异于一场晴天霹雳，而深受打击的邓布利多也毅然放弃了那次酝酿已久的长途旅行。 
　　邓布利多随后马上动身返回他在高锥克山谷的家，赶去“照顾”他那尚在年幼的弟弟和妹妹。但事实上，他又给了他们多少真正意义上的照顾呢？ 
　　“他绝对是个让人头痛的家伙，那个阿不福思，”当时家住高锥克山谷边的艾力德史密克描述说，“他变得越来越没教养了，诚然，你会很同情这样一个父母双亡的孤儿，而他整天头顶着那破帽子的样子更会让你觉得他可怜。但我并不认为阿不思对此觉得有什么不妥。话说回来，我根本就很少见到他们兄弟俩在一起。” 
　　如果此时的阿不思没有在照料他那年幼的弟弟的话，那他又在干什么呢？我想，那个最可能的答案就是，他在一如既往的看押着他的妹妹。因此，虽然软禁阿瑞娜的首犯已经去世，但邓布利多的出现，却并没有让她的处境得到丝毫的改观。她的存在依旧只有像“狗喘”多戈这样极少数的外人知晓。而其他更多的人只是被“她身体欠佳”这样的借口所搪塞。 
　　另一个知道内情的家庭是巴希达·巴沙特一家，没错，就是那个在高锥克山谷隐居多年的著名历史学家。 
　　凯德拉，当然，她在刚搬到这个镇上的时候甚至没有理睬巴希达对他们家到来所表示的欢迎，然而，许多年后，巴希达给尚在霍格沃茨读书的阿不思派去了一只猫头鹰，就他创作的在《今日变形》上发表关于物种转化的论文进行一些交流。恰恰就从这次接触开始，她和邓布利多一家渐渐熟悉起来。直到凯德拉去世时，巴希达仍是高锥克山谷中仅有的和邓布利多太太关系尚可的人。 
　　不幸的是，巴希达当年的风采现在已不复存在，“她把火生了起来，但锅里居然还什么东西都没放，” 
　　艾弗·狄龙斯贝告诉我说，还有，艾力德史密克略显粗鲁的跟我描述，“她现在迟钝地就像个被松鼠藏起来的坚果。”尽管如此，我还是通过各种方法从她那里搜集到了足够多的细节资料，使我能够将这整个事件的真相串联起来。 
　　像巫师界的其他人一样，巴希达把凯德拉的突然去世归结于一场魔咒走火，在以后的几年里，阿不思和阿不福斯也是这么说的。巴希达还提到了邓布利多家的阿瑞娜，说她“身体虚弱”而且“弱不禁风”。然而在这个问题上，我对巴希达用的吐真剂让我了解到了更有意思的东西，因为她，而且只有她知道阿不思·邓布利多生命中所有那些不为人知的秘密。而这些首度批露的内幕，必将使所有他的崇拜者对他产生质疑：他对黑魔法的憎恨，反对镇压麻瓜，甚至对家庭的奉献，所有这些都只是假象。 
　　那年夏天，当邓布利多回到高锥克山谷的家以后，就成为了一个孤儿家庭的支柱，巴希达·巴沙特经常把阿不思接到她家里来玩。在那里，他第一次看到了她的侄孙，吉莱特·格林沃德。 
　　格林沃德的名字应该很著名了：一直都位于最危险的黑巫师名单的前列，而他没有排在名单首位的原因，只是因为后来“神秘人”的出现，抢走了本应属于他的这份殊荣。格林沃德的魔爪没有从未触及到英国，所以他发迹的过程也就并不广为人知。 
　　格林沃德毕业于德姆斯特朗，那是一座因纵容黑魔法而臭名昭著的学校，他像邓布利多一样年纪轻轻就表现出了极高的魔法天赋。然而他并没有把精力耗在追求获得荣誉和奖章上，他对此毫无兴趣。在他16岁的时候，德姆斯特朗发现不能再对吉莱特·格林沃德乱七八糟的实验熟视无睹了，于是把他开除了。 
　　迄今为止，可考证的关于格林沃德的接下来的记录是他“用几个月的时间周游各地”。而现在可以推测出格林沃德选择了去拜访他住在高锥克山谷的伯祖母，而他在那里收获的，相信很多人听到后会大吃一惊，不是其它东西，正是和阿不思·邓布利多建立的亲密的友谊。 
　　“在我眼里他绝对是一个迷人的男孩，” 
　　巴希达嘀咕着，“无论他后来变成了什么样。很自然的，我把他介绍给了可怜的阿不思，这个过早的品尝了人世沧桑的孩子。这俩男孩一见如故。 
　　就是这样的。巴希达给我看了一封信，是在夜深人静时阿不思·邓布利多寄给吉莱特·格林沃德的，一直保存在她那里。 
　　“是的，他们认识后就整天有聊不完的话题——两个才华横溢的年轻人，他们相见恨晚——我经常听到有猫头鹰从吉莱特的窗户飞进飞出，那肯定是和阿不思在通信！一定他又有了什么新的点子，而且还迫不及待的想和吉莱特分享。” 
　　那么他们的新点子又是什么呢？阿不思·邓布利多的忠实拥趸们也许会觉得这些消息耸人听闻，那没关系，就让我们一起来看看他们心中那位十七岁的英雄在和他的新朋友讨论的话题吧（原信的复制品请参见463页） 
　　 
　　吉莱特—— 
　　你对于巫师界统治是“为了麻瓜自己好”这一观点，我觉得是一个关键点。是的，我们被赋予了权力，而且毫无疑问的，这个权力可以使我们制定规则，但同样要求我们拥有对规则的责任感。我们必须强调这一点，它是我们事业的基石。当我们观点有冲突的时候——那是一定会有的，它必须是我们辩论的基点。我们要紧紧抓住“为了伟大的善行”这一信念。从这点出发，如果我们以后遇到抵抗，我们只需使用武力镇压而非别的什么，而且，这是很必要的。（这就是你在德姆斯特朗犯的错误！但是我不会责怪你，因为如果你没被开除，我们永远不可能认识。） 
　　阿不思 
　　 
　　阿不思的崇拜者肯定会惊讶万分，这封信制定了秘密的法令，并建立了巫师界对麻瓜的统治规则；这对于那些一直为邓布利多大唱高调的人是多么沉重的打击——他们还把邓布利多当作麻瓜权益最伟大的捍卫者！在这确凿的证据前，那些有关如何维护麻瓜权利的冠冕堂皇的言辞又显得多么的苍白无力！邓布利多的形象是多么的可鄙，当他本应为母亲服丧并照顾弟妹的时候，他却正忙于策划如何扩大他的权利！ 
　　毫无疑问，那些最后的拥护邓布利多的卫道士可能会说他不会，至少，他肯定是在经历了思想斗争之后，改变了他的想法，从而并没有付诸行动啊。然而，接下来的事实更加骇人听闻。 
　　在他们那新份友谊建立仅仅两个月后，邓布利多和格林沃德就分开了，从此再没有见面，而他们的再次相会居然就是那场举世闻名的世纪大决斗（详情请参看22章）。是什么让他们反目成仇，不共戴天？是邓布利多良心发现吗？还是他告诉格林沃德他不想再进行他的计划了？唉，都不是。 
　　“我认为是可怜的阿瑞娜的死导致的，” 
　　巴希达说。“她的死是一个沉重的打击。事情发生时吉莱特正住在这里，他浑身颤抖的跑到我房间里，告诉我他明天想回家。神情非常难过。所以我给了他门钥匙，那就是我最后一次见到他。 
　　阿瑞娜的死让阿不思濒临崩溃。这对于兄弟俩来说太可怕了。他们除了彼此以外失去了所有亲人。心性变得暴躁也就不足为奇了。阿不福思责怪阿不思，就像人们在可怕的情况下会做出的那样。但毕竟阿不福思说话一直都有点疯，这可怜的孩子。 
　　但即便如此，他在葬礼上打断阿不思的鼻梁也实在是有些过分。凯德拉如果看到她的两个孩子打成那样会多么心痛，更何况还是在她女儿的尸体旁边。吉莱特没有呆到葬礼实在是很可惜……不然，他至少能宽慰一下阿不思…… 
　　这场棺材旁的激烈争吵，只有那些参加阿瑞娜·邓布利多葬礼的人才知道，他们产生了些疑问。阿不福思·邓布利多到底为什么因为他妹妹的死而不断谴责阿不思？是不是像“巴蒂”为他辩护的那样，仅仅是悲伤过度？或者还有更深层的原因导致他突然爆发？格林沃德由于对同学近乎致命的攻击而被德姆斯特朗开除，又在这个女孩神秘死亡之后匆匆从这里逃离，而阿不思（由于羞愧或害怕？）也再也没去见过他，直到被巫师界反复恳求而被迫迎战。 
　　此后邓布利多和格林沃德似乎都没再提及那份短暂的少年时代的友谊。然而，毫无疑问，邓布利多在经历了五年的生离死别后，对吉莱特·格林沃德的攻击迟疑了。是不是那份挥之不去的友情或者害怕他们曾经是最好的朋友的事情暴光让邓布利多犹豫？是不是仅仅是因为邓布利多不人心亲手把他曾经情同莫逆的好友逮捕？ 
　　那么神秘的阿瑞娜究竟是怎么死的？她是不是某种黑魔法仪式无意中的牺牲品？她是不是偶然发现了她不该发现的事情，比如这两个年轻人为了攫取名誉和权利的勾当？有没有可能阿瑞娜·邓布利多就是那“为了伟大的善行”的第一个牺牲品？　
　　这一章在这里结束了，哈利继续寻找着。赫敏比哈利先读完文章。她将这本书从哈利的手抢了过来，看到他的表情后有点惊慌，看都没看就把书合上了，好象想掩藏什么不妥的内容。 
　　“哈利——” 
　　但是他摇了摇头。有种信仰在他体内倒塌了；就像罗恩离开后他的感觉一样。他一直相信邓布利多，相信他就是善良和智慧的化身。一切都不复存在了：他还能承受失去更多么？罗恩，邓布利多，凤凰魔杖…… 
　　“哈利。”她看起来好象知道了他的想法。“听我说。这……这不是一本很好的书……” 
　　“是的，你可以这么说……” 
　　“……但是别忘了，哈利，这是丽塔·斯基特写的。” 
　　“你读过了那封给格林沃德的信了，对吧？” 
　　“是的，我……我读了。”她犹豫着，看上去很不安，用冰冷的双手捂着她的茶杯。 
　　“我想这只是听起来最糟糕的部分而已。我想巴希达认为那仅仅是谈话，但是‘为了伟大的善行’成为了格林沃德的信条，成为他后来犯下残暴罪行的正当理由。而且……从这点看……的确像是邓布利多的话给他的启示。他们说的‘为了伟大的善行’甚至刻在了努尔蒙德的入口处。” 
　　“努尔蒙德是什么？” 
　　“就是格林沃德建造的用来关押他的反对者的监狱。他自己就是死在那的，当邓布利多抓住他的时候。无论如何，这是……这是一个可怕的想法，邓布利多的主意帮助格林沃德达到了他的目的。但是另一方面，即使丽塔也不能撒谎说他俩在那个夏天只是认识彼此，毕竟他们还年轻，而且……” 
　　“我就知道你会这么说，”哈利说。他不想让自己对她发脾气，但是他现在很难让自己的声音听起来若无其事。“我知道你会说‘他们还年轻’。他们那时和咱们现在的年龄一样。看看现在的我们，冒着生命危险去对抗黑暗势力，可再看看他，和他的新朋友同流合污，策划着建立他们对麻瓜的统治。” 
　　他再也控制不住自己的情绪：他站起身来回走着，想要发泄一些愤怒。 
　　“我不是想对这些有关邓布利多东西辩护，”赫敏说。“所有‘权利法则’都是幌子，是‘魔法才是力量’的重现。但是哈利，他的母亲刚死，他一个人在房间里承受这些……” 
　　“一个人？他不是一个人！他有弟弟和妹妹为伴，他还把他那个哑炮妹妹关了起来……” 
　　“我不相信，”赫敏也站了起来，争辩道，“无论他们怎么说那个女孩，我都不相信她会是个哑炮，我们认识的邓布利多决不会，决不会允许——” 
　　“我们不也以为自己认识的邓布利多决不会企图用武力去征服麻瓜吗！” 
　　哈利怒吼着，他的回音在空旷的山野回响，惊起不少山鸟，在迷蒙的夜空中鸣叫盘旋。 
　　“他变了，哈利，他已经变好了！这很明显！也许在他十七岁时确实曾沉迷于此，但他耗尽之后的毕生精力来与黑魔法作斗争。是邓布利多击败了格林迪沃，是他一直致力于保护麻瓜和维护麻瓜出身巫师的权利，是他从一开始就与神秘人做着斗争，也是他最终为能击败神秘人而牺牲！” 
　　丽塔的书就放在他俩之间，书上插图里的阿不思·邓布利多朝着他俩落寞地微笑着。 
　　“哈利，我很遗憾，但我想你如此愤怒的真正原因其实是邓布利多从没告诉过你他的过去。” 
　　“也许吧！”哈利爆发了，他猛地举起双臂，像是要把他无边的愤怒高高举起或者是在他幻想的重压之下保护自己，“看看他怎么跟我说的吧，赫敏：冒险牺牲吧，哈利，再来一次，再来一次，再来一次！别指望我给你解释任何东西，就去拼了你的小命相信我，相信我知道我在做什么，即使我不信任你你也得相信我！永远别想知道真相！永远别想知道！！” 
　　哈利的声音已经在这歇斯底里的喊叫中变得沙哑，看着跟自己一样脸色煞白的赫敏，哈利突然觉得，在这广阔的天地之间，他们是那么渺小。 
　　“他爱你，”赫敏低声说，“他真的爱你。” 
　　哈利的胳膊无力的垂了下来。 
　　“我真的不知道邓布利多曾经关心过谁，赫敏，但那个人绝对不会是我。这不是什么爱，只不过是他留给我的一个烂摊子，他宁愿把自己的真心话同吉莱特·格林沃德分享，而不是我。” 
　　哈利捡起他刚刚扔到雪里的赫敏的魔杖，重新坐到了帐篷口。 
　　“多谢你的茶，书我看完了，你也快回去暖和一下吧。” 
　　赫敏犹豫了一下，但实在不知该说些什么，她拿起书从哈利身边钻进帐篷回去了。临走前，她用手轻轻梳理了一下哈利的头发。哈利闭上眼睛，感受着她的触摸：他多么希望赫敏说的是对的，邓布利多真的在乎过他……但就是因为这个想法，他更加的憎恨自己。　 
Chapter 19 The Silver Doe
It was snowing by the time Hermione took over the watch at midnight. Harry’s dreams were confused and disturbing: Nagini wove in and out of them, first through a wreath of Christmas roses. He woke repeatedly, panicky, convinced that somebody had called out to him in the distance, imagining that the wind whipping around the tent was footsteps or voices.
Finally he got up in the darkness and joined Hermione, who was huddled in the entrance to the tent reading A History of Magic by the light of her wand. The snow was falling thickly, and she greeted with relief his suggestion of packing up early and moving on.
“We’ll move somewhere more sheltered,” she agreed, shivering as she pulled on a sweatshirt over her pajamas. “I kept thinking I could hear people moving outside. I even though I saw somebody one or twice.”
Harry paused in the act of pulling on a jumper and glanced at the silent, motionless Sneakoscope on the table.
“I’m sure I imagined it,” said Hermione, looking nervous. “The snow the dark, it plays tricks on your eyes…. But perhaps we ought to Disapparate under the Invisibility Cloak, just in case?”
Half an hour later, with the tent packed, Harry wearing the Horcrux, and Hermione clutching the beaded bag, they Disapparated. The usual tightness engulfed them; Harry’s feet parted company with the snowy ground, then slammed hard onto what felt like frozen earth covered in leaves.
“Where are we?” he asked, peering around at the fresh mass of trees as Hermione opened the beaded bag and began tugging out the tent poles.
“The Forest of Dean,” she said, “I came camping here once with my mum and dad.”
Here too snow lay on the trees all around and it was bitterly cold, but they were at least protected from the wind. They spent most of the day inside the tent, huddled for warmth around the useful bright blue flames that Hermione was adept at producing, and which could be scooped up and carried in a jar. Harry felt as though he was recuperating from some brief but severe, an impression reinforced by Hermione’s solicitousness. That afternoon fresh flakes drifted down upon them, so that even their sheltered clearing had a fresh dusting of powdery snow.
After two nights of little sleep, Harry’s senses seemed more alert than usual. Their escape from Godric’s Hollow had been so narrow that Voldemort seemed somehow closer than before, more threatening. As darkness drove in again Harry refused Hermione’s offer to keep watch and told her to go to bed.
Harry moved an old cushion into the tent mouth and sat down, wearing all the sweaters he owned but even so, still shivery. The darkness deepened with the passing hours until it was virtually impenetrable. He was on the point of taking out the Marauder’s Map, so as to watch Ginny’s dot for a while, before he remembered that it was the Christmas holidays and that she would be back at the Burrow.
Every tiny movement seemed magnified in the vastness of the forest. Harry knew that it must be full of living creatures, but he wished they would all remain still and silent so that he could separate their innocent scurryings and prowlings from noises that might proclaim other, sinister movements. He remembered the sound of a cloak slithering over dead leaves many years ago, and at once thought he heard it again before mentally shaking himself. Their protective enchantments had worked for weeks; why should they break now? And yet he could no throw off the feeling that something was different tonight.
Several times he jerked upright, his neck aching because he had fallen asleep, slumped at an awkward angle against the side of the tent. The night reached such a depth of velvety blackness that he might have been suspended in limbo between Disapparation and Apparation. He had just held a hand in front of his face to see whether he could make out his fingers when it happened.
A bright silver light appeared right ahead of him, moving through the trees. Whatever the source, it was moving soundlessly. The light seemed simply to drift toward him.
He jumped to his feet, his voice frozen in his throat, and raised Hermione’s wand. He screwed up his eyes as the light became blinding, the trees in front of it pitch black in silhouette, and still the thing came closer….
And then the source of the light stepped out from behind an oak. It was a silver white doe, moon-bright and dazzling, picking her way over the ground, still silent, and leaving no hoofprints in the fine powdering of snow. She stepped toward him, her beautiful head with its wide, long-lashed eyes held high.
Harry stared at the creature, filled with wonder, not at her strangeness, but her inexplicable familiarity. He felt that he had been waiting for her to come, but that he had forgotten, until this moment, that they had arranged to meet. His impulse to shout for Hermione, which had been so strong a moment ago, had gone. He knew, he would have staked his life on it, that she had come for him, and him alone.
They gazed at each other for several long moments and then she turned and walked away.
“No,” he said, and his voice was cracked with lack of use. “Come back!”
She continued to step deliberately through the trees, and soon he brightness was striped by their thick black trunks. For one trembling second he hesitated. Caution murmured it could be a trick, a lure, a trap. But instinct, overwhelming instinct, told him that this was not Dark Magic. He set off in pursuit.
Snow crunched beneath his feet, but the doe made no noise as she passed through the trees, for she was nothing but light. Deeper and deeper into the forest she led him, and Harry walked quickly, sure that when she stopped, she would allow him to approach her properly. And then she would speak and the voice would tell him what he needed to know.
At last she came to a halt. She turned her beautiful head toward him once more, and he broke into a run, a question burning in him, but as he opened his lips to ask it, she vanished.
Though the darkness had swallowed her whole, her burnished image was still imprinted on his retinas; it obscured his vision, brightening when he lowered his eyelids, disorienting him. Now fear came: Her presence had meant safety.
“Lumos!” he whispered, and the wand-tip ignited.
The imprint of the doe faded away with every blink of his eyes as he stood there, listening to the sounds of the forest, to distant crackles of twigs, soft swishes of snow. Was he about to be attacked? Had she enticed him into an ambush? Was he imagining that somebody stood beyond the reach of the wandlight, watching him?
He held the wand higher. Nobody ran out at him, no flash of green light burst from behind a tree. Why, then, had she led him to this spot?
Something gleamed in the light of the wand, and Harry spun about, but all that was there was a small, frozen pool, its black, cracked surface glittering as he raised his wand higher to examine it.
He moved forward rather cautiously and looked down. The ice reflected his distorted shadow and the beam of wandlight, but deep below the thick, misty gray carapace, something else glinted. A great silver cross…
His heart skipped into his mouth: He dropped to his knees at the pool’s edge and angled the wand so as to flood the bottom of the pool with as much light as possible. A glint of deep red…It was a sword with glittering rubies in its hilt….The sword of Gryffindor was lying at the bottom of the forest pool.
Barely breathing, he stared down at it. How was this possible? How could it have come to be lying in a forest pool, this close to the place where they were camping? Had some unknown magic drawn Hermione to this spot, or was the doe, which he had taken to be a Patronus, some kind of guardian of the pool? Or had the sword been put into the pool after they had arrived, precisely because they were here? In which case, where was the person who wanted to pass it to Harry? Again he directed the wand at the surrounding trees and bushes, searching for a human outline, for the glint of an eye, but he could not see anyone there. All the same, a little more fear leavened his exhilaration as he returned his attention to the sword reposing upon the bottom of the frozen pool.
He pointed the wand at the silvery shape and murmured, “Accio Sword.”
It did not stir. He had not expected it to. If it had been that easy the sword would have lain on the ground for him to pick up, not in the depths of a frozen pool. He set off around the circle of ice, thinking hard about the last time the sword had delivered itself to him. He had been in terrible danger then, and had asked for help.
“Help,” he murmured, but the sword remained upon the pool bottom, indifferent, motionless.
What was it, Harry asked himself (walking again), that Dumbledore had told him the last time he had retrieved the sword? Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat. And what were the qualities that defined a Gryffindor? A small voice inside Harry’s head answered him: Their daring nerve and chivalry set Gryffindor apart.
Harry stopped walking and let out a long sigh, his smoky breath dispersing rapidly upon the frozen air. He knew what he had to do. If he was honest with himself, he had thought it might come to this from the moment he had spotted the sword through the ice.
He glanced around at the surrounding trees again, but was convinced now that nobody was going to attack him. They had had their chance as he walked alone through the forest, had had plenty of opportunity as he examined the pool. The only reason to delay at this point was because the immediate prospect was so deeply uninviting.
With fumbling fingers Harry started to remove his many layers of clothing. Where “chivalry” entered into this, he thought ruefully, he was not entirely sure, unless it counted as chivalrous that he was not calling for Hermione to do it in his stead.
An owl hooted somewhere as he stripped off, and he thought with a pang of Hedwig. He was shivering now, his teeth chattering horribly, and yet he continued to strip off until at last he stood there in his underwear, barefooted in the snow. He placed the pouch containing his wand, his mother’s letter, the shard of Sirius’s mirror, and the old Snitch on top of his clothes, then he pointed Hermione’s wand at the ice.
“Diffindo.”
It cracked with a sound like a bullet in the silence. The surface of the pool broke and chunks of dark ice rocked on the ruffled water. As far as Harry could judge, it was not deep, but to retrieve the sword he would have to submerge himself completely.
Contemplating the task ahead would not make it easier or the water warmer. He stepped to the pool’s edge and placed Hermione’s wand on the ground still lit. Then, trying not to imagine how much colder he was about to become or how violently he would soon be shivering, he jumped.
Every pore of his body screamed in protest. The very air in his lungs seemed to freeze solid as he was submerged to his shoulders in the frozen water. He could hardly breathe: trembling so violently the water lapped over the edges of the pool, he felt for the blade with his numb feet. He only wanted to dive once.
Harry put off the moment of total submersion from second to second, gasping and shaking, until he told himself that it must be done, gathered all his courage, and dived.
The cold was agony: It attacked him like fire. His brain itself seemed to have frozen as he pushed through the dark water to the bottom and reached out, groping for the sword. His fingers closed around the hilt; he pulled it upward.
Then something closed tight around his neck. He thought of water weeds, though nothing had brushed him as he dived, and raised his hand to free himself. It was not weed: The chain of the Horcrux had tightened and was slowly constricting his windpipe.
Harry kicked out wildly, trying to push himself back to the surface, but merely propelled himself into the rocky side of the pool. Thrashing, suffocating, he scrabbled at the strangling chain, his frozen fingers unable to loosen it, and now little lights were popping inside his head, and he was going to drown, there was nothing left, nothing he could do, and the arms that closed around his chest were surely Death’s….
Choking and retching, soaking and colder than he had ever been in his life, he came to facedown in the snow. Somewhere, close by, another person was panting and coughing and staggering around, as she had come when the snake attacked….Yet it did not sound like her, not with those deep coughs, no judging by the weight of the footsteps….
Harry had no strength to lift his head and see his savior’s identity. All he could do was raise a shaking hand to his throat and feel the place where the locket had cut tightly into his flesh. It was gone. Someone had cut him free. Then a panting voice spoke from over his head.
“Are – you – mental?”
Nothing but the shock of hearing that voice could have given Harry the strength to get up. Shivering violently, he staggered to his feet. There before him stood Ron, fully dressed but drenched to the skin, his hair plastered to his face, the sword of Gryffindor in one hand and the Horcrux dangling from its broken chain in the other.
“Why the hell,” panted Ron, holding up the Horcrux, which swung backward and forward on its shortened chain in some parody of hypnosis, “didn’t you take the thing off before you dived?”
Harry could not answer. The silver doe was nothing, nothing compared with Ron’s reappearance; he could not believe it. Shuddering with cold, he caught up the pile of clothes still lying at the water’s edge and began to pull them on. As he dragged sweater after sweater over his head, Harry stared at Ron, half expecting him to have disappeared every time he lost sight of him, and yet he had to be real: He had just dived into the pool, he had saved Harry’s life.
“It was y-you?” Harry said at last, his teeth chattering, his voice weaker than usual due to his near-strangulation.
“Well, yeah,” said Ron, looking slightly confused.
“Y-you cast that doe?”
“What? No, of course not! I thought it was you doing it!”
“My Patronus is a stag.”
“Oh yeah. I thought it looked different. No antlers.”
Harry put Hagrid’s pouch back around his neck, pulled on a final sweater, stooped to pick up Hermione’s wand, and faced Ron again.
“How come you’re here?”
Apparently Ron had hoped that this point would come up later, if at all.
“Well, I’ve – you know – I’ve come back. If –” He cleared his throat. “You know. You still want me.”
There was a pause, in which the subject of Ron’s departure seemed to rise like a wall between them. Yet he was here. He had returned. He had just saved Harry’s life.
Ron looked down at his hands. He seemed momentarily surprised to see the things he was holding.
“Oh yeah, I got it out,” he said, rather unnecessarily, holding up the sword for Harry’s inspection. “That’s why you jumped in, right?”
“Yeah,” said Harry. “But I don’t understand. How did you get here? How did you find us?”
“Long story,” said Ron. “I’ve been looking for you for hours, it’s a big forest, isn’t it? And I was just thinking I’d have to go kip under a tree and wait for morning when I saw that dear coming and you following.”
“You didn’t see anyone else?”
“No,” said Ron. “I –”
But he hesitated, glancing at two trees growing close together some yards away.
“I did think I saw something move over there, but I was running to the pool at the time, because you’d gone in and you hadn’t come up, so I wasn’t going to make a detour to – hey!”
Harry was already hurrying to the place that Ron had indicated. The two oaks grew close together; there was a gap of only a few inches between the trunks at eye level, an ideal place to see but not be seen. The ground around the roots, however, was free of snow, and Harry could see no sign of footprints. He walked back to where Ron stood waiting, still holding the sword and the Horcrux.
“Anything there?” Ron asked.
“No,” said Harry.
“So how did the sword get in that pool?”
“Whoever cast the Patronus must have put it there.”
They both looked at the ornate silver sword, its rubied hilt glinting a little in the light from Hermione’s wand.
“You reckon this is the real one?” asked Ron.
“One way to find out, isn’t there?” said Harry.
The Horcrux was still swinging from Ron’s hand. The locket was twitching slightly. Harry knew that the thing inside it was agitated again. It had sensed the presence of the sword and had tried to kill Harry rather than let him possess it. Now was not the time for long discussions; now was the moment to destroy once and for all. Harry looked around, holding Hermione’s wand high, and saw the place: a flattish rock lying in the shadow of a sycamore tree.
“Come here.” he said and he led the way, brushed snow from the rock’s surface, and held out his hand for the Horcrux. When Ron offered the sword, however, Harry shook his head.
“No you should do it.”
“Me?” said Ron, looking shocked. “Why?”
“Because you got the sword out of the pool. I think it’s supposed to be you.”
He was not being kind or generous. As certainly as he had known that the doe was benign, he knew that Ron had to be the one to wield the sword. Dumbledore had at least taught Harry something about certain kinds of magic, of the incalculable power of certain acts.
“I’m going to open it,” said Harry, “and you will stab it. Straightaway okay? Because whatever’s in there will put up a fight. The bit of Riddle in the Diary tried to kill me.”
“How are you going to open it?” asked Ron. He looked terrified “I’m going to ask it to open, using Parseltongue,” said Harry. The answer came so readily to his lips that thought that he had always known it deep down: Perhaps it had taken his recent encounter with Nagini to make him realize it. He looked at the serpentine S, inlaid with glittering green stones: It was easy to visualize it as a miniscule snake, curled upon the cold rock.
“No!” said Ron. “Don’t open it! I’m serious!”
“Why not?” asked Harry. “Let’s get rid of the damn thing, it’s been months –”
“I can’t, Harry, I’m serious – you do it –”
“But why?”
“Because that thing’s bad for me!” said Ron, backing away from the locket on the rock. “I can’t handle it! I’m not making excuses, for what I was like, but it affects me worse than it affects you and Hermione, it made me think stuff – stuff that I was thinking anyway, but it made everything worse. I can’t explain it, and then I’d take it off and I’d get my head straight again, and then I’d have to put the effing thing back on – I can’t do it Harry!”
He had backed away, the sword dragging at his side, shaking his head.
“You can do it,” said Harry, “you can! You’ve just got the sword, I know it’s supposed to be you who uses it. Please just get rid of it Ron.”
The sound of his name seemed to act like a stimulant. Ron swallowed, then still breathing hard through his long nose, moved back toward the rock.
“Tell me when,” he croaked.
“On three,” said Harry, looking back down at the locket and narrowing his eyes, concentrating on the letter S, imagining a serpent, while the contents of the locket rattled like a trapped cockroach. It would have been easy to pity it, except that the cut around Harry’s neck still burned.
“One… two… three…open.”
The last word came as a hiss and a snarl and the golden doors of the locket swung wide open with a little click.
Behind both of the glass windows within blinked a living eye, dark and handsome as Tom Riddle’s eyes had been before he turned them scarlet and slit-pupiled “Stab,” said Harry, holding the locket steady on the rock.
Ron raised the sword in his shaking hands: The point dangled over the frantically swiveling eyes, and Harry gripped the locket tightly, bracing himself, already imagining blood pouring from the empty windows.
Then a voice hissed from out the Horcrux.
“I have seen your heart, and it is mine.”
“Don’t listen to it!” Harry said harshly. “Stab it!”
“I have seen your dreams, Ronald Weasley, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible….”
“Stab!” shouted Harry, his voice echoed off the surrounding trees, the sword point trembled, and Ron gazed down into Riddle’s eyes.
“Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter… Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend… Second best, always, eternally overshadowed…”
“Ron, stab it now!” Harry bellowed: He could feel the locket quivering in the grip and was scared of what was coming. Ron raised the sword still higher, and as he did so, Riddle’s eyes gleamed scarlet.
Out of the locket’s two windows, out of the eyes, there bloomed like two grotesque bubbles, the heads of Harry and Hermione, weirdly distorted.
Ron yelled in shock and backed away as the figures blossomed out of the locket, first chests, then waists, then legs, until they stood in the locket, side by side like trees with a common root, swaying over Ron and the real Harry, who had snatched his fingers away from the locket as it burned, suddenly, white-hot.
“Ron!” he shouted, but the Riddle-Harry was now speaking with Voldemort’s voice and Ron was gazing, mesmerized, into its face.
“Why return? We were better without you, happier without you, glad of your absence…. We laughed at your stupidity, your cowardice, your presumption–”
“Presumption!” echoed the Riddle-Hermione, who was more beautiful and yet more terrible than the real Hermione: She swayed, cackling, before Ron, who looked horrified, yet transfixed, the sword hanging pointlessly at his side. “Who could look at you, who would ever look at you, beside Harry Potter? What have you ever done, compared with the Chosen One? What are you, compared with the Boy Who Lived?”
“Ron, stab it, STAB IT!” Harry yelled, but Ron did not move. His eyes were wide, and the Riddle-Harry and the Riddle-Hermione were reflected in them, their hair swirling like flames, their eyes shining red, their voices lifted in an evil duet.
“Your mother confessed,” sneered Riddle-Harry, while Riddle-Hermione jeered, “that she would have preferred me as a son, would be glad to exchange…”
“Who wouldn’t prefer him, what woman would take you, you are nothing, nothing, nothing to him,” crooned Riddle-Hermione, and she stretched like a snake and entwined herself around Riddle-Harry, wrapping him in a close embrace: Their lips met.
On the ground in front of them, Ron’s face filled with anguish. he raised the sword high, his arms shaking.
“Do it, Ron!” Harry yelled.
Ron looked toward him, and Harry thought he saw a trace of scarlet in his eyes.
“Ron –?”
The sword flashed, plunged: Harry threw himself out of the way, there as a clang of metal and a long, drawn-out scream. Harry whirled around, slipping in the snow, wand held ready to defend himself, but there was nothing to fight.
The monstrous versions of himself and Hermione were gone: There was only Ron, standing there with the sword held slackly in his hand, looking down at the shattered remains of the locket on the flat rock.
Slowly, Harry walked back to him, hardly knowing what to say or do. Ron was breathing heavily: His eyes were no longer red at all, but their normal blue: they were also wet.
Harry stooped, pretending he had not seen, and picked up the broken Horcrux. Ron had pierced the glass in both windows: Riddle’s eyes were gone, and the stained silk lining of the locket was smoking slightly. The thing that had lived in the Horcrux had vanished; torturing Ron had been its final act. The sword clanged as Ron dropped it. He had sunk to his knees, his head in his arms. He was shaking, but not, Harry realized, from cold. Harry crammed the broken locket into his pocket, knelt down beside Ron, and placed a hand cautiously on his shoulder. He took it as a good sign that Ron did not throw it off.
“After you left,” he said in a low voice, grateful for the fact that Ron’s face was hidden, “she cried for a week. Probably longer, only she didn’t want me to see. There were loads of nights when we never even spoke to each other. With you gone…”
He could not finish; it was now that Ron was here again that Harry fully realized how much his absence had cost them.
“She’s like my sister,” he went on. “I love her like a sister and I reckon that she feels the same way about me. It’s always been like that. I thought you knew.”
Ron did not respond, but turned his face away from Harry and wiped his nose noisily on his sleeve. Harry got to his feet again and walked to where Ron’s enormous rucksack lay yards away, discarded as Ron had run toward the pool to save Harry from drowning. He hoisted it onto his own back and walked back to Ron, who clambered to his feet as Harry approached, eyes bloodshot but otherwise composed.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a thick voice. “I’m sorry I left. I know I was a – a –”
He looked around at the darkness, as if hoping a bad enough word would swoop down upon him and claim him.
“You’ve sort of made up for it tonight,” said Harry. “Getting the sword. Finishing off the Horcrux. Saving my life.”
“That makes me sound a lot cooler than I was,” Ron mumbled.
“Stuff like that always sounds cooler than it really was” said Harry. “I’ve been trying to tell you that for years.”
Simultaneously they walked forward and hugged, Harry gripping the still-sopping back of Ron’s jacket.
“And now,” said Harry as they broke apart, “all we’ve got to do is find that tent again.”
But it was not difficult. Though the walk through the dark forest with the doe had seemed lengthy, with Ron by his side, the journey back seemed to take a surprisingly short time. Harry could not wait to wake Hermione, and it was with quickening excitement that he entered the tent, Ron lagging a little behind him.
It was gloriously warm after the pool and the forest, the only illumination the bluebell flames still shimmering in a bowl on the floor. Hermione was fast asleep, curled up under her blankets, and did not move until Harry had said her name several times.
“Hermione!”
She stirred, then sat up quickly, pushing her hair out of her face.
“What’s wrong? Harry? Are you all right?”
“It’s okay, everything’s fine. More than fine, I’m great. There’s someone here.”
“What do you mean? Who –?”
She saw Ron, who stood there holding the sword and dripping onto the threadbare carpet. Harry backed into a shadowy corner, slipped off Ron’s rucksack, and attempted to blend in with the canvas.
Hermione slid out of her bunk and moved like a sleepwalker toward Ron, her eyes upon his pale face. She stopped right in front of him, her lips slightly parted, her eyes wide. Ron gave a weak hopeful smile and half raised his arms.
Hermione launched herself forward and started punching every inch of him that she could reach.
“Ouch – ow – gerroff! What the –? Hermione – OW!”
“You – complete – arse – Ronald – Weasley!”
She punctuated every word with a blow: Ron backed away, shielding his head as Hermione advanced.
“You – crawl – back – here – after – weeks – and – weeks – oh, where’s my wand?”
She looked as though ready to wrestle it out of Harry’s hands and he reacted instinctively.
“Protego!”
The invisible shield erupted between Ron and Hermione. The force of it knocked her backward onto the floor. Spitting hair out of her mouth, she lept up again.
“Hermione!” said Harry. “Calm –”
“I will not calm down!” she screamed. Never before had he seen her lose control like this; she looked quite demented. “Give me back my wand! Give it back to me!”
“Hermione, will you please –”
“Don’t you tell me what do, Harry Potter!” she screeched. “Don’t you dare! Give it back now! And YOU!”
She was pointing at Ron in dire accusation: It was like a malediction, and Harry could not blame Ron for retreating several steps.
“I cam running after you! I called you! I begged you to come back”
“I know,” Ron said, “Hermione, I’m sorry, I’m really –”
“Oh, you’re sorry!”
She laughed a high-pitched, out-of-control sound; Ron looked at Harry for help, but Harry merely grimaced his helplessness.
“You came back after weeks – weeks – and you think it’s all going to be all right if you just say sorry?”
“Well, what else can I say?” Ron shouted, and Harry was glad that Ron was fighting back.
“Oh, I don’t know!” yelled Hermione with awful sarcasm. “Rack your brains, Ron, that should only take a couple of seconds –”
“Hermione,” interjected Harry, who considered this a low blow, “he just saved my –”
“I don’t care!” she screamed. “I don’t care what he’s done! Weeks and weeks, we could have been dead for all he knew –”
“I knew you weren’t dead!” bellowed Ron, drowning her voice for the first time, and approaching as close as he could with the Shield Charm between them. “Harry’s all over the Prophet, all over the radio, they’re looking for you everywhere, all these rumors and mental stories, I knew I’d hear straight off if you were dead, you don’t know what it’s been like –”
“What it’s been like for you?” 
Her voice was not so shrill only bats would be able to hear it soon, but she had reached a level of indignation that rendered her temporarily speechless, and Ron seized his opportunity.
“I wanted to come back the minute I’d Disapparated, but I walked straight into a gang of Snatchers, Hermione, and I couldn’t go anywhere!”
“A gang of what?” asked Harry, as Hermione threw herself down into a chair with her arms and legs crossed so tightly it seemed unlikely that she would unravel them for several years.
“Snatchers,” said Ron. “They’re everywhere – gangs trying to earn gold by rounding up Muggle-borns and blood traitors, there’s a reward from the Ministry for everyone captured. I was on my own and I look like I might be school age; they got really excited, thought I was a Muggle-born in hiding. I had to talk fast to get out of being dragged to the Ministry.”
“What did you say to them?”
“Told them I was Stan Shunpike. First person I could think of.”
“And they believed that?”
“They weren’t the brightest. One of them was definitely part troll, the smell of him….”
Ron glanced at Hermione, clearly hopeful she might soften at this small instance of humor, but her expression remained stony above her tightly knotted limbs.
“Anyway, they had a row about whether I was Stan or not. It was a bit pathetic to be honest, but there were still five of them and only one of me, and they’d taken my wand. Then two of them got into a fight and while the others were distracted I managed to hit the one holding me in the stomach, grabbed his wand, Disarmed the bloke holding mine, and Disapparated. I didn’t do it so well. Splinched myself again” – Ron held up his right hand to show two missing fingernails: Hermione raised her eyebrows coldly – “and I came out miles from where you were. By the time I got back to that bit of riverbank where we’d been… you were gone.”
“Gosh, what a gripping story,” Hermione said in the lofty voice she adopted when wishing to wound. “You must have been simply terrified. Meanwhile we went to Godric’s Hollow and, let’s think, what happened there, Harry? Oh yes, You-Know-Who’s snake turned up, it nearly killed both of us, and then You-Know-Who himself arrived and missed us by about a second.”
“What?” Ron said, gaping from her to Harry, but Hermione ignored him.
“Imagine losing fingernails, Harry! That really puts our sufferings into perspective, doesn’t it?”
“Hermione,” said Harry quietly, “Ron just saved my life.”
She appeared not to have heard him.
“One thing I would like to know, though,” she said, fixing her eyes on a spot a foot over Ron’s head. “How exactly did you find us tonight? That’s important. Once we know, we’ll be able to make sure we’re not visited by anyone else we don’t want to see.”
Ron glared at her, then pulled a small silver object from his jeans pocket.
“This.”
She had to look at Ron to see what he was showing them.
“The Deluminator?” she asked, so surprised she forgot to look cold and fierce.
“It doesn’t just turn the lights on and off,” said Ron. “I don’t know how it works or why it happened then and not any other time, because I’ve been wanting to come back ever since I left. But I was listening to the radio really early on Christmas morning and I heard… I heard you.”
He was looking at Hermione.
“You heard me on the radio?” she asked incredulously.
“No, I heard you coming out of my pocket. Your voice,” he held up the Deluminator again, “came out of this.”
“And what exactly did I say?” asked Hermione, her tone somewhere between skepticism and curiosity.
“My name. ‘Ron.’ And you said… something about a wand….”
Hermione turned a fiery shade of scarlet. Harry remembered: it had been the first time Ron’s name had been said aloud by either of them since the day he had left; Hermione had mentioned it when talking about repairing Harry’s wand.
“So I took it out,” Ron went on, looking at the Deluminator, “and it didn’t seem different or anything, but I was sure I’d heard you. So I clicked it. And the light went out in my room, but another light appeared right outside the window.”
Ron raised his empty hand and pointed in front of him, his eyes focused on something neither Harry nor Hermione could see.
“It was a ball of light, kind of pulsing, and bluish, like that light you get around a Portkey, you know?”
“Yeah,” said Harry and Hermione together automatically.
“I knew this was it,” said Ron. “I grabbed my stuff and packed it, then I put on my rucksack and went out into the garden.”
“The little ball of light was hovering there, waiting for me, and when I came out it bobbed along a bit and I followed it behind the shed and then it… well, it went inside me.”
“Sorry?” said Harry, sure he had not heard correctly.
“It sort of floated toward me,” said Ron, illustrating the movement with his free index finger, “right to my chest, and then – it just went straight through. It was here,” he touched a point close to his heard, “I could feel it, it was hot. And once it was inside me, I knew what I was supposed to do. I knew it would take me where I needed to go. So I Disapparated and came out on the side of a hill. There was snow everywhere….”
“We were there,” said Harry. “We spent two nights there, and the second night I kept thinking I could hear someone moving around in the dark and calling out!”
“Yeah, well, that would’ve been me,” said Ron. “Your protective spells work, anyway, because I couldn’t see you and I couldn’t hear you. I was sure you were around, though, so in the end I got in my sleeping bag and waited for one of you to appear. I thought you’d have to show yourselves when you packed up the tent.”
“No, actually,” said Hermione. “We’ve been Disapparating under the Invisibility Cloak as an extra precaution. And we left really early, because as Harry says, we’d heard somebody blundering around.”
“Well, I stayed on that hill all day,” said Ron. “I kept hoping you’d appear. But when it started to get dark I knew I must have missed you, so I clicked the Deluminator again, the blue light came out and went inside me, and I Disapparated and arrived here in these woods. I still couldn’t see you, so I just had to hope one of you would show yourselves in the end – and Harry did. Well, I saw the doe first, obviously.”
“You saw the what?” said Hermione sharply.
They explained what had happened and as the story of the silver doe and the sword in the pool unfolded, Hermione frowned form one to the other of them, concentrating so hard she forgot to keep her limbs locked together.
“But it must have been a Patronus!” she said. “Couldn’t you see who was casting it? Didn’t you see anyone? And it led you to the sword! I can’t believe this! Then what happened?”
Ron explained how he had watched Harry jump into the pool, and had waited for him to resurface; how he had realized that something was wrong, dived in, and saved Harry, then returned for the sword. He got as far as the opening of the locket, then hesitated, and Harry cut in.
“– and Ron stabbed it with the sword.”
“And… and it went? Just like that?” she whispered.
“Well, it – it screamed,” said Harry with half a glance at Ron. “Here.”
He threw the locket into her lap; gingerly she picked it up and examined its punctured windows.
Deciding that it was at last safe to do so, Harry removed the Shield Charm with a wave of Hermione’s wand and turned to Ron.
“Did you just say now that you got away from the snatchers with a spare wand?”
“What?” said Ron, who had been watching Hermione examining the locket. “Oh – oh yeah.”
He tugged open a buckle on his rucksack and pulled a short dark wand out of his pocket. “Here, I figured it’s always handy to have a backup.”
“You were right,” said Harry, holding out his hand. “Mine’s broken.”
“You’re kidding?” Ron said, but at that moment Hermione got to her feet, and he looked apprehensive again.
Hermione put the vanquished Horcrux into the beaded bag, then climbed back into her bed and settled down without another word.
Ron passed Harry the new wand.
“About the best you could hope for, I think,” murmured Harry.
“Yeah,” said Ron. “Could’ve been worse. Remember those birds she set on me?”
“I still haven’t ruled it out,” came Hermione’s muffled voice from beneath her blankets, but Harry saw Ron smiling slightly as he pulled his maroon pajamas out of his rucksack.
午夜，赫敏接替哈利站岗放哨的时候，外面大雪飘飘。哈利做的那些梦让他感到困惑和烦恼： 
　　纳吉尼在他们身边蜿蜒穿行，爬过圣诞玫瑰的花圈。他一次次地恐慌的醒来，觉得有人在远处召唤着他，想像到那四周鞭打着帐蓬的风是某人的脚步声或说话声。 
　　最后，他在黑暗中爬起来，走到赫敏身边，她正卷缩在帐篷的入口，借助魔杖的光来阅读一本名为《魔法史》的书。雪下得越来越大了。她同意了哈利的建议，决定早点收拾好东西然后继续前进。 
　　“我们要找一个更安全的地方，”她说，颤抖着在睡衣的外面加了一件运动衫。 “我一直都觉得能听到外面有人在走路， 甚至有一两次，我好象看到了什么人就在外面。” 
　　哈利穿外套的动作停顿了一下，凝视着无声的寂静， 窥镜静止不动地放在桌子上。 
　　“我肯定那只是我想象出来的，”赫敏说，看上去有点紧张，“大雪和黑夜捉弄着你的眼睛…………但是，以防万一，或许我们应该在隐身斗篷下移形幻影？” 
　　半个小时后，收拾好帐篷，哈利带着魂器，赫敏抓着珠绣包，移形幻影了。他们被一如既往的那种压迫感覆吞没了。哈利的双腿没踩在雪地上，撞上了坚硬的、像是被树叶覆盖的冻土。 
　　“我们在哪呢？”他一边环视着那一大片树林，一边问道。赫敏打开珠绣包，向外拽着帐篷的支柱。 
　　“迪安森林，”她回答，“我曾经和爸爸妈妈来这里露营过。” 
　　树上的积雪很多，温度异常的低，但至少这里没有风。他们白天大部分时间都呆在帐篷里，围绕在一团蓝色温暖的火焰周围， 
　　赫敏已经能非常熟练地施放这种魔法了，那火焰还能用铲子铲起来，放到罐子里去。哈利感觉到他已经恢复了一点信心，这种感觉在赫敏的关怀中不断得到加强。下午，新鲜的雪片飘到他们身上，被保护的空旷地也出现了粉状的雪花。 
　　两宿几乎没睡，哈利似乎比平时更加警惕，高锥克山谷中的逃脱使伏地魔好象比以前离他们更近，更有威胁性。随着夜幕再次降临，哈利拒绝了赫敏的守夜要求，让她进去睡觉。 
　　哈利把一个旧垫子移到帐篷的门口，穿上了他所有的厚毛衣，坐了下来，尽管如此，他还是冷的发抖。随着时间流逝，夜色渐浓，伸手不见五指。他正准备打开活点地图，想看看金妮的那个圆点在哪里，突然想起现在是圣诞假期，她应该是回陋居去了。 
　　在那茂密宁静的森林里，一切微小的动作都会被成倍放大。哈利知道那里存在着各种各样的生物，但他希望它们都能保持安静，只有这样他才能把动物们跑跑跳跳的声音和代表危险的声音区分开来。他依旧记得多年前，那斗篷滑过落叶的声音，而且他马上感觉到自己又听到了那种声音，全身随之一震。他们的保护魔法已经成功使用了几个星期了。为什么现在被破解了呢？而且他始终感觉到，今晚有些事情和往常并不一样。 
　　他时不时的突然站起身来，脖子有点痛，因为他睡着了几次，头一直以一个很不舒服的角度倒向帐篷的一边。夜晚变成了天鹅绒般黑色，而他感觉自己似乎漂浮在幻影和显形的中间，他把手举到面前，想试试还能不能看清手指，这时候，一束很强烈的银光突然穿越了树木，出现在他的面前，不管光源是什么，它来得无声无息，好象是冲着他而来的。 
　　哈利立刻跳了起来，声音都凝固在了喉咙里，他拿起赫敏的魔杖。光变得更加刺眼，他眯起眼睛，看到树木的轮廓被照得清清楚楚，那东西离的越来越近了………… 
　　随后，光源从一棵橡树后面走了出来，一只银白色的母鹿，如同月光一样的银白，令人眼花缭乱。她安静地向他走过来，没有在雪地上留下任何痕迹，她那优美的头颈高昂着，大大的眼睛，长长的睫毛。 
　　哈利凝视着她，满心疑惑，不是因为陌生，而是说不出的熟悉。他觉得自己一直在等待着她的到来，只是他忘记了，直到这个时刻，这个他们相遇的时候，他才回忆起来。刚才那种很想把赫敏叫起来的冲动，现在早已荡然无存。他明白，他要把生命押在这上面，她是为他而来的，仅仅是为了他一个人。 
　　他们对视了好长一段时间，然后她转过身去，走开了。 
　　“别走，”他喊道，但他那嘶哑声音一点用处也没有，“回来！” 
　　她好象有意地继续向前走，穿过森林，那光芒很快的在树木后面变得比原先黯淡，他颤抖着犹豫了一下。谨慎告诉他这可能是个骗局，是个引诱，是个圈套，但是本能，无可抑制的本能告诉他这不是黑魔法。所以他动身前往追赶。 
　　雪在他的脚下发出喳喳的声音，而那母鹿在经过丛林的时候没有发出任何响声，因为她就像一束光。她引导着哈利朝森林的深处前进。哈利拼命地赶上去，他确信当她停下脚步的时候，会允许哈利适当地接近她，然后告诉他一些他想要知道的东西。 
　　最后，她终于停了下来，再次转过她那漂亮的头，哈利冲着她拔脚狂奔，急切的想要向她询问，正当他准备开口的时候，那只母鹿却消失了。 
　　尽管黑暗将她瞬间吞没，那明亮的轮廓却仍然残留在他眼前，他的眼前逐渐变暗，眨眼间他迷失了方向。现在恐惧袭来，。 
　　“荧光闪烁！”哈利轻声说，魔杖一端亮了起来了。 
　　那母鹿留下的烙印渐渐褪去，哈利眨着眼睛站在那里，聆听着森林的声音，远处树枝间的响声和雪落的声音，他是不是会受到攻击呢？那母鹿是不是把他引诱到了伏兵重重的地方呢？某个人会在远离这魔杖闪光的范围，在暗地里注视着他吗？ 
　　他把魔杖举得更高了点，没有人冲着他跑过来，也没有那些绿色的光芒从树的背后爆裂出来。那么，为什么她要把他引导到这里来呢？ 
　　有些东西在魔杖的光亮中隐约地闪现，哈利看过去，那是一个很小的池塘，被冻住了，他举高魔杖仔细查看，池塘那黑暗的破碎表面闪着光。 
　　他谨慎地向前走去向里面看，地上的冰块倒影着他的扭曲的影子和魔杖闪光的光束。但在那厚厚的，有灰色薄雾的冰壳下面，有个东西也在闪烁，那是一个巨大的银色的物体。 
　　他大吃一惊，心都快跳出来了，他在池子的边缘跪了下来，调整好魔杖的角度，尽量让光芒照耀这个池子的底部。深红色的闪光……那是一把剑，在剑柄的地方镶着一块闪闪发光的红宝石。 
　　格兰芬多的宝剑居然在这个湖的底部！ 
　　哈利向下凝视着，几乎无法呼吸，这怎么可能呢？它怎么可能会在一个这样的森林的湖里呢？一个离他们的营地那么近的地方？是不是有种未知的魔法把赫敏指引到这个地方来呢？又或者是那个他觉得像守护神的母鹿是这个池塘的守护者呢？又或者那剑是在他们到了这里以后才放下去的，恰好在他们都还在这个地方的时候？不管怎么说，那个想要把这剑交给哈利的人究竟在哪里呢？他再一次用魔杖照射着周围的树木和矮树丛，寻找着那个人的轮廓，寻找着眼睛的闪光，但他什么也没找到，还是老样子。当他把注意力再次放到那静卧冰湖里的剑上时，一些畏惧影响了那愉快的心情， 
　　他用魔杖指着那银色的宝剑，低声说： “宝剑飞来！” 
　　没有丝毫动静，这是在哈利意料之内的。如果真的有那么简单的话，那剑早就放在地上让他去捡了，而不是想现在这样静卧在那冰湖深处。他环绕着那冰块走了一圈，努力想着上次那剑是如何传递到自己手上的。那个时候他正处于特别危险的情况当中，他想得到帮助。 
　　“救我！”他低声道，但那剑还是停留在湖底，一点反应都没有，纹丝不动。 
　　哈利自言自语(又走了几圈)， 
　　上次他得到这把剑的时候，邓布利多和他说了什么来着？只有真正的格兰芬多人才能把它从帽子里拉出来。那么该用什么品质来定义一个格兰芬多人呢？一个很微小的声音从哈利的脑海里传来并回答了这个问题。答案就是，大勇气和骑士精神是格兰芬多人所应有的品质。 
　　哈利停了下来，发出一声长叹。他呼出的热气很快就在寒冷的空气中消散了。他知道了自己该做什么了。说实话，自从他透过冰层看到剑的那一刻起，他已经想过会发生这样的事情。 
　　他再次环视了一下周围的树林，确定了这个时候没有人会来袭击他。如果有人要袭击，那么在哈利经过森林和观察冰湖的时候，有太多次机会 
　　了。而没有袭击唯一的理由是，这个周围环境太不适合了。 
　　哈利利用手指摸索着，掀开了他那厚厚的衣服，这就是需要骑士精神的地方了，他无奈地想到，虽然不是百分百地确定，他没有叫赫敏来代替自己，那也算是一种骑士精神。 
　　当他开始脱衣服的时候，一只猫头鹰在远处叫着。这让他痛苦地想到了海德薇。他全身发抖，他的牙齿也发出可怕的撞击声，但他没有停止，继续脱衣服，一直脱到只剩下内裤，光着脚站在雪地上为止，他把他的魔杖，他妈妈的信和小天狼星的镜子碎片放进袋子里，把旧的金色飞贼放进了上衣的口袋。然后把赫敏的魔杖放在雪堆上。 
　　“四分五裂 ！” 
　　冰块发出了如同寂静中的枪声一样的声音，湖的表面就这样裂开了，那些黑乎乎的冰块在波涛粼粼的湖面上不断摇晃。根据哈利的判断，这湖并不深，但为了拿得那把剑，他必须自己整个身体潜进去。 
　　想的再多也不可能会让这件事情变得更容易，水也不会变得更暖和。他小心翼翼地走向湖边，放置好赫敏那仍然发着光的魔杖，接着，没有考虑会有多么冷或者自己会多么剧烈地颤抖，他直接跳了下去。 
　　哈利身上的每个毛孔仿佛都在尖叫着反抗，当他的肩膀也潜到那冰冻的水里的时候，肺里的空气仿佛凝结成了固体，他几乎不能够呼吸，他剧烈的颤抖令湖水产生了很多涟漪，他觉得自己失去了知觉的双脚像是给刀片割着一样。他希望只潜一次就足够了。 
　　哈利一次又一次的推迟了完全潜进去的时刻，喘着大气，全身摇晃着，直到最后他对自己说这是迟早都要做的，然后集聚了全部勇气，向下潜了进去。 
　　那种寒冷让人非常难受，如同烈火炽烤着身体，他向深水处前进去到湖底探索宝剑的过程中，大脑也好象被冻结了一样。他的手指碰到了剑柄，接着他向上拔那把剑。 
　　然后一样东西缠绕了他的脖子，他以为是水草，尽管在他潜水的时候并没有什么东西朝他游来，哈利用手去把那东西拿开，让自己解脱，然而那却不是水草，那是魂器的链条，它变得越来越紧，这让哈利的呼吸越来越困难。 
　　哈利拼命地到处乱踢，尝试着游回到湖面上去，但却只是将自己推向了湖中充满岩石的另一端，他感到越来越沉重，越来越喘不上气，他拼命想从那企图扼死人的链条中挣扎出来。但冰冻的手指没办法拉开链条，他脑中的意识正逐渐减退，身体快被淹没了。一切都没了，什么都做不了了，而他胸前的手臂完全动弹不得，他真切的感觉到了死亡………… 
　　他感到了窒息和恶心的，还有他那一生中未曾体验过的湿透和寒冷，他在冰雪中逐渐沉下去。就在这个时候，有个人一边喘气，一边咳嗽地蹒跚地走近，正如上次她在蛇攻击哈利的时候来到一样，但听起来好象又不是她，因为那咳嗽声太大了，那脚步声也太重了。 
　　哈利没有力气抬起头来看看到底他的救命恩人是谁，他只能把手抬起来，放到喉咙的位置上，在那个地方他感到有个盒子紧紧地卡住他的身体。一切都突然消失了。有人把链子扯开了，一把喘着大气的声音从那人的嘴里冒了出来： 
　　“你——是不是——疯了？” 
　　这个声音所带来的震撼，让哈利有了站起来的力气，他还是剧烈地颤抖着，他摇晃着站起来，在他面前的人居然是罗恩。罗恩穿得很密实，但也全身湿透了，他的头发喝醉了酒一样凌乱，他一手拿着格兰芬多的宝剑，另一个手拿着一条断掉的链子，链子另的一端，魂器还在不断摇晃着。 
　　“该死的，这是为什么，“罗恩喘道，他手中的魂器不断前后摇摆，很像令人催眠的挂表。 “你潜水前怎么不把这东西摘了？” 
　　哈利没有回答。那银色的母鹿并没什么了不起的，她一点也无法与罗恩的重新出现相提并论。他还是很难相信刚发生的这一切。还是因寒冷而不断发抖，他拿起那堆仍然摆在湖边的衣服开始穿起来，穿衣服的时候，哈利一直盯着罗恩，似乎觉得一看不到他他会立刻消失掉，但这当然不会发生，他真的来了，他的确跳进了那个湖，他的确拯救了哈利的生命。 
　　“真的是你？”哈利终于冒出了一句话。他的牙齿还是不断地相互撞击着，因为刚才的危险，他的声音也比往常小得多。 
　　“恩，当然。”罗恩说，样子显得有点困惑。 
　　“是…………是你召唤出那母鹿的吗？” 
　　“什么？当然不是啊。我还以为你是做的。” 
　　“我的守护神是一只牡鹿啊。” 
　　“哦，对，她有点不一样，她没有角。” 
　　哈利把海格的袋子重新挂回脖子上，穿上最后一件毛衣，弯腰拾起赫敏的魔杖，然后再次看着罗恩。 
　　“你怎么会在这里的？“ 
　　很明显，如果可以的话，罗恩希望待会再说这个问题。 
　　“恩，是——这样的，我——回来了，如果…………”罗恩清了清嗓子， “你知道的——你还是需要我的啊。” 
　　谈话短暂地停止了一会。好象罗恩当初的离开让两人间架起了一堵高墙。然而现在他就在这里，他回来了，他刚刚救了哈利一命。 
　　罗恩低头看着自己的手，当他看到自己手中紧握着的是什么的时候，突然吃了一惊。 
　　“哦，对啊，我把它拔出来了。”他说，虽然这话并什么必要说出来，他把剑举起来，好让哈利好好看了看。“这就是你跳下去的原因，对吧？” 
　　哈利说：“是的。但我不明白的是，你是怎么到这儿来的，你是怎么找到我们的？” 
　　“说来话长啊。”罗恩说， 
　　“我找你们好多个小时了，这个森林可真大啊，不是吗？正当我打算在树下睡一会，等到天亮再继续的时候，我看到了一只鹿跑了过来，而你在后面紧追着它。” 
　　“你没有看到别人吗。“ 
　　“没有，”罗恩说， “我……” 
　　他犹豫了一下，看着离他们不远处的那两棵长得很近的树。 
　　“我想我确实看到了有东西在那边移动，但那时我正跑向湖边，因为你跳了下去却不见你上来，所以我没有绕到那边去看看。” 
　　当罗恩指向那边时，哈利已经匆忙地跑了过去，在那两棵靠得很近的树那里，有个只有几英寸的裂缝，一个很理想的能偷看别人而又不被别人看到的地方。然而在那里的雪地上，没有任何痕迹，哈利找不到任何足迹，于是他回到拿着宝剑和魂器的罗恩身边。 
　　“有什么东西吗？”罗恩问。 
　　“什么也没有。”哈利说。 
　　“那宝剑为什么会在湖里呢？” 
　　“肯定是那个召唤出守护神的人把剑放下去的。” 
　　他们同时看着那华丽的宝剑，镶有红宝石的剑柄在赫敏的魔杖发出的光里闪闪发亮。 
　　“你说这是真的那把剑吗？”罗恩说。 
　　“我有办法能知道答案。”哈利回答。 
　　魂器还是在罗恩的手中摇摆不定，那个小盒子在轻微地颤动，哈利知道在盒子里面的东西又一次激动起来了。它已经感觉到了宝剑的存在，并且也尝试了要把哈利杀死，以免让他得到那宝剑。如今已不需要再做任何讨论了，现在是永久地毁灭一切的时候了。哈利高高的举起赫敏的魔杖，向周围环视了一圈，看到一棵无花果树的阴影下有一块平坦的石头。 
　　“到这里来。”他说，走到那里，清理掉石头上面的雪，把魂器拿了出来，当罗恩递上那把宝剑时，哈利却摇了摇头。 
　　“不，应该是你来做。” 
　　“我？”罗恩很诧异地反问道，“为什么？” 
　　“因为是你把它从湖里拔出来的，所以我想应该是你来做。” 
　　他并不是仁慈和慷慨，正如他非常确定那母鹿是仁慈的一样，他知道罗恩才是那个应该挥动宝剑的人。邓布利多教过哈利一些特殊的魔法，特别的动作会有无法估量的力量。 
　　“我准备把它打开了，”哈利说， “然后你就向它刺过去，很简单，对吧？因为无论在里面的是什么，它都会引发一场争斗，日记中的神秘人物想要把我给杀了。” 
　　“那你打算怎么把它打开？”罗恩说，看样子他有点受惊。 
　　“我打算叫它自己打开，用蛇佬腔。”哈利说，他十分轻易的说出了这句话，好象他一直都知道这个答案。或许是最近遇到纳吉尼让他意识到这一点。他看着那蜿蜒的闪闪发光的绿色石头镶嵌而成的“S”，很容易就会把它联想成一条小蛇(蛇的单词是SNAKE)，卷缩在那冰冷的石头上面。 
　　“不要！”罗恩说， “不要打开，我是认真的。” 
　　“为什么不？”哈利问， “让我们摆脱这可恶的东西，都好几个月了……” 
　　“我不能这样做，哈利，我是认真的和你在说，你来做。” 
　　“但为什么呢？” 
　　“因为那东西对我有害。”罗恩说，说着他开始往后退。 
　　“我不能处理好这件事。我不是在寻找借口，虽然我很像是在做这样的事，但它给我的影响比对给你和赫敏的还要严重，它让我想起一些东西……一些我想过的东西，但它让事情都变得更糟，我没办法解释清楚，所以我想摆脱他，让自己想清楚一些，现在我要重新把这该死的东西拿起来……我做不到，哈利。” 
　　他不断向后退着，拖着那把宝剑不停的摇着头。 
　　“你做得到的。”哈利鼓励他说， “你能的！你拥有那把宝剑，我知道能使用它的人只有你，只要将它解决掉就可以了，罗恩。” 
　　“那告诉我什么时候动手吧。”他用嘶哑的声音说。 
　　“当我数到三的时候。”哈利说，他看着那个小盒子，瞳孔不断缩小，注意力集中到了那个S上面，脑海里想象着一条大毒蛇的样子，这个时候，盒子里面的东西仿佛一只被捕获的蟑螂一样恼火。本来对它表示点同情是很容易的，如果哈利脖子上的伤口不是继续隐隐作痛的话。 
　　“一…………二…………三…………打开。” 
　　当最后那个字说出来的时候，一阵嘶嘶声和咆哮声传了出来，然后盒子上金色的小门旋转伴随着滴答的响声打开了。 
　　在玻璃窗户的背后闪烁着一对眼睛，如汤姆·里德尔的眼睛一样深沉和俊美，不像伏地魔现在那样有着猩红和细长的瞳孔。 
　　“刺它。”哈利说，他把那盒子稳稳地固定在岩石上。 
　　罗恩用他那颤抖着的手举起了宝剑，那目标一直在摇摆着，那双眼睛疯狂的转动着，哈利紧紧地抓住盒子，自己支撑着自己，想象鲜血从那玻璃窗中喷溅而出。 
　　然后，嘶嘶的声音从魂器里透露出来。 
　　“我曾见过你的心，那是属于我的。” 
　　“不要听这些话 ，”哈利严厉地说， “刺它” 
　　“我见过你的梦，罗纳德 韦斯莱，我也见过你的恐惧，你所有的梦想都是可能发生的，你所有的恐惧也有可能发生。 
　　“刺啊！”哈利喊道，他的声音在树林中回荡，剑的顶端仍在颤抖，罗恩盯着里德尔的眼睛。 
　　“最少的爱，一直如此，你的妈妈想要的是个女孩……最少的爱，现在也是，那个女孩喜欢的是你的朋友，永远都做不到最好，一直如此，永远都活在阴影之中。” 
　　“罗恩，刺它啊。”哈利几乎是在怒哄了，他能感觉到箱子在颤动，对里面将要出来的东西充满了恐惧。罗恩还是高高地举起那宝剑，这时，里德尔的眼睛闪烁出猩红色的光。 
　　在那小窗户的外面，在眼睛的外面，浮现出了两个奇异的泡泡，那是哈利和赫敏的头像，但被古怪地扭曲了。 
　　当人头像浮现出来时，罗恩惊慌的大喊着向后退去。首先出现的是胸，然后是腰，最后是腿，一直到他们站在那盒子上，像两棵同根的树一样互相紧靠着，在罗恩和哈利间摆动，哈利把手从那盒子上拿开了，那盒子突然变得非常灼热。 
　　“罗恩！”他喊道，但那个假的哈利却用伏地魔的声音在说话，而罗恩则凝视着这一切，好象被那张脸给催眠了。 
　　“为什么要回来呢？”没有你我们会更好，没有你我们会更高兴，我们会为你不在周围而喜悦，我们将嘲笑你的愚蠢，你的胆小，和你的自大。” 
　　“自大！”假的赫敏重复道，她比真赫敏更漂亮，可是更可恶。她在罗恩面前摇晃着，发出咯咯的笑声，罗恩仿佛受到了惊吓，呆在那里。那把剑在他手里显得毫无作用，“在哈利波特旁边，谁会看着你，谁曾看过你？你会做些什么呢？作为被选中的那个人，和那个大难不死的男孩相比，你又算是什么呢？” 
　　“罗恩，刺它，刺它啊！”哈利继续喊叫着，但罗恩并没有动手，他的眼睛张得大大的。那假的哈利和假的赫敏反射在他的眼球里，他们的头发像火焰一样窜动着。他们的眼睛闪烁着红色，他们的声音就像是魔鬼的二重奏。 
　　“你的母亲公开承认过的。”那个假的哈利讥笑道，而假的赫敏也在嘲笑， “那就是他更喜欢我做她的儿子，如果可以交换的话。” 
　　“谁不会更喜欢他呢？哪种女人会选择你呢？你和他相比，你什么都算不上，什么也不是！”假的赫敏低吟道。然后她如同蛇一样伸展出来并绕住假哈利，给哈利一个很热情的拥抱还亲吻了他。 
　　在他们面前，罗恩的脸非常痛苦，他颤抖的举着那把剑。 
　　“动手啊，罗恩！”哈利吼道。 
　　罗恩看着他，哈利似乎看到他的眼中闪过一丝猩红色。 
　　“罗恩……？” 
　　突然罗恩把剑刺出，只见剑光一闪：哈利急忙跳开，随即便是金属叮当的碰撞声以及尖叫声。哈利急忙转开，一边在雪地上滑行，一边
Chapter 20 Xenophilius Lovegood
Harry had not expected Hermione’s anger to abate over night and was therefore unsurprised that she communicated mainly by dirty looks and pointed silences the next morning. Ron responded by maintaining an unnaturally somber demeanor in her presence as an outward sign of continuing remorse. In fact, when all three of them were together Harry felt like the only non-mourner at a poorly attended funeral. During those few moments he spent alone with Harry, however (collecting water and searching the undergrowth for mushrooms). Ron became shamelessly cheery.
“Someone helped us,” he kept saying, “Someone sent that doe, Someone’s on our side, One Horcrux down, mate!”
Bolstered by the destruction of the locket they set to debating the possible locations of the other Horcruxes and even though they had discussed the matter so often before. Harry felt optimistic, certain that more breakthroughs would succeed the first. Hermione’s sulkiness could not mar his buoyant spirits; The sudden upswing in their fortunes, the appearance of the mysterious due, the recovery of Gryffindor’s sword, and above all, Ron’s return made Harry so happy that it was quite difficult to maintain a straight face.
Late in the afternoon he and Ron escaped Hermione’s baleful presence again and under the pretense of scouring the bare hedges for nonexistent blackberries, they continued their ongoing exchange of news. Harry had finally managed to tell Ron the whole story of his and Hermione’s various wanderings, right up to the full story of what had happened at Godric’s Hollow; Ron was now filling Harry in on everything he had discovered about the wider Wizarding world during his weeks away.
“… and how did you find out about the Taboo?” he asked Harry after explaining the many desperate attempts of Muggle-borns to evade the Ministry.
“The what?”
“You and Hermione have stopped saying You-Know-Who’s name!”
“Oh, yeah, Well, it’s just a bad habit we’ve slipped into,” said Harry. “But I haven’t got a problem calling him V –”
“NO!“ roared Ron, causing Harry to jump into the hedge and Hermione (nose buried in a book at the tent entrance) to scowl over at them. “Sorry,” said Ron, wrenching Harry back out of the brambles, “but the name’s been jinxed, Harry, that’s how they track people! Using his name breaks protective enchantments, it causes some kind of magical disturbance – it’s how they found us in Tottenham Court Road!”
“Because we used his *name*?”
“Exactly! You’ve got to give them credit, it makes sense. It was only people who were serious about standing up to him, like Dumbledore, who even dared use it. Now they’ve put a Taboo on it, anyone who says it is trackable – quick-and-easy way to find Order members! They nearly got Kingsley –“
“You’re kidding?”
“Yeah, a bunch of Death Eaters cornered him, Bill said but he fought his way out. He’s on the run now just like us.” Ron scratched his chin thoughtfully with the end of his wand. “You don’t reckon Kingsley could have sent that doe?”
“His Patronus is a lynx, we saw it at the wedding, remember?”
“Oh yeah…”
They moved farther along the hedge, away from the tent and Hermione.
“Harry… you don’t reckon it could’ve been Dumbledore?”
“Dumbledore what?”
Ron looked a little embarrassed, but said in a low voice, “Dumbledore… the doe? I mean,” Ron was watching Harry out of the corners of his eyes, “he had the real sword last, didn’t he?”
Harry did not laugh at Ron, because he understood too well the longing behind the question. The idea that Dumbledore had managed to come back to them, that he was watching over them, would have inexpressibly comforting. He shook his head.
“Dumbledore’s dead,” he said. “I saw it happen, I saw the body. He’s definitely gone. Anyway his Patronus was a phoenix, not a doe”
“Patronuses can change, though can’t they?” said Ron, “Tonks’s changed didn’t it?”
“Yeah, but if Dumbledore was alive, why wouldn’t he show himself? Why wouldn’t he just hand us the sword?“
“Search me,” said Ron. “Same reason he didn’t give it to you while he was alive? Same reason he left you an old Snitch and Hermione a book of kid’s stories?”
“Which is what?” asked Harry, turning to look Ron full in the face desperate for the answer.
“I dunno,“ said Ron. ”Sometimes I’ve thought, when I’ve been a bit hacked off, he was having a laugh or – or he just wanted to make it more difficult, But I don’t think so, not anymore. He knew what he was doing when he gave me the Deluminator, didn’t he? He – well,“ Ron’s ears turned bright red and he became engrossed in a tuft of grass at his feet, which he prodded with his toe, ”he must’ve known I’d run out on you.“
“No,” Harry corrected him. “He must’ve known you’d always want to come back.”
Ron looked grateful, but still awkward. Partly to change the subject, Harry said, “Speaking of Dumbledore, have you heard what Skeeter wrote about him?”
“Oh yeah,” said Ron at once, “people are talking about it quite a lot. ‘Course, if things were different it’d be huge news, Dumbledore being pals with Grindelwald, but now it’s just something to laugh about for people who didn’t like Dumbledore, and a bit of a slap in the face for everyone who thought he was such a good bloke. I don’t know that it’s such a big deal, though. He was really young when they –”
“Our age,” said Harry, just as he had retorted to Hermione, and something in his face seemed to decide Ron against pursuing the subject.
A large spider sat in the middle of a frosted web in the brambles. Harry took aim at it with the wand Ron had given him the previous night, which Hermione had since condescended to examine, and had decided was made of blackthorn.
“*Engorgio*”
The spider gave a little shiver, bouncing slightly in the web. Harry tried again. This time the spider grew slightly larger.
“Stop that,” said Ron sharply, “ I’m sorry I said Dumbledore was young, okay?”
Harry had forgotten Ron’s hatred of spiders.
“Sorry – *Reducio*”
The spider did not shrink. Harry looked down at the blackthorn wand. Every minor spell he had cast with it so far that day had seemed less powerful than those he had produced with his phoenix wand. The new one felt intrusively unfamiliar, like having somebody else’s hand sewn to the end of his arm.
“You just need to practice,” said Hermione, who had approached them noiselessly from behind and had stood watching anxiously as Harry tried to enlarge and reduce the spider. “It’s all a matter of confidence Harry.”
He knew why she wanted it to be all right; She still felt guilty about breaking his wand. He bit back the retort that sprung to his lips, that she could take the blackthorn wand if she thought it made no difference, and he would have hers instead. Keen for them all to be friends again, however, he agreed; but when Ron gave Hermione a tentative smile, she stalked off and vanished behind her book once more.
All three of them returned to the tent when darkness fell, and Harry took first watch. Sitting in the entrance, he tried to make the blackthorn wand levitate small stones at his feet; but his magic still seemed clumsier and less powerful than it had done before. Hermione was lying on her bunk reading, while Ron, after many nervous glances up at her, had taken a small wooden wireless out of his rucksack and started to try to tune it.
“There’s this one program,” he told Harry in a low voice, “that tells the news like it really is. All the others are on You-Know-Who’s side and are following the Ministry line, but this one… you wait till you hear it, it’s great. Only they can’t do it every night, they have to keep changing locations in case they’re raided and you need a password to tune in… Trouble is, I missed the last one…”
He drummed lightly on the top of the radio with his wand muttering random words under his breath. He threw Hermione many covert glances, plainly fearing an angry outburst, but for all the notice she took of him he might not have been there. For ten minutes or so Ron tapped and muttered, Hermione turned the pages of her book, and Harry continued to practice with the blackthorn wand.
Finally Hermione climbed down from her bunk. Ron ceased his tapping at once.
“If it’s annoying you, I’ll stop!” he told Hermione nervously.
Hermione did not deign to respond, but approached Harry.
“We need to talk,” she said.
He looked at the book still clutched in her hand. It was * The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore.*
“What?” he said apprehensively. It flew through his mind that there was a chapter on him in there; he was not sure he felt up to hearing Rita’s version of his relationship with Dumbledore. Hermione’s answer however, was completely unexpected.
“I want to go and see Xenophilius Lovegood.”
He stared at her.
“Sorry?”
“Xenophilius Lovegood, Luna’s father. I want to go and talk to him!”
“Er – why?”
She took a deep breath, as though bracing herself, and said, “It’s that mark, the mark in Beedle the Bard. Look at this!”
She thrust The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore under Harry’s unwilling eyes and saw a photograph of the original letter that Dumbledore had written Grindelwald, with Dumbledore’s familiar thin, slanting handwriting. He hated seeing absolute proof that Dumbledore really had written those words, that they had not been Rita’s invention.
“The signature,” said Hermione. “Look at the signature, Harry!”
He obeyed. For a moment he had no idea what she was talking about, but, looking more closely with the aid of his lit wand, he saw that Dumbledore had replaced the A of Albus with a tiny version of the same triangular mark inscribed upon The Tales of Beedle the Bard.
“Er – what are you –?” said Ron tentatively, but Hermione quelled him with a look and turned back to Harry.
“It keeps cropping up, doesn’t it?“ she said. ”I know Viktor said it was Grindelwald’s mark, but it was definitely on that old grave in Godric’s Hollow, and the dates on the headstone were long before Grindelwald came along! And now this! Well, we can’t ask Dumbledore or Grindelwald what it means – I don’t even know whether Grindelwald’s still alive – but we can ask Mr. Lovegood. He was wearing the symbol at the wedding. I’m sure this is important, Harry!“
Harry did not answer immediately. He looked into her intense, eager face and then out into the surrounding darkness, thinking. After a long pause he said, “Hermione, we don’t need another Godric’s Hollow. We talked ourselves into going there, and – ”
“But it keeps appearing, Harry! Dumbledore left me The Tales of Beedle the Bard, how do you know we’re not supposed to find out about the sign?“
“Here we go again!” Harry felt slightly exasperated. “We keep trying to convince ourselves Dumbledore left us secret signs and clues – ”
“The Deluminator turned out to be pretty useful,” piped up Ron. “I think Hermione’s right, I think we ought to go and see Lovegood.”
Harry threw him a dark look. He was quite sure that Ron’s support of Hermione had little to do with a desire to know the meaning of the triangular rune.
“It won’t be like Godric’s Hollow,“ Ron added, ”Lovegood’s on your side, Harry, The Quibbler’s been for you all along, it keeps telling everyone they’ve got to help you!“
“I’m sure this is important!” said Hermione earnestly.
“But don’t you think if it was, Dumbledore would have told me about it before he died?”
“Maybe… maybe it’s something you need to find out for yourself,“ said Hermione with a faint air of clutching at straws.
“Yeah,” said Ron sycophantically, “that makes sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,“ snapped Hermione, ”but I still think we ought to talk to Mr. Lovegood. A symbol that links Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Godric’s Hollow? Harry, I’m sure we ought to know about this!“
“I think we should vote on it,” said Ron. “Those in favor of going to see Love good – ”
His hand flew into the air before Hermione’s. Her lips quivered suspiciously as she raised her own.
“Outvoted, Harry, sorry,” said Ron, clapping him on the back.
“Fine,” said Harry, half amused, half irritated. “Only, once we’ve seen Lovegood, let’s try and look for some more Horcruxes, shall we? Where do the Lovegood’s live, anyway? Do either of you know?”
“Yeah, they’re not far from my place,“ said Ron. ”I dunno exactly where, but Mum and Dad always point toward the hills whenever they mention them. Shouldn’t be hard to find.“
When Hermione had returned to her bunk, Harry lowered his voice.
“You only agreed to try and get back in her good books.”
“All’s fair in love and war,” said Ron brightly, “and this is a bit of both. Cheer up, it’s the Christmas holidays, Luna’ll be home!”
They had an excellent view of the village of Ottery St. Catchopole from the breezy hillside to which they Disapparated next morning. From their high vantage point the village looked like a collection of toy houses in the great slanting shafts of sunlight stretching to earth in the breaks between clouds. They stood for a minute or two looking toward the Burrow, their hands shadowing their eyes, but all they could make out were the high hedges and trees of the orchard, which afforded the crooked little house protection from Muggle eyes.
“It’s weird, being this near, but not going to visit,” said Ron.
“Well, it’s not like you haven’t just seen them. You were there for Christmas,” said Hermione coldly.
“I wasn’t at the Burrow!” said Ron with an incredulous laugh. “Do you think I was going to go back there and tell them all I’d walked out on you? Yeah, Fred and George would’ve been great about it. And Ginny, she’d have been really understanding.”
“But where have you been, then?” asked Hermione, surprised.
“Bill and Fleur’s new place. Shell cottage. Bill’s always been decent to me. He – he wasn’t impressed when he heard what I’d done, but he didn’t go on about it. He knew I was really sorry. None of the rest of the family know I was there. Bill told Mum he and Fleur weren’t going home for Christmas because they wanted to spend it alone. You know, first holiday after they were married. I don’t think Fleur minded. You know how much she hates Celestina Warbeck.“
Ron turned his back on the Burrow.
“Let’s try up here,” he said, leading the way over the top of the hill.
They walked for a few hours, Harry, at Hermione’s insistence, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak. The cluster of low hills appeared to be uninhabited apart from one small cottage, which seemed deserted.
“Do you think it’s theirs, and they’ve gone away for Christmas?” said Hermione, peering through the window at a neat little kitchen with geraniums on the windowsill. Ron snorted.
“Listen, I’ve got a feeling you’d be able to tell who lived there if you looked through the Lovegoods’ window. Let’s try the next lot of hills.”
So they Disapparated a few miles farther north.
“Aha!” shouted Ron, as the wind whipped their hair and clothes. Ron was pointing upward, toward the top of the hill on which they had appeared, where a most strange-looking house rose vertically against the sky, a great black cylinder with a ghostly moon hanging behind it in the afternoon sky. “That’s got to be Luna’s house, who else would live in a place like that? It looks like a giant rook!”
“It’s nothing like a bird,” said Hermione, frowning at the tower.
“I was talking about a chess rook,” said Ron. “A castle to you.”
Ron’s legs were the longest and he reached the top of the hill first. When Harry and Hermione caught up with him, panting and clutching stitches in their sides, they found him grinning broadly.
“It’s theirs,” said Ron. “Look.”
Three hand-painted signs had been tacked to a broke-down gate. The first read, 
THE QUIBBLER. EDITOR, X. LOVEGOODthe second,
PICK YOUR OWN MISTLETOEthe third,KEEP OFF THE DIRIGIBLE PLUMSThe gate creaked as they opened it. The zigzagging path leading to the front door was overgrown with a variety of odd plants, including a bush covered in orange radishlike fruit Luna sometimes wore as earrings. Harry thought he recognized a Snargaluff and gave the wizened stump a wide berth. Two aged crab apple trees, bent with the wind, stripped of leaves but still heavy with berry-sized red fruits and bushy crowns of white beaded mistletoe, stood sentinel on either side of the front door. A little owl with a slightly flattened hawklike head peered down at them from one of the branches.
“You’d better take off the Invisibility Cloak, Harry,” said Hermione. “It’s you Mr. Lovegood wants to help, not us.”
He did as she suggested, handing her the Cloak to stow in the beaded bag. She then rapped three times on the thick black door, which was studded with iron nails and bore a knocker shaped like an eagle.
Barely ten seconds passed, then the door was flung open and there stood Xenophilius Lovegood, barefoot and wearing what appeared to be a stained nightshirt. His long white candyfloss hair was dirty and unkempt. Xenophilius had been positively dapper at Bill and Fleur’s wedding by comparison.
“What? What is it? Who are you? What do you want?“ he cried in a high-pitched, querulous voice, looking first at Hermione, then at Ron, and finally at Harry, upon which his mouth fell open in a perfect, comical O.
“Hello, Mr. Lovegood,” said Harry, holding out his hand, “I’m Harry, Harry Potter.”
Xenophilius did not take Harry’s hand, although the eye that was not pointing inward at his nose slid straight to the scar on Harry’s forehead.
“Would it be okay if we came in?“ asked Harry. ”There’s something we’d like to ask you.“
“I… I’m not sure that’s advisable,” whispered Xenophilius, He swallowed and cast a quick look around the garden. “Rather a shock… My word… I… I’m afraid I don’t really think I ought to –”
“It wont take long” said Harry, slightly disappointed by this less-than-warm welcome.
“I – oh, all right then. Come in, quickly, Quickly!“
They were barely over the threshold when Xenophilius slammed the door shut behind them, They were standing in the most peculiar kitchen Harry had ever seen. The room was perfectly circular, so that he felt like being inside a giant pepper pot. Everything was curved to fit the walls – the stove, the sink, and the cupboards – and all of it had been painted with flowers, insects, and birds in bright primary colors. Harry thought he recognized Luna’s styles. The effect in such and enclosed space, was slightly overwhelming.
In the middle of the floor, a wrought-iron spiral staircase led to the upper levels. There was a great deal of clattering and banging coming from overhead: Harry wondered what Luna could be doing.
“You’d better come up.“ said Xenophilius, still looking extremely uncomfortable, and he led the way.
The room above seemed to be a combination of living room and workplace, and as such, was even more cluttered than the kitchen. Though much smaller and entirely round, the room somewhat resembled the Room of Requirement on the unforgettable occasion that it had transformed itself into a gigantic labyrinth comprised of centuries of hidden objects. There were piles upon piles of books and papers on every surface. Delicately made models of creatures Harry did not recognize, all flapping wings or snapping jaws, hung from the ceiling.
Luna was not there: The thing that was making such a racket was a wooden object covered in magically turning cogs and wheels, It looked like the bizarre offspring of a workbench and a set of shelves, but after a moment Harry deduced that it was an old-fashioned printing press, due to the fact that it was churning out Quibblers.
“Excuse me,“ said Xenophilius, and he strode over to the machine, seized grubbily tablecloth from beneath an immense number of books and papers, which all tumbled onto the floor, and threw it over the press, somewhat muffling the loud bangs and clatters. He then faced Harry.
“Why have you come here?” Before Harry could speak, however, Hermione let out a small cry of shock.
“Mr. Lovegood – what’s that?”
See was pointing at an enormous, gray spiral horn, not unlike that of a unicorn, which had been mounted on the wall, protruding several feet into the room.
“It is the horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack,” said Xenophilius.
“No it isn’t!” said Hermione.
“Hermione,“ muttered Harry, embarrassed, “now’s not the moment – ”
“But Harry, it’s an Erumpent horn! It’s a Class B Tradeable Material and it’s an extraordinary dangerous thing to have in a house!“
“How’d you know it’s an Erumpent horn?” asked Ron, edging away from the horn as fast as he could, given the extreme clutter of the room.
“There’s a description in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them! Mr. Lovegood, you need to get rid of it straightaway, don’t you know it can explode at the slightest touch?”
“The Crumple Horned Snorkack” said Xenophilius very clearly, a mulish look upon his face, “is a shy and highly magical creature, and it’s horn – ”
“Mr. Lovegood. I recognize the grooved markings around the base, that’s an Erumpent horn and it’s incredibly dangerous – I don’t know where you got it-”
“I bought it,“ said Xenophilius dogmatically. ”Two weeks ago, from a delightful young wizard who knew my interest in the exquisite Snorkack. A Christmas surprise for my Luna. Now,“ he said, turning to Harry, ”why exactly have you come here, Mr. Potter?“
“We need some help,” said Harry, before Hermione could start again.
“Ah,” said Xenophilius, “Help, Hmm.”
His good eye moved again to Harry’s scar. He seemed simultaneously terrified and mesmerized.
“Yes. The thing is… helping Harry Potter… rather dangerous…”
“Aren’t you the one who keeps telling everyone it’s their first duty to help Harry?” said Ron. “In that magazine of yours?”
Xenophilius glanced behind him at the concealed printing press, still banging and clattering beneath the tablecloth.
“Er – yes, I have expressed that view. however – ”
“That’s for everyone else to do, not you personally?” said Ron.
Xenophilius did not answer. He kept swallowing, his eyes darting between the three of them. Harry had the impression that he was undergoing some painful internal struggle.
“Where’s Luna?” asked Hermione. “Let’s see what she thinks.”
Xenophilius gulped. He seemed to be steeling himself. Finally he said in a shaky voice difficult to hear over the noise of the printing press, “Luna is down at the stream, fishing for Freshwater Plimpies. She…she will like to see you. I’ll go and call her and then – yes, very well. I shall try to help you.”
He disappeared down the spiral staircase and they heard the front open and close. They looked at each other.
“Cowardly old wart,” said Ron. “Luna’s got ten times his guts.”
“He’s probably worried about what’ll happen to them if the Death Eaters find out I was here” said Harry.
“Well, I agree with Ron,“ said Hermione, ”Awful old hypocrite, telling everyone else to help you and trying to worm our of it himself. And for heaven’s sake keep away from that horn.“
Harry crossed to the window on the far side of the room. He could see a stream, a thin, glittering ribbon lying far below them at the base of the hill. They were very high up; a bird fluttered past the window as he stared in the direction of the Burrow, now invisible beyond another line of hills. Ginny was over there somewhere. They were closer to each other today than they had been since Bill and Fleur’s wedding, but she could have no idea he was gazing toward her now, thinking of her. He suppose he ought to be glad of it; anyone he came into contact with was in danger, Xenophilius’s attitude proved that. he turned away from the windows and his gaze fell upon another peculiar object standing upon the cluttered, curved slide board; a stone but of a beautiful but austere-looking witch wearing a most bizarre-looking headdress. Two objects that resembled golden ear trumpets curved out from the sides. A tiny pair of glittering blue wing was stuck to a leather strap that ran over the top of her head, while one of the orange radishes had been stuck to a second strap around her forehead.
“Look at this,” said Harry.
“Fetching,“ said Ron. “Surprised he didn’t wear that to the wedding.”
They heard the front door close, and a moment later Xenophilius climbed back up the spiral staircase into the room, his thin legs now encase in Wellington boots, bearing a tray of ill-assorted teacups and a steaming teapot.
“Ah, you have spotted my pet invention,” he said, shoving the tray into Hermione’s arms and joining Harry at the statue’s side.
“Modeled, fittingly enough, upon the head of the beautiful Rowens Ravenclaw, ‘Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure!’“
He indicated the objects like ear trumpets.
“These are the Wrackpurt siphons – to remove all sources of distraction from the thinker’s immediate area. Here,“ he pointed out the tiny wings, ”a billywig propeller, to induce an elevated frame of mind. Finally,“ he pointed to the orange radish, ”the dirigible Plum, so as to enhance the ability to accept the extraordinary.“
Xenophilius strode back to the tea tray, which Hermione had managed to balance precariously on one of the cluttered side tables.
“May I offer you all an infusion of Gurdyroots?“ said Xenophilius. ”We make it ourselves.“ As he started to pour out the drink, which was as deeply purple as beetroot juice, he added, ”Luna is down beyond Bottom Bridge, she is most excited that you are here She ought not to be too long, she has caught nearly enough Plumpies to make soup for all of us. Do sit down and help yourselves to sugar.“
“Now,” he remove a tottering pile of papers from an armchair and sat down, his Wellingtoned legs crossed, “how may I help you, Mr. Potter?”
“Well,“ said Harry, glancing at Hermione, who nodded encouragingly, “it’s about that symbol you were wearing around your neck at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, Mr. Lovegood. We wondered what it meant.”
Xenophilius raised his eyebrows.
“Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hallows?”
哈利没指望赫敏能在一夜间就消气，所以，当他第二天早上看到赫敏摆着一张臭脸闷闷不乐的时候，并不感到惊讶。罗恩在她面前显得有种不自在的忧郁，看得出他仍然在懊悔。事实上，每当他们三个人开始冷战时，哈利总觉得自己像是那个葬礼中唯一一个不感到悲伤的人。在和哈利一起(收集水，寻找矮树丛下的蘑菇)的时候，罗恩竟然跟什么都没发生过似的高兴了起来：“有人在帮我们，”他接着说道， 
　　“有人召唤出了那只雌鹿，那人站在我们这一边，一个魂器被销毁了！” 
　　盒子被销毁了，所以他们开始讨论其他可能存放魂器的地点，尽管他们之前已经讨论过这个问题好多次了。哈利乐观地想，事情很快就会有新进展的。赫敏的不悦并没有影响他轻松的心情。他们运气的突然转好，神秘雌鹿的出现、格兰芬多剑的失而复得，最重要的是，罗恩回来了，这令哈利十分高兴，也不用再一直板着脸了。 
　　午后，哈利和罗恩再次摆脱了赫敏，借口去冲刷没有黑莓的树篱。然后继续交换他们各自得到的消息。哈利告诉了罗恩关于他和赫敏逃亡期间的故事，一直说到在高椎克山谷所发生的事情。罗恩也告诉了哈利在他离开的这几星期中，他所得知的在茫茫巫师世界里所发生的一切。 
　　“……还有，你是怎么知道那个禁咒的?”当罗恩对哈利说完麻瓜出生的巫师们为了逃避魔法部而做的一切拼死努力之后，他问道。 
　　“什么?” 
　　“你和赫敏已经不再说神秘人的名字了！” 
　　“哦，是的，这只不过是我们曾经的一个坏习惯，” 哈利说道， “但我从来没遇到过什么麻烦，当我说出他的名字，伏……” 
　　“不！”罗恩吼道，哈利吓得跳进了树丛，而赫敏（坐在帐篷门口，正埋头看着一本书）这时也对他们俩怒目而视。“对不起，”罗恩说，把哈利从树丛里拽了出来，“可那名字被施过魔法了，哈利，这就是他们追踪人们的办法！说出了他的名字就会打破保护魔法，这已经引起了不少不可思议的骚乱——这就是他们在托特纳姆法庭路找到我们的原因！” 
　　“就因为我们说出了他的名字？” 
　　“没错！你使他们相信，只有那些真正敢于面对他，比如邓布利多的人，才敢说出他名字。现在他们已经在名字上施了禁咒，任何人说出那个名字就会被追踪——这样很容易就能快速地找到凤凰社的成员！他们还差点抓到了金斯莱……” 
　　“你在开玩笑吧！” 
　　“没有！一群食尸徒把他逼到了绝境，比尔说，他打退了它们然后逃了出来。现在金斯莱也和我们一样在逃亡。”罗恩用魔杖的末端顶着下巴思考着。“你觉得会不会是金斯莱召唤出了那只雌鹿？” 
　　“他的守护神是一只猞猁，我们在婚礼上见到过的，还记得吗？” 
　　“哦，是的……” 
　　他们沿着树丛走得更远了，远离了帐篷和赫敏。 
　　“哈利，你猜那会不会是邓布利多？” 
　　“邓布利多怎么了？” 
　　罗恩显得有点犹豫，然后小声地说道，“邓布利多……那只雌鹿？我的意思是，”罗恩透过眼角看着哈利，“他最后拿到了真正的剑，不是吗？” 
　　哈利没有嘲笑罗恩，他很清楚这个问题背后所包含着的期望。邓布利多回到他们身边，并仍在某处注视着他们，这种想法，的确能使人感到难以名状的欣慰。 
　　他摇了摇头。 
　　“邓布利多已经死了，”他说。“我亲眼看到的，我看到了他的尸体。他是真的走了。更何况，他的守护神是凤凰，不是雌鹿。” 
　　“守护神可以变的，不是吗？”罗恩说，“唐克斯的不就变了吗？” 
　　“是的，但是如果他还活着，为什么他不来找我们？为什么他不直接把剑给我们？” 
　　“我可不知道，”罗恩说。“还有，他为什么不在活着的时候给你？为什么要给你一个破旧的金色飞贼，给赫敏一本古老的童话书？” 
　　“就算我们知道了，那又怎么样呢？”哈利看着罗恩那渴望得到答案的表情，问道。 
　　“我不知道，”罗恩说，“有时候，当我有点想放弃的时候，曾经想过，或许他是在开玩笑或者——或者他只是为了让一切变的更困难。但我现在不这么想了，不再这么认为了。当他给我熄灯器的时候他知道他在做什么，不是吗？他——是的，”罗恩的耳朵有点红得发亮，然后他似乎对脚边的一丛杂草产生了浓厚的兴趣，开始用自己的脚趾戳着这些杂草，“他一定早就知道我会弃你们而去。” 
　　“不，”哈利纠正道，“他一定早就知道无论如何你都会回来的。” 
　　罗恩很感激，但还是有点难堪。为了转移话题，哈利说，“说到邓布利多，你知道斯基特是怎么写他的吗？” 
　　“当然知道，”罗恩马上说，“人们都在不停的谈论那件事，‘通常，与众不同的事情总能变成大新闻。邓布利多是格林德沃的朋友，但现在这已成了那些不喜欢他的人的笑料，就好像是当面给了那些曾认为他是个好家伙的人一巴掌。虽然我不知道这事有多么重大。他是那么的年轻，当他们——” 
　　“像我们这么大的时候，”哈利接道，正如他反驳赫敏时那样，他脸上的表情分明是要阻止罗恩继续谈论这个话题。 
　　树莓丛上挂着一张结满寒霜的蛛网，一只大蜘蛛正悠闲地爬在上面。哈利拿起罗恩昨天给他的魔杖，瞄准了蜘蛛，经过赫敏的检查，她确定它是用李木做的。 
　　“速速变大！” 
　　那只蜘蛛微微抖动了一下，在网上轻轻跳跃着。哈利又试了一次。这次蜘蛛稍稍变大了些。 
　　“快停下，”罗恩尖叫道，“我对我说邓布利多很年轻表示道歉，这总行了吧？” 
　　哈利似乎忘了罗恩对蜘蛛的恐惧。 
　　“哦，对不起，速速缩小！” 
　　然而那只蜘蛛没有缩小。哈利低头看着那支李木魔杖。那天他使用的所有魔咒，包括那些最简单的魔咒，威力都要比以前用凤凰魔杖施咒时小得多。这支新魔杖让人有种不舒服的入侵感，就像把别人的手缝在他的手臂上一样。 
　　“你只是需要多练习，”赫敏说，她已经悄悄的站到他们身后，并担忧地看着哈利试图使蜘蛛变大和缩小的全过程。“这是看你自己是否自信的问题，哈利。” 
　　哈利知道为什么她希望魔杖没问题，她仍然对弄坏他的魔杖感到很愧疚。他正要反驳说，要是她觉得新魔杖与旧的没什么区别的话，她可以把李木魔杖拿去，然后他可以用她的；可还是把刚到嘴边的话咽了回去。他真诚地希望他们能恢复从前的铁关系，所以，无论如何，他同意了。但是当罗恩试着向赫敏微笑时，她高傲地离开了，再次消失在书的后面。 
　　黑夜降临后，他们三个都回到了帐篷里面，哈利第一个放哨。坐在帐篷的入口，他试着用李木魔杖把他脚边的一块小石头悬浮在空中，但他的魔力与比以往相比，仍旧显得如此笨拙和无力。此时，赫敏正躺在床上看书，罗恩不安地瞧了她几眼，然后从他的帆布背包中取出一台小型木制无线收音机，并试着调试频道。 
　　“这个频道，”他轻声对哈利说，“是个讲述真实新闻的频道。其他所有频道都站在神秘人那边，并被魔法部牵着鼻子走，但是这一个……你听了就会知道，简直太棒了。唯一遗憾的是，他们不能每天晚上都播报，他们得不停地改变地点以防止被追击，另外，需要密码才能收听……问题是，我忘了上一个密码是什么。” 
　　他用魔杖在收音机上轻轻敲打着，一边小声地咕哝着什么。并一个劲地偷偷瞄赫敏几眼，看来是害怕她的愤怒会像火山般突然爆发，如果不是她的细心照料，他也来不了这里。罗恩敲敲打打地咕哝了大约十分钟，赫敏翻了一页书，哈利则继续练习使用李木魔杖。 
　　最后，赫敏爬下了床。罗恩立刻停止了他的敲打。 
　　“如果吵到你了，我会马上停止。”他小心地对赫敏说。 
　　赫敏没有要回答他的意思，径直向哈利走去。 
　　“我们需要谈谈，”她说。 
　　他看着抓在她手上的书。书名叫做《阿不思·邓布利多的谎言和一生》”。 
　　“什么？”他担心地说。他心里突然闪过一个念头，书里会有一章写他的，他不知道他是否承受得了，听丽塔的那些关于他和邓布利多关系的瞎编乱造的谎言。然而，赫敏的回答却令他出乎意料。 
　　“我要去找谢农费里厄斯·洛夫古德。” 
　　哈利盯着她。 
　　“你说什么？” 
　　“谢农费里厄斯·洛夫古德，卢娜的爸爸，我要去找他并跟他谈谈。” 
　　“恩—为什么？” 
　　她深呼吸了一下，仿佛在给自己注入力量，然后说，“这是那个标记，在《游吟诗人比德》里的标记。看这个！” 
　　她猛地把《邓布利多的谎言和一生》伸到哈利眼前，哈利不情愿地看了一眼，那是邓布利多写给格林德沃的原信的照片，上面是邓布利多那熟悉的瘦瘦的斜体字。他非常厌恶地看到有确凿的证据表明邓布利多写了那封信，而不是丽塔编造的。 
　　“这个签名，”赫敏说。“看看这个签名，哈利！” 
　　哈利看了，有那么一刻他不明白她的意思，但是，借着魔杖的光芒，他凑近了仔细看，他看到邓布利多把阿不思的A改成了一个小三角，跟他标记在《游吟诗人比德的故事》上的一样。 
　　“恩……你们在……？”罗恩小心地问，但赫敏马上用目光制止了她然后她转向哈利。 
　　“它一直在出现，不是吗？”她说，“我知道威克多尔说那是格林德沃的符号，但它也确实曾出现在高锥克山谷的古老墓碑上，而且那墓碑上记载的日期比格林德沃出现的时间要早很多！现在看看这个！好了，我们不能问邓布利多或者格林德沃这代表着什么——我甚至不知道格林德沃是否还活着——但我们可以去问洛夫古德先生。他在婚礼上戴过那个标志。我确信这很重要，哈利！” 
　　哈利没有马上回答。他看着她激动热切的脸，然后走出帐篷，走进周围的黑暗中，思考着。很久的沉默后，他说：“赫敏，我们不要再盲目地冒险了，上次，我们差点——” 
　　“但是它一直在出现，哈利！邓布利多给我留下《游吟诗人比德的故事》，难道他不是希望我们解开符号的迷吗？” 
　　“又来了！”哈利有点生气了，“我们总试图说服自己邓布利多留下了秘密的符号和线索——” 
　　“事实表明熄灯器的确很有用，”罗恩插嘴说。“我想赫敏是对的，我觉得我们应该去找洛夫古德。” 
　　哈利阴沉地看了他一眼。他很清楚罗恩支持赫敏有一部分是因为对那个三角形文字的好奇。 
　　“它和高锥克山谷不一样，”罗恩补充道，“洛夫古德是站在你这边的，哈利。《唱唱反调》一直在支持你，它一直在告诉人们他们会帮助你！” 
　　“我确定这很重要！”赫敏真诚的说。 
　　“但你们难道不觉得，如果真是这样，邓布利多会在他死前告诉我的吗？” 
　　“或许……或许这需要让你自己去发现，”赫敏像抓住最后一根稻草那样轻声说。 
　　“对，”罗恩奉承地说，“这就说得通了。” 
　　“不，不对，”赫敏突然说，“但我仍然觉得我们应该和洛夫古德谈谈，这个符号联系着邓布利多，格林德沃，和高锥克山谷，哈利，我敢肯定我们需要知道这些。” 
　　“我想我们可以投票表决，”罗恩说，“赞成去见洛夫古德的举手——” 
　　他在赫敏举手前迅速把手举到半空中。赫敏怀疑地蠕动了下嘴唇，举起了手。 
　　“少数服从多数，哈利，不好意思了，”罗恩边拍哈利的背边说。 
　　“好吧，”哈利说，觉得好笑，又觉得恼怒。“只是，等我们见到洛夫古德之后，我们得试着找其他的魂器，好吗？那么到底洛夫古德一家住在哪呢？你们两有人知道吗？” 
　　“我知道，他们家离我家不远，”罗恩说。“虽然我不知道确切的位置，但是爸爸和妈妈每次提到他们时，就会指着那边的小山丘，所以应该不难找。” 
　　当赫敏回到她的床上去后，哈利压低声音说。 
　　“你就这样同意了，是为了讨好她吧。” 
　　“都是因为爱情和战争，”罗恩坦白地说，“两者都有，开心点吧，现在是圣诞假期，卢娜肯定在家！” 
　　第二天早上，他们幻影显形到了山腰，微风轻拂，放眼望去，整个奥特里圣卡奇波尔村庄都尽收眼底。他们站在高处，阳光透过云的缝隙，斜斜地映照在地面上，向下看去，村庄看起来像是由许多玩具房子排列在斜轴上。他们抬起手掌挡住阳光，站着又望了一会儿陋居，但他们只能辨认出一些高树篱和果园里的树，它们都是为了使这个奇怪的小房子不被麻瓜发现所种的。 
　　“这真不可思议，离得这么近，却不能回家。”罗恩说。 
　　“好了，你又不是没看过他们，你还在那里过了圣诞节。”赫敏冷冷地说。 
　　“我没回陋居！”罗恩疑惑地笑了。“你觉得我会跑回去告诉他们我离开你们了？然后，弗雷德和乔治就会拿这个寻开心。至于金妮，她倒是一直都很善解人意。” 
　　“那你去哪儿了？”赫敏惊讶地问。 
　　“比尔和芙蓉的新家。贝壳小屋。比尔对我总是很好。他……他没有生我的气，当他知到我做了什么后，也没有追问。他知道我心里真的很难过。家里的其他人都不知道我在那。比尔跟妈妈说他和芙蓉不回家过圣诞，因为他想和芙蓉单独过。你知道的，这是他们结婚后的第一个节日。我想芙蓉不会介意的。要知道她有多讨厌塞蒂娜·沃贝克。” 
　　罗恩转身背对着陋居。 
　　“我们从这上去看看，”他说，带头往山上走。 
　　他们走了好几个小时，哈利在赫敏的坚持下披着他的隐身衣。一座小别墅孤零零地兀立在荒无人烟的群山丘上，看起来像是被人遗弃了般。 
　　“你们有没有觉得那就是他们的房子，而他们现在出去过圣诞节了？”赫敏说着，从窗户往里看，可以看见一个干净的小厨房，窗台上还摆着盆天竺葵。 
　　罗恩哼了一声。 
　　“听着，我想，在洛夫古德家的窗外，你一眼就可以看出是他们住在那儿。我们去其他山上找找吧。” 
　　于是他们再次向北幻影移形了几英里。 
　　“啊哈！”罗恩喊着，风将他们的头发和衣服吹得呼呼作响。他指着上方，在他们现身的那处山头，一间异常古怪的房子直指天际，房子后面，一个巨大的，带着可怕的月亮的黑色汽缸挂在午后的天空之下。“这肯定是卢娜的家，还会有谁住在这样的地方？它看起来像颗巨大的棋子！” 
　　“它一点都不像旗帜，”赫敏说，皱着眉头看着这座城堡。 
　　“我说的是国际象棋，”罗恩说。“这座城堡。” 
　　罗恩凭借着脚长的优势最先到达山顶。哈利和赫敏气喘吁吁地追上他时，发现他正得意地咧着嘴笑。 
　　“是这里，”罗恩说。“看。” 
　　三块自己粉刷的标记被订在一个倒塌的门上。第一个上面写着，　
　　唱唱反调，编辑，谢·洛夫古德　
　　 
　　第二个写着，　
　　挑选你自己的榭寄生　
　　 
　　第三个写着，　
　　不要试着驾驶洋李　
　　 
　　他们慢慢打开吱吱作响的门，一条通向前门的Z字型小路长满了各种各样的古怪植物，其中有一个覆盖着像胡萝卜一样水果（卢娜有时作为耳环戴在耳朵上）的矮树丛。哈利想，他终于找到了一个可以枯萎斯纳格拉夫树桩的收容所。两棵年老的山楂树随风摇曳，光秃秃的枝条上挂着沉甸甸的浆果模样的红色果子，珠状榭寄生密密麻麻地覆盖在上面，像哨兵一样站在前门的两边。一只脑袋长得像鹰的扁头猫头鹰站在一根树枝上看着他们。 
　　“你最好把斗篷拿掉，哈利，”赫敏说，“洛夫古德愿意帮助的是你，不是我们。” 
　　哈利照办了，把斗篷给她让她装在那个珠状的包里。然后赫敏在那个沉重的黑门上敲了三下，门上布满了铁钉，还装饰着一个鹰形门环。 
　　刚过了十秒，门猛得被打开了，他们眼前站着谢农费里厄斯·洛夫古德，他赤着脚穿着一件像是褪色的男睡衣。他那长长的像棉花糖一样的白发又脏又乱。和现在相比，谢农费里厄斯在比尔和芙蓉的婚礼上显然算是衣冠楚楚的了。 
　　“什么？什么事？你们是谁？你们要什么？”他暴躁地大声吼着，先看着赫敏，然后看罗恩，最后他的目光停留在哈利身上，突然他的嘴张开形成了一个标准的，滑稽的O。 
　　“您好，洛夫古德先生，”哈利伸出他的手，“我是哈利，哈利波特。” 
　　谢农费里厄斯没有握哈利的手，他的目光从哈利的鼻端笔直地滑向他前额上的伤疤。 
　　“我们可以进去吗？”哈利问，“我们有一些事要问您。” 
　　“我……我不确定那是否明智，”谢农费里厄斯小声说，他吞了下口水，飞快地朝花园看了一眼。“真令人吃惊……我的意思……我……恐怕我不是很应该……” 
　　“不会太久的，”哈利说，对这个不是很热情的欢迎有点失望。 
　　“我……噢，好吧。进来，快，快！” 
　　他们刚跨进门槛，门就砰地一声关上了。现在，他们站在一个哈利见过的最奇特的厨房里。这个房间是个标准的圆形，这让他觉得像是走进了个巨大的胡椒粉罐头。所有的东西为了和墙壁相搭配，都弄成了曲线形的——炉，水槽，碗柜——而且所有东西都用明亮的色调画上了花朵，昆虫和小鸟。哈利心想，他终于了解卢娜的风格是如何形成的了。在这样一个封闭的空间内，人们是无法不被它影响的。 
　　在地板的中间，有一个螺旋形的锻铁楼梯通往二楼。那里正哗啦哗啦响个不停，还不时传来重物打击的声音；哈利不由地猜想卢娜现在在做什么。 
　　“你们最好上来，”谢农费里厄斯说，看起来还是有点不安，然后转身在前面带路。 
　　这间房间好像既是客厅又是办公室，因此，它比厨房还要乱，虽然比较小而且是个标准的圆形，这个房间看起来有点像那次难忘的经历中，有求必应屋所变成的巨大的藏匿着上百个的前几世纪物品的迷宫。这里有一堆堆的书，到处都是纸。一些哈利从没见过的生物模型拍打着翅膀，嘴巴发出噼啪噼啪的声音，从天花板上挂下来。 
　　卢娜没有在那里，发出声音的是装着魔法齿轮的木制机器，它看起来像是一个工作台和架子的奇异合成品，但没多久，哈利推断它是台老式印刷机，现在它正在印刷唱唱反调。 
　　“抱歉，”谢农费里厄斯说，他大步走向那机器，从一大堆书和纸下面抽出一块桌布，书跟纸哗的一下全掉到了地上，然后他把桌布扔到印刷机上，多少盖住了些哗啦重击声。最后他转向哈利。 
　　“你怎么会来这里？” 
　　哈利还没来得急说什么，赫敏有些受惊地叫道。 
　　“洛夫古德先生——那是什么？” 
　　她指着一个巨大灰色的旋转形的角——貌似并不是独角兽的——被裱在了墙上并向墙外突出了几英尺。 
　　“那是弯角鼾兽的角，”谢农费里厄斯说。 
　　“不，那不是！”赫敏说。 
　　“赫敏，”哈利小声说，显得有些尴尬，“现在不是时候—” 
　　“但是哈利，这是毒角兽的角！它是个B类商品，而且放在家里是十分危险的！” 
　　“你怎么知道那是个毒角兽的角？”罗恩问，一边尽可能快地远离那东西，这使整个房间更混乱了。 
　　“在‘神奇生物和如何找到它们’的书里有写到！洛夫古德先生，你必须马上扔掉它，你不知道即使是最轻微的触碰也会使它爆炸吗？” 
　　“是弯角鼾兽，”谢农费里厄斯清楚地说，脸上带着一种顽固的表情，“这是一种害羞但是拥有很强魔力的生物，它的角——” 
　　“洛夫古德先生，我认得那个底部的凹槽，那是毒角兽的角，而且不容置疑的十分危险——我不知道你从哪拿到它——” 
　　“我买来的，”谢农费里厄斯断然地说。“两星期前，从一个讨人喜欢的年轻巫师那里买来的，他知道我对高雅精致的兽类感兴趣。这是给我最爱的卢娜的一个圣诞惊喜。那么，”他转向哈利，“你到底是为什么来这里，波特先生？” 
　　“我们需要一些帮助，”哈利说，趁赫敏还没再次开口。 
　　“啊，”谢农费里厄斯说，“帮助，恩。” 
　　他的眼睛再次盯着哈利的伤疤，他似乎同时受到惊吓和催眠。 
　　“是。问题是……帮助哈利波特……十分危险……” 
　　“难道不是你在一直在告诉人们，帮助哈利是他们的首要责任吗？”罗恩说，“难道那杂志不是你办的吗？” 
　　谢农费里厄斯向他身后隐藏起来的机器看了一眼，那机器还在桌布下面劈啪作响地击打着。 
　　“呃—是的，我只是表达了我的观点，可是—” 
　　“那只是让其他人去做，不是你自己？”罗恩说。 
　　谢农费里厄斯没有回答，他一直克制着自己，他的眼睛在三个人之间飞快地瞄着。哈利觉得他正在遭受内心痛苦的挣扎。 
　　“卢娜在哪里？”赫敏问。“我们听听她的想法。” 
　　谢农费里厄斯咽了下口水。他看起来像在给自己打气。最后他用一种在印刷机的噪音下难以听清的声音颤抖地说，“卢娜在溪边，在钓淡水大嘴鱼。她……她会很高兴见到你们的。我去叫她然后——是的，很好。我会试着帮你们。” 
　　然后他消失在旋转楼梯下了，听到前门打开又关上的声音。相互对视了几眼。 
　　“胆怯又令人讨厌的老头，”罗恩说。“卢娜比他好十倍。” 
　　“或许他只是担心，要是食死徒发现我在这里，会对他们不利。”哈利说。 
　　“但是，我同意罗恩的话，”赫敏说，“糟糕的老伪君子，他告诉每个人要帮助你，然后试图自己逃脱。看在上帝的份上，离那只角远一点。” 
　　哈利向房间另一边的窗户走去。他看到了一条窄窄的像缎子一样闪闪发光的小溪蜿蜒在远处的山脚下。他们现在站的地方很高，他眺望着陋居的方向，一只鸟扑扇着羽翅飞过窗户，然后消失在群山之中。金妮就在那里。自从比尔和芙蓉的婚礼后，他们还没有像今天这么接近过，但她不会知道他此时正在凝视着她的方向，思念着她。他告诉自己应该为此感到高兴；任何跟他有关系的人都会遭到麻烦，谢农费里厄斯的态度证明了这点。 
　　他从窗户转过身，目光被一个放在杂乱弯曲的光滑木板上的奇特东西吸引了，那是一个美丽而又严肃的女巫石像，头上戴着一个世界上最古怪的头巾，两边金色耳机似的东西向外翘着。额头前的一条皮带上粘着一对闪闪发光的蓝色小翅膀，另一根皮带上拴着一颗胡萝卜。 
　　“看看这个，”哈利说。 
　　“真迷人，”罗恩说。“令人惊讶的是，他在婚礼上怎么没提这个。” 
　　他们听到前门关上的声音，过了一会儿，谢农费里厄斯从螺旋楼梯爬进房间，他瘦弱的腿现在套在一双橡胶靴里。他端着一个托盘，托盘上面放着与其极不相称的茶杯和热气腾腾的茶壶。 
　　“啊，你们发现我可爱的发明了，”他说着，把托盘塞到赫敏手中，然后和哈利一起站在雕像的一边。 
　　“模型，做的很好，在美丽的。罗威娜拉文克劳的头上，‘无尽的智慧是一个人最大的财富！’” 
　　他指着那个像是耳机一样的东西。 
　　“那是专注思维耳机——可以消除各种使思考者分心的东西，而这个，”他指着那对小翅膀，“一个思维推进器，促使心灵的升华，最后，”他指着胡萝卜，“可驾驶的洋李，可以锻炼心理承受能力。” 
　　谢农费里厄斯回到托盘那里，赫敏正在邋遢的桌子那头，努力地想让它保持平衡。 
　　“喝一点格迪球根汁吗？”谢农费里厄斯说。“我们自己的做的。”然后他开始把那深紫色的饮料倒出来，看起来像甜菜根的汁，他又说，“卢娜在洼桥那。她听说你们来了，可兴奋了。她最好别太久，她抓的淡水大嘴鱼已经差不多够给我们所有人做汤了。快坐下，自己加点糖吧。” 
　　“现在”，他挪开扶手椅上一堆摇摇欲坠的文件，然后坐了下来，穿着橡胶靴的双腿交叉着，“我要怎么帮你呢，波特先生？” 
　　“是这样的，”哈利说，看了赫敏一眼，她点点头鼓励他说下去，“是关于你在比尔和芙蓉婚礼上戴在脖子上的那个标志，洛夫古德先生。我们想知道它代表什么。” 
　　谢农费里厄斯挑了挑他的眉毛。 
　　“你是指死圣的标志吗？”　
Chapter 21 The Tale of the Three Brothers
Harry turned to look at Ron and Hermione. Neither of them seemed to have understood what Xenophilius had said either.
“The Deathly Hallows?”
“That’s right,” said Xenophilius. “You haven’t heard of them? I’m not surprised. Very, very few wizards believe. Witness that knuckle-headed young man at your brother’s wedding,” he nodded at Ron, “who attacked me for sporting the symbol of a well-known Dark wizard! Such ignorance. There is nothing Dark about the Hallows – at least not in that crude sense. One simply uses the symbol to reveal oneself to other believers, in the hope that they might help one with the Quest.”
He stirred several lumps of sugar into his Gurdyroot infusion and drank some.
“I’m sorry,” said Harry, “I still don’t really understand.”
To be polite, he took a sip from his cup too, and almost gagged: The stuff was quite disgusting, as though someone had liquidized bogey-flavored Every Flavor Beans.
“Well, you see, believers seek the Deathly Hallows,” said Xenophilius, smacking his lips in apparent appreciation of the Gurdyroot infusion.
“But what are the Deathly Hallows?” asked Hermione.
Xenophilius set aside his empty teacup.
“I assume that you are familiar with ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers’?”
Harry said, “No,” but Ron and Hermione both said, “Yes.” Xenophilius nodded gravely.
“Well, well, Mr. Potter, the whole thing starts with ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers’… I have a copy somewhere…”
He glanced vaguely around the room, at the piles of parchment and books, but Hermione said, “I’ve got a copy, Mr. Lovegood, I’ve got it right here.”
And she pulled out The Tales of Beedle the Bard from the small, beaded bag.
“The original?” inquired Xenophilius sharply, and when she nodded, he said, “Well then, why don’t you read it out aloud? Much the best way to make sure we all understand.”
“Er… all right,” said Hermione nervously. She opened the book, and Harry saw that the symbol they were investigating headed the top of the page as she gave a little cough, and began to read.
 
“‘There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight –’“
 
“Midnight, our mum always told us,“ said Ron, who had stretched out, arms behind his head, to listen. Hermione shot him a look of annoyance.
“Sorry, I just think it’s a bit spookier if it’s midnight!” said Ron.
“Yeah, because we really need a bit more fear in our lives,” said Harry before he could stop himself. Xenophilius did not seem to be paying much attention, but was staring out of the window at the sky. “Go on, Hermione.”
 
“In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure.“
“‘And Death spoke to them –’”
 
“Sorry,“ interjected Harry, “but Death spoke to them?”
“It’s a fairy tale, Harry!”
“Right, sorry. Go on.”
 
“‘And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of the three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him.“
“‘So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother.”
“‘Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead.”
“‘And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.’”
 
“Death’s got an Invisibility Cloak?“ Harry interrupted again.
“So he can sneak up on people,” said Ron. “Sometimes he gets bored of running at them, flapping his arms and shrieking… sorry, Hermione.”
 
“‘Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so talking with wonder of the adventure they had had and admiring Death’s gifts.“
“‘In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination.”
“‘The first brother traveled on for a week more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible.”
“‘That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden upon his bed. The thief took the wand and for good measure, slit the oldest brother’s throat.”
“‘And so Death took the first brother for his own.”
“‘Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him.”
“‘Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as to truly join her.”
“‘And so Death took the second brother from his own.”
“‘But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And the he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.’”
 
Hermione closed the book. It was a moment or two before Xenophilius seemed to realize that she had stopped reading; then he withdrew his gaze from the window and said: “Well, there you are.”
“Sorry?” said Hermione, sounding confused.
“Those are the Deathly Hallows,” said Xenophilius.
He picked up a quill from a packed table at his elbow, and pulled a torn piece of parchment from between more books.
“The Elder Wand,” he said, and drew a straight vertical line upon the parchment. “The Resurrection Stone,” he said, and added a circle on top of the line. “The Cloak of Invisibility,” he finished, enclosing both line and circle in a triangle, to make the symbols that so intrigued Hermione. “Together,” he said, “the Deathly Hallows.”
“But there’s no mention of the words ‘Deathly Hallows’ in the story,” said Hermione.
“Well, of course not,” said Xenophilius, maddeningly smug. “That is a children’s tale, told to amuse rather than to instruct. Those of us who understand these matters, however, recognize that the ancient story refers to three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death.”
There was a short silence in which Xenophilius glanced out of the window. Already the sun was low in the sky.
“Luna ought to have enough Plimpies soon,” he said quietly.
“When you say ‘master of Death’ – ”said Ron.
“Master,” said Xenophilius, waving an airy hand. “Conqueror. Vanquisher. Whichever term you prefer.”
“But then… do you mean…” said Hermione slowly, and Harry could tell that she was trying to keep any trace of skepticism out of her voice, “that you believe these objects – these Hallows – really exist?”
Xenophilius raised his eyebrows again.
“Well, of course.”
“But,” said Hermione, and Harry could hear her restraint starting to crack, “Mr. Lovegood, how can you possibly believe –?”
“Luna has told me all about you, young lady,” said Xenophilius. “You are, I gather, not unintelligent, but painfully limited. Narrow. Close-minded.”
“Perhaps you ought to try on the hat, Hermione,” said Ron, nodding toward the ludicrous headdress. His voice shook with the strain of not laughing.
“Mr. Lovegood,” Hermione began again, “We all know that there are such things as Invisibility Cloaks. They are rare, but they exist. But – ”
“Ah, but the Third Hallow is a true Cloak of Invisibility, Miss Granger! I mean to say, it is not a traveling cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm, or carrying a Bedazzling Hex, or else woven from Demiguise hair, which will hide one initially but fade with the years until it turns opaque. We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like that, Miss Granger?”
Hermione opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again, looking more confused than ever. She, Harry and Ron glanced at one another, and Harry knew that they were all thinking the same thing. It so happened that a cloak exactly like the one Xenophilius had just described was in the room with them at that very moment.
“Exactly,” said Xenophilius, as if he had defeated them all in reasoned argument. “None of you have ever seen such a thing. The possessor would be immeasurably rich, would he not?”
He glanced out of the window again. The sky was now tinged with the faintest trace of pink.
“All right,” said Hermione, disconcerted. “Say the Cloak existed… what about that stone, Mr. Lovegood? The thing you call the Resurrection Stone?”
“What of it?”
“Well, how can that be real?”
“Prove that is not,” said Xenophilius.
Hermione looked outraged.
“But that’s – I’m sorry, but that’s completely ridiculous! How can I possibly prove it doesn’t exist? Do you expect me to get hold of – of all the pebbles in the world and test them? I mean, you could claim that anything’s real if the only basis for believing in it is that nobody’s proved it doesn’t exist!”
“Yes, you could,” said Xenophilius. “I am glad to see that you are opening your mind a little.”
“So the Elder Wand,” said Harry quickly, before Hermione could retort, “you think that exists too?”
“Oh, well, in that case there is endless evidence,” said Xenophilius. “The Elder Wand is the Hallow that is most easily traced, because of the way in which it passes from hand to hand.”
“Which is what?” asked Harry.
“Which is that the possessor of the wand must capture it from its previous owner, if he is to be truly master of it,” said Xenophilius. “Surely you have heard of the way the wand came to Egbert the Egregious, after his slaughter of Emeric the Evil? Of how Godelot died in his own cellar after his son, Hereward, took the wand from him? Of the dreadful Loxias, who took the wand from Baraabas Deverill, whom he had killed? The bloody trail of the Elder Wand is splattered across the pages of Wizarding history.”
Harry glanced at Hermione. She was frowning at Xenophilius, but she did not contradict him.
“So where do you think the Elder Wand is now?” asked Ron.
“Alas, who knows?” said Xenophilius, as he gazed out of the window. “Who knows where the Elder Wand lies hidden? The trail goes cold with Arcus and Livius. Who can say which of them really defeated Loxias, and which took the wand? And who can say who may have defeated them? History, alas, does not tell us.”
There was a pause. Finally Hermione asked stiffly, “Mr. Lovegood, does the Peverell family have anything to do with the Deathly Hallows?”
Xenophilius looked taken aback as something shifted in Harry’s memory, but he could not locate it. Peverell… he had heard that name before…
“But you have been misleading me, young woman!” said Xenophilius, now sitting up much straighter in his chair and goggling at Hermione. “I thought you were new to the Hallows Quest! Many of us Questers believe that the Peverells have everything – everything! – to do with the Hallows!”
“Who are the Peverells?” asked Ron.
“That was the name on the grave with the mark on it, in Godric’s Hollow,” said Hermione, still watching Xenophilius. “Ignotus Peverell.”
“Exactly!” said Xenophilius, his forefinger raised pedantically. “The sign of the Death Hallows on Ignotus’s grave is conclusive proof!”
“Of what?” asked Ron.
“Why, that the three brothers in the story were actually the three Peverell brothers, Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus! That they were the original owners of the Hallows!”
With another glance at the window he got to his feet, picked up the tray, and headed for the spiral staircase.
“You will stay for dinner?” he called, as he vanished downstairs again. “Everybody always requests our recipe for Freshwater Plimply soup.”
“Probably to show the Poisoning Department at St. Mungo’s,” said Ron under his breath.
Harry waited until they could hear Xenophilius moving about in the kitchen downstairs before speaking.
“What do you think?” he asked Hermione.
“Oh, Harry,” she said wearily, “it’s a pile of utter rubbish. This can’t be what the sign really means. This must just be his weird take on it. What a waste of time.”
“I s’pose this is the man who brought us Crumple-Horned Snorkacks,” said Ron.
“You didn’t believe it either?” Harry asked him.
“Nah, that story’s just one of those things you tell kids to teach them lessons, isn’t it? ‘Don’t go looking for trouble, don’t go pick fights, don’t go messing around with stuff that’s best left alone! Just keep your head down, mind your own business, and you’ll be okay. Come to think of it,” Ron added, “maybe that story’s why elder wands are supposed to be unlucky.”
“What are you talking about?”
“One of those superstitions, isn’t it? ‘May-born witches will marry Muggles.’ ‘Jinx by twilight, undone by midnight.’ ‘Wand of cider, never prosper.’ You must have heard them. My mum’s full of them.”
“Harry and I were raised by Muggles,” Hermione reminded him. “We were taught different superstitions.” She sighed deeply as a rather pungent smell drifted up from the kitchen. The one good thing about her exasperation with Xenophilius was that it seemed to have made her forget that she was annoyed at Ron. “I think you’re right,” she told him. “It’s just a morality tale, it’s obvious which gift is best, which one you’d choose – ”
The three of them spoke at the same time: Hermione said, “the Cloak,” Ron said, “the wand,” and Harry said, “the stone.”
They looked at each other, half surprised, half amused.
“You’re supposed to say the Cloak,” Ron told Hermione, “but you wouldn’t need to be invisible if you had the wand. An unbeatable wand, Hermione, come on!”
“We’ve already got an Invisibility Cloak,” said Harry, “And it’s helped us rather a lot, in case you hadn’t noticed!” said Hermione. “Whereas the wand would be bound to attract trouble–”
“Only if you shouted about it,” argued Ron. “Only if you were prat enough to go dancing around waving it over your head, and singing, ‘I’ve got an unbeatable want, come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough.’ As long as you kept your trap shut –”
“Yes, but could you keep your trap shut?” said Hermione, looking skeptical. “You know the only true thing he said to us was that there have been stories about extra-powerful wands for hundreds of years.”
“There have?” asked Harry.
Hermione looked exasperated: The expression was so endearingly familiar that Harry and Ron grinned at each other.
“The Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, they crop up under different names through the centuries, usually in the possession of some Dark wizard who’s boasting about them.
Professor Binns mentioned some of them, but – oh it’s all nonsense. Wands are only as powerful as the wizards who use them. Some wizards just like to boast that theirs are bigger and better than other people’s“
“But how do you know,” said Harry, “that those wants – the Deathstick, and the Wand of Destiny – aren’t the same want, surfacing over the centuries under different names?”
“What if they’re all really the Elder Wand, made by Death?” said Ron. Harry laughed: The strange idea that had occurred to him was after all, ridiculous. His wand, he reminded himself, had been of holly, not elder, and it had been made by Ollivander, whatever it had done that night Voldemort had pursued him across the skies and if it had been unbeatable, how could it have been broken? “So why would you take the stone?” Ron asked him. “Well, if you could bring people back, we could have Sirius…Mad-Eye…Dumbledore…my parents…” Neither Ron nor Hermione smiled.
“But according to Beedle the Bard, they wouldn’t want to come back, would they?” said Harry, thinking about the tail they had just heard. “I don’t suppose there have been loads of other stories about a stone that can raise the dead, have there?” he asked Hermione. “No,” she replied sadly. “I don’t think anyone except Mr. Lovegood could kid themselves that’s possible. Beedle probably took the idea from the Sorcerer’s Stone; you know, instead of a stone to make you immortal, a stone to reverse death.” The smell from the kitchen was getting stronger. It was something like burning underpants. Harry wondered whether it would be possible to eat enough of whatever Xenophilius was cooking to spare his feelings.
“What about the Cloak, though?” said Ron slowly. “Don’t you realize, he’s right? I’ve got so used to Harry’s Cloak and how good it is, I never stopped to think. I’ve never heard of one like Harry’s. It’s infallible. We’ve never been spotted under it –”
“Of course not – we’re invisible when we’re under it, Ron!”
“But all the stuff he said about other cloaks, and they’re not exactly ten a Kanut, you know, is true! It’s never occurred to me before but I’ve heard stuff about charms wearing off cloaks when they get old, or them being ripped apart by spells so they’ve got holes, Harry’s was owned by his dad, so it’s not exactly new, is it, but it’s just… perfect!”
“Yes, all right, but Ron, the stone…”
As they argued in whispers, Harry moved around the room, only half listening. Reaching the spiral stair, he raised his eyes absently to the next level and was distracted at once. His own face was looking back at him from the ceiling of the room above. After a moment’s bewilderment, he realized that it was not a mirror, but a painting. Curious, he began to clime the stairs.
“Harry, what are you doing? I don’t think you should look around when he’s not here!” But Harry had already reached the next level. Luna had decorated her bedroom ceiling with five beautifully painted faces: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville. They were not moving as the portraits at Hogwarts moved, but there was a certain magic about them all the same. Harry thought they breathed. What appeared to be a fine golden chains wove around the pictures linking them together, but after examining them for a minute or so, Harry realized that the chains were actually one work repeated a thousand times in golden ink: friends… friends… friends…
Harry felt a great rush of affection for Luna. He looked around the room. There was a large photograph beside the bed, of a young Luna and a woman who looked very like her. They were hugging. Luna looked rather better-groomed in this picture than Harry had ever seen her in life. The picture was dusty. This struck Harry as slightly odd. He stared around. Something was wrong. The pale blue carpet was also thick with dust. There were no clothes in the wardrobe, whose doors stood ajar. The bed had a cold, unfriendly look, as though it had not been slept in for weeks. A single cobweb stretched over the nearest window across the blood red sky.
“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked as Harry descended the staircase, but before he could respond, Xenophilius reached the top of the stairs from the kitchen, now holding a tray laden with bowls.
“Mr. Lovegood,” said Harry. “Where’s Luna?”
“Excuse me?”
“Where’s Luna?”
Xenophilius halted on the top step.
“I – I’ve already told you. She is down at the Botions Bridge fishing for Plimpies.”
“So why have you only laid that tray for four?”
Xenophilius tried to speak, but no sound came out. The only noise was the continued chugging of the printing press, and a slight rattle from the tray as Xenophilius’s hands shook.
“I don’t think Luna’s been here for weeks.” said Harry. “Her clothes are gone, her bed hasn’t been slept in. Where is she? and why do you keep looking out of the window?”
Xenophilius dropped the tray. The bowls bounced and smashed Harry, Ron, and Hermione drew their wands. Xenophilius froze his hand about to enter his pocket. At that moment the printing press have a huge bank and numerous Quibblers came streaming across the floor from underneath the tablecloth, the press fell silent at last. Hermione stooped down and picked up one of the magazines, her wand still pointing at Mr. Lovegood.
“Harry, look at this” He strode over to her as quickly as he could through all the clutter.
The front of the Quibbler carried his own picture, emblazoned with the words “Undesirable Number One” and captioned with the reward money.
“The Quibbler’s going for a new angle, then?” Harry asked coldly, his mind working very fast. “Is that what you were doing when you went into the garden, Mr. Lovegood?
Sending an owl to the Ministry?“
Xenophilius licked his lips “They took my Luna,” he whispered, “Because of what I’ve been writing. They took my Luna and I don’t know where she is, what they’ve done to her. But they might give her back to me if I – If I–”
“Hand over Harry?” Hermione finished for him.
“No deal.” said Ron flatly. “Get out of the way, we’re leaving.”
Xenophilius looked ghastly, a century old, his lips drawn back into a dreadful leer.
“They will be here any moment. I must save Luna. I cannot lose Luna. You must not leave.”
He spread his arms in front of the staircase, and Harry had a sudden vision of his mother doing the same thing in front of his crib.
“Don’t make us hurt you,” Harry said. “Get out of the way, Mr. Lovegood.”
“HARRY!” Hermione screamed.
Figures on broomsticks were flying past the windows. As the three of them looked away from him. Xenophilius drew his wand. Harry realized their mistake just in time. He launched himself sideways, shoving Ron and Hermione out of harm’s way as Xenophilius’s Stunning Spell soared across the room and hit the Erumpent horn.
There was a colossal explosion. The sound of it seemed to blow the room apart.
Fragments of wood and paper and rubble flew in all directions, along with an impenetrable cloud of thick white dust. Harry flew through the air, then crashed to the floor, unable to see as debris rained upon him, his arms over his head. He heard Hermione’s scream, Ron’s yell, and a series of sickening metallic thuds which told him that Xenophilius had been blasted off his feet and fallen backward down the spiral stairs.
Half buried in rubble, Harry tried to raise himself. He could barely breathe or see for dust.
Half of the ceiling had fall in and the end of Luna’s bead was hanging through the hole.
The bust of Rowena Ravenclaw lay beside him with half its face missing fragments of torn parchment were floating through the air, and most of the printing press lay on its side, blocking the top of the staircase to the kitchen. Then another white shape moved close by, and Hermione, coated in dust like a second statue, pressed his finger to her lips.
The door downstairs crashed open.
“Didn’t I tell you there was no need to hurry, Travers?” said a rough voice. “Didn’t I tell you this nutter was just raving as usual?” There was a bang and a scream of pain from Xenophilius.
“No…no…upstairs…Potter!”
“I told you last week Lovegood, we weren’t coming back for anything less than some solid information! Remember last week? When you wanted to swap your daughter for that stupid bleeding headdress? And the week before” – Another bang, another squeal – “When you thought we’d give her back if you offered us proof there are Cumple” – Bang – “Headed”–bang– “Snorkacks?”
“No – no – I beg of you!” sobbed Xenophilius. “It really is Potter, Really!”
“And now it turns out you only called us here to try and blow us up!” roared the Death Eater, and there was a volley of bangs interspersed with squeals of agony from Xenophilius.
“The place looks like it’s about to fall in, Selwyn,” said a cool second voice, echoing up the mangled staircase. “The stairs are completely blocked. Could try clearing it? Might bring the place down.”
“You lying piece of filth.” shouted the wizard named Selwyn.
“You have never seen Potter in your life, have you? Thought you’d lure us here to kill us, did you? And you think you’ll get your girl back like this?”
“I swear…I swear…Potter’s upstairs!”
“Homenum revelio.” said the voice at the foot of the stairs. Harry heard Hermione gasp, and he had the odd sensation something was swooping low over him, immersing his body in its shadow.
“There’s someone up there all right, Selwyn,” said the second man sharply.
“It’s Potter, I tell you, it’s Potter!” sobbed Xenophilius. “Please…please…give me Luna, just let me have Luna…”
“You can have your little girl, Lovegood,” said Selwyn, “if you get up those stairs and bring me down Harry Potter. But if this is a plot, if it’s a trick, if you’ve got an accomplice waiting up there to ambush us, we’ll see if we can spare a bit of your daughter for you to bury.”
Xenophilius gave a wail of fear and despair. There were scurryings and scrapings.
Xenophilius was trying to get through the debris on the stairs.
“Come on,” Harry whispered, “we’ve got to get out of here.”
He started to dig himself out under cover of all the noise Xenophilius was making on the staircase. Ron was buried the deepest. Harry and Hermione climbed, as quietly as they could, over all the wreckage to where he lay, trying to prise a heavy chest of drawers off his legs. While Xenophilius banging and scraping drew nearer and nearer, Hermione managed to free Ron with the use of a Hover Charm.
“All right.” breathed Hermione, as the broken printing press blocking the top of the stairs begin to tremble. Xenophilius was feet away from them. She was still white with dust.
“Do you trust me Harry?”
Harry nodded.
“Okay then.” Hermione whispered. “give me the invisibility Cloak. Ron, you’re going to put it on.”
“Me? But Harry –”
“Please, Ron! Harry, hold on tight to my hand, Ron grab my shoulder.”
Harry held out his left hand. Ron vanished beneath the Cloak. The printing press blocking the stairs was vibrating. Xenophilius was trying to shift it using a Hover Charm. Harry did not know what Hermione was waiting for.
“Hold tight” she whispered. “Hold tight…any second…”
Xenophilius’s paper-white face appeared over the top of the sideboard.
“Obliviate!” cried Hermione, pointing her want first into his face then at the floor beneath them. “Deprimo!”
She had blasted a hole in the sitting room floor. They fell like boulders. Harry still holding onto her hand for dear life, there was a scream from below, and he glimpsed two men trying to get out of the way as vast quantities of rubble and broken furniture rained all around them from the shattered ceiling. Hermione twisted in midair and thundering of the collapsing house rang in Harry’s ears as she dragged him once more into darkness.
哈利转过身来看着罗恩和赫敏。看来他们也都没有理解谢农费里厄斯说了些什么。 
　　“死圣？” 
　　“是的，”谢农费里厄斯说，”你们以前从没听说过他们？我并不感到惊讶。几乎没有巫师相信它。在你哥哥的婚礼上，”他对着罗恩点点头，”那个无知的年轻人，就因为我带着那个著名黑巫师的标记而攻击我！这真是愚蠢的行为。至少在我的眼中，这些圣徒并不黑暗。这个标志只是用来标识自己的身份而已，以便在困难的时候相互能够有个照应。” 
　　他加了几块方糖到他的戈迪根药剂里，喝了几口。 
　　“对不起……”哈利说，”我还是不很明白……” 
　　出于礼貌，哈利也吸了几口，差点没吐出来：这东西真另人作呕，简直就像是一杯液态的妖精味怪味豆。 
　　“这个，你也看见了，信徒们正在寻找死圣。”谢农费里厄斯说，一边咂咂嘴，明显觉得这个戈迪根药剂味道不错。 
　　“但是死圣是什么？”赫敏问道。 
　　谢农费里厄斯把他的空茶杯放到一边。 
　　“我想你们对‘三兄弟的故事’很熟悉吧？” 
　　哈利回答道“不”，但是罗恩和赫敏都说了“是的”，谢农费里厄斯严肃地点点头。 
　　“好吧，好吧，波特先生。这整件事起都源于‘三兄弟的故事’……我这好像有份抄本……” 
　　他的目光略略扫过房间里大堆的羊皮纸和书籍，但是赫敏说道：“我已经有了一份，洛夫古德先生，就在这里。” 
　　说着她从珠绣包里拿出那本《游吟诗人比德的故事》。 
　　“原版？”谢农费里厄斯急切地询问道，当看见赫敏点头时，谢农费里厄斯说：“好吧，那么，为什么你不把它大声的念出来呢？没有比这更好的方法能让我们都听懂了。” 
　　“呃……好吧”赫敏紧张地答应道。她打开那本书，哈利看见他们正在研究的那个标志就位于那页的顶部。赫敏清了清嗓子，开始读道： 
　　“从前有三个兄弟，在黎明时分，沿着一条偏僻蜿蜒的道路旅行——” 
　　“在午夜，我们的妈妈常常讲这样的故事”罗恩边听边伸了个懒腰，把手臂枕在脑袋后面。赫敏厌烦地瞪了他一眼。 
　　“对不起，我只是认为如果是午夜的话或许会显得更加怪异点儿！”罗恩说。 
　　“是啊，因为我们确实需要更多恐惧。”哈利脱口而出。谢农费里厄斯看上去并没怎么注意，只是在凝望着窗外的天空，“继续啊，赫敏” 
　　“三兄弟及时到达了一条河边，这是一条既深又急的河流，无法涉水而过，也无法泅游而过。但是，这三兄弟会魔法，他们仅仅挥动魔杖，就造出了跨越这条河流的大桥。然而，当他们走到一半的时候，他们发现一个戴着兜帽的人挡住了他们的去路。 
　　“死神对他们说话了——” 
　　“对不起，”哈利突然插嘴，“‘死神’对他们说话了？” 
　　“这是个神话故事，哈利！” 
　　“哦，对不起，继续。” 
　　“死神对他们说话了。他生气自己被这三个新的牺牲品愚弄了，因为旅者们通常会溺死在这条河里。但是死神很狡猾。他装作赞扬三兄弟的魔法，而且因为聪明地避开了他，每人都将赢得一件奖品。” 
　　“三兄弟中的老大是个好战的人，他索求一根比任何现存的都要强大的魔杖：一根总能帮助它的主人赢得决斗的魔杖，一根战胜了死神的巫师所应得的魔杖！死神砍下河岸边一棵老树上的枝条，做成了一根魔杖，递给了老大。” 
　　“然后三兄弟中的老二，一个傲慢的人，想要让死神更加丢脸，就要求拥有能把其他人从死神那召唤回来的力量。死神从河岸上捡起一块石头给了老二，告诉他这块石头有着使死者复生的力量。” 
　　“死神又问最小的那个想要的是什么。老三最谦虚而且最聪明，他并不打算信任死神，于是他要求死神给他一件东西使他能够到死神管辖范围之外的地方去。死神只好非常不情愿地把自己的隐形斗篷给了他。” 
　　“从死神那得到了一件隐形衣？”哈利再次打断道。 
　　“所以他可以鬼鬼祟祟地开人们玩笑，”罗恩说，“当他厌烦了一边挥着自己的手臂一边尖叫着追赶他们的时候……呃，对不起，赫敏。” 
　　“然后死神站不再插手，让这三个兄弟继续谈论他们的历险故事和死神的礼物。” 
　　“为了各自的目的，三个兄弟分开了。” 
　　“大哥旅行了一个多星期后，到达了一个偏远的村庄，寻找一位曾经和他吵过架的男巫，自然，以长老魔杖作为武器，他不可能输掉接下来的任何一场决斗。他的敌人倒在了地上，大哥继续前行到达了一个旅店，在那儿他大声底炫耀着自己从死神那得到的这支强有力的魔杖以及这支魔杖怎样使得他天下无敌。” 
　　“就在那个夜晚，当大哥躺下后，另外一个男巫悄悄地潜入他的房间，用酒浸透他的床，这个贼偷走了魔杖。为了保险起见，他割断了大哥的喉咙。” 
　　“所以死神得到了大哥的生命。” 
　　“与此同时，二哥回到了他自己独居的家。在那儿他拿出那块可以召唤死者的石头，把它放在手上转了三次。让他又惊又喜的是，他曾经想要与之成婚却不幸死亡的女孩立刻出现在他的面前。” 
　　“然而她既悲伤又冷漠，还用面纱和他分隔起来。尽管她重回人世，但她并不真正属于那，她在那遭受着痛苦。最终，二哥在无尽的绝望中疯掉了，为了真正地融入她的世界，他自杀了。” 
　　“所以死神又得到了二哥的生命。” 
　　“但是，死神找了很多年，却总也找不到三弟。一直到他老得不行了，他才脱下隐形衣，把衣服留给他的儿子。他像对待老朋友一样地向死神打招呼，很高兴地跟死神走了，他们最后也都一样离开了人世。” 
　　赫敏合上书。过了好一会，谢农费里厄斯才意识到赫敏已经读完了。他收回凝视着窗外的视线，说道：“嗯，你们都知道了吧？” 
　　“什么？”赫敏说，听起来她有些糊涂。 
　　“那些就是死圣。”谢农费里厄斯说。 
　　他从肘边塞满了东西的桌上拿起一支羽毛笔，从书堆中拉出一卷羊皮纸。 
　　“长老魔杖”，他说，在羊皮纸上画了一条直线，“回魂石”，他说着在线上加上了一个圈，“隐形衣”，他最后说道，在圈和线外画了一个三角形把它们围起来，这个符号让赫敏相当感兴趣，“合起来”，他说，“就是死圣”。 
　　“但是故事中没有任何提及死圣的文字”赫敏说。 
　　“这个，当然没有”,谢农费里厄斯说，得意得有点疯狂，这只是一个童话，是为了取悦人而不是进行说教。我们当中了解这个的，就会意识到这古代故事指的就是这三件物品……也就是死圣，无论怎样，如果这三件物品联合起来的话，拥有者就可以主宰死亡。 
　　短暂的沉默中谢农费里厄斯朝窗外瞥了一眼。夕阳几近西沉。 
　　“卢娜应该很快就会钓到大嘴彩球鱼了。”他轻轻地说。 
　　“那怎么解释‘主宰死亡’？”罗恩说。 
　　“主宰”，谢农费里厄斯边说边轻快地挥挥手，“征服、战胜，以任何你喜欢的形式。” 
　　“可是……难道你的意思是……”赫敏慢慢地说着，哈利可以肯定她在尽力使自己的语气中不带有怀疑的意思，”你真的相信这些东西——这些圣物——它们真的存在？” 
　　谢农费里厄斯再次挑起他的眉毛。 
　　“这个，当然，我当然相信。” 
　　“但是”，赫敏说，哈利听得出来她在拼命克制着不让自己大喊起来，“洛夫古德先生，你怎么可能相信呢——？” 
　　“卢娜跟我谈过你，孩子”，谢农费里厄斯说，“在我看来，你并非智力超群，相反的，思路很狭窄、很封闭。” 
　　“也许你应该试试这顶帽子，赫敏，”罗恩说，朝那荒谬的头饰点了点头。他的声音因为拼命憋着笑而有些颤抖。 
　　“洛夫古德先生”，赫敏接着说，“我们都知道这世上有比如隐形衣这样的东西，尽管很罕见，但的确存在，不过——” 
　　“啊，第三件圣物就是一件真正的隐形衣，格兰杰小姐！我的意思是，那不是一件普通的浸透着幻身咒的旅行斗篷，或者是施了一个混淆咒，抑或是其他隐形兽皮毛的编织物，不是那种可以使一个人马上消失但是会逐年褪色直至不再透明的衣服。我们在谈论的是一件真正能使着装者完全消失，彻底隐匿的隐形衣，而且功效持久，无论是什么魔咒都不会对它起作用。你见像这样的隐形衣吗，格兰杰小姐？” 
　　赫敏张开嘴想要回答，然后马上又把嘴合上，看起来比先前更糊涂了。她、哈利和罗恩交换了一个眼神，哈利知道他们都在想同一件事情。刚巧，他们就有一件像谢农费里厄斯刚刚描述的斗篷，就在他们待的在这个房间里。 
　　“确切地说，”谢农费里厄斯说道，就像他刚用非常合理的理由在争论中把他们打败了，“你们中间没有人见过这东西，这东西的拥有者一瞬间就能富起来，难道不是么？” 
　　他又一次把视线移到窗外，天空现在呈现的是一种淡淡的粉色。 
　　“好吧，”赫敏有些惊慌地说，“就算这种斗篷存在，那，那你说的石头呢，洛夫古德先生，那种你管它叫回魂石的东西。 
　　“那东西又怎么了？” 
　　“嗯，那怎么可能是真的呢？” 
　　“那你难道能证明它是假的啊”，谢农费里厄斯有点讽刺。 
　　赫敏看起来很委屈。 
　　“但是那，我很抱歉，但是那确实是很荒谬的！我怎么可能证明它不存在呢？难道你认为我应该收集世界上所有的石头来一一测试吗？我的意思是，难道如果没有人能找到证据证明它不存在，你就可以相信任何事物都是存在的，是这样吗？” 
　　“是的，你可以这样想，”谢农费里厄斯说，“我很高兴你已经稍稍开阔了你的思维了。” 
　　“所以说长老魔杖，”哈利在赫敏反驳之前很快地说道，“你相信它也是存在的？” 
　　“哦，是的，对于长老魔杖，那会有无数的证据”，谢农费里厄斯说，“长老魔杖是最容易最终到的圣物，因为长老魔杖一直代代相传。” 
　　“那又是怎么回事？”哈利问。 
　　“想拥有长老魔杖的人，必须打败它的前任拥有者，只有这样才能真正地得到它”，谢农费里厄斯说，“当然，你肯定已经听说艾格博特是怎样在屠杀了艾玛里克之后得到长老魔杖的，而至于格德罗特在他的儿子——海尔沃德拿走了他的长老魔杖后，死在了他自己的地窖里。而当差劲的罗克西斯，从巴罗巴斯·迪沃瑞尔手中取走魔杖的时候，他又杀死了谁？长老魔杖的血腥记忆贯穿了整部巫师历史。 
　　哈利瞥了一眼赫敏，她正皱着眉头看着谢农费里厄斯，不过没有反驳他。 
　　“那么，你认为长老魔杖现在在哪里呢？”罗恩问。 
　　“唉，这谁知道呢？”谢农费里厄斯凝视着窗外说道，“谁知道它藏在哪儿呢？艾库斯和理韦斯追随着它，但是之后是谁真正打败了罗克西斯而拿走了长老魔杖？而谁又知道后来是什么人再次打败他们呢？历史，唉，它并没有给我们答案。” 
　　大家暂时沉默了下来，最后，赫敏固执地问道，“洛夫古德先生，佩弗利尔家族和死圣有什么关系吗？” 
　　谢农费里厄斯收回了目光，这时哈利的脑海里一道亮光闪过，但是他不知道那到底是什么，佩弗利尔，他曾经听过这个名字。 
　　“你把我搞糊涂了，我年轻的女士！”，谢农费里厄斯挺起脊背直坐在椅子上瞪着赫敏，“我想你一定不了解寻找死圣的事！我们当中的大多数寻找者坚信佩弗利尔家族和死圣关系非常……非常密切！” 
　　“佩弗利尔是谁？”罗恩问。 
　　“那是在一座有标记的墓碑上的名字，在高锥克山谷，”赫敏说，仍然看着谢农费里厄斯，“伊格诺思·佩弗利尔。” 
　　“正确！”，谢农费里厄斯，斯文地竖起食指。”在伊格诺思坟墓上的死圣的记号，这就是一个确凿的证据！” 
　　“那又怎样呢？”罗恩问。 
　　“怎样？故事中的三兄弟就是佩弗利尔家的三兄弟，安通彻、卡德姆斯和伊格诺思！他们是死圣最早的拥有者！” 
　　他又朝窗外瞥了一眼然后站了起来，拣起盘子走向螺旋型的楼梯。 
　　“你们留下来吃晚餐吗？”他叫道，声音随着下楼声渐渐变小，“每个人都想要我们淡水普利姆莱汤的秘方。” 
　　“那些人肯定是想去圣芒戈魔法伤病医院中毒科的”罗恩悄声地说。 
　　哈利一直等到能听见谢农费里厄斯在楼下的厨房里走动的时候才开口说话。 
　　“你怎么看？”他问赫敏。 
　　“哦，哈利，”她有些疲倦地说，“那简直就是一派胡言。这不可能是标记的真正含义。这肯定只是一个和他本人一样怪异的谎言。这太浪费我们时间了！” 
　　“他可能就是那个给我们带来弯角鼾兽的人。”罗恩说。 
　　“你也不相信那个故事吗？”哈利问罗恩。 
　　“看，这只是那些哄小孩的故事中的一个，不是吗？别自找麻烦了，别自讨苦吃，别在那些无用的东西身上浪费时间，最好的办法是别管它们。不要再想这个了，做好自己该做的事，这样就足够了。说到这个，”罗恩补充道，“也许这故事就是长老魔杖被视为不祥的原因。” 
　　“你们在说什么啊？” 
　　“那是一种迷信，不是吗？‘五月份出生的女巫会和麻瓜结婚’‘黎明时候的出现的白虎星，会在午夜毁灭’‘苹果木的魔杖不会好使’你肯定听说过这些，我妈妈整天在念叨。” 
　　“哈利和我都是在麻瓜世界长大的，”赫敏提醒他。“我们知道的迷信适合你不一样的。”她深深地叹了一口气，这是她闻到从厨房传来的一股特别难闻的气味。她对西诺费利的恼怒有一个好处，就是似乎使她忘记了她正在生罗恩的气。“我认为你是对的，”她告诉罗恩，“这不过是个有关道德的寓言，这很明显，哪个是最好的，你会选哪个——” 
　　他们三个同时开口：赫敏说“斗篷，”罗恩说：“魔杖”，哈利说，“石头。” 
　　三个人面面相觑，半是惊奇半是欣喜。 
　　“我就知道你会说斗篷，”罗恩告诉赫敏，“但是如果你有了魔杖你就不需要隐身了。一支不可战胜的魔杖，赫敏，别傻了！” 
　　“我们已经有一件隐形衣了，”哈利说，“它真的帮过我们许多忙，除非你没有注意到！”赫敏接着说，“而魔杖则会给我们带来麻烦的——” 
　　“只有当你大声囔囔，”罗恩争论道，“只有当你蠢到拿着它在头上挥舞着边跳边唱，‘我有一根无敌的魔杖，不怕死的话就过来试试嘛！’它才会给你带来麻烦，只要你闭紧你的嘴巴—” 
　　“是的，但你现在能不能闭紧你的嘴巴？”赫敏说，满脸怀疑的表情。“你知道的，他告诉我们的唯一事实就是数百年来一直流传着许多关于一枝法力无边的魔杖的故事。 
　　“真的有那么多跟魔杖有关的故事吗？”哈利问。 
　　赫敏看起来相当恼火。这个表情是如此熟悉，以至于看起来那么可爱，哈利和罗恩不由得互相咧嘴笑着。 
　　“死亡之杖，命运之杖，几个世纪以来它们一直在以不同的名字出现，通常被那些自吹自擂的黑巫师所占有，宾斯教授提到过他们，但是——这都是无稽之谈。魔杖的力量和使用它的巫师的魔力是一样的。只是有一些巫师喜欢夸耀他们的魔杖比别人的更好，更强。” 
　　“但是你怎么知道，”哈利问，“那些魔杖——死亡之杖，还有命运之杖——不是几个世纪以来以各种不同的名字出现的同一跟魔杖呢？” 
　　“它们会不会真的都是死神做的长老魔杖？”罗恩问。 
　　哈利笑了：罗恩会产生这种奇怪的想法在他看来，十分荒谬。他的魔杖，他提醒自己，是冬青木制的，不是长老魔杖，而且是奥利凡德制做的。不管伏地魔在空中追赶他的那晚它做了什么，如果它是无敌的，又怎么会折断呢？” 
　　“那么，为什么你要选那块石头？”罗恩问他。 
　　“是这样的，如果能让人起死回生，我们可以带回小天狼星，疯眼汉，邓布利多，我的父母……” 
　　罗恩和赫敏都没有笑。 
　　“但是据吟游诗人比德说，他们并不想回来，不是吗？”哈利说着，想到他们刚刚听到的那个故事的结尾。“我不认为别的传说里也有可以令人起死回生的石头，有吗？”他问赫敏。 
　　“没有，”赫敏伤心地回答。“我认为除了洛夫古德先生外，没有人会欺骗自己那是有可能的。比德大概是从魔法石中取得的灵感，你知道。把一块能使你长生不老的石头改成一块能起死回生的石头。” 
　　厨房里的那股怪味儿越来越浓了，有点像是燃烧衣服的味道。哈利很怀疑他们有没有可能不伤害西诺费利的感情去多吃点他煮的东西。 
　　“那隐形衣呢？”罗恩缓缓问道。“你们意识到了吗，他是对的？我已经习惯了哈利的隐形衣和它所带来的好处，但我从来没有停下来好好想一想！我从来没有听说过别人有和哈利一样的这种隐形衣。它很可靠。我们躲在它下面的时候就从没被看见过——” 
　　“当然没有——那时候人们是看不到我们的，罗恩！” 
　　“但是他说的关于其他斗篷的事，它们差不多只值10个纳特，你知道的，是真的！我之前从来没意识到，但是我听说过有的在斗篷变旧的时候，魔力会逐渐消失，或是它们被咒语撕裂后它们会留下洞眼，哈利的那件是他爸爸的，所以不是全新的，但它实在是，太完美了！” 
　　“是，你是对的，但是罗恩，那块石头……” 
　　当他们小声地争论的时候，哈利在房间里走来走去，心不在焉地听着。走到旋转楼梯旁边的时候，哈利不经意地抬眼望向另一层，然后马上被深深吸引住了。 
　　通过上面房间的天花板，他看到自己的脸正回望着他。微微困惑了一下，他意识到这不是镜子，而是一幅画。在好奇心驱使下，哈利开始顺着台阶往上走。 
　　“哈利，你在干什么？我不认为他不在这的时候你可以到处乱走！” 
　　但是哈利已经上到了楼上。卢娜用五幅漂亮的画像装饰她卧室的天花板：哈利，罗恩，赫敏，金妮，以及纳威。它们不像霍格沃茨的那些画像一样会移动，但是它们肯定被施加了同一个魔法。哈利认为它们是会呼吸的。一条精美的金链环绕着把它们连接在一起，但是仔细看了一会，哈利发现它实际上是用金色墨水写了足有几千遍的词：朋友……朋友……朋友…… 
　　一阵友情的温暖袭过哈利全身。他环视这间屋子。在床边放着一张巨大的照片，是小卢娜和一个和她长的非常相象的女子。她们相拥在一起。在这张照片里卢娜看起来比哈利以前所见到的卢娜要整洁的多。照片上积满了灰尘。这使哈利开始觉得有点奇怪。他凝视四周。什么东西不对劲。暗淡的蓝色地毯一样积满了厚厚的灰尘。衣橱门微开着，里面没有一件衣服。床看上去冰冷冷的，像是已经有几个礼拜没有人睡过了。一张孤零零的蜘蛛网蒙在最近的那扇窗户上，横越了血红色的天空。 
　　“有什么不对吗？”哈利走下楼梯的时候赫敏问。但在他回答之前，西诺费利出现在通往厨房的楼梯顶端，端着一个放满碗的托盘。 
　　“洛夫古德先生，”哈利说，“卢娜在哪？” 
　　“你说什么？” 
　　“卢娜在哪？” 
　　西诺费利在楼梯最上面的一个台阶上顿住了脚步。 
　　“我——我已经告诉过你们。她在波顿桥下面大嘴彩球鱼。” 
　　“那么你干吗只摆4个盘子？” 
　　西诺费利试着回答，但是一个字也说不出来。唯一的声响是印刷机的轧轧声，以及随着西诺费利双手的颤抖而咔哒作响的盘子。 
　　“我认为卢娜这几个星期以来都不在这里。”哈利说，“她的衣服不见了，她的床没有人睡过。她在哪？还有你为什么一直向着窗外看？”西诺费利失手没拿住托盘。盘子弹起来打碎了。哈利，罗恩，赫敏抽出了他们的魔杖。西诺费利停住了就要伸进口袋的手。在这个时候印刷机一声巨响，无数的唱唱反调从桌布底下冒出来顺着地板飞过来。印刷机终于安静了下来。赫敏弯下腰捡起一份杂志，她的魔杖仍然直指着洛夫古德先生。 
　　“哈利，看这个。”哈利快步跨过所有乱糟糟的东西来到她身边。唱唱反调的封面刊登了他的照片，标注着“最不受欢迎的人”，标题上还写着他的悬赏金额。 
　　“唱唱反调要改变它们的立场了，然后呢？”哈利冷冷的问，大脑飞速运转。“这是不是你去花园时干的事，洛夫古德先生？派一只猫头鹰给魔法部通风报信？” 
　　西诺费利舔舔嘴唇。 
　　“他们带走了我的卢娜，”他轻轻的说，“就因为我写的那些文章。他们带走了我的卢娜，我不知道她在哪，他们会对她做什么。但是他们也许会把她还给我，如果我——如果我——” 
　　“交出哈利？”赫敏帮他说完。 
　　“没办法了，”罗恩冷冷地说，“别挡着我们的路，我们要走了。” 
　　西诺费利脸色惨白，仿佛过了一个世纪。他的嘴角上扬形成了一个邪恶的笑。 
　　“他们马上就会来这里。我必须救卢娜。我不能失去卢娜。你们不许走。” 
　　他站在楼梯前，张开双臂。哈利恍然觉得看见了他的妈妈在他的襁褓前做出了同样的动作。 
　　“别逼我们伤害你，”哈利说道，“让开，洛夫古德先生。” 
　　“哈利！”赫敏尖叫。 
　　一些骑在扫帚上的人影飞掠过窗户。当他们三个把目光从他身上移开的时候，西诺费利拿出了他的魔杖。哈利刚好钻了个空子。他从侧身猛扑过去，把罗恩和赫敏推开。西诺费利发出的昏迷咒激飞过屋子，击中了独角兽的角。 
　　一阵巨大的爆炸，爆炸的冲击波仿佛要把房子吹裂。碎木片，纸片，碎石屑到处乱飞，伴随着一阵难以穿透的厚厚的白色烟尘。哈利飞过天空，坠落在地板上，用手护住脑袋，他没有办法看见东西，因为那些碎片雨点般掉落在他身上。他听见了赫敏的尖叫，罗恩的喊声，一系列使人昏晕的金属的重击告诉哈利西诺费利被爆炸弄得掉下了旋转楼梯。被半埋在碎石碓中，哈利尝试着站起身来，在灰尘中他几乎无法呼吸或是看到什么。天花板大半掉了下来，卢娜那串珠子的尾部从破洞中垂落下来。失去了半张脸的罗伊纳 
　　拉文克劳的半身像倒在他身边。羊皮纸的碎片漂浮在空中，印刷机的大部分机体倒在一边，堵住了通往厨房的路。另一个白色物体挪动着接近。赫敏，被灰尘覆盖着仿佛第二座雕像一般，用手捂着她的嘴。 
　　楼下的房门砰然打开。 
　　“我难道没有告诉过你不用着急吗，特莱维尔？”一个粗鲁的声音说道，“难道我没告诉过你这个疯子只是和平常一样在胡言乱语吗？”一声巨响，传来西诺费利痛苦的尖叫。 
　　“不……不……楼上……波特！” 
　　“我上个星期几告诉过你，洛夫古德，我们不会再为了任何东西回到这里来，除非是确实可靠的消息！记得上个星期吗？还有上上个星期——”又是一声巨响，一声尖叫——“你以为我们就会她回来就因为你能证明有牛鼾——砰——“弯”——砰——“角？” 
　　“不——不——我求求你！”西诺费利哭诉道，“真的是波特，真的！” 
　　“现在你仅仅是把我们找来这想把我们炸掉！”食死徒怒吼着，又是一阵密集的巨响和西诺费利痛苦的尖叫。 
　　“这里像是快要塌了，塞尔温。”另一个冰冷的声音说道，他的声音在破损的楼梯上回荡。“楼梯被完全堵塞了。可以试着把它弄干净？也许会把这房子弄塌了。” 
　　“你这满嘴污秽的家伙。”被称作塞尔温的巫师叫喊，“你这这一生中从没见过波特，有吗？想着你可以把我们引到这来杀了我们，是不是？你以为这样就可以要回你女儿了？” 
　　“我发誓……我发誓……波特就在楼上！” 
　　“通通显形！”楼梯底下有个声音说道。哈利听见赫敏微微喘气。他感到有什么东西突然低低地越过他，把他的身体笼罩在它的阴影之下。 
　　“上面的确有什么东西，塞尔温。”另一个男人急促地说。 
　　“是波特，我告诉过你，是波特！”西诺费利哭诉道，“请……请……把卢娜还我，只是把卢娜还给我……” 
　　“那丫头可以给你，洛夫古德，”塞尔温说，“如果你上楼把哈利 
　　波特给我带下来。但是如果这是个阴谋，如果这是你的小把戏，如果你让你的帮手等在那伏击我们，我们会考虑留一小块你女儿的残骸给你让你好好埋葬。” 
　　西诺费利发出一声恐惧和绝望的哀号。然后是疾步奔走和拆扔碎片的声音。 
　　他在试着从楼梯上的碎片中通过。 
　　“快，”哈利小声说，“我们必须的从这出去。” 
　　他在西诺费利制造的噪音的掩饰下自己爬了出来。罗恩被压得最深。哈利和赫敏尽可能安静地穿过那片废墟爬过去，试图抬起压着罗恩的脚的那个沉重的有很多抽屉的柜子。就在西诺费利发出的声音越来越近的时候，赫敏终于用悬浮魔咒成功地把罗恩解救了出来。 
　　“好了，”赫敏喘着气说，这时，那台堵住楼梯顶部的坏掉的印刷机开始摇动。西诺费利离他们只有一步之遥。她仍然是灰头土脸的。 
　　“你相信我吗，哈利？” 
　　哈利点了点头。 
　　“那好，现在，”赫敏悄声说，“把隐形衣给我，罗恩，你把他穿上。” 
　　“我？但是哈利——” 
　　“拜托了，罗恩！哈利，紧紧抓住我的手，罗恩，抓住我的肩。” 
　　哈利伸出他的左手。罗恩突然消失在隐行衣下面。堵住楼道的印刷机又开始震动。西诺费利正试着用一个悬浮魔咒移动它。哈利不知道赫敏在等着什么。 
　　“抓紧了”，她耳语道，“不管怎样……都要抓紧了。” 
　　西诺费利那张纸一样苍白的脸出现在餐柜的上方。 
　　“一忘皆空！”赫敏叫道，她的魔杖先是指着西诺费利，然后指着他们脚下的地板。她已经在客厅的地板上炸了一个洞。他们就像大石头一样下坠。为了他们珍贵的生命，哈利仍然死死地抓着她的手。这时，从下面传来一一声尖叫，他们瞥见两个男人正极力想要逃跑，那些从被破坏的天花板掉落的碎石和坏掉的家具，它们像雨一样在他们的砸向他们。赫敏在半空中扭转身躯，随着她又一次把哈利拖进黑暗当中，房子倒塌时发出的像打雷似的巨响再次钻进哈利的耳朵。　 
Chapter 22 The Deathly Hallows
Harry fell, panting, onto grass and scrambled up at once. They seemed to have landed in the corner of a field at dusk; Hermione was already running in a circle around them, waving her wand.
“Protego Totalum…Salvio Hexia…”
“That treacherous old bleeder.” Ron panted, emerging from beneath the Invisibility Cloak and throwing it to Harry. “Hermione you’re a genius, a total genius. I can’t believe we got out of that.”
“Cave Inimicum…Didn’t I say it was a Frumpent horn, didn’t I tell him? And now his house has been blown apart!”
“Serves him right,” said Ron, examining his torn jeans and the cuts to his legs, “What’d you reckon they’ll do to him?”
“Oh I hope they don’t kill him!” groaned Hermione, “That’s why I wanted the Death Eaters to get a glimpse of Harry before we left, so they knew Xenophilius hadn’t been lying!”
“Why hide me though?” asked Ron.
“You’re supposed to be in bed with spattergrolt, Ron! They’ve kidnapped Luna because her father supported Harry! What would happen to your family if they knew you’re with him?”
“But what about your mum and dad?”
“They’re in Australia,” said Hermione, “They should be all right. They don’t know anything.”
“You’re a genius,” Ron repeated, looking awed.
“Yeah, you are, Hermione,” agreed Harry fervently. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
She beamed, but became solemn at once.
“What about Luna?”
“Well, if they’re telling the truth and she’s still alive –” began Ron.
“Don’t say that, don’t say it!” squealed Hermione. “She must be alive, she must!”
“Then she’ll be in Azkaban, I expect,” said Ron. “Whether she survives the place, though…Loads don’t…”
“She will,” said Harry. He could not bear to contemplate the alternative. “She’s tough, Luna, much tougher than you’d think. She’s probably teaching all the inmates about Wrackspurts and Nargles.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Hermione. She passed a hand over her eyes. “I’d feel so sorry for Xenophilius if –”
“– if he hadn’t just tried to sell us to the Death Eaters, yeah,” said Ron.
They put up the tent and retreated inside it, where Ron made them tea. After their narrow escape, the chilly, musty old place felt like home: safe, familiar, and friendly.
“Oh, why did we go there?” groaned Hermione after a few minutes’ silence. “Harry, you were right, it was Godric’s Hollow all over again, a complete waste of time! The Deathly Hallows…such rubbish…although actually,” a sudden thought seemed to have struck her, “he might have made it all up, mightn’t he? He probably doesn’t believe in the Deathly Hallows at all, he just wanted to keep us talking until the Death Eaters arrived!”
“I don’t think so,” said Ron. “It’s a damn sight harder making stuff up when you’re under stress than you’d think. I found that out when the Snatchers caught me. It was much easier pretending to be Stan, because I knew a bit about him, than inventing a whole new person. Old Lovegood was under loads of pressure, trying to make sure we stayed put. I reckon he told us the truth, or what he thinks is the truth, just to keep us talking.”
“Well, I don’t suppose it matters,” sighed Hermione. “Even if he was being honest, I never heard such a lot of nonsense in all my life.”
“Hang on, though,” said Ron. “The Chamber of Secrets was supposed to be a myth, wasn’t it?”
“But the Deathly Hallows can’t exist, Ron!”
“You keep saying that, but one of them can,” said Ron. “Harry’s Invisibility Cloak –”
“The Tale of the Three Brothers’ is a story,” said Hermione firmly. “A story about how humans are frightened of death. If surviving was as simple as hiding under the Invisibility Cloak, we’d have everything we need already!”
“I don’t know. We could do with an unbeatable wand,” said Harry, turning the blackthorn wand he so disliked over in his fingers.
“There’s no such thing, Harry!”
“You said there have been loads of wands – the Deathstick and whatever they were called –”
“All right, even if you want to kid yourself the Elder Wand’s real, what about the Resurrection Stone?” Her fingers sketched quotation marks around the name, and her tone dripped sarcasm. “No magic can raise the dead, and that’s that!”
“When my wand connected with You-Know-Who’s, it made my mum and dad appear…and Cedric…”
“But they weren’t really back from the dead, were they?” said Hermione. “Those kind of –of pale imitations aren’t the same as truly bringing someone back to life.”
“But she, the girl in the tale, didn’t really come back, did she? The story says that once people are dead, they belong with the dead. But the second brother still got to see her and talk to her, didn’t he? He even lived with her for a while…”
He saw concern and something less easily definable in Hermione’s expression. Then, as she glanced at Ron, Harry realized that it was fear: He had scared her with his talk of living with dead people.
“So that Peverell bloke who’s buried in Godric’s Hollow,” he said hastily, trying to sound robustly sane, “you don’t know anything about him, then?”
“No,” she replied, looking relieved at the change of subject. “I looked him up after I saw the mark on his grave; if he’d been anyone famous or done anything important, I’m sure he’d be in one of our books. The only place I’ve managed to find the name ‘Peverell’ Is Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. I borrowed it from Kreacher,” she explained as Ron raised his eyebrows. “It lists the pure-blood families that are now extinct in the male line. Apparently the Peverells were one of the earliest families to vanish.”
“Extinct in the male line?” repeated Ron.
“It means the name died out,” said Hermione, “centuries ago, in the case of the Peverells. They could still have descendents, though, they’d just be called something different.”
And then it came to Harry in one shining piece, the memory that had stirred at the sound of the name “Peverell”: a filthy old man brandishing an ugly ring in the face of a Ministry official, and he cried aloud, “Marvolo Gaunt!”
“Sorry” said Ron and Hermione together.
“Marvolo Gaunt! You-Know-Who’s grandfather! In the Pensieve! With Dumbledore! Marvolo Gaunt said he was descended from the Peverells!”
Ron and Hermione looked bewildered.
“The ring, the ring that became the Horcrux, Marvolo Gaunt said it had the Peverell coat of arms on it! I saw him waving it in the bloke from the Ministry’s face, he nearly shoved it up his nose!”
“The Peverell coat of arms?” said Hermione sharply. “Could you see what it looked like?”
“Not really,” said Harry, trying to remember. “There was nothing fancy on there, as far as I could see; maybe a few scratches. I only ever saw it really close up after it had been cracked open.”
Harry saw Hermione’s comprehension in the sudden widening of her eyes. Ron was looking from one to the other, astonished.
“Blimey…You reckon it was this sign again? The sign of the Hallows?”
“Why not?” said Harry excitedly, “Marvolo Gaunt was an ignorant old git who lived like a pig, all he cared about was his ancestry. If that ring had been passed down through the centuries, he might not have known what it really was. There were no books in that house, and trust me, he wasn’t the type to read fairy tales to his kids. He’d have loved to think the scratches on the stone were a coat of arms, because as far as he was concerned, having pure blood made you practically royal.”
“Yes…and that’s all very interesting,” said Hermione cautiously, “but Harry, if you’re thinking what I think you’re think –”
“Well, why not? Why not?” said Harry, abandoning caution. “It was a stone, wasn’t it?” He looked at Ron for support. “What if it was the Resurrection Stone?”
Ron’s mouth fell open.
“Blimey – but would it still work if Dumbledore broke –?”
“Work? Work? Ron, it never worked! There’s no such thing as a Resurrection Stone!”
Hermione leapt to her feet, looking exasperated and angry. “Harry you’re trying to fit everything into the Hallows story –”
“Fit everything in?” he repeated. “Hermione, it fits of its own accord! I know the sign of the Deathly Hallows was on that stone! Gaunt said he was descended from the Peverells!”
“A minute ago you told us you never saw the mark on the stone properly!”
“Where’d you reckon the ring is now?” Ron asked Harry. “What did Dumbledore do with it after he broke it open?”
But Harry’s imagination was racing ahead, far beyond Ron and Hermione’s…
Three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death…Master…Conqueror…Vanquisher…The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death…
And he saw himself, possessor of the Hallows, facing Voldemort, whose Horcruxes were no match…Neither can live while the other survives…Was this the answer? Hallows versus Horcruxes? Was there a way after all, to ensure that he was the one who triumphed? If he were the master of the Deathly Hallows, would he be safe?
“Harry?”
But he scarcely heard Hermione: He had pulled out his Invisibility Cloak and was running it through his fingers, the cloth supple as water, light as air. He had never seen anything to equal it in his nearly seven years in the Wizarding world. The Cloak was exactly what Xenophilius had described: A cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it…
And then, with a gasp, he remembered –
“Dumbledore had my Cloak the night my parents died!”
His voice shook and he could feel the color in his face, but he did not care.
“My mum told Sirius that Dumbledore borrowed the Cloak! This is why! He wanted to examine it, because he thought it was the third Hallow! Ignotus Peverell is buried in Godric’s Hollow…” Harry was walking blindly around the tent, feeling as though great new vistas of truth were opening all around him. “He’s my ancestor. I’m descended from the third brother! It all makes sense!”
“He felt armed in certainty, in his belief in the Hallows, as if the mere idea of possessing them was giving him protection, and he felt joyous as he turned back to the other two.”
“Harry,” said Hermione again, but he was busy undoing the pouch around his neck, his fingers shaking hard.
“Read it,” he told her, pushing his mother’s letter into her hand. “Read it! Dumbledore had the Cloak, Hermione! Why else would he want it? He didn’t need a Cloak, he could perform a Disillusionment Charm so powerful that he made himself completely invisible without one!”
Something fell to the floor and rolled, glittering, under a chair: He had dislodged the Snitch when he pulled out the letter. He stooped to pick it up, and then the newly tapped spring of fabulous discoveries threw him another gift, and shock and wonder erupted inside him so that he shouted out.
“IT’S IN HERE! He left me the ring – it’s in the Snitch!”
“You – you reckon?”
He could not understand why Ron looked taken aback. It was so obvious, so clear to Harry. Everything fit, everything…His Cloak was the third Hallow, and when he discovered how to open the Snitch he would have the second, and then all he needed to do was find the first Hallow, the Elder Wand, and then –
But it was as though a curtain fell on a lit stage: All his excitement, all his hope and happiness were extinguished at a stroke, and he stood alone in the darkness, and the glorious spell was broken.
“That’s what he’s after.”
The change in his voice made Ron and Hermione look even more scared.
“You-Know-Who’s after the Elder Wand.”
He turned his back on their strained, incredulous faces. He knew it was the truth. It all made sense, Voldemort was not seeking a new wand; he was seeking an old wand, a very old wand indeed. Harry walked to the entrance of the tent, forgetting about Ron and Hermione as he looked out into the night, thinking…
Voldemort had been raised in a Muggle orphanage. Nobody could have told him The Tales of Beedle the Bard when he was a child, any more than Harry had heard them. Hardly any wizards believed in the Deathly Hallows. Was it likely that Voldemort knew about them?
Harry gazed into the darkness…If Voldemort had known about the Deathly Hallows, surely he would have sought them, done anything to possess them: three objects that made the possessor master of Death? If he had known about the Deathly Hallows, he might not have needed Horcruxes in the first place. Didn’t the simple fact that he had taken a Hallow, and turned it into a Horcrux, demonstrate that he did not know this last great Wizarding secret?
Which meant that Voldemort sought the Elder Wand without realizing its full power, without understanding that it was one of three…for the wand was the Hallow that could not be hidden, whose existence was best known…The bloody trail of the Elder Wand is splattered across the pages of Wizarding history…
Harry watched the cloudy sky, curves of smoke-gray and silver sliding over the face of the white moon. He felt lightheaded with amazement at his discoveries.
He turned back into the tent. It was a shock to see Ron and Hermione standing exactly where he had left them, Hermione still holding Lily’s letter, Ron at her side looking slightly anxious. Didn’t they realize how far they had traveled in the last few minutes?
“This is it?” Harry said, trying to bring them inside the glow of his own astonished certainty, “This explains everything. The Deathly Hallows are real and I’ve got one – maybe two –”
He held up the Snitch.
“– and You-Know-Who’s chasing the third, but he doesn’t realize…he just thinks it’s a powerful wand –”
“Harry,” said Hermione, moving across to him and handing him back Lily’s letter, “I’m sorry, but I think you’ve got this wrong, all wrong.”
“But don’t you see? It all fits –”
“Not, it doesn’t,” she said. “It doesn’t. Harry, you’re just getting carried away. Please,” she said as she started to speak, “please just answer me this: If the Deathly Hallows really existed, and Dumbledore knew about them, knew that the person who possessed all of them would be master of Death – Harry, why wouldn’t he have told you? Why?”
He had his answer ready.
“But you said it, Hermione! You’ve got to find out about them for yourself! It’s a Quest!”
“But I only said that to try and persuade you to come to the Lovegoods’!” cried Hermione in exasperation. “I didn’t really believe it!”
Harry took no notice.
“Dumbledore usually let me find out stuff for myself. He let me try my strength, take risks. This feels like the kind of thing he’d do.”
“Harry, this isn’t a game, this isn’t practice! This is the real thing, and Dumbledore left you very clear instructions: Find and destroy the Horcruxes! That symbol doesn’t mean anything, forget the Deathly Hallows, we can’t afford to get sidetracked –”
Harry was barely listening to her. He was turning the Snitch over and over in his hands, half expecting it to break open, to reveal the Resurrection Stone, to prove to Hermione that he was right, that the Deathly Hallows were real.
She appealed to Ron.
“You don’t believe in this, do you?”
Harry looked up, Ron hesitated.
“I dunno…I mean…bits of it sort of fit together,” said Ron awkwardly, “But when you look at the whole thing…” He took a deep breath. “I think we’re supposed to get rid of Horcruxes, Harry. That’s what Dumbledore told us to do. Maybe…maybe we should forget about this Hallows business.”
“Thank you, Ron,” said Hermione. “I’ll take first watch.”
And she strode past Harry and sat down in the tent entrance bringing the action to a fierce full stop.
But Harry hardly slept that night. The idea of the Deathly Hallows had taken possession of him, and he could not rest while agitating thoughts whirled through his mind: the wand, the stone, and the Cloak, if he could just possess them all…
I open at the close…But what was the close? Why couldn’t he have the stone now? If only he had the stone, he could ask Dumbledore these questions in person…and Harry murmured words to the Snitch in the darkness, trying everything, even Parseltongue, but the golden ball would not open…
And the wand, the Elder Wand, where was that hidden? Where was Voldemort searching now? Harry wished his scar would burn and show him Voldemort’s thoughts, because for the first time ever, he and Voldemort were united in wanting the very same thing…Hermione would not like that idea, of course…But then, she did not believe….Xenophilius had been right, in a way…Limited, Narrow, Close-minded. The truth was that she was scared of the idea of the Deathly Hallows, especially of the Resurrection Stone…and Harry pressed his mouth again to the Snitch, kissing it, nearly swallowing it, but the cold medal did not yield…
It was nearly dawn when he remembered Luna, alone in a cell in Azkaban, surrounded by dementors, and he suddenly felt ashamed of himself. He had forgotten all about her in his feverish contemplation of the Hallows. If only they could rescue her, but dementors in those numbers would be virtually unassailable. Now he came to think about it, he had not tried casting a Patronus with the blackthorn wand…He must try that in the morning…
If only there was a way of getting a better wand…
And desire for the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, unbeatable, invincible, swallowed him once more…
 
They packed up the tent next morning and moved on through a dreary shower of rain. The downpour pursued them to the coast, where they pitched the tent that night, and persisted through the whole week, through sodden landscapes that Harry found bleak and depressing. He could think only of the Deathly Hallows. It was as though a flame had been lit inside him that nothing, not Hermione’s flat disbelief nor Ron’s persistent doubts, could extinguish. And yet the fiercer the longing for the Hallows burned inside him, the less joyful it made him. He blamed Ron and Hermione: Their determined indifference was as bad as the relentless rain for dampening his spirits, but neither could erode his certainty, which remained absolute. Harry’s belief in and longing for the Hallows consumed him so much that he felt isolated from the other two and their obsession with the Horcruxes.
“Obsession?” said Hermione in a low fierce voice, when Harry was careless enough to use the word one evening, after Hermione had told him off for his lack of interest in locating more Horcruxes. “We’re not the one with an obsession, Harry! We’re the ones trying to do what Dumbledore wanted us to do!”
But he was impervious to the veiled criticism. Dumbledore had left the sign of the Hallows for Hermione to decipher, and he had also, Harry remained convinced of it, left the Resurrection Stone hidden in the golden Snitch. Neither can live while the other survives…master of Death…Why didn’t Ron and Hermione understand?
“‘The last enemy shall be destroyed is death,’” Harry quoted calmly.
“I thought it was You-Know-Who we were supposed to be fighting?” Hermione retorted, and Harry gave up on her.
Even the mystery of the silver doe, which the other two insisted on discussing, seemed less important to Harry now, a vaguely interesting sideshow. The only other thing that mattered to him was that his scar had begun to prickle again, although he did all he could to hide this fact from the other two. He sought solitude whenever it happened, but was disappointed by what he saw. The visions he and Voldemort were sharing had changed in quality; they had become blurred, shifting as though they were moving in and out of focus. Harry was just able to make out the indistinct features of an object that looked like a skull, and something like a mountain that was more shadow than substance. Used to images sharp as reality, Harry was disconcerted by the change. He was worried that the connection between himself and Voldemort had been damaged, a connection that he both feared and, whatever he had told Hermione, prized. Somehow Harry connected these unsatisfying, vague images with the destruction of his wand, as if it was the blackthorn wand’s fault that he could no longer see into Voldemort’s mind as well as before.
As the weeks crept on, Harry could not help but notice, even through his new self-absorption, that Ron seemed to be taking charge. Perhaps because he was determined to make up for having walked out on them, perhaps because Harry’s descent into listlessness galvanized his dormant leadership qualities, Ron was the one now encouraging and exhorting the other two into action.
“Three Horcruxes left,” he kept saying. “We need a plan of action, come on! Where haven’t we looked? Let’s go through it again. The orphanage…”
Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, the Riddle House, Borgin and Burkes, Albania, every place that they knew Tom Riddle had ever lived or worked, visited or murdered, Ron and Hermione raked over them again, Harry joining in only to stop Hermione pestering him. He would have been happy to sit alone in silence, trying to read Voldemort’s thoughts, to find out more about the Elder Wand, but Ron insisted on journeying to ever more unlikely places simply, Harry was aware, to keep them moving.
“You never know,” was Ron’s constant refrain. “Upper Flagley is a Wizarding village, he might’ve wanted to live there. Let’s go and have a poke around.”
These frequent forays into Wizarding territory brought them within occasional sight of Snatchers.
“Some of them are supposed to be as bad as Death Eaters,” said Ron. “The lot that got me were a bit pathetic, but Bill recons some of them are really dangerous. They said on Potterwatch –”
“On what?” said Harry.
“Potterwatch, didn’t I tell you that’s what it was called? The program I keep trying to get on the radio, the only one that tells the truth about what’s going on! Nearly all of the programs are following You-Know-Who’s line, all except Potterwatch, I really want you to hear it, but it’s tricky tuning in…”
Ron spent evening after evening using his wand to beat out various rhythms on top of the wireless while the dials whirled. Occasionally they would catch snatches of advice on how to treat dragonpox, and once a few bars of “A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love.” While he taped, Ron continued to try to hit on the correct password, muttering strings of random words under his breath.
“They’re normally something to do with the Order,” he told them. “Bill had a real knack for guessing them. I’m bound to get one in the end…”
But not until March did luck favor Ron at last. Harry was sitting in the tent entrance, on guard duty, staring idly at a clump of grape hyacinths that had forced their way through the chilly ground, when Ron shouted excitedly from inside the tent. “I’ve got it, I’ve got it! Password was ‘Albus’! Get in here, Harry.”
Roused for the first time in days from his contemplation of the Deathly Hallows, Harry hurried back inside the tent to find Ron and Hermione kneeling on the floor beside the little radio. Hermione, who had been polishing the sword of Gryffindor just for something to do, was sitting open-mouthed, staring at the tiny speaker, from which a most familiar voice was issuing.
“…apologize for our temporary absence from the airwaves, which was due to a number of house calls in our area by those charming Death Eaters.”
“But that’s Lee Jordan!” said Hermione.
“I know!” beamed Ron. “Cool, eh?”
“…now found ourselves another secure location,” Lee was saying, “and I’m pleased to tell you that two of our regular contributors have joined me here this evening. Evening, boys!”
“Hi.”
“Evening, River.”
“‘River’ that’s Lee,” Ron explained. “They’ve all got code names, but you can usually tell –”
“Shh!” said Hermione.
“But before we hear from Royal and Romulus,” Lee went on, “let’s take a moment to report those deaths that the Wizarding Wireless Network News and Daily Prophet don’t think important enough to mention. It is with great regret that we inform our listeners of the murders of Ted Tonks and Dirk Cresswell.”
Harry felt a sick, swooping in his belly. He, Ron, and Hermione gazed at one another in horror.
“A goblin by the name of Gornuk was also killed. It is believed that Muggle-born Dean Thomas and a second goblin, both believed to have been traveling with Tonks, Cresswell, and Gornuk, may have escaped. If Dean is listening, or if anyone has any knowledge of his whereabouts, his parents and sisters are desperate for news.”
“Meanwhile, in Gaddley, a Muggle family of five has been found dead in their home. Muggle authorities are attributing their deaths to a gas leak, but members of the Order of the Phoenix inform me that it was the Killing Curse – more evidence, as if it were needed, of the fact that Muggle slaughter is becoming little more than a recreational sport under the new regime.”
“Finally, we regret to inform our listeners that the remains of Bathilda Bagshot have been discovered in Godric’s Hollow. The evidence is that she died several months ago. The Order of the Phoenix informs us that her body showed unmistakable signs of injuries inflicted by Dark Magic.”
“Listeners, I’d like to invite you now to join us in a minute’s silence in memory of Ted Tonks, Dirk Cresswell, Bathilda Bagshot, Gornuk, and the unnamed, but no less regretted, Muggles murdered by the Death Eaters.”
Silence fell, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione did not speak. Half of Harry yearned to hear more, half of him was afraid of what might come next. It was the first time he had felt fully connected to the outside world for a long time.
“Thank you,” said Lee’s voice. “And now we can return to regular contributor Royal, for an update on how the new Wizarding order is affecting the Muggle world.”
“Thanks, River,” said an unmistakable voice, deep, measured, reassuring.
“Kingsley!” burst out Ron.
“We know!” said Hermione, hushing him.
“Muggles remain ignorant of the source of their suffering as they continue to sustain heavy casualties,” said Kingsley. “However, we continue to hear truly inspirational stories of wizards and witches risking their own safety to protect Muggle friends and neighbors, often without the Muggles’ knowledge. I’d like to appeal to all our listeners to emulate their example, perhaps by casting a protective charm over any Muggle dwellings in your street. Many lives could be saved if such simple measures are taken.”
“And what would you say, Royal, to those listeners who reply that in these dangerous times, it should be ‘Wizards first’? asked Lee.”
“I’d say that it’s one short step from ‘Wizards first’ to ‘Purebloods first,’ and then to ‘Death Eaters,’” replied Kingsley. “We’re all human, aren’t we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving.”
“Excellently put, Royal, and you’ve got my vote for Minister of Magic if we ever get out of this mess,” said Lee. “And now, over to Romulus for our popular feature ‘Pals of Potter.’”
“Thanks, River,” said another very familiar voice. Ron started to speak, but Hermione forestalled him in a whisper.
“We know it’s Lupin!”
“Romulus, do you maintain, as you have every time you’ve appeared on our program, that Harry Potter is still alive?”
“I do,” said Lupin firmly. “There is no doubt at all in my mind that his death would be proclaimed as widely as possible by the Death Eaters if it had happened, because it would strike a deadly blow at the morale of those resisting the new regime. ‘The Boy Who Lived’ remains a symbol of everything for which we are fighting: the triumph of good, the power of innocence, the need to keep resisting.”
A mixture of gratitude and shame welled up in Harry. Had Lupin forgiven him, then, for the terrible things he had said when they had last met?
“And what would you say to Harry if you knew he was listening, Romulus?”
“I’d tell him we’re all with him in spirit,” said Lupin, then hesitated slightly, “And I’d tell him to follow his instincts, which are good and nearly always right.”
Harry looked at Hermione, whose eyes were full of tears.
“Nearly always right,” she repeated.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” said Ron in surprise. “Bill told me Lupin’s living with Tonks again! And apparently she’s getting pretty big too…”
“…and our usual update on those friends of Harry Potter’s who are suffering for their allegiance?” Lee was saying.
“Well, as regular listeners will know, several of the more outspoken supporters of Harry Potter have now been imprisoned, including Xenophilius Lovegood, erstwhile editor of The Quibbler,” said Lupin.
“At least he’s still alive!” muttered Ron.
“We have also heard within the last few hours that Rubeus Hagrid” – all three of them gasped, and so nearly missed the rest of the sentence – “well-known gamekeeper at Hogwarts School, has narrowly escaped arrest within the grounds of Hogwarts, where he is rumored to have hosted a ‘Support Harry Potter’ party in his house. However, Hagrid was not taken into custody, and is, we believe, on the run.”
“I suppose it helps, when escaping from Death Eaters, if you’ve got a sixteen-foot-high half brother?” asked Lee.
“It would tend to give you an edge,” agreed Lupin gravely. “May I just add that while we here at Potterwatch applaud Hagrid’s spirit, we would urge even the most devoted of Harry’s supporters against following Hagrid’s lead. ‘Support Harry Potter’ parties are unwise in the present climate.”
“Indeed they are, Romulus,” said Lee, “so we suggest that you continue to show your devotion to the man with the lightning scar by listening to Potterwatch! And now let’s move to news concerning the wizard who is proving just as elusive as Harry Potter. We like to refer to him as the Chief Death Eater, and here to give his views on some of the more insane rumors circulating about him, I’d like to introduce a new correspondent. Rodent?”
“‘Rodent’?” said yet another familiar voice, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione cried out together:
“Fred!”
“No – is it George?”
“It’s Fred, I think,” said Ron, leaning in closer, as whichever twin it was said, “I’m not being ‘Rodent,’ no way, I told you I wanted to be ‘Rapier’!”
“Oh, all right then, ‘Rapier,’ could you please give us your take on the various stories we’ve been hearing about the Chief Death Eater?”
“Yes, River, I can,” said Fred. “As our listeners will know, unless they’ve taken refuge at the bottom of a garden pond or somewhere similar, You-Know-Who’s strategy of remaining in the shadows is creating a nice little climate of panic. Mind you, if all the alleged sightings of him are genuine, we must have a good nineteen You-Know-Whos running around the place.”
“Which suits him, of course,” said Kingsley. “The air of mystery is creating more terror than actually showing himself.”
“Agreed,” said Fred. “So, people, let’s try and calm down a bit. Things are bad enough without inventing stuff as well. For instance, this new idea that You-Know-Who can kill people with a single glance from his eyes. That’s a basilisk, listeners. One simple test: Check whether the thing that’s glaring at you has got legs. If it has, it’s safe to look into its eyes, although if it really is You-Know-Who, that’s still likely to be the last thing you ever do.”
For the first time in weeks and weeks, Harry was laughing: He could feel the weight of tension leaving him.
“And the rumors that he keeps being sighted abroad?” asked Lee.
“Well, who wouldn’t want a nice little holiday after all the hard work he’s been putting in?” asked Fred. “Point is, people, don’t get lulled into a false sense of security, thinking he’s out of the country. Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t, but the fact remains he can move faster than Severus Snape confronted with shampoo when he wants to, so don’t count on him being a long way away if you’re planning to take any risks. I never thought I’d hear myself say it, but safety first!”
“Thank you very much for those wise words, Rapier,” said Lee. “Listeners, that brings us to the end of another Potterwatch. We don’t know when it will be possible to broadcast again, but you can be sure we shall be back. Keep twiddling those dials: The next password will be ‘Mad-Eye.’ Keep each other safe: Keep faith. Good night.”
The radio’s dial twirled and the lights behind the tuning panel went out. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were still beaming. Hearing familiar, friendly voices was an extraordinary tonic; Harry had become so used to their isolation he had nearly forgotten that other people were resisting Voldemort. It was like waking from a long sleep.
“Good, eh?” said Ron happily.
“Brilliant,” said Harry.
“It’s so brave of them,” sighed Hermione admiringly. “If they were found …”
“Well, they keep on the move, don’t they?” said Ron. “Like us.”
“But did you hear what Fred said?” asked Harry excitedly; now the broadcast was over, his thoughts turned around toward his all consuming obsession. “He’s abroad! He’s still looking for the Wand, I knew it!”
“Harry – ”
“Come on, Hermione, why are you so determined not to admit it? Vol – ”
“HARRY, NO!”
“ – demort’s after the Elder Wand!”
“The name’s Taboo!” Ron bellowed, leaping to his feet as a loud crack sounded outside the tent. “I told you, Harry, I told you, we can’t say it anymore – we’ve got to put the protection back around us – quickly – it’s how they find – ”
But Ron stopped talking, and Harry knew why. The Sneakoscope on the table had lit up and begun to spin; they could hear voices coming nearer and nearer: rough, excited voices. Ron pulled the Deluminator out of his pocket and clicked it: Their lamps went out.
“Come out of there with your hands up!” came a rasping voice through the darkness. “We know you’re in there! You’ve got half a dozen wands pointing at you and we don’t care who we curse!”
哈利气喘嘘嘘地倒在草地上，又立刻爬了起来。他们看起来像是来到了一个被黄昏的薄雾笼罩的荒野；赫敏挥舞着魔杖绕着他们跑来跑去。 
　　“统统石化……萨维尔埃希亚……” 
　　“那个背信弃义的老骗子。”罗恩大口喘着气，从隐身斗篷下面钻了出来，把它扔给哈利。“赫敏，你是个天才，真是个天才。我都不敢相信我们居然能从那儿逃出来。” 
　　“洞窟兽……我没告诉过他那是一只弯鼾角吗？现在倒好，他的房子都爆炸了！” 
　　“活该！”罗恩一边说一边检查着他那已经破烂不堪的牛仔裤和腿上的伤口，“你觉得他们会怎么对待他？” 
　　“哦，我希望他们不要杀了他！”赫敏低声说道，“所以我才想让食死徒在我们离开能看一眼哈利，这样他们就会知道谢农费里厄斯没有说谎。” 
　　“那为什么把我藏起来？”罗恩问道。 
　　“你不是应该正在和斯帕特格罗特一起躺在床上呢么，罗恩！他们绑架卢娜就是因为她爸爸支持哈利！想想如果他们知道了你跟他一伙，你的家人可能也会遭殃！” 
　　“那你的父母呢？” 
　　“他们在澳大利亚，”赫敏说，“他们应该没事，因为他们什么都不知道。” 
　　“你真是个天才。”罗恩重复道，语气中充满了敬佩。 
　　“哦，你绝对是个天才，赫敏。”哈利热情地附和着。“如果没有你，我真不知道该怎么办。” 
　　她笑了一下，但是马上又严肃起来。 
　　“不知道卢娜怎么样了。” 
　　“如果他们说的是真的，卢娜还活着的话……”没等罗恩说完，赫敏就打断了他： 
　　“别说了！别说了！她一定还活着，一定！” 
　　“那我猜她现在应该在阿兹卡班。”罗恩说。“不管她能不能活着回来，虽然……希望不大……” 
　　“她会的。”哈利说，她不能想象另外那种答案。“卢娜她很坚强，比你想象的要坚强得多。她大概正在和那些关在一起的人讲有关沃克波茨和纳格勒的故事。” 
　　“但愿你是对的。”赫敏说，她抹了一下眼睛，“我觉得很对不起谢农费里厄斯，如果……” 
　　“如果他没把我们出卖给食死徒，的确。”罗恩说。 
　　他们搭好帐篷钻了进去，罗恩沏了点茶。经历了虎口脱险，这个又湿又冷又有点发霉的地方让他们觉得像是家一样，安全、熟悉又亲切。 
　　“唉，当初我们为什么要到那儿去？”几分钟的沉默之后，赫敏叹息道。“哈利，你是对的，我们回到高维克山谷，简直就是浪费时间。什么死圣……全是废话……事实上，”停了一下，好像突然想到了什么，“可能根本就是他瞎编的，不是么？他可能根本就不相信什么死圣，不过是给赶来的食死徒们拖延点时间罢了。” 
　　“我不这样想。”罗恩说，“在那么大的压力下很难编造出那么多东西，这是我在被掠夺者抓住的时候发现的。假装自己是斯坦和凭空编造一个人出来相比，要简单得多，因为我对他或多或少有一点了解。老洛夫古德在那么大的压力下，只是想办法把我们留住而已。所以我觉得他说的都是真话，至少他认为是真话。” 
　　“好吧，但是我觉得这无关紧要。”赫敏叹了口气，“就算他没撒谎，我这辈子也从来没听到过那么多荒唐的事。” 
　　“话是这么说，可密室不也曾一直被认为是个传说而已吗？”罗恩说。 
　　“但是死圣是不可能存在的，罗恩！” 
　　“你总是这么说，但是他们中至少有一个是存在的，”罗恩说，“哈利的隐身斗篷……” 
　　“三兄弟的传说只不过是个故事罢了，”赫敏很坚定地说道，“一个关于人类惧怕死亡的故事。如果长生不老就是藏在隐身斗篷下面那么简单的话，我们早就得到我们需要的一切了！” 
　　“我不知道，不过我们倒是很需要一根无敌的魔杖。”哈利一边说，一边在指间转动着令他生厌的黑李木魔杖。 
　　“哈利，根本就没有那种东西！” 
　　“你说过曾经有各种各样的魔杖——死亡之杖，或者不管叫什么名字……” 
　　“好吧，就算你能骗自己说那个长老魔杖是真的，那苏醒石呢？”她用指头在那个名字上画了个引号，并且用挖苦的语调说道，“没有魔法能起死回生，那是肯定的。” 
　　“当我的魔杖和神秘人的连在一起的时候，我的父母出现了……还有塞德里克……” 
　　“但是他们并不是真的起死回生了，对吧？”赫敏说，“那只是……苍白的假象罢了，并不是他们真的活了过来。” 
　　“但是，那个传说里的女孩，也不是真的活了过来，对吧？故事里说，一旦人死了，他们就和死亡同在了。但是兄弟里的老二却仍然能看到她并和她说话，不是吗？他甚至和她在一起生活了一段时间……” 
　　他看到赫敏的表情中流露出了担心，还有另外一种说不出来的感觉，当她匆匆看了罗恩一眼，哈利才明白那种感觉是恐惧：他提到的和死人生活在一起让她害怕了。 
　　“佩弗利尔那小子最后被埋在了高维克山谷。”他赶快说道，尽量让自己的声音听起来很有力量而正常，“你知道过有关他的事吗？” 
　　“不知道。”她回答道，转换话题使她看起来很安心。“在我看到他墓碑上的徽章时我认出了他；如果他真的很有名或者很重要，那他一定会出现在我们的书里的。但我唯一能找到佩弗利尔这个字的地方是《生而高贵，巫师家谱》，是我从克利切那里借来的。”当她看到罗恩扬起了眉毛时，解释道：“这本书列出了男系血统已经消失了的纯血统的家族。显然佩弗利尔是最早消失的家庭之一。” 
　　“男系血统已经消失？”罗恩重复道。 
　　“意思是说这个姓氏已经没有人继承了，”赫敏说，“像佩弗利尔家族早在几个世纪以前就这样了。但他们还是可能有继承人的，只不过都已经姓其他的姓了。” 
　　突然哈利的脑中出现了一个闪光的片段，他的记忆中好像曾经听到过“佩弗利尔”这个词：一个邋遢的老头在一位魔法部官员面前挥舞着一枚戒指。哈利叫了出来：“马沃罗·冈特！” 
　　“什么？”罗恩和赫敏一起问道。 
　　“马沃罗·冈特！神秘人的外祖父！在冥想盆中，和邓布利多一起！马沃罗·冈特说他是佩弗利尔家的继承人！” 
　　罗恩和赫敏看起来一脸迷茫。 
　　“戒指，那枚后来成为魂器的戒指，马沃罗·冈特说那上面有佩弗利尔的纹章！我看到他拿着那枚戒指在魔法部的人的脸前晃来晃去，几乎贴到了那人的鼻子上！” 
　　“佩弗利尔的纹章？”赫敏敏锐地说“你看到它是什么样子的了吗？” 
　　“不太记得了……”哈利努力地回忆着“就我看到的，好像没什么特别的地方；可能有一些划痕。我只见过它被打开后又合上的样子。” 
　　从赫敏睁大眼睛的样子中，哈利看出了她的理解，罗恩看着他，又看看赫敏，露出十分惊讶的表情。 
　　“啊呀，你又觉得它是死圣的标记了？” 
　　“为什么不呢，”哈利兴奋的说，“马沃罗·冈特是一个无知的没用的老家伙，他象猪一样地生活，唯一在乎的就是他的血统。如果这个戒指是历经几个世纪流传下来的，他可能并不知道它究竟意味着什么。他的房子里没有书，相信我，他是不会给孩子们讲童话故事的。他一定会把宝石上的擦痕看成是盾形纹章，因为在他看来，纯净的血统可以让人变得更高贵。” 
　　“好，这的确很有趣，”赫敏谨慎的说，“但是哈利，如果你听了我对你的猜测的想法……” 
　　“为什么不信呢？”哈利说，完全不在意赫敏说的话，“那就是块石头，不是吗？”他看着罗恩想寻求支持，“如果那就是苏醒石呢？” 
　　罗恩一下子开口了。 
　　“哎呀——邓布利多把它毁了，那还能用吗？” 
　　“能用？能用？罗恩，它从来没有有用过！世上不存在苏醒石！” 
　　赫敏跳了起来，看起来很愤怒，“哈利，你打算把一切都安到那个关于死圣的故事里……” 
　　“安进去？”他反驳道，“赫敏，是它们自己相吻合！我知道死圣的标记就在那块石头上！冈特说了它是从佩弗利尔那里继承来的！” 
　　“一分钟前你告诉我们，你从没有清楚地看到石头上的标记！” 
　　“你说那戒指现在在哪？”罗恩问哈利，“邓布利多在把它打开之后干了什么？” 
　　但哈利的思绪早就跑到之后的事情上了，远远地甩掉了罗恩和赫敏…… 
　　那三件物品，或者说死圣，如果他们到了一个人手里，其所有者就可以操纵死亡，操纵……胜利者……征服者……最后一个要对付的敌人就是死亡…… 
　　随后他想到了自己，如果他是圣物的所有者，面对伏地魔，相比之下伏地魔的魂器简直就是不堪一击……只有一个人能活下来……这就是答案吗？用死圣来对抗魂器？到底有没有什么方法能确保他活下来？如果他掌握了死圣，他就安全了吗？ 
　　“哈利？” 
　　他几乎没有听到赫敏在叫他：他已经拿出了自己的隐身斗篷，手指抚摸着它。这件斗篷像水一样柔顺，像空气一样轻盈。在他将近七年的魔法世界生涯中，没有一件东西比得上它。这件衣服的确象谢农费里厄斯描述的一样：能让使用者彻底隐形，而且它长存于世，不会被任何咒语损坏…… 
　　随后，他猛的喘了一口气，他想起来了…… 
　　“邓布利多在我父母死的那天晚上拿到了它！” 
　　他的声音在颤抖，他能感到他的脸在发烧，但他并不在意。 
　　“我母亲告诉小天狼星，是邓布利多借走了隐身衣！那就是原因！他想验证一下，因为他觉得那就是第三个圣物！伊格诺思·佩弗利尔被葬在多维克山谷，”哈利漫不经心地绕帐篷踱着步子，感觉真相在他脑子里渐渐清晰起来。“他是我的祖先，我是那第三个兄弟的后代！这样就有头绪了！” 
　　他已经十分确信了，确信死圣的存在。能够得到它们，仅仅是这样的想法就足以给他受到保护的感觉，于是他很开心地转向了他的两个同伴。 
　　“哈利！”赫敏又叫了他一声，但哈利正在忙着打开他脖子上挂着的小口袋。他的手抖的厉害。 
　　“读一读。”他把母亲的信放到她手里，对她说，“读读看。虽然邓布利多借走了隐身斗篷，但是，赫敏，他这么做有什么原因吗？他并不需要隐身斗篷，他可以用一个强大的幻身咒来让自己隐身！” 
　　有个什么东西掉到底上，滚到了椅子底下：是他把信从信封里拿出来的时候带出来的金色飞贼。他弯下腰把它捡了起来，一个偶然的发现使他又惊又喜。掩饰不住激动的心情，他叫出了声来。 
　　“它在这儿！他给我留下了的戒指——在金色飞贼里！” 
　　“你……你猜的？” 
　　他不明白为什么罗恩看起来不明白。对哈利来说，所有的事情都那么明显、清晰。一切的一切都吻合……他的隐身衣是第三个圣物，当他打开金色飞贼时得到了第二个，现在他要做的就是找到第一个圣物，长老魔杖，然后…… 
　　但是，就象一个明亮的舞台突然拉下了大幕，他一切的快乐和希望都一下子破灭了。他独自站在黑暗之中，璀璨的光辉变得支离破碎。 
　　“那就是他要找的。” 
　　他语气的变化让罗恩和赫敏看上去更加害怕了。 
　　“神秘人……在找长老魔杖。” 
　　他转过身，背对着罗恩和赫敏惊讶与怀疑的脸。他知道，那就是事实。一切都说得通了，伏地魔并不是在找一支新魔杖，而是在找一支旧魔杖，非常旧的。哈利走向帐篷的入口，仰望夜空，思索着，完全忘记了罗恩和赫敏的存在…… 
　　伏地魔是在麻瓜的孤儿院长大的，在他小时候没人能给他讲《吟游诗人比德的传说》里的故事，他不可能比哈利知道的更多。几乎没有巫师相信死圣。 伏地魔怎么会知道这些？ 
　　哈利凝视着夜空……如果伏地魔知道关于死圣的事，那他肯定寻找过它们，曾不择手段地想要得到它们。三件物品的主人可以掌控死亡？如果他知道关于死圣的事情，他可能一开始就不需要魂器了。他曾经拿到了圣物，却把它做成了魂器，这是不是可以证明他并不知道关于那个最隐秘的古老的巫师的故事？ 
　　这说明，伏地魔虽然在寻找长老魔杖，但却并不完全了解它的威力，也不知道它是三个圣物之一……由于这根魔杖毫无疑问是死圣，而且最被人们所熟知……长老魔杖在悠久的魔法史上留下了带血的印迹。 
　　哈利看着天空中的云，像烟雾一样地弥散着，滑过白色的月亮。哈利被自己的发现惊呆了。 
　　他转身想回到了帐篷里，却惊讶地发现罗恩和赫敏仍然站在原地。赫敏还捏着莉莉的信，罗恩带着期盼的表情站在她身边。他们有没有意识到在刚才的几分钟里发生了些什么吗？ 
　　“怎么？”哈利说，想要把他们拉入自己刚刚发现的惊人事实中。“这样就可以解释所有这一切了。死圣确实存在，而且我已经有了一个……也许是两个……” 
　　他拿起了金色飞贼。 
　　“……神秘人在找第三个，但是他不完全了解……他只是觉得那个魔杖有些威力。” 
　　“哈利”赫敏说，走到他身边把莉莉的信塞到他手里。“对不起，但是我觉得你的想法是错的，完全错误的。” 
　　“可是，难道你没有看到吗？一切都吻合……” 
　　“不，不是。”她说“事情并不吻合，哈利，你只不过是在胡思乱想。请……”赫敏好像开始了她的演说“请回答我：如果死圣真的存在，而且邓布利多知道他们存在，也知道如果他们的所有者能够控制死亡－－哈利，那为什么他不告诉你呢？为什么？” 
　　他已经准备好了答案。 
　　“但是你说过的，赫敏！一定要亲自动手找一找！这是一个任务！” 
　　“我只不过是为了让你去洛夫古德那里而说的！”赫敏哭喊着解释,“我不是真的相信！” 
　　哈利没有理会她。 
　　“邓布利多通常都告诉我自己去找，他让我尝试用我自己的力量去找。看起来他自己也是这么做的。” 
　　“哈利，这不是一个游戏，不是一场练习！这是真的，邓布利多留给了你清晰的指示：寻找并消灭魂器！那个记号没有任何意义，忘了什么死圣吧，我们不能转移目标……” 
　　但是哈利几乎没听她在说什么。他把飞贼在两只手间扔来扔去，期待着它能从中间裂开，苏醒石显露出来，证明给赫敏看他是正确的，死圣确实存在。 
　　她对罗恩呼吁道:“你也不相信死圣的存在，对吗？” 
　　哈利抬起头来，罗恩犹豫不决。 
　　“我不知道……我是说……很多事情都对上了，”罗恩笨拙地说“但是如果你从事情的整体看……”他深吸了一口气“我想我们恐怕应该去消灭魂器，哈利。那是邓布利多告诉我们的。也许，也许我们应该忘了圣物的事。” 
　　“谢谢，罗恩。”赫敏说，“谢谢你支持我。” 
　　然后她从哈利身边走过，走进帐篷坐了下来，用行动结束了谈话。 
　　但是哈利晚上怎么也睡不着。关于死圣的想法一直缠绕着他，他的脑子一刻也休息不下来，一直想着那个念头：魔杖、石头、斗篷，如果他全都拥有…… 
　　我要打开这个密封的东西……但是这密封是怎么回事？为什么到现在他还得不到那石头？如果他得到了那石头，他就能问问邓布利多关于那些个人的问题……哈利在黑暗中对着飞贼低语，他用了各种方法，甚至蛇老腔，但是那金色的小球仍没有打开。 
　　还有那个魔杖，长老魔杖，它又藏在哪里了？伏地魔现在在哪儿找呢？哈利希望他的伤疤能再次灼烧起来，告诉他伏地魔在想什么，因为这是第一次他和伏地魔在想着相同的事……当然赫敏不可能喜欢这个念头……但是那样她就会相信……谢农费里厄斯是对的，那有限的狭小的思维的链接。其实她只是害怕关于死圣的说法，尤其是那个苏醒石……哈利再一次把他的嘴对着飞贼，亲吻它，几乎把它吞下去，但那冰冷的金属没有丝毫妥协…… 
　　天就快亮了，这时哈利想到了卢娜，一个人孤零零的呆在阿兹卡班的一个小房间里，被摄魂怪包围着，他突然为自己感到羞耻。在他兴奋地想着关于死圣的事情时几乎完全忘了她。就算他们去营救她，但是有那么多摄魂怪几乎不可能成功。现在他开始考虑这些，他还不能用那个黑李木的魔杖变出一个守护神……他必须在今天早晨学会……但如果有什么方法能得到一个更好的魔杖……对于长老魔杖，对于所向披靡的死亡魔杖的渴望又一次吞噬了他…… 
　　第二天早上他们把帐篷收了起来，在一阵沉闷的暴雨中继续前进。直到他们赶到海岸暴雨一直在继续，那个晚上他们又支起了帐篷，并且在那儿呆了整整一个星期，虽然周围景色如画，哈利仍然感到阴冷压抑。他唯一能想的就是死圣。它像一个火苗一直在他体内燃烧着，无论是赫敏的不信任或者罗恩的犹豫不决都不能熄灭他。对圣物的渴望一直在他体内燃烧着，是唯一能让他感到高兴的东西。他责备罗恩和赫敏：他们的漠视像无情的雨一样让他沮丧，但是这并不能改变他的坚持，它们确实存在。哈利对于圣物的信仰和坚持使他和另外两个被魂器迷住的人产生了隔阂。 
　　“迷住？”当哈利在一个晚上对赫敏指出他最近在寻找其他的魂器上不再关心的话表现出了足够的漠视后，赫敏用一种低沉的难以忍受的声音说：“我们没有迷上任何东西，哈利！我们只是在做邓布利多想让我们做的事情！” 
　　但是他没有受到那些批评的任何影响。邓布利多在给赫敏的密文中留下了他对于圣物的暗示，并且，哈利仍然坚信，苏醒石就在留给他的飞贼里面。”一个必须死在另一个手上……控制死亡……”为什么罗恩和赫敏就不能理解呢？ 
　　“最后一个你要战胜的敌人就是死亡……”哈利平静的回答。 
　　“我想我们要对付的对象好像是神秘人？”赫敏反击道，哈利放弃了劝说她的想法。 
　　即使是他们谈论的那头银色的雌鹿，对哈利来说也不再那么重要了，好像是一个没意思的附属物。对他来说唯一要紧的事情就是他的伤疤又开始疼了，虽然他已经尽力在他们俩面前遮掩这件事情。每当疼起来时他都感到非常孤独，并且为他看到的景象感到失望。那些把他和伏地魔联系起来的影像变得没有以前好了：它们显得模糊不清、诡异多变。哈利只能认出来那好像是一个头骨的轮廓，还有好像一座山的影子一样的东西，更多的只是阴影而不是实物。对于那些影像，哈利感到不安，他很担心那联系着他和伏地魔之间的联系被破坏了，那条两方都很害怕的联系,尽管她和赫敏说他想要这种联系。 
　　不知何故，哈利把那些不能令人满意的图像同他魔杖的损坏联系了起来，好像是他的黑李木魔杖的错，让他不能再像以前一样看到伏地魔在想什么了。 
　　几周就这么过去了，哈利除了观察什么也做不了，包括新的让他关切的事情，罗恩看起来有些抱怨。也许是他决定退出他们，也许是因为哈利开始对别人的鼓励完全听不进去，罗恩鼓励其他两个人赶快行动。 
　　“还剩三个魂器。”他不停地说“我们需要一个行动计划，来吧！哪儿我们还没有找过？让我们赶快去看看。那个孤儿院……” 
　　对角巷、霍格沃茨、里德尔家、博金-博克黑魔法商店、阿尔巴尼亚，每个他们知道的汤姆里德尔曾经生活过或者工作过的、拜访过的或者杀过人的地方，罗恩和赫敏都数了个遍。哈利也加入了，为得是不让赫敏再劝说他。他宁愿一个人静静地坐着，去读伏地魔的思维，去发现更多的关于长老魔杖的事情，但是罗恩却坚持要去一些不太常见的地方，哈利意识到，他们必须继续下去。 
　　“你不会知道，”这是罗恩的口头禅，“弗莱格林北部的地区有一个巫师村庄，他可能曾经想住在那里，让我们去那儿溜达溜达。” 
　　巫师村庄的那些袭击是他们都变成了侵略者。 
　　“他们中好多人和食死徒一样坏，”罗恩说。”我觉得有一些悲惨，但是比尔说他们当中一些确实很危险。他们说在波特兄弟会里……” 
　　“在什么里？”哈利问。 
　　“波特兄弟会，我没有告诉过你吗？那是一个我一直想听的广播节目，是唯一一个可以告诉我们目前的真实情况的节目！几乎所有的台都被伏地魔的人控制了，除了波特兄弟会，我真想你能听一听，但是信号很不好找……” 
　　罗恩用了很多个的下午用自己的魔杖在无线电上敲出了各种各样的声音，上面的转盘不停的转动着，偶尔他们会收到关于如何照顾龙的频道，有一次传出了《一锅又热又坚定的爱》的几个小节，他边录音边继续努力尝试打出正确的密码，嘴里还不停地乱咕哝着什么。 
　　“它们通常和凤凰社有关，”罗恩告诉他们，“比尔知道猜出它们的诀窍，我一定会猜出一个来……·” 
　　但是直到三月运气才终于眷顾了罗恩，哈利坐在帐篷的入口处警戒，他懒洋洋地看着被丛生的葡萄树和风信子遮挡住的寒冷地面，这时帐篷里传出了罗恩兴奋的喊叫声。 
　　“我找到了，我找到它了！密码是‘阿不思’，快过来，哈利！” 
　　这么多天来哈利第一次从关于死圣的沉思被中唤醒，哈利飞快地冲进帐篷，看到罗恩和赫敏都跪在一个小收音机的旁边，赫敏看起来刚才还在磨那把格兰芬多宝剑来消磨时间，这会儿她张大嘴巴盯着地上的收音机，因为那收音机里正传出一个非常熟悉的声音。 
　　“很抱歉我们暂停了广播，那是因为有几个迷人的食死徒来到了我们的地盘。” 
　　“但那是李·乔丹！”赫敏说。 
　　“我知道！”罗恩说，“很酷吧，恩？” 
　　“现在我们转移到了一个安全的地方，”李说，“我很高兴地告诉大家，两个提供消息的朋友今天晚上也来到了我身边，晚上好！兄弟们！” 
　　“你好。” 
　　“下午好，江河。” 
　　“‘江河’就是李，”罗恩解释说，“他们都有自己的代号，但你通常可以——” 
　　“嘘！”赫敏说。 
　　“但是在我们听罗伊尔和罗慕洛说之前，”李继续说，“让我们用一点时间报道一下那些巫师新闻网和预言家日报认为并不重要的死讯，我们非常遗憾的从听众那里获悉泰德·唐克斯和德克·克莱斯韦被谋杀了。” 
　　哈利感到他的胃猛的沉了一下，他、罗恩还有赫敏都惊恐地盯着对方。 
　　“一个叫格纳克的小精灵也被杀了，麻瓜出身的迪安·托马斯和另一个小精灵也有危险，和唐克斯和格纳克一起居住的克莱斯韦好像逃脱了，如果迪安正在听，或者有谁知道他的下落，请与我们联系，他的父母和姐妹们都在焦急地等待消息。” 
　　“期间，在加德里，一个五人的麻瓜家庭所有成员都被发现死在家中，麻瓜界的权威人士认为他们死于煤气泄露，但凤凰社的人告诉我，他们是被死咒杀死的——很明显，在新的政权下，屠杀麻瓜似乎已经从娱乐变成了一种必需。” 
　　“最后我们很遗憾地告诉听众们，巴希达·巴沙特的遗体在高锥克山谷被发现了，种种迹象表明他在几个月前就已经死了，凤凰社成员告诉我们从他遗体的印迹看来他无疑是死于黑魔法。 
　　“听众们，我想邀请你们和我一起默哀一分钟，以纪念泰德 唐克斯、德克·克莱斯韦、巴希达·巴沙特、格纳克和那些不知道名字的死于食死徒手中的麻瓜们。” 
　　周围安静下来了，哈利、罗恩和赫敏都没有说话，哈利一面希望听到更多，一面又又害怕听到下面的内容，这是他很久以来第一次这么真是地听到同外界的联系。 
　　“谢谢”李的声音说，“现在我们可以回到特邀嘉宾罗伊尔这来了，来探讨一下魔法界的新秩序对麻瓜世界的影响的认识。” 
　　“谢谢，江河”一个深沉的，可靠的，不容置疑的声音响起来了。 
　　“金斯莱！”罗恩大叫到。 
　　“我们听出来了！”赫敏说，示意他安静下来。 
　　“麻瓜们仍然不知道他们的危险，他们继续承受着大量的伤亡，”金斯莱说，“但是，我们还是听到了一些令人振奋的消息，一些巫师和女巫不顾危险地去保护他们的麻瓜朋友和邻居，尽管麻瓜们并不知道，我在这里想呼吁听众们效仿他们的做法，也许就是为你所在街区的所有麻瓜的住所施一个保护咒，一个简单的行动将会拯救很多生命。” 
　　“你会对那些人说什么？罗伊尔，那些在这种特殊时期主张‘巫师第一’的听众。” 
　　“我只能说从‘巫师第一’到‘血统第一’只有一步之遥，而之后就是‘食死徒’”金斯莱回答说，“我们都是人类，不是吗？每个人类的生命都是宝贵的，都值得去挽救。” 
　　“精彩的发言，罗伊尔，如果能度过这场灾难，我要投你一票去当魔法部长！”李说，“现在让我们听听罗慕洛为我们‘哈利在线’的发言。” 
　　“谢谢你，江河，”另一个十分熟悉的声音响了起来，罗恩刚想说话，被赫敏低声地抢在了前面。 
　　“我们也听出来了那是卢平！” 
　　“罗慕洛，你始终向曾经多次到我们节目
Chapter 23  Malfoy Manor
Harry looked around at the other two, now mere outlines in the darkness. He saw Hermione point her wand, set toward the outside, but into his face; there was a bang, a burst of white light, and he buckled in agony, unable to see. He could feel his face swelling rapidly under his hands as heavy footfalls surrounded him.
“Get up, vermin.”
Unknown hands dragged Harry roughly off the ground, before he could stop them, someone had rummaged through his pockets and removed the blackthorn wand. Harry clutched at his excruciatingly painful face, which felt unrecognizable beneath his fingers, tight, swollen, and puffy as though he had suffered some violent allergic reaction. His eyes had been reduced to slits through which he could barely see; his glasses fell off as he was bundled out of the tent: all he could make out were the blurred shapes of four or five people wrestling Ron and Hermione outside too.
“Get – off – her!” Ron shouted. There was the unmistakable sound of knuckles hitting flesh: Ron grunted in pain and Hermione screamed, “No! Leave him alone, leave him alone!”
“Your boyfriend’s going to have worse than that done to him if he’s on my list,” said the horribly familiar, rasping voice. “Delicious girl… what a treat… I do enjoy the softness of the skin….”
Harry’s stomach turned over. He knew who this was, Fenrit Greyback, the werewolf who was permitted to wear Death Eater robes in return for his hired savagery.
“Search the tent!” said another voice.
Harry was thrown face down onto the ground. A thud told him that Ron had been cast down beside him. They could hear footsteps and crashes; the men were pushing over chairs inside the tent as they searched.
“Now, let’s see who we’ve got,” said Greyback’s gloating voice from overhead, and Harry was rolled over onto his back. A beam of wand light fell onto his face and Greyback laughed.
“I’ll be needing butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?“
Harry did not answer immediately.
“I said,“ repeated Greyback, and Harry received a blow to the diaphragm that made him double over in pain. ”what happened to you?“
“Stung.” Harry muttered. “Been Stung.”
“Yeah, looks like it.” said a second voice.
“What’s your name?” snarled Greyback.
“Dudley.” said Harry.
“And your first name?”
“I – Vernon. Vernon Dudley.”
“Check the list, Scabior.” said Greyback, and Harry head him move sideways to look down at Ron, instead. “And what about you, ginger?”
“Stan Shunpike.” said Ron.
“Like ‘ell you are.” said the man called Scabior. “We know Stan Shunpike, ‘e’s put a bit of work our way.”
There was another thud.
“I’b Bardy,” said Ron, and Harry could tell that his mouth was full of blood. “Bardy Weasley.”
“A Weasley?“ rasped Greyback. ”So you’re related to blood traitors even if you’re not a Mudblood. And lastly, your pretty little friend…“ The relish in his voice made Harry’s flesh crawl.
“Easy, Greyback.” said Scabior over the jeering of the others.
“Oh, I’m not going to bite just yet. We’ll see if she’s a bit quicker at remembering her name than Barny. Who are you, girly?”
“Penelope Clearwater.” said Hermione. She sounded terrified, but convincing.
“What’s your blood status?”
“Half-Blood.” said Hermione.
“Easy enough to check,” said Scabior. “But the ‘ole lot of ‘em look like they could still be ‘ogwarts age – ”
“We’b lebt,” said Ron.
“Left, ‘ave you, ginger?” said Scabior. “And you decided to go camping? And you thought, just for a laugh, you’d use the Dark Lords name?”
“Nod a laugh,” said Ron. “Aggiden.”
“Accident?” There was more jeering laughter.
“You know who used to like using the Dark Lord’s name, Weasley?” growled Greyback, “The Order of the Phoenix. Mean anything to you?”
“Doh.”
“Well, they don’t show the Dark Lord proper respect, so the name’s been Tabooed. A few Order members have been tracked that way. We’ll see. Bind them up with the other two prisoners!”
Someone yanked Harry up by the hair, dragged him a short way, pushed him down into a sitting position, then started binding him back-to-back with other people. Harry was still half blind, barely able to see anything through his puffed-up eyes. When at last the man tying then had walked away, Harry whispered to the other prisoners.
“Anyone still got a wand?”
“No.” Said Ron and Hermione from either side of him.
“This is all my fault. I said the name. I’m sorry – ”
“Harry?”
It was a new, but familiar voice. and it came from directly behind Harry, from the person tied to Hermione’s left.
“Dean?”
“It is you! If they find out who they’ve got -! They’re Snatchers, they’re only looking for truants to sell for gold – “
“Not a bad little haul for one night.” Greyback was saying, as a pair of hobnailed boots marched close by Harry and they heard more crashes from inside the tent. “A Mudblood, a runaway goblin, and these truants. You checked their names on the list yet, Scabior?” he roared.
“Yeah. There’s no Vernon Dudley un ‘ere, Greyback.”
“Interesting,” said Greyback. “That’s interesting.”
He crouched down beside Harry, who saw, through the infinitesimal gap left between his swollen eyelids, a face covered in matted gray hair and whiskers, with pointed brown teeth and sores in the corners of his mouth. Greyback smelled as he had done at the top of the tower where Dumbledore had died: of dirt, sweat, and blood.
“So you aren’t wanted, then, Vernon? Or are you on that list under a different name? What house were you in at Hogwarts?“
“Slytherin,” said Harry automatically.
“Funny ‘ow they all thinks we wants to ‘ear that.” leered Scabior out of the shadows. “But none of ‘em can tell us where the common room is.”
“It’s in the dungeons.” said Harry clearly. “You enter through the wall. It’s full of skulls and stuff and its under the lake, so the light’s all green,”
There was a short pause.
“Well, well, looks like we really ‘ave caught a little Slytherin.” said Scabior. “Good for you, Vernon, ‘cause there ain’t a lot of Mudblood Slytherins. Who’s your father?”
“He works at the Ministry,” Harry lied. He knew that his whole story would collapse with the smallest investigation, but on the other hand, he only had until his face regained its usual appearance before the game was up in any case. “Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.”
“You know what, Greyback,“ said Scabior. ”I think there is a Dudley in there.“
Harry could barely breathe: Could luck, sheer luck, get them safely out of this?
“Well, well.” said Greyback, and Harry could hear the tiniest note of trepidation in that callous voice, and knew that Greyback was wondering whether he had just indeed just attacked and bound the son of a Ministry Official. Harry’s heart was pounding against the ropes around his ribs; he would not have been surprised to know that Greyback could see it. “If you’re telling the truth, ugly, you’ve got nothing to fear from a trip to the Ministry. I expect your father’ll reward us just for picking you up.”
“But,” said Harry, his mouth bone dry, “if you just let us – ”
“Hey!“ came a shout from inside the tent. “Look at this. Greyback!”
A dark figure came bustling toward them, and Harry saw a glint of silver to the light of their wands. They had found Gryffindor’s sword.
“Ve-e-ery nice,” said Greyback appreciatively, taking it from his companion. “Oh, very nice indeed. Looks goblin-made, that. Where did you get something like this?”
“It’s my father’s,” Harry lied, hoping against hope that it was too dark for Greyback to see the name etched just below the hilt. “We borrowed it to cut firewood – ”
“‘ang on a minute, Greyback! Look at this, in the Prophet!“
As Scabior said it, Harry’s scar, which was stretched tight across his distended forehead, burned savagely. More clearly than he could make out anything around him, he saw a towering building, a grim fortress, jet-black and forbidding: Voldemort’s thoughts had suddenly become Razor-Sharp again; he was gliding toward the gigantic building with a sense of calmly euphoric purpose…
So close… So close… With a huge effort of will Harry closed his mind to Voldemort’s thoughts, pulling himself back to where he sat, tied to Ron, Hermione, Dean, and Griphook in the darkness, listening to Greyback and Scabior.
“‘Hermione Granger,“ Scabior was saying, ”the Mudblood who is known to be traveling with ‘arry Potter.“
Harry’s scar burned in the silence, but he made a supreme effort to keep himself present, nor to slip into Voldemort’s mind. He heard the creak of Greyback’s boots as he crouched down, in front of Hermione.
“you know what, little girly? This picture looks a hell of a lot like you.”
“It isn’t! It isn’t me!”
Hermione’s terrified squeak was as good as a confession.
“… known to be traveling with Harry Potter,“ repeated Greyback quietly.
A stillness had settled over the scene. Harry’s scar was Exquisitely painful, but he struggled with all his strength against the pull of Voldemort’s thoughts. It had never been so important to remain in his own right mind.
“Well, this changed things, doesn’t it?” whispered Greyback. Nobody spoke: Harry sensed the gang of Snatchers watching, frozen, and felt Hermione’s arm trembling against his. Greyback got up and took a couple of steps to where Harry sat, crouching down again to stare closely at his misshapen features.
“What’s that on your forehead, Vernon?” he asked softly, his breath foul in Harry’s nostrils as he pressed a filthy finger to the taught scar.
“Don’t touch it! Harry yelled; he could not stop himself, he thought he might be sick from the pain of it.”
“I thought you wore glasses, Potter?” breathed Greyback.
“I found glasses!” yelped one of the Snatchers skulking in the background. “There was glasses in the tent, Greyback, wait – ”
And seconds later Harry’s glasses had been rammed back onto his face. The Snatchers were closing in now, peering at him.
“It Is!” rasped Greyback. “We’ve caught Potter!”
They all took several steps backward, stunned by what they had done. Harry, still fighting to remain present in his own splitting head, could think of nothing to say. Fragmented visions were breaking across the surface of his mind -
–He was hiding around the high walls of the black fortress–
No, he was Harry, tied up and wandless, in grave danger–
–looking up, up to the topmost window, the highest tower–
He was Harry, and they were discussing his fate in low voices–
–Time to fly…
“… To the Ministry?”
“To hell with the Ministry.” growled Greyback. “They’ll take the credit, and we won’t get a look in. I say we take him straight to You-Know-Who.”
“Will you summon ‘im? ‘ere?“ said Scabior, sounding awed, terrified.
“No,” snarled Greyback, “I haven’t got – they say he’s using the Malfoy’s place as a base. We’ll take the boy there.”
Harry thought he knew why Greyback was not calling Voldemort. The werewolf might be allowed to wear Death Eater robes when they wanted to use him, but only Voldemort’s inner circle were branded with the Dark Mark: Greyback had not been granted this highest honor.
Harry’s scar seared again –
– and he rose into the night, flying straight up to the windows at the very top of the tower –
“… completely sure it’s him? ‘Cause if it ain’t, Greyback, we’re dead.”
“Who’s in charge here?” roared Greyback, covering his moment of inadequacy. “I say that’s Potter, and him plus his wand, that’s two hundred thousand Galleons right there! But if you’re too gutless to come along, any of you, it’s all for me, and with any luck, I’ll get the girl thrown in!”
– The window was the merest slit in the black rock, not big enough for a man to enter…. A skeletal figure was just visible through it, curled beneath a blanket…. Dead, or sleeping…?
“All right!” said Scabior. “All right, we’re in! And what about the rest of ‘em, Greyback, what’ll we do with ‘em?”
“Might as well take the lot. We’ve got two Mudbloods, that’s another ten Galleons. Give me the sword as well. If they’re rubies, that’s another small fortune right there.“
The prisoners were dragged to their feet. Harry could hear Hermione’s breathing, fast and terrified.
“Grab hold and make it tight. I’ll do Potter!“ said Greyback, seizing a fistful of Harry’s hair; Harry could feel his long yellow nails scratching his scalp. ”On three! One – two – three – “
They Disapparated, pulling the prisoners with them. Harry struggled, trying to throw off Greyback’s hand, but it was hopeless: Ron and Hermione were squeezed tightly against him on either side; he could not separate from the group, and as the breath was squeezed out of him his scar seared more painfully still –
– as he forced himself through the slit of a window like a snake and landed, lightly as vapor inside the cell-like room –
The prisoners lurched into one another as they landed in a country lane. Harry’s eyes, still puffy, took a moment to acclimatize, then he saw a pair of wrought-iron gates at the foot of what looked like a long drive. He experienced the tiniest trickle of relief. The worst had not happened yet: Voldemort was not here. He was, Harry knew, for he was fighting to resist the vision, in some strange, fortresslike place, at the top of a tower. How long it would take Voldemort to get to this place, once he knew that Harry was here, was another matter….
One of the Snatchers strode to the gates and shook them.
“How do we get in? They’re locked, Greyback, I can’t – blimey!”
He whipped his hands away in fright. The iron was contorting, twisting itself out of the abstract furls and coils into a frightening face, which spoke in a clanging, echoing voice. “State your purpose!”
“We’ve got Potter!“ Greyback roared triumphantly. ”We’ve captured Harry Potter!“
The gates swung open.
“Come on!“ said Greyback to his men, and the prisoners were shunted through the gates and up the drive, between high hedges that muffled their footsteps. Harry saw a ghostly white shape above him, and realized it was an albino peacock. He stumbled and was dragged onto his feet by Greyback; now he was staggering along sideways, tied back-to-back to the four other prisoner. Closing his puffy eyes, he allowed the pain in his scar to overcome him for a moment, wanting to know what Voldemort was doing, whether he knew yet that Harry was caught….
The emaciated figure stirred beneath its thin blanket and rolled over toward him, eyes opening in a skull of a face…. The frail man sat up, great sunken eyes fixed upon him, upon Voldemort, and then he smiled. Most of his teeth were gone….
“So, you have come. I thought you would… one day. But your journey was pointless. I never had it.”
“You lie!”
As Voldemort’s anger throbbed inside him, Harry’s scar threatened to burst with pain, and he wrenched his mind back to his own body, fighting to remain present as the prisoners were pushed over gravel.
Light spilled out over all of them.
“What is this?” said a woman’s cold voice.
“We’re here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!” rasped Greyback.
“Who are you?”
“You know me!” There was resentment in the werewolf’s voice. “Fenrit Greyback! We’ve caught Harry Potter!”
Greyback seized Harry and dragged him around to face the light, forcing the other prisoners to shuffle around too.
“I know ‘es swollen, ma’am, but it’s ‘im!” piped up Scabior. “If you look a bit closer, you’ll see ‘is scar. And this ‘ere, see the girl? The Mudblood who’s been traveling around with ‘im, ma’am. There’s no doubt it’s ‘im, and we’ve got ‘is wand as well! ‘Ere, ma’am – ”
Through his puffy eyelids Harry saw Narcissa Malfoy scrutinizing his swollen face. Scabior thrust the blackthorn wand at her. She raised her eyebrows.
“Bring them in,” she said.
Harry and the others were shoved and kicked up broad stone steps into a hallway lined with portraits.
“Follow me,” said Narcissa, leading the way across the hall. “My son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, he will know.”
The drawing room dazzled after the darkness outside; even with his eyes almost closed Harry could make out the wide proportions of the room. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, more portraits against the dark purple walls. Two figures rose from chairs in front of an ornate marble fireplace as the prisoners were forced into the room by the Snatchers.
“What is this?”
The dreadfully familiar, drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy fell on Harry’s ears. He was panicking now. He could see no way out, and it was easier, as his fear mounted, to block out Voldemort’s thoughts, though his scar was still burning.
“They say they’ve got Potter,“ said Narcissa’s cold voice. ”Draco, come here.“
Harry did not dare look directly at Draco, but saw him obliquely; a figure slightly taller than he was, rising from an armchair, his face a pale and pointed blur beneath white-blond hair.
Greyback forced the prisoners to turn again so as to place Harry directly beneath the chandelier.
“Well, boy?” rasped the werewolf.
Harry was facing a mirror over the fireplace, a great gilded thing in an intricately scrolled frame. Through the slits of his eyes he saw his own reflection for the first time since leaving Grimmauld Place.
His face was huge, shiny, and pink, every feature distorted by Hermione’s jinx. His black hair reached his shoulders and there was a dark shadow around his jaw. Had he not known that it was he who stood there, he would have wondered who was wearing his glasses. He resolved not to speak, for his voice was sure to give him away; yet he still avoided eye contact with Draco as the latter approached.
“Well, Draco?” said Lucius Malfoy. He sounded avid. “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?”
“I can’t – I can’t be sure,“ said Draco. He was keeping his distance from Greyback, and seemed as scared of looking at Harry as Harry was of looking at him.
“But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!”
Harry had never heard Lucius Malfoy so excited.
“Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv – ”
“Now, we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope Mr. Malfoy?” said Greyback menacingly.
“Of course not, of course not!“ said Lucius impatiently. He approached Harry himself, came so close that Harry could see the usually languid, pale face in sharp detail even through his swollen eyes. With his face a puffy mask, Harry felt as though he was peering out from between the bars of a cage.
“What did you do to him?” Lucius asked Greyback. “How did he get into this state?”
“That wasn’t us.”
“Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me,” said Lucius.
His gray eyes raked Harry’s forehead.
“There’s something there,” he whispered. “it could be the scar, stretched tight….” 
“Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?”
Harry saw Draco’s face up close now, right beside his father’s. They were extraordinarily alike, except that while his father looked beside himself with excitement, Draco’s expression was full of reluctance, even fear.
“I don’t know,” he said, and he walked away toward the fireplace where his mother stood watching.
“We had better be certain, Lucius,“ Narcissa called to her husband in her cold, clear voice. ”Completely sure that it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord… They say this is his“ – she was looking closely at the blackthorn wand – ”but it does not resemble Ollivander’s description…. If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing… Remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?“
“What about the Mudblood, then?” growled Greyback. Harry was nearly thrown off his feet as the Snatchers forced the prisoners to swivel around again, so that the light fell on Hermione instead.
“Wait,“ said Narcissa sharply. “Yes – yes, she was in Madam Malkin’s with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn’t it the Granger girl?”
“I… maybe… yeah.”
“But then, that’s the Weasley boy!” shouted Lucius, striding around the bound prisoners to face Ron. “It’s them, Potter’s friends – Draco, look at him, isn’t it Arthur Weasley’s son, what’s his name –?”
“Yeah,” said Draco again, his back to the prisoners. “It could be.”
The drawing room door opened behind Harry. A woman spoke, and the sound of the voice wound Harry’s fear to an even higher pitch.
“What is this? What’s happened, Cissy?”
Bellatrix Lestrange walked slowly around the prisoners, and stopped on Harry’s right, staring at Hermione through her heavily lidded eyes, “But surely,” she said quietly, “this is the Mudblood girl? This is Grander?”
“Yes, yes, it’s Granger!” cried Lucius, “And beside her, we think, Potter! Potter and his friends, caught at last!”
“Potter?” shrieked Bellatrix, and she backed away, the better to take in Harry.
“Are you sure? Well then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!”
She dragged back her left sleeve: Harry saw the Dark Mark burned into the flesh of her arm, and knew that she was about to touch it, to summon her beloved master–
“I was about to call him!“ said Lucius, and his hand actually closed upon Bellatrix’s wrist, preventing her from touching the Mark. ”I shall summon him, Bella. Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority – “
“Your authority!” she sneered, attempting to wrench her hand from his grasp. “You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off me!”
“This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy – ”
“Begging your pardon, Mr. Malfoy,“ interjected Greyback, ”but it’s us that caught Potter, and it’s us that’ll be claiming the gold – “
“Gold!” laughed Bellatrix, still attempting to throw off her brother-in-law, her free hand groping in her pocket for her wand. “Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honor of his – of – ”
She stopped struggling, her dark eyes fixed upon something Harry could not see. Jubilant at her capitulation, Lucius threw her hand from him and ripped up his own sleeve –
“STOP!” shrieked Bellatrix, “Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!”
Lucius froze, his index finger hovering over his own Mark. Bellatrix strode out of Harry’s limited line of vision.
“What is that?” he heard her say.
“Sword,” grunted an out-of-sight Snatcher.
“Give it to me.”
“It’s not yours, missus, it’s mine, I reckon I found it.”
There was a bang and a flash of red light; Harry knew that the Snatcher had been Stunned. There was a roar of anger from his fellows: Scabior drew his wand.
“What d’you think you’re playing at, woman?”
“Stupefy!“ she screamed, “Stupefy!”
They were no match for her, even thought there were four of them against one of her: She was a witch, as Harry knew, with prodigious skill and no conscience. They fell where they stood, all except Greyback, who had been forced into a kneeling position, his arms outstretched. Out of the corners of his eyes Harry saw Bellatrix bearing down upon the werewolf, the sword of Gryffindor gripped tightly in her hand, her face waxen.
“Where did you get this sword?” she whispered to Greyback as she pulled his wand out of his unresisting grip.
“How dare you?” he snarled, his mouth the only thing that could move as he was forced to gaze up at her. He bared his pointed teeth. “Release me, woman!”
“Where did you find this sword?” she repeated, brandishing it in his face, “Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!”
“It was in their tent,” rasped Greyback. “Release me, I say!”
She waved her wand, and the werewolf sprang to his feet, but appeared too wary to approach her. He prowled behind an armchair, his filthy curved nails clutching its back.
“Draco, move this scum outside,” said Bellatrix, indicating the unconscious men. “If you haven’t got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me.”
“Don’t you dare speak to Draco like – ” said Narcissa furiously, but Bellatrix screamed.
“Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!”
She stood, panting slightly, looking down at the sword, examining its hilt. Then she turned to look at the silent prisoners.
“If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed,” she muttered, more to herself than to the others. “The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself…. But if he finds out… I must… I must know….”
She turned back to her sister again.
“The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think what to do!”
“This is my house, Bella, you don’t give orders in my – ”
“Do it! You have no idea of the danger we’re in!“ shrieked Bellatrix. She looked frightening, mad; a thin stream of fire issued from her wand and burned a hole in the carpet.
Narcissa hesitated for a moment, then addressed the werewolf.
“Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback.”
“Wait,” said Bellatrix sharply. “All except…. except for the Mudblood.”
Greyback gave a grunt of pleasure.
“No!” shouted Ron. “You can have me, keep me!”
Bellatrix hit him across the face: the blow echoed around the room.
“If she dies under questioning, I’ll take you next,“ she said. ”Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them – yet.“
She threw Greyback’s wand back to him, then took a short silver knife from under her robes. She cut Hermione free from the other prisoners, then dragged her by the hair into the middle of the room, while Greyback forced the rest of them to shuffle across to another door, into a dark passageway, his wand held out in front of him, projecting an invisible and irresistible force.
“Reckon she’ll let me have a bit of the girl when she’s finished with her?” Greyback crooned as he forced them along the corridor. “I’d say I’ll get a bite or two, wouldn’t you, ginger?”
Harry could feel Ron shaking. They were forced down a steep flight of stairs, still tied back-to-back and in danger of slipping and breaking their necks at any moment. At the bottom was a heavy door. Greyback unlocked it with a tap of his wand, then forced them into a dank and musty room and left them in total darkness. The echoing bang of the slammed cellar door had not died away before there was a terrible, drawn out scream from directly above them.
“HERMIONE!“ Ron bellowed, and he started to writhe and struggle against the ropes tying them together, so that Harry staggered. “HERMIONE!”
“Be quiet!” Harry said. “Shut up. Ron, we need to work out a way – ”
“HERMIONE! HERMIONE!”
“We need a plan, stop yelling – we need to get these ropes off – ”
“Harry?” came a whisper through the darkness. “Ron? Is that you?”
Ron stopped shouting. There was a sound of movement close by them, then Harry saw a shadow moving closer.
“Harry? Ron?”
“Luna?“
“Yes, it’s me! Oh no, I didn’t want you to be caught!”
“Luna, can you help us get these ropes off?“ said Harry.
“Oh yes, I expect so…. There’s an old nail we use if we need to break anything…. Just a moment…”
Hermione screamed again from overhead, and they could hear Bellatrix screaming too, but her words were inaudible, for Ron shouted again, “HERMIONE! HERMIONE!”
“Mr. Ollivander?“ Harry could hear Luna saying. ”Mr. Ollivander, have you got the nail? If you just move over a little bit… I think it was beside the water jug.“
She was back within seconds.
“You’ll need to stay still,” she said.
Harry could feel her digging at the rope’s tough fibers to work the knots free. From upstairs they heard Bellatrix’s voice.
“I’m going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?“
“We found it – we found it – PLEASE!” Hermione screamed again; Ron struggled harder than ever, and the rusty nail slipped onto Harry’s wrist.
“Ron, please stay still!” Luna whispered. “I can’t see what I’m doing – ”
“My pocket!” said Ron, “In my pocket, there’s a Deluminator, and it’s full of light!”
A few seconds later, there was a click, and the luminescent spheres the Deluminator had sucked from the lamps in the tent flew into the cellar: Unable to rejoin their sources, they simply hung there, like tiny suns, flooding the underground room with light. Harry saw Luna, all eyes in her white face, and the motionless figure of Ollivander the wandmaker, curled up on the floor in the corner. Craning around, he caught sight of their fellow prisoners: Dean and Griphook the goblin, who seemed barely conscious, kept standing by the ropes that bound him to the humans.
“Oh, that’s much easier, thanks, Ron,” said Luna, and she began hacking at their bindings again. “Hello, Dean!”
From above came Bellatrix’s voice.
“You’re lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!“
Another terrible scream–
“HERMIONE!”
“What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!”
“There!”
Harry felt the ropes fall away and turned, rubbing his wrists, to see Ron running around the cellar, looking up at the low ceiling, searching for a trapdoor. Dean, his face bruised and bloody, said “Thanks” to Luna and stood there, shivering, but Griphook sank onto the cellar floor, looking groggy and disoriented, many welts across his swarthy face.
Ron was now trying to Disapparate without a wand.
“There’s no way out, Ron,“ said Luna, watching his fruitless efforts. ”The cellar is completely escape-proof. I tried, at first. Mr. Ollivander has been here for a long time, he’s tried everything.“
Hermione was screaming again: The sound went through Harry like physical pain. Barely conscious of the fierce prickling of his scar, he too started to run around the cellar, feeling the walls for he hardly knew what, knowing in his heart that it was useless.
“What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!“
Hermione’s screams echoed off the walls upstairs, Ron was half sobbing as he pounded the walls with his fists, and Harry in utter desperation seized Hagrid’s pouch from around his neck and groped inside it: He pulled out Dumbledore’s Snitch and shook it, hoping for he did not know what – nothing happened – he waved the broken halves of the phoenix wand, but they were lifeless – the mirror fragment fell sparkling to the floor, and he saw a gleam of brightest blue –
Dumbledore’s eye was gazing at him out of the mirror.
“Help us!” he yelled at it in mad desperation. “We’re in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, help us!”
The eye blinked and was gone.
Harry was not even sure that it had really been there. He tilted the shard of mirror this way and that, and saw nothing reflected there but the walls and ceiling of their prison, and upstairs Hermione was screaming worse than ever, and next to him Ron was bellowing, “HERMIONE! HERMIONE!”
“How did you get into my vault?” they heard Bellatrix scream. “Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?”
“We only met him tonight!” Hermione sobbed. “We’ve never been inside your vault…. It isn’t the real sword! It’s a copy, just a copy!”
“A copy?” screeched Bellatrix. “Oh, a likely story!”
“But we can find out easily!” came Lucius’s voice. “Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!”
Harry dashed across the cellar to where Griphook was huddled on the floor.
“Griphook,” he whispered into the goblin’s pointed ear, “you must tell them that sword’s a fake, they mustn’t know it’s the real one, Griphook, please – ”
He could hear someone scuttling own the cellar steps; next moment, Draco’s shaking voice spoke from behind the door.
“Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don’t try anything, or I’ll kill you!”
They did as they were bidden; as the lock turned, Ron clicked the Deluminator and the lights whisked back into his pocket, restoring the cellar’s darkness. The door flew open; Malfoy marched inside, wand held out in front of him, pale and determined. He seized the little goblin by the arm and backed out again, dragging Griphook with him. The door slammed shut and at the same moment a loud crack echoed inside the cellar.
Ron clicked the Deluminator. Three balls of light flew back into the air from his pocket, revealing Dobby the house-elf, who had just Apparated into their midst.
“DOB –!”
Harry hit Ron on the arm to stop him shouting, and Ron looked terrified at his mistake. Footsteps crossed the ceiling overhead: Draco marching Griphook to Bellatrix.
Dobby’s enormous, tennis-ball shaped eyes were wide; he was trembling from his feet to the tips of his ears. He was back in the home of his old masters, and it was clear that he was petrified.
“Harry Potter,” he squeaked in the tiniest quiver of a voice, “Dobby has come to rescue you.”
“But how did you –?”
An awful scream drowned Harry’s words: Hermione was being tortured again. He cut to the essentials.
“You can Disapparate out of this cellar?” he asked Dobby, who nodded, his ears flapping.
“And you can take humans with you?”
Dobby nodded again.
“Right. Dobby, I want you to grab Luna, Dean, and Mr. Ollivander, and take them – take them to – “
“Bill and Fleur’s,” said Ron. “Shell Cottage on the outskirts of Tinworth!”
The elf nodded for a third time.
“And then come back,” said Harry. “Can you do that, Dobby?”
“Of course, Harry Potter,” whispered the little elf. He hurried over to Mr. Ollivander, who appeared to be barely conscious. He took one of the wandmaker’s hands in his own, then held out the other to Luna and Dean, neither of whom moved.
“Harry, we want to help you!” Luna whispered.
“We can’t leave you here,” said Dean.
“Go, both of you! We’ll see you at Bill and Fleur’s.”
As Harry spoke, his scar burned worse than ever, and for a few seconds he looked down, not upon the wandmaker, but on another man who was just as old, just as thin, but laughing scornfully.
“Kill me, then. Voldemort, I welcome death! But my death will not bring you what you seek…. There is so much you do not understand…”
He felt Voldemort’s fury, but as Hermione screamed again he shut it out, returning to the cellar and the horror of his own present.
“Go!” Harry beseeched to Luna and Dean. “Go! We’ll follow, just go!”
They caught hold of the elf’s outstretched fingers. There was another loud crack, and Dobby, Luna, Dean, and Ollivander vanished.
“What was that?” shouted Lucius Malfoy from over their heads. “Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar?”
Harry and Ron stared at each other.
“Draco – no, call Wormtail! Make him go and check!”
Footsteps crossed the room overhead, then there was silence. Harry knew that the people in the drawing room were listening for more noises from the cellar.
“We’re going to have to try and tackle him,” he whispered to Ron. They had no choice: The moment anyone entered the room and saw the absence of three prisoners, they were lost. “Leave the lights on,” Harry added, and as they heard someone descending the steps outside the door, they backed against the wall on either side of it.
“Stand back,” came Wormtail’s voice. “Stand away from the door. I’m coming in.”
The door flew open. For a split second Wormtail gazed into the apparently empty cellar, ablaze with light from the three miniature suns floating in midair. Then Harry and Ron launched themselves upon him. Ron seized Wormtail’s wand arm and forced it upwards. Harry slapped a hand to his mouth, muffling his voice. Silently they struggled: Wormtail’s wand emitted sparks; his silver hand closed around Harry’s throat.
“What is it, Wormtail?” called Lucius Malfoy from above.
“Nothing!” Ron called back, in a passable imitation of Wormtail’s wheezy voice. “All fine!”
Harry could barely breathe.
“You’re going to kill me?” Harry choked, attempting to prise off the metal fingers. “After I saved your life? You owe me, Wormtail!”
The silver fingers slackened. Harry had not expected it: He wrenched himself free, astonished, keeping his hand over Wormtail’s mouth. He saw the ratlike man’s small watery eyes widen with fear and surprise: He seemed just as shocked as Harry at what his hand had done, at the tiny, merciful impulse it had betrayed, and he continued to struggle more powerfully, as though to undo that moment of weakness.
“And we’ll have that,” whispered Ron, tugging Wormtail’s wand from his other hand.
Wandless, helpless, Pettigrew’s pupils dilated in terror. His eyes had slid from Harry’s face to something else. His own silver fingers were moving inexorably toward his own throat.
“No – ”
Without pausing to think, Harry tried to drag back the hand, but there was no stopping it. The silver tool that Voldemort had given his most cowardly servant had turned upon its disarmed and useless owner; Pettigrew was reaping his reward for his hesitation, his moment of pity; he was being strangled before their eyes.
“No!”
Ron had released Wormtail too, and together he and Harry tried to pull the crushing metal fingers from around Wormtail’s throat, but it was no use. Pettigrew was turning blue.
“Relashio!” said Ron, pointing the wand at the silver hand, but nothing happened; Pettigrew dropped to his knees, and at the same moment, Hermione gave a dreadful scream from overhead. Wormtail’s eyes rolled upward in his purple face; he gave a last twitch, and was still.
Harry and Ron looked at each other, then leaving Wormtail’s body on the floor behind them, ran up the stairs and back into the shadowy passageway leading to the drawing room. Cautiously they crept along it until they reached the drawing room door, which was ajar. Now they had a clear view of Bellatrix looking down at Griphook, who was holding Gryffindor’s sword in his long-fingered hands. Hermione was lying at Bellatrix’s feet. She was barely stirring.
“Well?” Bellatrix said to Griphook. “Is it the true sword?”
Harry waited, holding his breath, fighting against the prickling of his scar.
“No,” said Griphook. “It is a fake.”
“Are you sure?” panted Bellatrix. “Quite sure?”
“Yes,” said the goblin.
Relief broke across her face, all tension drained from it.
“Good,” she said, and with a casual flick of her wand she slashed another deep cut into the goblin’s face, and he dropped with a yell at her feet. She kicked him aside. “And now,” she said in a voice that burst with triumph, “we call the Dark Lord!”
And she pushed back her sleeve and touched her forefinger to the Dark Mark.
At once, Harry’s scar felt as though it had split open again. His true surroundings vanished: He was Voldemort, and the skeletal wizard before him was laughing toothlessly at him; he was enraged at the summons he felt – he had warned them, he had told them to summon him for nothing less than Potter. If they were mistaken…
“Kill me, then!” demanded the old man. “You will not win, you cannot win! That wand will never, ever be yours – ”
And Voldemort’s fury broke: A burst of green light filled the prison room and the frail old body was lifted from its hard bed and then fell back, lifeless, and Voldemort returned to the window, his wrath barely controllable…. They would suffer his retribution if they had no good reason for calling him back….
“And I think,” said Bellatrix’s voice, “we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her.”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
Ron had burst into the drawing room; Bellatrix looked around, shocked; she turned her wand to face Ron instead –
“Expelliarmus!” he roared, pointing Wormtail’s wand at Bellatrix, and hers flew into the air and was caught by Harry, who had sprinted after Ron. Lucius, Narcissa, Draco and Greyback wheeled about; Harry yelled, “Stupefy!” and Lucius Malfoy collapsed onto the hearth. Jets of light flew from Draco’s, Narcissa’s, and Greyback’s wands; Harry threw himself to the floor, rolling behind a sofa to avoid them.
“STOP OR SHE DIES!”
Panting, Harry peered around the edge of the sofa. Bellatrix was supporting Hermione, who seemed to be unconscious, and was holding her short silver knife to Hermione’s throat.
“Drop your wands,” she whispered. “Drop them, or we’ll see exactly how filthy her blood is!”
Ron stood rigid, clutching Wormtail’s wand. Harry straightened up, still holding Bellatrix’s.
“I said, drop them!” she screeched, pressing the blade into Hermione’s throat: Harry saw beads of blood appear there.
“All right!” he shouted, and he dropped Bellatrix’s wand onto the floor at his feet, Ron did the same with Wormtail’s. Both raised their hands to shoulder height.
“Good!” she leered. “Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!”
Harry knew it; his scar was bursting with the pain of it, and he could feel Voldemort flying through the sky from far away, over a dark and stormy sea, and soon he would be close enough to Apparate to them, and Harry could see no way out.
“Now,” said Bellatrix softly, as Draco hurried back to her with the wands. “Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight.”
At the last word there was a peculiar grinding noise from above. All of them looked upward in time to see the crystal chandelier tremble; then, with a creak and an ominous jingling, it began to fall. Bellatrix was directly beneath it; dropping Hermione, she threw herself aside with a scream. The chandelier crashed to the floor in an explosion of crystal and chains, falling on top of Hermione and the goblin, who still clutched the sword of Gryffindor. Glittering shards of crystal flew in all directions; Draco doubled over, his hands covering his bloody face.
As Ron ran to pull Hermione out of the wreckage, Harry took the chance: He leapt over an armchair and wrested the three wands from Draco’s grip, pointed all of them at Greyback, and yelled, “Stupefy!” The werewolf was lifted off his feet by the triple spell, flew up to the ceiling and then smashed to the ground.
As Narcissa dragged Draco out of the way of further harm, Bellatrix sprang to her feet, her hair flying as she brandished the silver knife; but Narcissa had directed her wand at the doorway.
“Dobby!” she screamed and even Bellatrix froze. “You! You dropped the chandelier –?”
The tiny elf trotted into the room, his shaking finger pointing at his old mistress.
“You must not hurt Harry Potter,” he squeaked.
“Kill him, Cissy!” shrieked Bellatrix, but there was another loud crack, and Narcissa’s wand too flew into the air and landed on the other side of the room.
“You dirty little monkey!” bawled Bellatrix. “How dare you take a witch’s wand, how dare you defy your masters?”
“Dobby has no master!” squealed the elf. “Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!”
Harry’s scar was blinding him with pain. Dimly he knew that they had moments, seconds before Voldemort was with them.
“Ron, catch – and GO!” he yelled, throwing one of the wands to him; then he bent down to tug Griphook out from under the chandelier. Hoisting the groaning goblin, who still clung to the sword, over one shoulder, Harry seized Dobby’s hand and spun on the spot to Disapparate.
As he turned into darkness he caught one last view of the drawing room of the pale, frozen figures of Narcissa and Draco, of the streak of red that was Ron’s hair, and a blue of flying silver, as Bellatrix’s knife flew across the room at the place where he was vanishing –
Bill and Fleur’s… Shell Cottage… Bill and Fleur’s…
He had disappeared into the unknown; all he could do was repeat the name of the destination and hope that it would suffice to take him there. The pain in his forehead pierced him, and the weight of the goblin bore down upon him; he could feel the blade of Gryffindor’s sword bumping against his back: Dobby’s hand jerked in his; he wondered whether the elf was trying to take charge, to pull them in the right direction, and tried, by squeezing the fingers, to indicate that that was fine with them….
And then they hit solid earth and smelled salty air. Harry fell to his knees, relinquished Dobby’s hand, and attempted to lower Griphook gently to the ground.
“Are you all right?” he said as the goblin stirred, but Griphook merely whimpered.
Harry squinted around through the darkness. There seemed to be a cottage a short way away under the wide starry sky, and he thought he saw movement outside it.
“Dobby, is this Shell Cottage?” he whispered, clutching the two wands he had brought from the Malfoys’, ready to fight if he needed to. “Have we come to the right place? Dobby?”
He looked around. The little elf stood feet from him.
“DOBBY!”
The elf swayed slightly, stars reflected in his wide, shining eyes. Together, he and Harry looked down at the silver hilt of the knife protruding from the elf’s heaving chest.
“Dobby – no – HELP!” Harry bellowed toward the cottage, toward the people moving there. “HELP!”
He did not know or care whether they were wizards or Muggles, friends or foes; all he cared about was that a dark stain was spreading across Dobby’s front, and that he had stretched out his own arms to Harry with a look of supplication. Harry caught him and laid him sideways on the cool grass.
“Dobby, no, don’t die, don’t die – ”
The elf’s eyes found him, and his lips trembled with the effort to form words.
“Harry… Potter…”
And then with a little shudder the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than great glassy orbs, sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see.
哈利向四周看了看他的两个同伴， 只是在黑暗中看到模糊的影子。 赫敏的魔杖也根本对准得不是外面，而是他的脸。随着一声巨响和一道白光，他痛苦的弯下身子， 
　　看不到任何东西。当沉重的脚步声逐渐包围他的时候，他可以感到脸在手掌下面迅速地膨胀。 
　　“起来，小杂种。” 
　　不知谁的手将哈利粗鲁的拽离地面，在他阻止前，已经有人在翻遍他的口袋并且拿走了他的李木魔杖。哈利极其痛苦地抓着自己的脸，感觉到手指下的脸已经面目全非， 
　　又紧又胀，就像他患上了严重的皮肤过敏。 
　　他的眼睛肿得只能睁开一条缝，几乎无法看见；他的眼镜又在他匆匆逃离帐篷的时候掉了：他唯一能辨认出的是四五个模糊的人影正在外面和罗恩与赫敏扭打着。 
　　“放-开-她!”罗恩叫道。 随着一阵清晰的关节抽打皮肤的声音:罗恩痛得直哼哼，赫敏发出尖叫， “不! 别碰他，别碰他!” 
　　“你的男朋友如果在我的名单上会受到比现在更糟的待遇，”一个可怕而熟悉的刺耳的声音传来， “可口的女孩……真是珍馐…… 我确实很喜欢柔软的皮肤……” 
　　哈利的胃在翻腾。 他知道这是芬里尔·格雷伯克，那个凭着自己的野性成为食死徒的狼人。 
　　“搜那顶帐篷！” 另一个声音说道。 
　　哈利被面朝下地扔在地上。砰的一声让他知道罗恩也被推倒在他旁边。 他们可以听到脚步声和撞击声； 那些人在搜索的时候正在推倒帐篷里的椅子。 
　　“现在，让我们来看看找到了什么，”格雷伯克沾沾自喜的声音从哈利的头上传来。哈利被翻转过来。一束魔杖的亮光直指他的脸， 格雷伯克哈哈大笑。 
　　“我需要黄油啤酒把这个洗掉。你怎么了，丑小子” 
　　哈利没有吱声。 
　　“我说，”格雷伯克重复道， 哈利感到耳朵受到沉重的一击这使得他的疼痛加倍。 “你怎么了？” 
　　“被蛰，”哈利咕哝着说道。“被蛰了。” 
　　“是的，看起来像是。”另一个声音传来。 
　　“你叫什么？”格雷伯克吼道 。 
　　“达力。”哈利说。 
　　“那你姓？” 
　　“我——弗农，弗农·达力。” 
　　“查查名单， 斯盖伯 。”格雷伯克说，哈利听见他移向旁边又低头看着罗恩，“那你呢，小活泼？” 
　　“斯坦桑帕克。”罗恩回答。 
　　“扯淡”，叫斯盖伯的男人说，“我们认识斯坦桑帕克，才不长你这样” 
　　又传来砰的一声。 
　　“我是巴蒂。”罗恩说，哈利可以想到罗恩满嘴都是血。 “巴蒂·韦斯莱。” 
　　“姓韦斯莱？”格雷伯克刺耳的说道。 “那么你就算不是麻瓜，也和血统叛逆者有关。最后，你漂亮的小女朋友……”他声音里包含的意味使哈利全身肌肉战栗。 
　　“放松， 格雷伯克” 斯盖伯 向其他嘲笑的人说道。 
　　“哦，我现在还不想咬她。 让我们来看看她是否会会更快地想起她的名字，小姑娘？” 
　　“佩内洛·克里瓦特”赫敏说到。她的声音听起来很惊恐但是很有信服力。 
　　“那你的血统是？” 
　　“混血。”赫敏说。 
　　“这很容易检查。”斯盖伯 说。“但是他们看起来都是还在上学的年纪。” 
　　“我们离校了。”罗恩说道。 
　　“左边的，你呢，小活泼？” 斯盖伯说道。“是你决定去露营？ 而且你认为为了好玩，你就可以用黑魔王的名字？” 
　　“不日（事）为了噢（好）玩”罗恩说。“是日外（意外）。” [注:因为罗恩嘴巴被揍了]。 
　　“意外？”嘲笑的人更多了。 
　　“你知道谁过去一直喜欢用黑魔王的名字吗，韦斯莱？”格雷伯克咆哮， “凤凰社成员。这对你来说有些什么意义吗？” 
　　“没日（有）。” 
　　“嗯，他们对黑魔王没有适当的尊敬， 因此这个名字已经成为禁忌。一小撮凤凰社成员就是那样被追踪的。我们会看到的。把他们和另外两个犯人绑在一起!” 
　　某人有人猛拉着哈利的头发将他拉起，拽着他走了一小段路，推他坐下，然后开始把他和其他人背对背绑在一起。哈利仍然是看不太清楚，只能看到什么从他肿胀的眼前越过的东西。 
　　等到最后绑他们的男人走开后，哈利低声和其他囚犯说话。 
　　“有人还有魔杖吗？” 
　　“没有。”罗恩和赫敏的声音各自从他的一侧传来。 
　　“都是我的错。我说了那个名字。对不起——” 
　　“哈利？” 
　　一个新的但是熟悉的声音传来。它就来自哈利的正背后，绑在赫敏左边的那个人。 
　　“迪安？” 
　　“是你! 如果他们发现他们已经抓到了谁-!他们是搜捕手， 他们现在只是在找逃难者把他们卖掉来换金子-” 
　　"一晚的收获不坏啊。” 格雷伯克说着，踏着一双一双钉着平头钉的靴子走到哈利身边，他们听见帐篷中传来更多撞击声。 “一个麻瓜 
　　，一个离家出走的丑小鬼和这些逃难者。你在名单上检查了他们的名字吗？斯盖伯？"他吼道。 
　　“是的。没有叫弗农达力的家伙， 格雷伯克。” 
　　“有趣，”格雷伯克说道。 “那真是有趣。” 
　　他在哈利身边蹲下来，哈利透过膨胀的眼皮之间留下的极小缝隙看到一张长着褐色尖牙，嘴角溃烂，覆盖着毫无光泽的灰色头发和络腮胡子的脸。 
　　格雷伯克闻起来和在塔顶也就是邓布利多死去的地方的那个时候一样:满身泥土味，汗味和血腥味。 
　　“所以你没有被通缉咯， 弗农？还是你是名单上面的别的名字呢？在。或你在一个不同的目录上吗？ 你在霍格沃茨的哪个学院？” 
　　“斯莱特林，”哈利自动说道。 
　　“有趣，他们都认为我们想听到那样的回答。” 斯盖伯从阴影中投射出恶意的目光。 “但他们没有一个人能够告诉我们斯莱特林的公共休息室在哪里。” 
　　“在地牢中。”哈利清楚地说。“你穿过那堵墙，里面全是头盖骨和原料，而且它在湖底， 因此光线都是绿色的，” 
　　一阵短暂的停顿。 
　　“好，好，看来我们真的抓到了一个小斯莱特林。” 斯盖伯 说。“这对你有好处，弗农，因为并没有多少斯莱特林是泥巴种。你的父亲是谁？” 
　　“他在魔法部工作。”哈利撒谎。他知道，哪怕一个小小的调查都会使他的整个故事被拆穿，但是另一方面，他只能这样做，尽力不捅乱子，直到他的脸恢复成平常的样子。 
　　“魔术意外事件和大灾难部。” 
　　“你知道嘛， 格雷伯克，”斯盖伯 说。“我想是有一个叫达力的在那里。” 
　　哈利几乎无法呼吸: 他能够幸运地，绝对幸运地将他们安全地带离这里吗？ 
　　“喔，喔。”格雷伯克道，哈利可以听出那无情的声音中带着极小的颤抖，他知道格雷伯克 
　　正在想他刚刚是否确实袭击并绑了魔法部官员的儿子。哈利的心在重重的撞击着肋骨周围的绳索；他感到若格雷伯克看到这个自己也不会觉得奇怪。 
　　“如果你正在说实话，丑小子，你就一点都不用害怕去一趟魔法部。我期待你的父亲会因为我拣到你而奖赏我们。” 
　　“但是，”哈利说，他口中干涩， “如果你只是让我们——” 
　　“嘿!”从里面帐篷里传来一声呼喊：“看这个。 格雷伯克!” 
　　一个黑色的身影匆忙走向他们，向他们靠近，在他们的魔杖发出的光中哈利看到了一道银光闪烁。他们已经发现了格兰芬多的宝剑。 
　　“很-很-很漂亮。”格雷伯克欣赏地说，从同伴手中拿过宝剑。 “噢，确实非常不错。看起来是妖精制作的。你从那儿弄到这样的东西的？” 
　　“它是我父亲的，”哈利谎称道，抱着一线希望，希望天色太黑使得格雷伯克看不到见到剑柄下面蚀刻的名字。”我们借了它来砍柴火-” 
　　“先放放手头的事， 格雷伯克!看看这个，预言家日报上写的!” 
　　在斯盖伯说这个的时候，哈利的伤疤紧贴着他肿胀的前额伸展着，剧烈的灼痛起来。他看到的东西比他所能辨认的自己周围任何事物还要清晰，他见到一栋高耸的建筑物，一座阴森的城堡，黑漆漆的令人生畏:伏地魔的思想突然再一次变得清晰无比； 
　　他正在带着一个愉快的目的滑向那栋巨大的建筑…… 
　　越来越近了……越来越近了…… 
　　哈利用巨大的意志力努力关闭了自己和伏地魔思想的联系，将自己的思想拉回到他坐的地方，和罗恩，赫敏，迪安还有拉环绑在一起呆在黑暗中，听着格雷伯克和 斯盖伯说话。 
　　“赫敏格兰杰，”斯盖伯念道， “那个据大家所知正在和哈利波特一起旅行的泥巴种。” 
　　哈利的疤痕在默默地灼痛，但他用最大的努力让自己的意识呆在现在的位置，而不滑入伏地魔的思想中去。他听到格雷伯克靴子的吱吱作响声，他在赫敏面前蹲下。 
　　“你知道吗，小姑娘？ 这张照片看着很像你。 
　　“不! 不是我!” 
　　赫敏受惊的尖叫声相当于在招供。 
　　“据大家所知正在和哈利波特一起旅行，” 格雷伯克静静的重复了一句。 
　　一片沉静。哈利的伤疤极其的疼痛，但是他用他所有的力量对抗进入伏地魔思想的引力。没有任何时刻比此刻留在自己的思想里更为重要。 
　　“嗯，这使事情有所改变，不是吗？”格雷伯克低声说道。没有人说话。哈利感到那群搜捕手在呆呆地看着，他也感觉到赫敏靠着他的手臂在瑟瑟发抖。格雷伯克站起身来，走了几步来到哈利坐的地方， 
　　再一次蹲下下来仔细地盯着他畸形的面孔看。 
　　 
　　“你前额上的这个是什么，弗农？"他轻声地问， 他的呼吸冲着哈利的鼻孔，并用一根污秽的手指按着那个伤疤。 
　　“不要碰它!”哈利大叫；他无法控制自己，他想他都快痛得要吐了。 
　　“我想你是戴眼镜的，是吗波特？” 格雷伯克低声问道。 
　　“我发现了眼镜!”一个都在后面的搜捕手喊道。 “帐篷里有眼镜， 格雷伯克，等一下——” 
　　片刻之后，哈利的破碎的眼镜被戴回到他的脸上。 搜捕手正在靠拢着凝视他。 
　　“就是他!” 格雷伯克发出刺耳的声音。 “我们抓住了波特！” 
　　他们全部向后退了几步， 
　　被他们的发现惊呆了。正在努力将自己的意识留在自己痛得像裂开的脑子里的哈利无法想到任何应对的话语。片断的影像正在他的意识中破碎成片——他正在藏在黑色的城堡高墙的周围——不，他是哈利，被绑了起来和没有魔杖，深处困境—— 
　　正在向上看，看格雷伯克向最高的窗户，最高的塔——他是哈利，而且他们正在低声讨论着他的命运—— 
　　——是飞的时间了。 
　　“去魔法部？” 
　　“让魔法部见鬼吧”格雷伯克咆哮道。 “他们会遵守信用，我们将看都看不到一眼我说，我们应该直接带他给神秘人。” 
　　“你要把他召唤到这里？”斯盖伯问，声音充满畏惧和惊恐。 
　　“不，”吼道， “我没有——他们说他现在用马尔福的家作为一个基地。我们把这个男孩带去那里。” 
　　哈利想他知道格雷伯克为什么没有在召唤伏地魔。只有当他们想要用他的时候，这个狼人才可能被允许穿着食死徒的袍子，但是只有伏地魔的亲信才能被烙上黑魔法标记: 
　　格雷伯克还没有被授予这个最高荣誉。 
　　哈利的疤痕再一次烧灼—— 
　　——他上升进入黑夜中，径直往那座塔的塔顶的窗户飞去—— 
　　“…… 完全确定是他？“因为如果不是， 格雷伯克，我们就完了。” 
　　“这里谁负责？”吼道，遮掩着他片刻的不确定。 “我说那就是波特，他加上他的魔杖，那可是二十万个加隆啊! 
　　但是如果你没胆量一起去，那就全是我的了，而不去，运气好的话，我会带这个丫头去!” 
　　——黑色岩石上的窗户只打开了一条最小的缝，不够一个人进入…… 从窗户只可以看到一个裹在毯子里的一个人形轮廓……是死了还是在睡觉……？ 
　　“好!”斯盖伯 说。“好，我们和你一起去!他们这些剩下的怎么办， 格雷伯克，我们怎么处置他们？” 
　　“最好多带些。 我们已经抓到两个麻瓜，那又是十个加隆。把剑也给我。如果它们是红宝石，那又是一笔小财。” 
　　犯人们被拖到他们脚边。 哈利可以听到赫敏的呼吸， 急速而惊恐。 
　　“抓牢绑紧。我来对付波特!” 格雷伯克说，他抓住哈利的一把头发；哈利可以感觉他黄色的长指甲正刮擦着他的头皮。 “数到3!1-2-3” 
　　他们拖着各自的囚犯幻影移形。哈利挣扎着， 试图挣开格雷伯克， 
　　但却是没有任何指望:罗恩和赫敏在两边紧紧地挤着他；他无法从其中分开，当呼吸被挤出他的身体时，他的伤疤更加灼痛—— 
　　——他强迫自己像蛇一样穿过一扇窗户的缝隙并着陆，像细胞中的水汽一样轻——向房间—— 
　　犯人们着陆在了在一条乡村小路上，他们由于战不闻而互相撞在对方身上。 
　　哈利的眼睛仍然肿胀，他花了一些时间适应新环境，然后他看见一扇双开的锻铁门在一条看起来像长跑道的大道的路口。他松了一小口气。最糟的事情还没有发生:伏地魔不在这里。因为哈利一直在抵抗着那个影像，所以他知道伏地魔现在正在某个奇怪的堡垒中，在一座塔的塔顶。一旦伏地魔知道哈利在这里，他需要多
Chapter 24 The Wandmaker
It was like sinking into an old nightmare; for an instant Harry knelt again beside Dumbledore’s body at the foot of the tallest tower at Hogwarts, but in reality he was staring at a tiny body curled upon the grass, pierced by Bellatrix’s silver knife. Harry’s voice was still saying, “Dobby…Dobby…” even though he knew that the elf had gone where he could not call him back.
After a minute or so he realized that they had, after all, come to the right place, for here were Bill and Fleur, Dean and Luna, gathering around him as he knelt over the elf. “Hermione,” he said suddenly. “Where is she?”
“Ron’s taken her inside,” said Bill. “She’ll be all right.” Harry looked back down at Dobby. He stretched out a hand and pulled the sharp blade from the elf’s body, then dragged off his own jacket and covered Dobby in it like a blanket.
The sea was rushing against the rock somewhere nearby; Harry listened to it while the others talked, discussing matters in which he could take no interest, making decisions, Dean carried the injured Griphook into the house, Fleur hurrying with them; now Bill was really knowing what he was saying. As he did so, he gazed down at the tiny body, and his scar prickled and burned, and in one part of his mind, viewed as if from the wrong end of a long telescope, he saw Voldemort punishing those they had left behind at the Malfoy Manor. His rage was dreadful and yet Harry’s grief for Dobby seemed to diminish it, so that it became a distant storm that reached Harry from across a vast, silent ocean.
“I want to do it properly,” were the first words of which Harry was fully conscious of speaking. “Not by magic. Have you got a spade?” And shortly afterward he had set to work, alone, digging the grave in the place that Bill had shown him at the end of the garden, between bushes. He dug with a kind of fury, relishing the manual work, glorying in the non-magic of it, for every drop of his sweat and every blister felt like a gift to the elf who had saved their lives.
His scar burned, but he was master of the pain, he felt it, yet was apart from it. He had learned control at last, learned to shut his mind to Voldemort, the very thing Dumbledore had wanted him to learn from Snape. Just as Voldemort had not been able to possess Harry while Harry was consumed with grief for Sirius, so his thoughts could not penetrate Harry now while he mourned Dobby. Grief, it seemed, drove Voldemort out…though Dumbledore, of course, would have said that it was love.
On Harry dug, deeper and deeper into the hard, cold earth, subsuming his grief in sweat, denying the pain in his scar. In the darkness, with nothing but the sound of his own breath and the rushing sea to keep him company, the things that had happened at the Malfoys’ returned to him, the things he had heard came back to him, and understanding blossomed in the darkness…
The steady rhythm of his arms beat time with his thoughts. Hallows…Horcruxes…Hallows…Horcruxes…yet no longer burned with that weird, obsessive longing. Loss and fear had snuffed it out. He felt as though he had been slapped awake again.
Deeper and deeper Harry sank into the grave, and he knew where Voldemort had been tonight, and whom he had killed in the topmost cell of Nurmengard, and why…
And he thought of Wormtail, dead because of one small unconscious impulse of mercy…Dumbledore had foreseen that…How much more had he known?
Harry lost track of time. He knew only that the darkness had lightened a few degrees when he was rejoined by Ron and Dean. “How’s Hermione?”
“Better,” said Ron. “Fleur’s looking after her.” Harry had his retort ready for when they asked him why he had not simply created a perfect grave with his wand, but he did not need it. They jumped down into the hole he had made with spades of their own and together they worked in silence until the hole seemed deep enough.
Harry wrapped the elf more snuggly in his jacket. Ron sat on the edge of the grave and stripped off his shoes and socks, which he placed on the elf’s bare feet. Dean produced a woolen hat, which Harry placed carefully upon Dobby’s head, muffling his batlike ears. “We should close his eyes.”
Harry had not heard the others coming through the darkness. Bill was wearing a traveling cloak, Fleur a large white apron, from the pocket of which protruded a bottle of what Harry recognized to be Skele-Gro. Hermione was wrapped in a borrowed dressing gown, pale and unsteady on her feet; Ron put an arm around her when she reached him. Luna, who was huddled in one of Fleur’s coats, crouched down and placed her fingers tenderly upon each of the elf’s eyelids, sliding them over his glassy stare. “There,” she said softly. “Now he could be sleeping.”
Harry placed the elf into the grave, arranged his tiny limbs so that he might have been resting, then climbed out and gazed for the last time upon the little body. He forced himself not to break down as he remembered Dumbledore’s funeral, and the rows and rows of golden chairs, and the Minister of Magic in the front row, the recitation of Dumbledore’s achievements, the stateliness of the white marble tomb. He felt that Dobby deserved just as grand a funeral, and yet here the elf lay between bushes in a roughly dug hole. “I think we ought to say something,” piped up Luna. “I’ll go first, shall I?”
And as everybody looked at her, she addressed the dead elf at the bottom of the grave. “Thank you so much Dobby for rescuing me from that cellar. It’s so unfair that you had to die when you were so good and brave. I’ll always remember what you did for us. I hope you’re happy now.”
She turned and looked expectingly at Ron, who cleared his throat and said in a thick voice, “yeah…thanks Dobby.”
“Thanks,” muttered Dean. Harry swallowed. “Good bye Dobby,” he said It was all he could manage, but Luna had said it all for him. Bill raised his wand, and the pile of earth beside the grave rose up into the air and fell neatly upon it, a small, reddish mound. “D’ya mind if I stay here a moment?” He asked the others.
They murmured words he did not catch; he felt gentle pats upon his back, and then they all traipsed back toward the cottage, leaving Harry alone beside the elf.
He looked around: There were a number of large white stones, smoothed by the sea, marking the edge of the flower beds. He picked up one of the largest and laid it, pillowlike, over the place where Dobby’s head now rested. He then felt in his pocket for a wand. There were two in there. He had forgotten, lost track; he could not now remember whose wands these were; he seemed to remember wrenching them out of someone’s hand. He selected the shorter of the two, which felt friendlier in his hand, and pointed it at the rock.
Slowly, under his murmured instruction, deep cuts appeared upon the rock’s surface. He knew that Hermione could have done it more neatly, and probably more quickly, but he wanted to mark the spot as he had wanted to dig the grave. When Harry stood up again, the stone read: HERE LIES DOBBY, A FREE ELF.
He looked at his handiwork for a few more seconds, then walked away, his scar still prickling a little, and his mind full of those things that had come to him in the grave, ideas that had taken shape in the darkness, ideas both fascinating and terrible.
They were all sitting in the living room when he entered the little hall, their attention focused upon Bill, who was talking. The room was light-colored, pretty, with a small fire of driftwood burning brightly in the fireplace. Harry did not want to drop mud upon the carpet, so he stood in the doorway, listening.
“…lucky that Ginny’s on holiday. If she’d been at Hogwarts they could have taken her before we reached her. Now we know she’s safe too.” He looked around and saw Harry standing there. “I’ve been getting them all out of the Burrow,” he explained. “Moved them to Muriel’s. The Death Eaters know Ron’s with you now, they’re bound to target the family – don’t apologize,” he added at the sight of Harry’s expression. “It was always a matter of time, Dad’s been saying so for months. We’re the biggest blood traitor family there is.”
“How are they protected?” asked Harry. “Fidelius Charm. Dad’s Secret-Keeper. And we’ve done it on this cottage too; I’m Secret-Keeper here. None of us can go to work, but that’s hardly the most important thing now. Once Ollivander and Griphook are well enough, we’ll move them to Muriel’s too. There isn’t much room here, but she’s got plenty. Griphook’s legs are on the mend. Fleur’s given him Skele-Growe could probably move them in an hour or – ”
“No,” Harry said and Bill looked startled. “I need both of them here. I need to talk to them. It’s important.” He heard the authority of his own voice, the conviction, the voice of purpose that had come to him as he dug Dobby’s grave. All of their faces were turned toward him looking puzzled.
“I’m going to wash,” Harry told Bill looking down at his hands still covered with mud and Dobby’s blood. “Then I’ll need to see them, straight away.” He walked into the little kitchen, to the basin beneath a window overlooking the sea. Dawn was breaking over the horizon, shell pink and faintly gold, as he washed, again following the train of thought that had come to him in the dark garden…
Dobby would never be able to tell them who had sent him to the cellar, but Harry knew what he had seen. A piercing blue eye had looked out of the mirror fragment, and then help had come. Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.
Harry dried his hands, impervious to the beauty of the scene outside the window and to the murmuring of the others in the sitting room. He looked out over the ocean and felt closer, this dawn, than ever before, closer to the heart of it all.
And still his scar prickled, and he knew that Voldemort was getting there too. Harry understood and yet did not understand. His instinct was telling him one thing, his brain quite another. The Dumbledore in Harry’s head smiled, surveying Harry over the tips of his fingers, pressed together as if in prayer.
You gave Ron the Deluminator…You understood him…You gave him a way back…
And you understood Wormtail too…You knew there was a bit of regret there, somewhere…
And if you knew them…What did you know about me, Dumbledore?
Am I meant to know but not to seek? Did you know how hard I’d feel that? Is that why you made it this difficult? So I’d have time to work that out?
Harry stood quite still, eyes glazed, watching the place where a bright gold ray of dazzling sun was rising over the horizon. Then he looked down at his clean hands and was momentarily surprised to see the cloth he was holding in them. He set it down and returned to the hall, and as he did so, he felt his scar pulse angrily, and then flashed across his mind, swift as the reflection of a dragonfly over water, the outline of a building he knew extremely well.
Bill and Fleur were standing at the foot of the stairs.
“I need to speak to Griphook and Ollivander,” Harry said.
“No,” said Fleur. “You will ‘ave to wait, ‘Arry. Zey are both too tired – ”
“I’m sorry,” he said without heat, “but it can’t wait. I need to talk to them now. Privately – and separately. It’s urgent.”
“Harry, what the hell’s going on?” asked Bill. “You turn up here with a dead house-elf and a half-conscious goblin, Hermione looks as though she’s been tortured, and Ron’s just refused to tell me anything – ”
“We can’t tell you what we’re doing,” said Harry flatly. “You’re in the Order, Bill, you know Dumbledore left us a mission. We’re not supposed to talk about it to anyone else.”
Fleur made an impatient noise, but Bill did not look at her; he was staring at Harry. His deeply scarred face was hard to read. Finally, Bill said, “All right. Who do you want to talk to first?”
Harry hesitated. He knew what hung on his decision. There was hardly any time left; now was the moment to decide: Horcruxes or Hallows?
“Griphook,” Harry said. “I’ll speak to Griphook first.”
His heart was racing as if he had been sprinting and had just cleared an enormous obstacle.
“Up here, then,” said Bill, leading the way.
Harry had walked up several steps before stopping and looking back.
“I need you two as well!” he called to Ron and Hermione, who had been skulking, half concealed, in the doorway of the sitting room.
They both moved into the light, looking oddly relieved.
“How are you?” Harry asked Hermione. “You were amazing – coming up with that story when she was hurting you like that – ”
Hermione gave a weak smile as Ron gave her a one-armed squeeze.
“What are we doing now, Harry?” he asked.
“You’ll see. Come on.”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed Bill up the steep stairs onto a small landing. Three doors led off it.
“In here,” said Bill, opening the door into his and Fleur’s room, it too had a view of the sea, now flecked with gold in the sunrise. Harry moved to the window, turned his back on the spectacular view, and waited, his arms folded, his scar prickling. Hermione took the chair beside the dressing table; Ron sat on the arm.
Bill reappeared, carrying the little goblin, whom he set down carefully upon the bed. Griphook grunted thanks, and Bill left, closing the door upon them all.
“I’m sorry to take you out of bed,” said Harry. “How are your legs?”
“Painful,” replied the goblin. “But mending.”
He was still clutching the sword of Gryffindor, and wore a strange look: half truculent, half intrigued. Harry noted the goblin’s sallow skin, his long thin fingers, his black eyes. Fleur had removed his shoes: His long feet were dirty. He was larger than a house-elf, but not by much. His domed head was much bigger than a human’s.
“You probably don’t remember – ” Harry began.
“ – that I was the goblin who showed you to your vault, the first time you ever visited Gringotts?” said Griphook. “I remember, Harry Potter. Even amongst goblins, you are very famous.”
Harry and the goblin looked at each other, sizing each other up. Harry’s scar was still prickling. He wanted to get through this interview with Griphook quickly, and at the same time was afraid of making a false move. While he tried to decide on the best way to approach his request, the goblin broke the silence.
“You buried the elf,” he said, sounding unexpectedly rancorous. “I watched you from the window of the bedroom next door.”
“Yes,” said Harry.
Griphook looked at him out of the corners of his slanting black eyes.
“You are an unusual wizard, Harry Potter.”
“In what way?” asked Harry, rubbing his scar absently.
“You dug the grave.”
“So?”
Griphook did not answer. Harry rather thought he was being sneered at for acting like a Muggle, but it did not matter to him whether Griphook approved of Dobby’s grave or not. He gathered himself for the attack.
“Griphook, I need to ask – ”
“You also rescued a goblin.”
“What?”
“You brought me here. Saved me.”
“Well, I take it you’re not sorry?” said Harry a little impatiently.
“No, Harry Potter,” said Griphook, and with one finger he twisted the thin black beard upon his chin, “but you are a very odd wizard.”
“Right,” said Harry. “Well, I need some help, Griphook, and you can give it to me.”
The goblin made no sign of encouragement, but continued to frown at Harry as though he had never seen anything like him.
“I need to break into a Gringotts vault.”
Harry had not meant to say it so badly: the words were forced from him as pain shot through his lightning scar and he saw, again, the outline of Hogwarts. He closed his mind firmly. He needed to deal with Griphook first. Ron and Hermione were staring at Harry as though he had gone mad.
“Harry – ” said Hermione, but she was cut off by Griphook.
“Break into a Gringotts vault?” repeated the goblin, wincing a little as he shifted his position upon the bed. “It is impossible.”
“No, it isn’t,” Ron contradicted him. “It’s been done.”
“Yeah,” said Harry. “The same day I first met you, Griphook. My birthday, seven years ago.”
“The vault in question was empty at the time,” snapped the goblin, and Harry understood that even though Griphook had let Gringotts, he was offended at the idea of its defenses being breached. “Its protection was minimal.”
“Well, the vault we need to get into isn’t empty, and I’m guessing its protection will be pretty powerful,” said Harry. “It belongs to the Lestranges.”
He saw Hermione and Ron look at each other, astonished, but there would be time enough to explain after Griphook had given his answer.
“You have no chance,” said Griphook flatly. “No chance at all. If you seek beneath our floors, a treasure that was never yours – ”
“Thief, you have been warned, beware – yeah, I know, I remember,” said Harry. “But I’m not trying to get myself any treasure, I’m not trying to take anything for personal gain. Can you believe that?”
The goblin looked slantwise at Harry, and the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead prickled, but he ignored it, refusing to acknowledge its pain or its invitation.
“If there was a wizard of whom I would believe that they did not seek personal gain,” said Griphook finally, “it would be you, Harry Potter. Goblins and elves are not used to the protection or the respect that you have shown this night. Not from wand-carriers.”
“Wand-carriers,” repeated Harry: The phrase fell oddly upon his ears as his scar prickled, as Voldemort turned his thoughts northward, and as Harry burned to question Ollivander next door.
“The right to carry a wand,” said the goblin quietly, “has long been contested between wizards and goblins.”
“Well, goblins can do magic without wands,” said Ron.
“That is immaterial! Wizards refuse to share the secrets of wand-lore with other magical beings, they deny us the possibility of extending our powers!”
“Well, goblins won’t share any of their magic either,” said Ron. “You won’t tell us how to make swords and armor the way you do. Goblins know how to work metal in a way wizards have never – ”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Harry, noting Griphook’s rising color. “This isn’t about wizards versus goblins or any other sort of magical creature – ”
Griphook gave a nasty laugh.
“But it is, it is precisely that! As the Dark Lord becomes ever more powerful, your race is set still more firmly above mine! Gringotts falls under Wizarding rule, house-elves are slaughtered, and who amongst the wand-carriers protests?”
“We do!” said Hermione. She had sat up straight, her eyes bright. “We protest! And I’m hunted quite as much as any goblin or elf, Griphook! I’m a Mudblood!”
“Don’t call yourself – ” Ron muttered.
“Why shouldn’t I?” said Hermione. “Mudblood, and proud of it! I’ve got no higher position under this new order than you have, Griphook! It was me they chose to torture, back at the Malfoys!”
As she spoke, she pulled aside the neck of the dressing gown to reveal the thin cut Bellatrix had made, scarlet against her throat.
“Did you know that it was Harry who set Dobby free?” she asked. “Did you know that we’ve wanted elves to be freed for years?” (Ron fidgeted uncomfortably on the arm of Hermione’s chair.) “You can’t want You-Know-Who defeated more than we do, Griphook!”
The goblin gazed at Hermione with the same curiousity he had shown Harry.
“What do you seek within the Lestranges’ vault?” he asked abruptly. “The sword that lies inside it is a fake. This is the real one.” He looked from one to the other of them. “I think that you already know this. You asked me to lie for you back there.”
“But the fake sword isn’t the only thing in that vault, is it?” asked Harry. “Perhaps you’ve seen other things in there?”
His heart was pounding harder than ever. He redoubled his efforts to ignore the pulsing of his scar.
The goblin twisted his beard around his finger again.
“It is against our code to speak of the secrets of Gringotts. We are the guardians of fabulous treasures. We have a duty to the objects placed in our care, which were, so often, wrought by our fingers.”
The goblin stroked the sword, and his black eyes roved from Harry to Hermione to Ron and then back again.
“So young,” he said finally, “to be fighting so many.”
“Will you help us?” said Harry. “We haven’t got a hope of breaking in without a goblin’s help. You’re our one chance.”
“I shall… think about it,” said Griphook maddeningly.
“But – ” Ron started angrily; Hermione nudged him in the ribs.
“Thank you,” said Harry.
The goblin bowed his great domed head in acknowledgement, then flexed his short legs.
“I think,” he said, settling himself ostentatiously upon Bill and Fleur’s bed, “that the Skele-Gro has finished its work. I may be able to sleep at last. Forgive me….”
“Yeah, of course,” said Harry, but before leaving the room he leaned forward and took the sword of Gryffindor from beside the goblin. Griphook did not protest, but Harry thought he saw resentment in the goblin’s eyes as he closed the door upon him.
“Little git,” whispered Ron. “He’s enjoying keeping us hanging.”
“Harry,” whispered Hermione, pulling them both away from the door, into the middle of the still-dark landing, “are you saying what I think you’re saying? Are you saying there’s a Horcrux in the Lestranges vault?”
“Yes,” said Harry. “Bellatrix was terrified when she thought we’d been in there, she was beside herself. Why? What did she think we’d seen, what else did she think we might have taken? Something she was petrified You-Know-Who would find out about.”
“But I thought we were looking for places You-Know-Who’s been, places he’s done something important?” said Ron, looking baffled. “Was he ever inside the Lestranges’ vault?”
“I don’t know whether he was ever inside Gringotts,” said Harry. “He never had gold there when he was younger, because nobody left him anything. He would have seen the bank from the outside, though, the first time he ever went to Diagon Alley.”
Harry’s scar throbbed, but he ignored it; he wanted Ron and Hermione to understand about Gringotts before they spoke to Ollivander.
“I think he would have envied anyone who had a key to a Gringotts vault. I think he’d have seen it as a real symbol of belonging to the Wizarding world. And don’t forget, he trusted Bellatrix and her husband. They were his most devoted servants before he fell, and they went looking for him after he vanished. He said it might he came back, I heard him.”
Harry rubbed his scar.
“I don’t think he’d have told Bellatrix it was a Horcrux, though. He never told Lucius Malfoy the truth about the diary. He probably told her it was a treasured possession and asked her to place it in her vault. The safest place in the world for anything you want to hide, Hagrid told me… except for Hogwarts.”
When Harry had finished speaking, Ron shook his head.
“You really understand him.”
“Bits of him,” said Harry. “Bits… I just wish I’d understood Dumbledore as much. But we’ll see. Come on – Ollivander now.”
Ron and Hermione looked bewildered but very impressed as they followed him across the little landing and knocked upon the door opposite Bill and Fleur’s. A weak “Come in!” answered them.
The wandmaker was lying on the twin bed farthest from the window. He had been held in the cellar for more than a year, and tortured, Harry knew, on at least one occasion. He was emaciated, the bones of his face sticking out sharply against the yellowish skin. His great silver eyes seemed vast in their sunken sockets. The hands that lay upon the blanket could have belonged to a skeleton. Harry sat down on the empty bed, beside Ron and Hermione. The rising sun was not visible here. The room faced the cliff-top garden and the freshly dug grave.
“Mr. Ollivander, I’m sorry to disturb you,” Harry said.
“My dear boy,” Ollivander’s voice was feeble. “You rescued us, I thought we would die in that place, I can never thank you… never thank you… enough.”
“We were glad to do it.”
Harry’s scar throbbed. He knew, he was certain, that there was hardly any time left in which to beat Voldemort to his goal, or else to attempt to thwart him. He felt a flutter of panic… yet he had made his decision when he chose to speak to Griphook first. Feigning a calm he did not feel, he groped in the pouch around his neck and took out the two halves of his broken wand.
“Mr. Ollivander, I need some help.”
“Anything. Anything.” Said the wandmaker weakly.
“Can you mend this? Is it possible?”
Ollivander held out a trembling hand, and Harry placed the two barely connected halves in his palm.
“Holly and phoenix feather,” said Ollivander in a tremulous voice. “Eleven inches. Nice and supple.”
“Yes,” said Harry. “Can you –?”
“No,” whispered Ollivander. “I am sorry, very sorry, but a wand that has suffered this degree of damage cannot be repaired by any means that I know of.”
Harry had been braced to hear it, but it was a blow nevertheless. He took the wand halves back and replaced them in the pouch around his neck. Ollivander stared at the place where the shattered wand had vanished, and did not look away until Harry had taken from his pocket the two wands he had brought from the Malfoys’.
“Can you identify these?” Harry asked.
The wandmaker took the first of the wands and held it close to his faded eyes, rolling it between his knobble-knuckled fingers, flexing it slightly.
“Walnut and dragon heartstring,” he said. “Twelve-and-three-quarter inches. Unyielding. This wand belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange.”
“And this one?”
Ollivander performed the same examination.
“Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy. This was the wand of Draco Malfoy.”
“Was?” repeated Harry. “Isn’t it still his?”
“Perhaps not. If you took it – ”
“ – I did – ”
“ – then it may be yours. Of course, the manner of taking matters. Much also depends upon the wand itself. In general, however, where a wand has been won, its allegiance will change.”
There was a silence in the room, except for the distant rushing of the sea.
“You talk about wands like they’ve got feelings,” said Harry, “like they can think for themselves.”
“The wand chooses the wizard,” said Ollivander. “That much has always been clear to those of us who have studied wandlore.”
“A person can still use a wand that hasn’t chosen them, though?” asked Harry.
“Oh yes, if you are any wizard at all you will be able to channel your magic through almost any instrument. The best results, however, must always come where there is the strongest affinity between wizard and wand. These connections are complex. An initial attraction, and then a mutual quest for experience, the wand learning from the wizard, the wizard from the wand.”
The sea gushed forward and backward; it was a mournful sound.
“I took this wand from Draco Malfoy by force,” said Harry. “Can I use it safely?”
“I think so. Subtle laws govern wand ownership, but the conquered wand will usually bend its will to its new master.”
“So I should use this one?” said Ron, pulling Wormtail’s wand out of his pocket and handing it to Ollivander.
“Chestnut and dragon heartstring. Nine-and-a-quarter inches. Brittle. I was forced to make this shortly after my kidnapping, for Peter Pettigrew. Yes, if you won it, it is more likely to do your bidding, and do it well, than another wand.”
“And this holds true for all wands, does it?” asked Harry.
“I think so,” replied Ollivander, his protuberant eyes upon Harry’s face. “You ask deep questions, Mr. Potter. Wandlore is a complex and mysterious branch of magic.”
“So, it isn’t necessary to kill the previous owner to take the possession of a wand?” asked Harry.
Ollivander swallowed.
“Necessary? No, I should not say that it is necessary to kill.”
“There are legends, though,” said Harry, and as his heart rate quickened, the pain in his scar became more intense; he was sure that Voldemort has decided to put his idea into action. “Legends about a wand – or wands – that have been passed from hand to hand by murder.”
Ollivander turned pale. Against the snowy pillow he was light gray, and his eyes were enormous, bloodshot, and bulging with what looked like fear.
“Only one wand, I think,” he whispered.
“And You-Know-Who is interested in it, isn’t he?” asked Harry.
“I – how?” croaked Ollivander, and he looked appealingly at Ron and Hermione for help. “How do you know this?”
“He wanted you to tell him how to overcome the connection between our wands,” said Harry.
Ollivander looked terrified.
“He tortured me, you must understand that! The Cruciatus Curse, I – I had no choice but to tell him what I knew, what I guessed!”
“I understand,” said Harry. “You told him about the twin cores? You said he just had to borrow another wizard’s wand?”
Ollivander looked horrified, transfixed, by the amount that Harry knew. He nodded slowly.
“But it didn’t work,” Harry went on. “Mine still beat the borrowed wand. Do you know why that is?”
Ollivander shook his head slowly as he had just nodded.
“I had… never heard of such a thing. Your wand performed something unique that night. The connection of the twin cores is incredibly rare, yet why your wand would have snapped the borrowed wand, I do not know….”
“We were talking about the other wand, the wand that changes hands by murder. When You-Know-Who realized my wand had done something strange, he came back and asked about that other wand, didn’t he?”
“How do you know this?”
Harry did not answer.
“Yes, he asked,” whispered Ollivander. “He wanted to know everything I could tell him about the wand variously known as the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, or the Elder Wand.”
Harry glanced sideways at Hermione. She looked flabbergasted.
“The Dark Lord,” said Ollivander in hushed and frightened tones, “had always been happy with the wand I made him – yes and phoenix feather, thirteen-and-a-half inches. – until he discovered the connection of the twin cores. Now he seeks another, more powerful wand, as the only way to conquer yours.”
“But he’ll know soon, if he doesn’t already, that mine’s broken beyond repair,” said Harry quietly.
“No!” said Hermione, sounding frightened. “He can’t know that, Harry, how could he –?”
“Priori Incantatem,” said Harry. “We left your wand and the blackthorn wand at the Malfoys’, Hermione. If they examine them properly, make them re-create the spells they’ve cast lately, they’d see that yours broke mine, they’ll see that you tried and failed to mend it, and they’ll realize that I’ve been using the blackthorn one ever since.”
The little color she had regained since their arrival had drained from her face. Ron gave Harry a reproachful look, and said, “Let’s not worry about that now –”
But Mr. Ollivander intervened.
“The Dark Lord no longer seeks the Elder Wand only for your destruction, Mr. Potter. He is determined to possess it because he believes it will make him truly invulnerable.”
“And will it?”
“The owner of the Elder Wand must always fear attack,” said Ollivander, “but the idea of the Dark Lord in possession of the Deathstick is, I must admit… formidable.”
Harry was suddenly reminded of how unsure, when they first met, of how much he liked Ollivander. Even now, having been tortured and imprisoned by Voldemort, the idea of the Dark Wizard in possession of this wand seemed to enthrall him as much as it repulsed him.
“You – you really think this wand exists, then, Mr. Ollivander?” asked Hermione.
“Oh yes,” said Ollivander. “Yes, it is perfectly possible to trace the wand’s course through history. There are gaps, of, course, and long ones, where it vanishes from view, temporarily lost or hidden; but always it resurfaces. It has certain identifying characteristics that those who are learned in wandlore recognize. There are written accounts, some of them obscure, that I and other wandmakers have made it our business to study. They have the ring of authenticity.”
“So you – you don’t think it can be a fairy tale or a myth?” Hermione asked hopefully.
“No,” said Ollivander. “Whether it needs to pass by murder, I do not know. Its history is bloody, but that may be simply due to the fact that it is such a desirable object, and arouses such passions in wizards. Immensely powerful, dangerous in the wrong hands, and an object of incredible fascination to all of us who study the power of wands.”
“Mr. Ollivander,” said Harry, “you told You-Know-Who that Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand, didn’t you?”
Ollivander turned, if possible, even paler. He looked ghostly as he gulped.
“But how – how do you –?”
“Never mind how I know it,” said Harry, closing his eyes momentarily as his scar burned and he saw, for mere seconds, a vision of the main street in Hogsmeade, still dark, because it was so much farther north. “You told You-Know-Who that Gregorovitch had the wand?”
“It was a rumor,” whispered Ollivander. “A rumor, years and years ago, long before you were born I believe Gregorovitch himself started it. You can see how good it would be for business; that he was studying and duplicating the qualities of the Elder Wand!”
“Yes, I can see that,” said Harry. He stood up. “Mr. Ollivander, one last thing, and then we’ll let you get some rest. What do you know about the Deathly Hallows?”
“The – the what?” asked the wandmaker, looking utterly bewildered.
“The Deathly Hallows.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is this still something to do with wands?”
Harry looked into the sunken face and believed that Ollivander was not acting. He did not know about the Hallows.
“Thank you,” said Harry. “Thank you very much. We’ll leave you to get some rest now.”
Ollivander looked stricken.
“He was torturing me!” he gasped. “The Cruciatus Curse… you have no idea….”
“I do,” said Harry, “I really do. Please get some rest. Thank you for telling me all of this.”
 
He led Ron and Hermione down the staircase. Harry caught glimpses of Bill, Fleur, Luna, and Dean sitting at the table in the kitchen, cups of tea in front of them. They all looked up at Harry as he appeared in the doorway, but he merely nodded to them and continued into the garden, Ron and Hermione behind him. The reddish mound of earth that covered Dobby lay ahead, and Harry walked back to it, as the pain in his head built more and more powerfully. It was a huge effort now to close down the visions that were forcing themselves upon him, but he knew that he would have to resist only a little longer. He would yield very soon, because he needed to know that his theory was right. He must make only one more short effort, so that he could explain to Ron and Hermione.
“Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand a long time ago,” he said, “I saw You-Know-Who trying to find him. When he tracked him down, he found that Gregorovitch didn’t have it anymore: It was stolen from him by Grindelwald. How Grindelwald found out that Gregorovitch had it, I don’t know – but if Gregorovitch was stupid enough to spread the rumor, it can’t have been that difficult.”
 
Voldemort was at the gates of Hogwarts; Harry could see him standing there, and see too the lamp bobbing in the pre-dawn, coming closer and closer.
 
“And Grindelwald used the Elder Wand to become powerful. And at the height of his power, when Dumbledore knew he was the only one who could stop him, he dueled Grindelwald and beat him, and he took the Elder Wand.“
“Dumbledore had the Elder Wand?” said Ron. “But then – where is it now?”
“At Hogwarts,” said Harry, fighting to remain with them in the cliff-top garden.
“But then, let’s go!” said Ron urgently. “Harry, let’s go and get it before he does!”
“It’s too late for that,” said Harry. He could not help himself, but clutched his head, trying to help it resist. “He knows where it is. He’s there now.”
“Harry!” Ron said furiously. “How long have you known this – why have we been wasting time? Why did you talk to Griphook first? We could have gone – we could still go – ”
“No,” said Harry, and he sank to his knees in the grass. “Hermione’s right. Dumbledore didn’t want me to have it. He didn’t want me to take it. He wanted me to get the Horcruxes.”
“The unbeatable wand, Harry!” moaned Ron.
“I’m not supposed to… I’m supposed to get the Horcruxes….”
 
And now everything was cool and dark: The sun was barely visible over the horizon as he glided alongside Snape, up through the grounds toward the lake.
“I shall join you in the castle shortly,” he said in his high, cold voice. “Leave me now.”
Snape bowed and set off back up the path, his black cloak billowing behind him. Harry walked slowly, waiting for Snape’s figure to disappear. It would not do for Snape, or indeed anyone else, to see where he was going. But there were no lights in the castle windows, and he could conceal himself… and in a second he had cast upon himself a Disillusionment Charm that hid him even from his own eyes.
And he walked on, around the edge of the lake, taking in the outlines of the beloved castle, his first kingdom, his birthright….
And here it was, beside the lake, reflected in the dark waters. The white marble tomb, an unnecessary blot on the familiar landscape. He felt again that rush of controlled euphoria, that heady sense of purpose in destruction. He raised the old yew wand: How fitting that this would be its last great act.
The tomb split open from head to foot. The shrouded figure was as long as thin as it had been in life. He raised the wand again.
The wrappings fell open. The face was translucent, pale, sunken, yet almost perfectly preserved. They had left his spectacles on the crooked nose: He felt amused derision. Dumbledore’s hands were folded upon his chest, and there it lay, clutched beneath them, buried with him.
Had the old fool imagined that marble or death would protect the wand? Had he thought that the Dark Lord would be scared to violate his tomb? The spiderlike hand swooped and pulled the wand from Dumbledore’s grasp, and as he took it, a shower of sparks flew from its tip, sparkling over the corpse of its last owner, ready to serve a new master at last.
宛如再次陷进过往的梦魇，那一瞬间，哈利似乎回到了霍格沃兹的高塔下，再一次跪在邓布利多的身旁，而事实上，他双眼紧盯的是那个蜷缩在草地上，身上插着贝拉特里克斯那把银色小刀的尸体。即使哈利知道那小精灵已经离开了，不可能再被唤回来，他仍然一直喊着：“多比，多比！” 
　　良久，他才意识到他们已经到了目的地了，比尔，芙蓉，迪安，卢娜都聚在他身边。 
　　“赫敏，”他突然喊道，“赫敏呢，她在哪里？” 
　　“罗恩把她带进去了，”比尔说，“她会没事的。”哈利转头看了看多比，伸出手把他身上那锋利的小刀拔了出来。接着他脱了自己的夹克，像盖毯子一样把它盖在多比身上。 
　　不远处，大海冲击着岩石。哈利对身边的其他人讨论和决定的内容一点都不感兴趣，他侧耳倾听着海浪的声音。迪安把受伤的拉环带进房间里，芙蓉匆忙跟在他们身后，比尔建议把小精灵埋葬，哈利同意了，可是实际上他并不完全知道比尔在说什么。他低头看着那瘦小尸体的时候，头额上的伤疤再次开始灼热疼痛，在头脑中的某个角落里，如同从望远镜的另一端往里看，他看到伏地魔正在马尔福庄园里惩罚着那些被他们甩掉的家伙们。哈利感受到的伏地魔那可怕的愤怒，似乎因多比带来的悲伤而稍稍减弱，那种愤怒仿佛一场遥远的风暴，穿越辽阔寂静的大海，来到哈利身边。 
　　“我想用最合适的方式来埋葬它。”这是哈利完全回过神来所说的第一句话，“不用魔法，有铁锨吗？”没过多久，哈利就独自一人开始工作了，比尔带他去了花园尽头的灌木丛旁边，哈利在那里开始挖掘坟墓。他拼命地挖着，不使用任何魔法——因为他是那么的尊敬多比，每一滴晶莹的汗水和每一个水泡都凝结着无尽的感恩之情，就像给这个小精灵的礼物一样，感谢它为救大家而所做的一切。 
　　他的伤疤还在发烫，但他控制住了那疼痛，他并不是感觉不到，只是他竭尽全力不去理会那疼痛，他终于成功地学会了驾驭那伤疤，学会了阻止伏地魔对自己思想施加影响，这都是邓布利多希望他能从斯内普身上学到的东西，正如当初哈利为小天狼星感到悲伤时伏地魔不能控制哈利一样。如今，当哈利为多比感到特别难过的时候，伏地魔也一样不能控制哈利。似乎是悲痛让伏地魔远离哈利——邓布利多说过这其实是爱的力量。 
　　哈利不断朝深处挖，泥土变得越来越硬，越来越冷，他的汗滴蕴涵着他的悲伤，而同时他也抵抗着头上的疼痛。黑暗中，陪伴在他身边的只有他自己的呼吸声和海浪声。他想起了马尔福家中发生的一切，想起了他听到的那些东西，在黑暗中他突然想明白了。 
　　他的双臂随着思想有节奏地运动着，死圣……魂器……死圣……魂器……那疼痛随着这奇怪的强迫性的想法而停止了，他想是失落和担心令它停止的——他幡然醒悟过来。 
　　哈利站在坟墓里，坟墓越来越深了，他知道了今晚伏地魔去了哪里，他知道伏地魔在努尔蒙德的顶楼杀的人是谁，知道为什么要杀他… 
　　紧接着他想到了虫尾巴，仅仅是因为那潜意识里仁慈而死掉了……邓不里多曾经预见到了这点，那他还预见过别的什么吗？ 
　　哈利失去了时间的概念，他只知道当罗恩和迪安加入的时候，夜色没有那么深了。“赫敏现在怎样了？”“还不错，”罗恩说，“芙蓉正在照顾着她。”如果他们会问他为什么情愿用铲子而不简简单单地用魔杖制造一个更完美的坟墓，哈利已经准备好了答案，但他们并没有问，大家都跳进了他已经挖了一半的坟墓，然后默默地帮助哈利一起挖，直到这个洞足够深为止。 
　　哈利用夹克紧紧地包裹着小精灵，罗恩站在坟墓的边缘，脱掉了鞋和袜子，然后把它们套在精灵的赤足上，迪安拿出了一个羊毛制的帽子，哈利把帽子戴在多比头上，盖住它那蝙蝠一样的耳朵。“我们应该将它的眼睛合上。” 
　　在黑暗中，哈利没有听到大家走过来的脚步，比尔穿着旅行用的斗篷，芙蓉的则是很大的白色的围裙，哈利看到围裙口袋里装了一瓶生骨药水。赫敏穿着一条借来的长裙，面色苍白，摇摇晃晃，罗恩搂住了她。卢娜穿着芙蓉的衣服蹲了下来，用手轻轻地将精灵的眼睛合上，“就这样，”她说，“现在它应该可以安息了。” 
　　哈利把小精灵放进坟墓，让他那小小的四肢放平，这样，他就可以好好的休息了。然后，哈利从坟墓里爬出来，看了看多比最后一眼。如同在邓不里多的葬礼上一样。那一排排金色的座位，坐在正前排的魔法部长，叙述着邓不里多一生的成就，白色的坚硬的坟墓看上去很庄严，他拼命的克制着自己，以免因为想起那些而崩溃。他忽然意识到多比也应该得到一个很隆重的葬礼，但现在它却只是躺在一个粗糙的矮树丛里的坟墓里。 
　　“我想我们应该说点什么，”卢娜说道，“我先说吧，可以吗？” 
　　大家看着她，她开始为那处于坟墓中的精灵发表致辞：“感谢多比将我从地窖里拯救了出来，让你在那么勇敢的时候死去是一件多么不公平的事情，我们永远不会忘记你为我们所做的一切，希望你现在可以幸福。” 
　　她转过头来，满怀期待地看着罗恩，罗恩清了清嗓子，用沉重的语气说，“感谢多比……”迪安则低声说了句，“谢谢。”“再见了多比。”哈利艰难地说，这是他唯一能做到的事情了，卢娜已经说了该说的一切。比尔举起魔杖，坟墓周围的泥土升到空中，随后平整地覆盖住坟墓，形成了一个小小的，红色的土丘。“你们不介意我在这多呆一会吧？”哈利说。 
　　他们说着低低的耳语，他什么都听不到，只是感觉到自己的后背被别人轻轻地拍了几下，然后其他人都回到屋子里面去了，只留下哈利一个人，继续留在多比的身边。 
　　他向周围望了望，看到花床的旁边有很多被海水冲刷十分光滑的白色石头。他挑了一个最大的，放到多比头部的那个位置上。然后他在口袋里摸索着魔杖，此时在口袋里放着两根魔杖，分不清哪根才是属于自己的，他似乎记得另一根是从谁的手里抢而来的。哈利拿出比较短的让他觉得更顺手的那一根，对准了那块石头。 
　　慢慢地，在他轻声的咒语下，石头的表面出现了深深的划痕，他知道赫敏或许做的更快更好，但他希望这一切能由自己来完成，就像刚才自己亲手来为多比挖坟墓一样。当哈利再次站起来的时候，石头上已经刻好这样几个字：多比长眠于此，一个自由的精灵。 
　　他又看了几眼那块石碑，然后慢慢地离开了。额头上的伤疤还是会痛，脑子里充斥着刚才在坟墓中想到的事情，那些在黑暗中成型的既吸引人又可怕的想法。 
　　当他走回小客厅的时候，大家都在房间里坐着，注意力集中在正在说话的比尔身上。房间的色调是浅色的，非常漂亮，壁炉里正用枯木生着小火。哈利他不想让身上的泥土搞脏房间的地毯，所以他站在门口倾听着。 
　　“……还好金妮在放假，如果她在霍格沃兹的话，他们可能会在我们赶到前就把她抓走了，我们知道她现在是安全的。”他环视一圈，看到哈利站在那里。“我已经让他们离开陋居了，让他们搬到穆莉尔姨妈那里去，食死徒知道了罗恩和你在一起，他们把我们家整个的当作靶子了——不要觉得抱歉。”当他看到哈利的表情时，他又加了一句，“这只是时间的问题，爸爸已经这样说了好几个月，我们是最有号召力的纯血统叛乱者。” 
　　“他们进行了什么保护措施？”哈利问。 
　　“赤胆忠心魔咒，爸爸是保密人。我们对这个房子也施加了同样的咒语，我是这里的保密人，大家都不能去上班了，但那不重要。一旦奥利凡德和拉环身体复原，我们就把他们也送到穆莉尔姨妈那里去。这里的房间不是很够，但我想她那里的一定很充足。拉环的腿伤正在好转，芙蓉给他擦了生骨药水，或许再过一个小时我们就能把他送走了。” 
　　“不，”哈利说，这让比尔感到了吃惊。“我需要他们留在这里，我有事要和他们谈，这很重要。”他在自己的声音里听到了一种威严，还有那份坚定，类似的声音也在他刚才挖掘坟墓的时候出现过。其他人看着他，显得很迷惑。 
　　“我要去洗个澡了，”哈利对比尔说，看着自己那满是污泥和多比的鲜血的手，“然后我会去见见他们。”说完他走出了房间，走进了一个小厨房，那里有一个浴缸，靠着一扇可以遥望大海的窗户。太阳从海平线下升了上来，像海滩边的贝壳一样有些粉红，绽放着微弱的金色光芒。洗澡的时候，在黑暗的花园中产生的想法又一次闯进了他的脑海。 
　　多比再也不可能告诉他们是谁把他送进地窖的了，但哈利知道他看到了什么，那蓝色的眼睛透过破碎的镜片已经知晓了一切，然后援助就来了。在霍格沃兹，只要你需要，你就可以得到援助。 
　　哈利擦干了手，没有被窗外的美景和外面的人声所打动，他看着窗外的大海，觉得这拂晓越来越近了，比以往都更靠近，靠近他的心。 
　　伤疤还是会痛，他知道伏地魔也在想着同一件事情。哈利似乎明白却又不是完全明白，他的直觉告诉着他，他的大脑好像不完全属于自己，在脑海里邓布利多正在微笑，用手柔和地抚摸着哈利的头，又像是在祈祷一样双手互扣着。 
　　你给了罗恩熄灯器，你理解他，所以你给了他一条退路。 
　　你也理解虫尾巴，你知道在他心中某个角落，还保留着一丝悔意。 
　　如果你是理解他们的……那你会怎么看待我呢？邓布利多。 
　　这一切……是否我最终会找到答案？你知道为了做到这一切我有多么的难受吗？这也是不是正是你让它变得困难的原因？为了让我有足够的时间去解决？ 
　　哈利仍然静静地站着，双眼无神地看着在海平线上耀眼的太阳发出明亮的光辉，然后他低下头看着自己干净的手，忽然惊讶的看到手里抓的衣服，他放下衣服回到客厅，就在这时，他觉得伤疤愤怒的跳动着，一个想法突然如蜻蜓点水一样划过。他知道那个建筑物是什么了。 
　　比尔和芙蓉都站在楼梯的旁边。 
　　哈利说：“我想和奥利凡德和拉环谈谈。” 
　　“不行，”芙蓉拒绝了，“你必须等等，他们需要休息。” 
　　“对不起，”哈利平静地说，“不能再等了。我必须和他们谈一下，私下的、独立的谈话。这是非常紧急的”。 
　　“哈利。到底发生什么该死的事情了？”比尔问，“你出现在这里，带着一个死去的小精灵和另一个失去意识的小妖精，赫敏就像受尽了折磨一般，罗恩什么都不愿意告诉我——” 
　　“我们不能告诉你我们在做着什么。”哈利平静地说，“我想你最好不要插手，比尔，你是凤凰社的人，你知道邓布利多给了我们一个任务，我们不能把它透漏给任何人。” 
　　芙蓉不耐烦地哼了一声，可比尔并没有看她，只是盯着哈利。很难读懂他那带着深深伤疤的脸，终于，比尔说道：“好吧，你想先跟谁谈？” 
　　哈利迟疑了，他知道他的决定取决于什么，剩下的时间已经不多，是该做出决定的时候了：魂器？还是死圣？ 
　　“拉环，”他说，“我要先和拉环谈谈” 
　　他的心跳得很快，就像是刚跑完百米冲刺并清除了一个很大的障碍。 
　　“这边来吧。”比尔边说边带路。 
　　哈利向前走了几步，回过头来说。 
　　“我还需要你们两个，”他叫上偷偷地躲在起居室的门后的罗恩和赫敏。 
　　他们两个马上走出来，看起来古怪地松了口气。 
　　“还好吗？”哈利问赫敏，“你真令我惊讶，在她那样地伤害你时还能想出了那个故事。” 
　　赫敏虚弱地笑了笑。罗恩用一只胳膊搂住了她。 
　　“我们要去做什么，哈利？”他问。 
　　“等会你就知道了，来吧” 
　　哈利，赫敏，罗恩跟着比尔走上台阶，来到狭窄的楼梯平台，这里有三扇门。 
　　“来这里，”比尔说着打开他和芙蓉房间，这里也可以看到大海，太阳正缓缓升起，海面泛着金色的光斑。哈利走向窗户，背对着那壮观的景色，双手合抱，等待着，他的伤疤隐隐作痛。赫敏坐在梳妆台前的椅子上，罗恩坐在扶手上。 
　　比尔再次出现时，带来了一个小妖精，他小心地把小妖精放在床上，拉环咕哝地说了声“谢谢”，然后比尔走出房把门关上，只留下他们。 
　　“我很抱歉要把你从床上叫出来。”哈利说，“你的脚怎样了？” 
　　“很痛，”它回答说，“但正在愈合。” 
　　他还是紧紧地握着格兰芬多的宝剑，带着一副很奇怪的表情，一半凶狠，一半好奇，哈利看着它菜色的皮肤，细长的手指和黑色的眼睛，芙蓉已经把它的鞋给脱了：他那长长的脚上很脏，他比一个家养小精灵大，但不是大很多，可他那秃顶的头远远大于人类的头。 
　　“或许你已经不记得了，”哈利说， 
　　“在你第一次来到古灵阁的时候，我是带你到你的金库去的那个小妖精？”拉环说，“我记得，哈利波特，甚至在妖精的世界里，你也是非常出名的。” 
　　哈利和拉环相互对视着，也在估量着对方，哈利的伤疤还是在痛，他想快点结束和拉环的谈话，同时却又担心说错话，正当他考虑着该如何开口时，拉环先打破了沉默。 
　　“你埋了那个精灵，”他说，口气里意外的带着怨恨，“我是透过隔壁睡房的窗口看到的。” 
　　“是的，”哈利说。 
　　拉环那斜斜的黑眼睛用余光看着哈利。 
　　“你是个与众不同的巫师，哈利波特。” 
　　“在哪个方面，”哈利问，一边心不在焉地摸着伤疤。 
　　“你挖了个坟墓” 
　　“所以呢？” 
　　拉环没有回答。哈利甚至觉得自己像麻瓜一样的行为被妖精嘲笑了。但它对多比的坟墓赞许或反对都无关紧要，他准备要发言了。 
　　“拉环。我想问的是…” 
　　“你同时也救了一个妖精。” 
　　“什么？” 
　　“你救了我，把我带到了这里。” 
　　“恩，我想你并不觉得抱歉吧，”哈利有点不耐烦地说。 
　　“不，哈利波特。”拉环说，它用一个手指摆弄着下巴周围的黑色胡须。“但你真是个特别的巫师。” 
　　“对啊。”哈利说，“呃，我需要你的帮助，拉环。而且你能做到”。 
　　拉环并没鼓励哈利继续说下去，它仍对哈利皱着眉，仿佛哈利是他从没见过的东西。 
　　“我需要闯进古灵阁的一间金库。” 
　　哈利本来不想以这种不恰当的方式说出来，但这些话已经脱口而出了，这时疼痛刺激着他那闪电状的伤疤，眼前浮现出霍格沃茨的轮廓。他坚定地封闭了自己的大脑，他需要先解决好和拉环的问题。 
　　罗恩和赫敏看着哈利，似乎以为他疯了。 
　　“哈利……”赫敏刚开口，就被拉环打断了。 
　　“闯进古灵阁的金库？”小妖精重复了一边，它在床上换了下位置，向后缩了缩，“那是不可能的。” 
　　“不，那是可以的，”罗恩反驳，“有人做到过。” 
　　“没错，”哈利说，“正发生在我第一次见你---七年前我生日那天，拉环。” 
　　“出事的金库当时是空的。”妖精马上说，哈利理解，尽管拉环已经离开古灵阁，但是防卫被突破的这种观点让它很生气，“那里几乎没有保护措施。” 
　　“但我们要闯的金库不是空的，我想它的保护措施肯定很严密，”哈利说，“它属于莱斯特兰奇。” 
　　他看到赫敏和罗恩吃惊地望着对方，但是等拉环回答完了以后，有的是时间向他们解释。 
　　“你没有机会的，”拉环无力地说，“一点机会都没有，如果你在地下拿了任何不属于你的宝物……” 
　　“就是小偷，你以前警告过的，是的，我知道，我都没忘，”哈利说，“但我并不是要把财宝据为己有，你能相信吗？” 
　　小妖怪斜视着哈利，哈利前额的伤疤又开始作痛了，但他没有理会，不愿意接受伤疤的疼痛或邀请。 
　　“如果有哪个巫师能让我相信他不会为了私利而这样做，”拉环终于说道，“我想那个人就是你，你今晚给予了我们保护和尊重---那是妖怪和精灵一直都没从拿着魔杖的人身上得到过的。” 
　　“拿着魔杖的人？”哈利重复着，这种说法听上起很奇特，随着伤疤的刺痛，伏地魔把他的想法引向北边，哈利着急地走向隔壁房间，想询问奥利凡德。 
　　“携带魔杖的权利，”妖精静静地说，“巫师和妖精争夺了很久。” 
　　“嗯……妖精不需要魔杖也可以使用魔法，”罗恩说。 
　　“那不重要！巫师不肯和其他魔法生物分享魔杖的秘密，他们阻止了我们增强法力的可能性。” 
　　“呃……妖精也并不会把他们的魔法与别人分享，”罗恩说，“你们也并不会告诉我们如何像妖精一样制作宝剑和盔甲。妖精处理金属的方法是巫师们从来都不知道的——” 
　　“那不重要，”哈利看到拉环的脸色变了，赶紧说道。“这和巫师与妖精或者其他魔法生物的对立没有关系——” 
　　拉环露出了一个令人厌恶的笑容。 
　　“非常有关系，恰恰就是这里的问题！随着黑魔王力量的增强，你们愈加稳固的踩在我们头上！古灵阁被巫师条例所统治，家养小精灵被屠杀，那些拿着魔杖的人，有谁会反抗？” 
　　“我们会！”赫敏说。她坐直身体，眼睛明亮。“我们会反抗！我也被追捕，如同任何一个妖精和精灵一样！我是泥巴种！” 
　　“不要管你自己叫——”罗恩咕哝道。 
　　“为什么不能？”赫敏说，“我是泥巴种，我为此感到自豪！拉环，在新的秩序下，我的地位比你们都要高！在马尔福家里，我是那个被他们选出来严刑拷问的人！” 
　　她一边说着，一边拉开睡裙的领口，露出了贝拉特里克斯在她脖子上留下的猩红色细小伤痕。 
　　“你知道让多比得到自由的人是哈利吗？”赫敏问，“你知道我们为了精灵的自由努力了好几年吗？”（罗恩坐在赫敏的椅子扶手上有些坐立不安。） 
　　“你比我们更加不希望神秘人取得胜利，拉环！” 
　　妖精看赫敏的表情与刚才看哈利的一样好奇。 
　　“你们想要在莱斯特兰奇的金库里找什么？”他轮流的看着他们三个的脸。“我想你已经知道了，你要我替你撒了谎。” 
　　“但是那个金库里并不是只有一把假剑，不是吗？”哈利问，“或许你见过里面其他的东西？”他的心跳从来没像现在这么快过，他加倍努力的忽略伤疤带来的疼痛。 
　　妖精再一次用手指卷绕着自己的胡须。“讲出古灵阁的秘密，是违反我们的法规的。我们是传说中的财宝的守护者，我们对于自己做出的东西有责任。” 
　　妖精敲了一下那把剑，黑色的眼珠依次从哈利、赫敏、罗恩的脸上来回扫了一遍。 
　　“这么年轻，”他说，“就要与那么多人战斗。” 
　　“你会帮助我们吗？”哈利问，“没有妖精的帮助，我们就没有闯进去的希望，你是我们唯一的机会。” 
　　“我要……考虑一下，”拉环令人恼火的说。 
　　“但是——”罗恩生气想要讲话，赫敏轻轻的碰了碰他的肋骨，阻止了他。 
　　“谢谢你。”哈利说。 
　　妖精点了点他那又大又圆的头，曲起腿。 
　　“我认为，”他炫耀的坐在比尔和芙蓉的床上说，“生骨药水已经完成它的使命了，我要睡觉了，请原谅……” 
　　“噢，当然，”哈利说，临走之前，他弯下腰，从拉环身边拿走了格兰芬多宝剑。拉环并没阻止他，但是哈利看到拉环在关门的时候，眼中透出一丝怨恨。 
　　“小妖精，”罗恩轻声的说，“他在吊我们的胃口！” 
　　“哈利，”赫敏把他们俩从门口拉到黑暗的楼梯平台中央，小声的说，“你说的是我理解的那个意思吗？你的意思是说莱斯特兰奇的金库里有魂器？” 
　　“是的，”哈利说，“贝拉特里克斯以为我们去过那里，她差点吓疯了。为什么呢？她以为我们看见了什么东西？她以为我们拿走了什么东西？她吓呆了，如果那东西丢了，神秘人一定会知道。” 
　　“但是我以为我们是在寻找神秘人去过的地方，他做过什么大事的地方，不是吗？”罗恩迷惑地说，“他去过莱斯特兰奇的金库吗？” 
　　“我不知道他是不是去过古灵阁的内部，”哈利说，“他年轻的时候，在那里并没有存款，因为没人给他留过遗产。他从外部见过古灵阁银行，在第一次去尖叫棚屋的时候。” 
　　哈利的伤疤跳动着作痛，但他没理会，在去见奥利凡德之前，他想让罗恩和赫敏对古灵阁的情况多了解一些。 
　　“我想，他嫉妒每一个拥有古灵阁金库钥匙的人，他认为那是属于巫师世界的真实象征。别忘了，他信任贝拉特里克斯夫妇，在他垮台之前，他们是他最忠诚的仆人，当他消失以后，贝拉特里克斯夫妇仍然继续的寻找他。他回来的那个晚上讲过这些话，我听到了。” 
　　哈利揉了揉他的伤疤。 
　　“我想，他并没有告诉贝拉
Chapter 25 Shell Cottage
Bill and Fleur’s cottage stood alone on a cliff overlooking the sea, its walls embedded with shells and whitewashed. It was a lonely and beautiful place. Wherever Harry went inside the tiny cottage or its garden, he could hear the constant ebb and flow of the sea, like the breathing of some great, slumbering creature. He spent much of the next few days making excuses to escape the crowded cottage, craving the cliff-top view of open sky and wide, empty sea, and the feel of cold, salty wind on his face. The enormity of his decision not to race Voldemort to the wand still scared Harry. He could not remember, ever before, choosing /not/ to act. He was full of doubts, doubts that Ron could not help voicing whenever they were together.
“What if Dumbledore wanted us to work out the symbol in time to get the wand?”
“What if working out what the symbol meant made you ‘worthy’ to get the Hallows?”
“Harry, if that really is the Elder Wand, how the hell are we supposed to finish off You-Know-Who?”
Harry had no answers: There were moments when he wondered whether it had been outright madness not to try to prevent Voldemort breaking open the tomb. He could not even explain satisfactorily why he had decided against it: Every time he tried to reconstruct the internal arguments that had led to his decision, they sounded feebler to him.
The odd thing was that Hermione’s support made him feel just as confused as Ron’s doubts. Now forced to accept that the Elder Wand was real, she maintained that it was an evil object, and that the way Voldemort had taken possession of it was repellent, not to be considered.
“You could never have done that, Harry,” she said again and again. “You couldn’t have broken into Dumbledore’s grave.”
But the idea of Dumbledore’s corpse frightened Harry much less than the possibility that he might have misunderstood the living Dumbledore’s intentions. He felt that he was still groping in the dark; he had chosen his path but kept looking back, wondering whether he had misread the signs, whether he should not have taken the other way. From time to time, anger at Dumbledore crashed over him again, powerful as the waves slamming themselves against the cliff beneath the cottage, anger that Dumbledore had not explained before he died.
“But /is/ he dead?” said Ron, three days after they had arrived at the cottage. Harry had been staring out over the wall that separated the cottage garden from the cliff when Ron and Hermione had found him; he wished they had not, having no wish to join in with their argument.
“Yes, he is. Ron, please, don’t start that again!”
“Look at the facts, Hermione,” said Ron, speaking across Harry, who continued to gaze at the horizon. “The solve doe. The sword. The eye Harry saw in the mirror –”
“Harry admits he could have imagined the eye! Don’t you, Harry?”
“I could have,” said Harry without looking at her.
“But you don’t thing you did, do you?” asked Ron.
“No, I don’t,” said Harry.
“There you go!” said Ron quickly, before Hermione could carry on. “If it wasn’t Dumbledore, explain how Dobby knew we were in the cellar, Hermione?”
“I can’t – but can you explain how Dumbledore sent him to us if he’s lying in a tomb at Hogwarts?”
“I dunno, it could’ve been his ghost!”
“Dumbledore wouldn’t come back as a ghost,” said Harry. There was little about Dumbledore he was sure of now, but he knew that much. “He would have gone on.”
“What d’you mean, ‘gone on’?” asked Ron, but before Harry could say any more, a voice behind them said, “‘Arry?”
Fleur had come out of the cottage, her long silver hair flying in the breeze.
“‘Arry, Grip’ook would like to speak to you. ‘E eez in ze smallest bedroom, ‘e says ‘e does not want to be over’eard.”
Her dislike of the goblin sending her to deliver messages was clear; she looked irritable as she walked back around the house.
Griphook was waiting for them, as Fleur had said, in the tiniest of the cottage’s three bedrooms, in which Hermione and Luna slept by night. He had drawn the red cotton curtains against the bright, cloudy sky, which gave the room a fiery glow at odds with the rest of the airy, light cottage.
“I have reached my decision, Harry Potter,” said the goblin, who was sitting cross-legged in a low chair, drumming its arms with his spindly fingers. “Though the goblins of Gringotts will consider it base treachery, I have decided to help you –”
“That’s great!” said Harry, relief surging through him. “Griphook, thank you, we’re really –”
“– in return,” said the goblin firmly, “for payment.”
Slightly taken aback, Harry hesitated.
“How much do you want? I’ve got gold.”
“Not gold,” said Griphook. “I have gold.”
His black eyes glittered; there were no whites to his eyes.
“I want the sword. The sword of Godric Gryffindor.”
Harry’s spirits plummeted.
“You can’t have that,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Then,” said the goblin softly, “we have a problem.”
“We can give you something else,” said Ron eagerly. “I’ll bet the Lestranges have got loads of stuff, you can take your pick once we get into the vault.”
He had said the wrong thing. Griphook flushed angrily.
“I am not a thief, boy! I am not trying to procure treasures to which I have no right!”
“The sword’s ours –”
“it is not,” said the goblin.
“We’re Gryffindors, and it was Godric Gryffindor’s –”
“And before it was Gryffindor’s, whose was it?” demanded the goblin, sitting up straight.
“No one’s,” said Ron. “It was made for him, wasn’t it?”
“No!” cried the goblin, bristling with anger as he pointed a long finger at Ron. “Wizarding arrogance again! That sword was Ragnuk the First’s, taken from him by Godric Gryffindor! It is a –, a masterpiece of goblinwork! It belongs with the gobl–. The sword is the price of my hire, take it or leave it!”
Griphook glared at them. Harry glanced at the other –, then said, “We need to discuss this, Griphook, if that’s all right. Could you give us a few minutes?”
The goblin nodded, looking sour.
Downstairs in the empty sitting room, Harry walked to the fireplace, brow furrowed, trying to think what to do. Behind him, Ron said, “He’s having a laugh. We can’t let him have that sword.”
“It is true?” Harry asked Hermione. “Was the sword stolen by Gryffindor?”
“I don’t know,” she said hopelessly. “Wizarding history often skates over what the wizards have done to other magical races, but there’s no account that I know of that says Gryffindor stole the sword.”
“It’ll be one of those goblin stories,” said Ron, “about how the wizards are always trying to get one over on them. I suppose we should think ourselves lucky he hasn’t asked for one of our wands.”
“Goblins have got good reason to dislike wizards, Ron.” said Hermione. “They’ve been treated brutally in the past.”
“Goblins aren’t exactly fluffy little bunnies, though, are they?” said Ron. “They’ve killed plenty of us. They’ve fought dirty too.”
“But arguing with Griphook about whose race is most underhanded and violent isn’t going to make him more likely to help us, is it?”
There was a pause while they tried to think of a way around the problem. Harry looked out of the window at Dobby’s grave. Luna was arranging sea lavender in a jam jar beside the headstone.
“Okay,” said Ron, and Harry turned back to face him, “how’s this? We tell Griphook we need the sword until we get inside the – and then he can have it. There’s a fake in these, isn’t there? We switch them, and give him the fake.”
“Ron, he’d know the difference better than we would!” said Hermione. “He’s the only one who realized there had been a swap!”
“Yeah, but we could – caper before he realizes –”
He quailed beneath the look Hermione was giving him.
“That,” she said quietly, “is despicable. Ask for his help, then double-cross him? And you wonder why goblins don’t like wizards, Ron?”
Ron’s ears had turned red.
“All right, all right! It was the only thing I could think of! What’s your solution, then?”
“We need to offer him something else, something just as valuable.”
“Brilliant, I’ll go and get one of our ancient goblin-made swords and you can gift wrap it.”
Silence fell between them again. Harry was sure that the goblin would accept nothing but the sword, even if they had something as valuable to offer him. Yet the sword was their one, indispensable weapon against the Horcruxes.
He closed his eyes for a moment or two and listened to the rush of the sea. The idea that Gryffindor might have stolen the sword was unpleasant to him: He had always been proud to be a Gryffindor; Gryffindor had been the champion of Muggle-borns, the wizard who had clashed with the pureblood-loving Slytherin….
“Maybe he’s lying,” Harry said, opening his eyes again. “Griphook. Maybe Gryffindor didn’t take the sword. How do we know the goblin version of history’s right?”
“Does it make a difference?” asked Hermione.
“Changes how I feel about it,” said Harry.
He took a deep breath.
“We’ll tell him he can have the sword after he’s helped us get into that vault – but we’ll be careful to avoid telling him exactly /when/ he can have it.”
A grin spread slowly across Ron’s face. Hermione, however, looked alarmed.
“Harry, we can’t –”
“He can have it,” Harry went on, “after we’ve used it on all of the Horcruxes. I’ll make sure he gets it then. I’ll keep my word.”
“But that could be years!” said Hermione.
“I know that, but /he/ needn’t. I won’t be lying… really.”
Harry met her eyes with a mixture of defiance and shame. He remembered the words that had been engraved over the gateway to Nurmengard: FOR THE GREATER GOOD. He pushed the idea away. What choice did they have?
“I don’t like it,” said Hermione.
“Nor do I, much,” Harry admitted.
“Well, I think it’s genius,” said Ron, standing up again. “Let’s go and tell him.”
Back in the smallest bedroom, Harry made the offer, careful to phrase it so as not to give any definite time for the handover of the sword. Hermione frowned at the floor while he was speaking; he felt irritated at her, afraid that she might give the game away. However, Griphook had eyes for nobody but Harry.
“I have your word, Harry Potter, that you will give me the sword of Gryffindor if I help you?”
“Yes,” said Harry.
“Then shake,” said the goblin, holding out his hand.
Harry took it and shook. He wondered whether those black eyes saw any misgivings in his own. Then Griphook relinquished him, clapped his hands together, and said, “So. We begin!”
It was like planning to break into the Ministry all over again. They settled to work in the smallest bedroom, which was kept, according to Griphook’s preference, in semidarkness.
“I have visited the Lestranges’ vault only once,” Griphook told them, “on the occasion I was told to place inside it the false sword. It is one of the most ancient chambers. The oldest Wizarding families store their treasures at the deepest level, where the vaults are largest and best protected….”
They remained shut in the cupboardlike room for hours at a time. Slowly the days stretched into weeks. There was problem after problem to overcome, not least of which was that their store of Polyjuice Potion was greatly depleted.
“There’s really only enough left for one of us,” said Hermione, tilting the thick mudlike potion against the lamplight.
“That’ll be enough,” said Harry, who was examining Griphook’s hand-drawn map of the deepest passageways.
The other inhabitants of Shell Cottage could hardly fail to notice that something was going on now that Harry, Ron and Hermione only emerged for mealtimes. Nobody asked questions, although Harry often felt Bill’s eyes on the three of them at the table, thoughtful, concerned.
The longer they spent together, the more Harry realized that he did not much like the goblin. Griphook was unexpectedly bloodthirsty, laughed at the idea of pain in lesser creatures and seemed to relish the possibility that they might have to hurt other wizards to reach the Lestranges’ vault. Harry could tell that his distaste was shared by the other two, but they did not discuss it. They needed Griphook.
The goblin ate only grudgingly with the rest of them. Even after his legs had mended, he continued to request trays of food in his room, like the still-frail Ollivander, until Bill (following an angry outburst from Fleur) went upstairs to tell him that the arrangement could not continue. Thereafter Griphook joined them at the overcrowded table, although he refused to eat the same food, insisting, instead, on lumps of raw meat, roots, and various fungi.
Harry felt responsible: It was, after all, he who had insisted that the goblin remain at Shell Cottage so that he could question him; his fault that the whole Weasley family had been driven into hiding, that Bill, Fred, George, and Mr. Weasley could no longer work.
“I’m sorry,” he told Fleur, one blustery April evening as he helped her prepare dinner. “I never meant you to have to deal with all of this.”
She had just set some knives to work, chipping up steaks for Griphook and Bill, who had preferred his meat bloody ever since he had been attacked by Greyback. While the knives sliced behind her, her somewhat irritable expression softened.
“‘Arry, you saved my sister’s life, I do not forget.”
This was not, strictly speaking, true, but Harry decided against reminding her that Gabrielle had never been in real danger.
“Anyway,” Fleur went on, pointing her want at a pot of sauce on the stove, which began to bubble at once, “Mr. Ollivander leaves for Muriel’s zis evening. Zat will make zings easier. Ze goblin,” she scowled a little at the mention of him, “can move downstairs, and you, Ron, and Dean can take zat room.”
“We don’t mind sleeping in the living room,” said Harry, who knew that Griphook would thing poorly of having to sleep on the sofa; keeping Griphook happy was essential to their plans. “Don’t worry about us.” And when she tried to protest he went on, “We’ll be off your hands soon too, Ron, Hermione, and I. We won’t need to be here much longer.”
“But, what do you mean?” she said, frowning at him, her wand pointing at the casserole dish now suspended in midair. “Of course you must not leave, you are safe ‘ere!”
She looked rather like Mrs. Weasley as she said it, and he was glad that the back door opened at that moment. Luna and Dean entered, their hair damp from the rain outside and their arms full of driftwood.
“… and tiny little ears,” Luna was saying, “a bit like hippo’s, Daddy says, only purple and hairy. And if you want to call them, you have to hum; they prefer a waltz, nothing too fast….”
Looking uncomfortable, Dean shrugged at Harry as he passed, following Luna into the combined dining and sitting room where Ron and Hermione were laying the dinner table.
Seizing the chance to escape Fleur’s questions, Harry grabbed two jugs of pumpkin juice and followed them.
“… and if you ever come to our house I’ll be able to show you the horn, Daddy wrote to me about it but I haven’t seen it yet, because the Death Eaters took me from the Hogwarts Express and I never got home for Christmas,” Luna was saying, as she and Dean relit the fire.
“Luna, we told you,” Hermione called over to her. “That horn exploded. It came from an Erumpent, not a Crumple-Horned Snorkack –”
“No, it was definitely a Snorkack horn,” said Luna serenely, “Daddy told me. It will probably have re-formed by now, they mend themselves, you know.”
Hermione shook her head and continued laying down forks as Bill appeared, leading Mr. Ollivander down the stairs. The wandmaker still looked exceptionally frail, and he clung to Bill’s arm as the latter supported him, carrying a large suitcase.
“I’m going to miss you, Mr. Ollivander,” said Luna, approaching the old man.
“And I you, my dear,” said Ollivander, patting her on the shoulder.
“You were an inexpressible comfort to me in that terrible place.”
“So, au revoir, Mr. Ollivander,” said Fleur, kissing him on both cheeks. “And I wonder whezzer you could oblige me by delivering a package to Bill’s Auntie Muriel? I never returned ‘er tiara.”
“It will be an honor,” said Ollivander with a little bow, “the very least I can do in return for your generous hospitality.”
Fleur drew out a worn velvet case, which she opened to show the wandmaker. The tiara sat glittering and twinkling in the light from the low-hanging lamp.
“Moonstones and diamonds,” said Griphook, who had sidled into the room without Harry noticing. “Made by goblins, I think?”
“And paid for by wizards,” said Bill quietly, and the goblin shot him a look that was both furtive and challenging.
A strong wind gusted against the cottage windows as Bill and Ollivander set off into the night. The rest of them squeezed in around the table; elbow to elbow and with barely enough room to move, they started to eat. The fire crackled and popped in the grate beside them. Fleur, Harry noticed, was merely playing with her food; she glanced at the window every few minutes; however, Bill returned before they had finished their first course, his long hair tangled by the wind.
“Everything’s fine,” he told Fleur. “Ollivander settled in, Mum and Dad say hello. Ginny sends you all her love, Fred and George are driving Muriel up the wall, they’re still operating an Owl-Order business out of her back room. It cheered her up to have her tiara back, though. She said she thought we’d stolen it.”
“Ah, she eez charmant, your aunt,” said Fleur crossly, waving her wand and causing the dirty plates to rise and form a stack in midair. She caught them and marched out of the room.
“Daddy’s made a tiara,” piped up Luna, “Well, more of a crown, really.”
Ron caught Harry’s eye and grinned; Harry knew that he was remembering the ludicrous headdress they had seen on their visit to Xenophilius.
“Yes, he’s trying to re-create the lost diadem of Ravenclaw. He thinks he’s identified most of the main elements now. Adding the billywig wings really made a difference –”
There was a bang on the front door. Everyone’s head turned toward it. Fleur came running out of the kitchen, looking frightened; Bill jumped to his feed, his wand pointing at the door; Harry, Ron, and Hermione did the same. Silently Griphook slipped beneath the table, out of sight.
“Who is it?” Bill called.
“It is I, Remus John Lupin!” called a voice over the howling wind. Harry experienced a thrill of fear; what had happened? “I am a werewolf, married to Nymphadora Tonks, and you, the Secret-Keeper of Shell Cottage, told me the address and bade me come in an emergency!”
“Lupin,” muttered Bill, and he ran to the door and wrenched it open.
Lupin fell over the threshold. He was white-faced, wrapped in a traveling cloak, his graying hair windswept. He straightened up, looked around the room, making sure of who was there, then cried aloud, “It’s a boy! We’ve named him Ted, after Dora’s father!”
Hermione shrieked.
“Wha –? Tonks – Tonks has had the baby?”
“Yes, yes, she’s had the baby!” shouted Lupin. All around the table came cries of delight, sighs of relief: Hermione and Fleur both squealed, “Congratulations!” and Ron said, “Blimey, a baby!” as if he had never heard of such a thing before.
“Yes – yes – a boy,” said Lupin again, who seemed dazed by his own happiness. He strode around the table and hugged Harry; the scene in the basement of Grimmauld Place might never have happened.
“You’ll be godfather?” he said as he released Harry.
“M-me?” stammered Harry.
“You, yes, of course – Dora quite agrees, no one better –”
“I – yeah – blimey –”
Harry felt overwhelmed, astonished, delighted; now Bill was hurrying to fetch wine, and Fleur was persuading Lupin to join them for a drink.
“I can’t stay long, I must get back,” said Lupin, beaming around at them all: He looked years younger than Harry had ever seen him. “Thank you, thank you, Bill”
Bill had soon filled all of their goblets, they stood and raised them high in a toast.
“To Teddy Remus Lupin,” said Lupin, “a great wizard in the making!”
“‘Oo does ‘e look like?” Fleur inquired.
“I think he looks like Dora, but she thinks he is like me. Not much hair. It looked black when he was born, but I swear it’s turned ginger in the hour since. Probably blond by the time I get back. Andromeda says Tonks’s hair started changing color the day that she was born.” He drained his goblet. “Oh, go on then, just one more,” he added, beaming, as Bill made to fill it again.
The wind buffeted the little cottage and the fire leapt and crackled, and Bill was soon opening another bottle of wine. Lupin’s news seemed to have taken them out of themselves, removed them for a while from their state of siege: Tidings of new life were exhilarating. Only the goblin seemed untouched by the suddenly festive atmosphere, and after a while he slunk back to the bedroom he now occupied alone. Harry thought he was the only one who had noticed this, until he saw Bill’s eyes following the goblin up the stairs.
“No… no… I really must get back,” said Lupin at last, declining yet another goblet of wine. He got to his feet and pulled his traveling cloak back around himself.
“Good-bye, good-bye – I’ll try and bring some pictures in a few day’s time – they’ll all be so glad to know that I’ve seen you –”
He fastened his cloak and made his farewells, hugging the women and grasping hands with the men, then, still beaming, returned into the wild night.
“Godfather, Harry!” said Bill as they walked into the kitchen together, helping clear the table. “A real honor! Congratulations!”
As Harry set down the empty goblets he was carrying, Bill pulled the door behind him closed, shutting out the still-voluble voices of the others, who were continuing to celebrate even in Lupin’s absence.
“I wanted a private word, actually, Harry. It hasn’t been easy to get an opportunity with the cottage this full of people.”
Bill hesitated.
“Harry, you’re planning something with Griphook.”
It was a statement, not a question, and Harry did not bother to deny it. He merely looked at Bill, waiting.
“I know goblins,” said Bill. “I’ve worked for Gringotts ever since I left Hogwarts. As far as there can be friendship between wizards and goblins, I have goblin friends – or, at least, goblins I know well, and like.” Again, Bill hesitated.
“Harry, what do you want from Griphook, and what have you promised him in return?”
“I can’t tell you that,” said Harry. “Sorry, Bill.”
The kitchen door opened behind them; Fleur was trying to bring through more empty goblets.
“Wait,” Bill told her, “Just a moment.”
She backed out and he closed the door again.
“Then I have to say this,” Bill went on. “If you have struck any kind of bargain with Griphook, and most particularly if that bargain involves treasure, you must be exceptionally careful. Goblin notions of ownership, payment, and repayment are not the same as human ones.”
Harry felt a slight squirm of discomfort, as though a small snake had stirred inside him.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“We are talking about a different breed of being,” said Bill. “Dealings between wizards and goblins have been fraught for centuries – but you’ll know all that from History of Magic. There has been fault on both sides, I would never claim that wizards have been innocent. However, there is a belief among some goblins, and those at Gringotts are perhaps most prone to it, that wizards cannot be trusted in matters of gold and treasure, that they have no respect for goblin ownership.”
“I respect –” Harry began, but Bill shook his head.
“You don’t understand, Harry, nobody could understand unless they have lived with goblins. To a goblin, the rightful and true master of any object is the maker, not the purchaser. All goblin made objects are, in goblin eyes, rightfully theirs.”
“But it was bought –”
“– then they would consider it rented by the one who had paid the money. They have, however, great difficulty with the idea of goblin-made objects passing from wizard to wizard. You saw Griphook’s face when the tiara passed under his eyes. He disapproves. I believe he thinks, as do the fiercest of his kind, that it ought to have been returned to the goblins once the original purchaser died. They consider our habit of keeping goblin-made objects, passing them from wizard to wizard without further payment, little more than theft.”
Harry had an ominous feeling now; he wondered whether Bill guessed more than he was letting on.
“All I am saying,” said Bill, setting his hand on the door back into the sitting room, “is to be very careful what you promise goblins, Harry. It would be less dangerous to break into Gringotts than to renege on a promise to a goblin.”
“Right,” said Harry as Bill opened the door, “yeah. Thanks. I’ll bear that in mind.”
As he followed Bill back to the others a wry thought came to him, born no doubt of the wine he had drunk. He seemed set on ––– to become just as reckless a godfather to Teddy Lupin as Sirius Black had been to him.
比尔和芙蓉的房子独自座落在海边的悬崖上，墙上涂着白色的石灰，嵌满了贝壳。这是一个僻静而美丽的地方。无论在这栋房子或者后花园的哪里，哈利都能听见汹涌的海水伴着潮汐的声音，就如同一只巨大的沉睡的动物在呼吸。接下来的几天哈利大部分的时间都是找着各种借口不和他们一起呆在拥挤的小屋里，而是沉浸在这令人心驰神往的这悬崖海景中，感受着辽阔的天空与海洋，体味着吹在他脸上咸咸的冷风。 
　　他决定不参与伏地魔争夺魔杖的暴行依然使哈利害怕。一直以来他就无法选择不去采取行动。他怀疑无论在哪里只要他们聚到一起，罗恩就会一直不停地发问： 
　　“要是邓布利多想要我们尽快解出那个标记而获得魔杖呢？”“要是解出这个只意味味这我们‘值得’得到圣物呢？”“哈利，如果那真的是长老魔杖，我们要怎样才能结果了那该死的神秘人呢？” 
　　哈利答不出来：有那么一阵子他也在想为什么没有试着在伏地魔破坏坟墓之前直接硬碰硬地去阻止他。他甚至不能圆满地解释为什么他要反对：每次他试图重新罗列那些曾经帮他作出决定的内心论据时，就发现它们听起来对于他很无力。 
　　还有赫敏的支持让他感觉到了和罗恩的疑虑一样的困惑。她现在勉强接受了长老魔杖是真的存在，但还继续坚持认为它是邪恶的，说伏地魔拿到它的方式是不能接受的，不应该被考虑。 
　　“你绝对不可以那么做，哈利，”她一次又一次地说：“你不能破坏邓布利多的坟墓。” 
　　但是对于看到邓布利多尸体这个想法给哈利的震惊，远比不上他可能曾误解了邓布利多生前的意图这一点。他觉得自己仍旧在黑暗中摸索；他选择了他的路但仍在回忆过去，他不知道自己是否误解了那个信号，是否不应该另想办法。有时，他对邓布利多的气愤就像波涛拍打着小屋下的峭壁一样向他涌来，他气邓布利多生前为什么没有向他解释明白。 
　　“但是他真的死了吗？”在他们到达小屋的三天后，罗恩问。当罗恩和赫敏找到哈利的时候，他正目不转睛地盯着那堵隔开花园和峭壁的墙。哈利真不希望他们找到他，他不想加入争论。 
　　“是的，他死了。罗恩，拜托不要再提了！” 
　　“赫敏，面对现实吧，”罗恩不顾继续凝视着海平线的哈利说“银色的雌鹿，剑，哈里从镜子里看到的眼睛——” 
　　“哈利都说了眼睛是他自己想象出来的！是不是哈利？” 
　　“是，”哈利没有去看她 
　　“但你所做的并不是你想得，是不是？”罗恩问。 
　　“嗯，不是。” 
　　“这就是了嘛！”罗恩在赫敏能插上嘴之前飞快地说。“要不是邓布利多，你如何解释多比怎么知道我们在地窖里的呢，赫敏？” 
　　“我解释不了——但你就能解释邓布利多怎么样在霍格沃茨的坟墓里派他来吗？” 
　　“我不知道，可以是鬼魂的形式啊！” 
　　“邓布利多不会以鬼魂的形式回来的，”哈利说。现在他对于邓布利多，能肯定的太少了，不过这一点他是确信的。“他会继续的。” 
　　“‘继续’？什么意思？”罗恩问，但在哈利回答之前，后面向起了一个声音：“阿利？” 
　　芙蓉已经从房子里走了出来，银色的长发随风飞舞。 
　　“阿利，阿环想要和你谈谈，他在那间最小的卧室里呢，他说他不想来这偷听。” 
　　芙蓉显然不喜欢妖精使唤她传话，她转身走进房子的时候看起来很生气。 
　　他们走进赫敏和卢娜住的那间最小的卧室的时候，拉环正如芙蓉所说的正在等着他们。他把窗帘拉上了，挡住了白云朵朵的晴朗天空，原本通风明亮的小屋笼罩再一片烈焰一般的红色之中。 
　　“我已经决定了，哈利波特，”妖精说，他正盘腿坐在一只矮凳上，狭长的手指拍着自己的胳膊。“尽管古灵阁的妖精们会叛变，但是我决定帮助你——” 
　　“太好了！” 哈利欣慰地说“拉环，谢谢你，我们真是——” 
　　“作为报答，”妖精坚定地说，“要偿还的。” 
　　有点受挫， 哈利犹豫了。 
　　“你想要多少？我有金币。” 
　　“不要金币，”拉环说“我有的是。” 
　　他黑色的眼睛闪闪发光，它的眼睛中根本没有眼白。 
　　“我想要那把剑。高维克·格来芬多的宝剑。” 
　　哈利的心沉了下去。 
　　“我不能给你，”他说“我很抱歉。” 
　　“这样的话，”妖精轻轻地说“我们之间就有问题了。” 
　　“我们可以给你些别的东西，”罗恩热情地说“我敢打赌莱斯特兰奇肯定弄到了不少东西，一旦我们进入了金库你就可以拿走你那份。” 
　　可是罗恩说错话了。拉环生气地涨红了脸。 
　　“我不是贼！孩子！我不会试图去获得我不应有的财富！” 
　　“那剑是我们的——” 
　　“它不是。”妖精说 
　　“我们是格来芬多的，它是高维克·格来芬多的——” 
　　“那在格来芬多拥有它之前，它又是谁的？”妖精坐直了身体，问道。 
　　“不是谁的，”罗恩说，“剑就是为他做的，不是吗？” 
　　“不是！”妖精喊，用它那狭长的手指火冒三丈地指着罗恩。“又是巫师们的高傲自大！那把剑最开始是雷格努克的，高维克·格来芬多是从他那拿走的！是丢失的财宝，这把剑是妖精的杰作！它属于妖精！它就是我的报酬，给还是不给，你看着办吧！“ 
　　拉环怒视着他们。哈里瞥了一眼另外两个人，说：“我们需要讨论一下，拉环，如果可以的话，你是不是可以给我们几分钟？” 
　　妖精点了点头，有点酸溜溜地看向空旷的起居室里的楼梯。哈利走向炉火旁，皱起了眉头，努力地想到底要怎么办。罗恩在他身后说：“他开什么玩笑，我们不能给他那把剑。” 
　　“是真的吗？”哈利问赫敏：“剑是格来芬多偷来的吗？” 
　　“我不知道，”她绝望地说“魔法史总是略过了那些巫师对别的魔法种族做的事，但我知道的记载中没有说过格来芬多的剑是偷来的。” 
　　“这肯定是妖精的谎话，”罗恩说，“一个关于巫师是怎样欺压它们的谎话。我觉得他没管我们要我们的魔杖已经够幸运的了。” 
　　“妖精们可有理由讨厌巫师，罗恩。”赫敏说“过去他们的待遇猪狗不如。” 
　　“妖精不就是些毛茸茸的小家伙，不是吗？”罗恩说“他们杀害了我们不少人，他们的斗争手段可真卑鄙。 
　　“但是同拉环争论谁的种族更卑鄙更暴力并不会让他更愿意帮助我们，不是吗？” 
　　他们都沉默了，试图找出一种能解决问题的办法。哈利看着窗外多比的坟墓。卢娜正在墓碑旁把海草做成果酱。 
　　“好吧”罗恩说，哈利转身面向他，“这样如何？我们就和拉环说在我们进入到金库之前我们都需要那把剑，之后再给他。但那里的那个是假的，怎么样？我们调一下包，把假的那个给他。” 
　　“罗恩，他比我们更能分辨真假！”赫敏说“他是唯一知道它被换过的人！” 
　　“是，但是我们可以在他意识到之前掉包……” 
　　他有点心虚地迎着赫敏投来的目光。 
　　“那么做，”她平静地说，“是很卑鄙的。请他帮忙，还欺骗他？你知道为什么妖精们都不喜欢巫师吗，罗恩？” 
　　罗恩的脸红到了耳朵根子。 
　　“好吧，好吧！这是我能想到的唯一办法了！那你有什么办法？” 
　　“我们得给他点别的东西，别的同等价值的东西。” 
　　“哈，高明啊。那我去再找一把妖精做的古剑，你来打包装呗~” 
　　他们再一次沉默了。哈利肯定妖精除了宝剑什么都不想要，即使他们给他同等价值的东西。尽管那剑仍然是他们的对抗魂器不可或缺的武器。 
　　哈利闭上眼睛，静静地听着海浪声。宝剑是格来芬多偷来的这个想法让他很不愉快：他一直以自己是格来芬多的人而引以为傲；格来芬多的麻瓜出身孩子最多，那些追崇纯血统的人更乐意去斯莱特林。 
　　“或许他在撒谎，”哈利再次睁开了眼睛“拉环在撒谎。也许格来芬多并不是拿走了宝剑，我们就怎么知道妖精对历史的评判就是站在一个正确的角度呢？” 
　　“那又有什么分别？”赫敏问。 
　　“能让我感觉好点。”哈利说，他深深地吸了口气。 
　　“我们告诉他在他帮我们进入金库以后他可以得到宝剑——但我们要尽力避免承诺他到底何时才能给他。” 
　　罗恩渐渐露出了笑容，赫敏却看起来很紧张。 
　　“哈利，我们不能——” 
　　“他可以得到它，”哈利继续说“在我们用它对付了所有魂器之后。我保证他那时才可以得到宝剑。我说话算话。” 
　　“但那可能是好几年之后了！”赫敏说。 
　　“我知道，但他不知道。我这样……也不算撒谎。” 
　　哈利充满挑战而又有点内疚地看着她。他还记得刻在去往努尔蒙德的路上的那句话：为了更大的利益。他撇开了思绪。他又有什么选择呢？ 
　　“我可不喜欢这个主意。”赫敏说 
　　“我也不喜欢，不是很喜欢。”哈利承认。 
　　“可我觉得这主意太棒了，”罗恩站了起来“我们去和他讲吧。” 
　　他们回到那间小卧室，哈利答应了他，尽力避免任何能关于何时给他宝剑的 
　　承诺。他们谈话的时候赫敏一直在旁边皱着眉头盯着地板；哈利觉得很生气，怕她破坏这个计划。但拉环却是除了哈利谁也不看。 
　　“我记住你的话了，哈利波特，也就是说如果我帮你的话你就会给我格来芬多的宝剑？” 
　　“对。”哈利答道。 
　　“成交。”妖精伸出了他的手说。 
　　哈利和他握了握手。他不知道拉环那双黑眼睛是否看出了他的疑虑。然后拉环放开了他的手，拍了拍手掌，“那么，我们开始吧！” 
　　就像计划要再次攻入魔法部一样，由着拉环的选择，他们在这半昏暗的小屋中开始了工作。 
　　“我只去过莱斯特兰奇'的金库一次，”拉环说，“那次我只是被安排去在里面放一把假剑。那是最古老的库房之一。最古老的巫师家庭把他们的财产贮存在最深处，那里的金库最大，受到的保护也最好……” 
　　他们在这个小的就像壁橱一样的房间里一呆就是几个小时，这几天弄得就像几星期那么长。问题一个接一个地涌现，需要解决，比如他们库存的复方汤剂要用完了。 
　　“只剩下够一个人的量了。”赫敏说，在灯光下搅合着泥巴似的汤剂。 
　　“够用了，”哈利说，他正察看着拉环手绘的最深区的地图。 
　　住在贝壳小宅里的无法不注意到哈利、赫敏和罗恩正在做着些什么事情，因为他们只是在吃饭的时候才会出现。但没有人去问他们，尽管哈利觉得饭桌上比尔看他们三个人的眼神中充满了思索与关心。 
　　他们呆在一起的时间越长，哈利就越觉得自己真是不喜欢妖精。拉环是出乎意料的残忍，他总是在嘲笑他们要决定尽可能牺牲少的生灵的主意，看起来他总是想要伤害别的巫师才能到达莱斯特兰奇的金库。哈利能够感觉到其他两人也对拉环有些厌恶。但他们并没有讨论他，他们需要拉环。 
　　这个妖精只是勉强地吃些他们的剩饭。即使是他的腿现在好了，他还是要求把食物拿到小屋里来吃，就像还很虚弱的奥利维德一样，直到比尔（后面跟着发怒的芙蓉）上来说不能再这样安排了。这以后拉环就加入了他们拥挤的餐桌，尽管他拒绝吃同样的食物，坚持要吃死金丝鸟、生肉和各种真菌。 
　　哈利觉得这是他的责任：不管怎样，是他坚持让妖精留在贝壳小宅中，这样他才能继续问他问题；因为他的原因整个韦斯莱家都不得不躲起来。比尔，费雷德，乔治，还有韦斯莱先生都不再工作了。 
　　“我很抱歉，”四月的一个大风的下午他帮芙蓉准备晚饭的时候对她说：“我真的不是有意让你们承受这些的。” 
　　而她只是指挥着一些小刀来给比尔和拉环切牛排，自从比尔被格雷伯克袭击以后她就得给他准备带血的生肉了。刀子在她身后飞舞着切肉，她不知怎么表情变得如此温柔。 
　　“阿利，你救过我妹妹的命，我不会忘记。” 
　　严格的说，并不是这样，但是哈利决定不去提醒她加里布尔当时并没有真的处于危险之中。 
　　“不管怎样，”芙蓉继续说，把她的魔杖指向炉子上的一壶正咕嘟泡的酱，“奥利维德先生今晚上就要去穆莉尔家了，介（这）些事就不用那么麻烦了，辣（那）个妖精，”哈利注意到她皱了一下眉。“就可以住楼下了，你和罗恩、迪安就可以住哈（他）的房间了” 
　　“我们不介意睡在起居室里，”哈里知道拉环会觉得睡在沙发上很憋屈；让拉环觉得舒服时他们计划的重点。“别担心我们。”在她要决定以前哈利继续说“我们不久也会离开你家了，我和罗恩、赫敏，我们不能在这呆太长时间的。” 
　　“可，你这什么意思啊？”芙蓉皱着眉问他，她指挥着菜盘子的魔杖停在了半空中。“你当然可以不必走，你在饿（这）里很安全！” 
　　她说这话的时候看起来很像韦斯莱夫人，哈里很庆幸后门这时开了。卢娜和迪安进来了，他们的头发被雨浇透了，胳膊上全是木屑。 
　　“……还有小耳朵”卢娜正说着，“有点像河马的，我爸爸说，只有紫色多毛的。你要是想呼唤他们，你只能对他们哼曲儿；它们更喜欢跳华尔兹，不是太快……” 
　　迪安经过哈利的时候很不舒服地耸了耸肩，他跟着卢娜进了那个既当餐厅又当起居室的厅里，罗恩和赫敏正在摆桌子。哈利抓住这个避免回答芙蓉问题的机会，拿起两壶南瓜汁跟上他们。 
　　“……你要是来我家我就给你看看那只角，爸爸写信告诉我的，我还没看过呢，因为食死徒把我从霍格沃茨特快上劫走了，我圣诞节也没回家，”卢娜和迪安坐到火炉旁时她说。 
　　“卢娜，我们告诉过你了，”赫敏说“那只角已经破了。它是毒角兽身上的，而不是什么弯角鼾兽” 
　　“才不是呢，他绝对是弯角鼾兽的角，”卢娜严肃地说“我爸爸说了，它到现在还不能重新组合，他们自己进化。” 
　　赫敏摇了摇头，继续摆放刀叉。这时比尔搀着奥利维德先生从楼梯上下来了。这个魔杖制造商看起来人就非常虚弱地靠着比尔，比尔在他身后提着一只大行李箱，搀扶着他 
　　“我们会想你的，奥利维德先生，”卢娜走近了那个老人。 
　　“我也会想你的，亲爱的。” 奥利维德拍了拍她的肩膀：“你在那个可怕的地方给了我很大的安慰。” 
　　“au revoir（法语）,奥利维德先生”芙蓉吻了吻他的双颊：“是什么力量驱使您给比尔的阿姨穆莉尔送包裹的呢？我从来就没有收到过这样漂亮的头饰。” 
　　“我很荣幸这么做，” 奥利维德鞠了一躬说到：“这是我能对你热情的款待所作的最小的回报了” 
　　芙蓉拉出一个旧天鹅绒箱子，打开来展示给他看。王冠在昏暗的灯光下闪闪发光。 
　　“月长石和钻石，”拉环说，哈利没有注意到他什么时候蹭到屋子里来了，“妖精做的，是吧？” 
　　“妖精为巫师做的。”比尔平静地说，妖精用挑衅的目光偷偷看了一眼他。 
　　比尔和奥利维德推开门走进夜色中时一阵强风涌了进来。剩下的人挤在了饭桌旁，胳膊肘几乎都没有地方挪动，这样，他们开始吃饭了。他们身旁的炉火噼啪作响。哈利注意到芙蓉几乎一直就是在拨弄着盘里的食物；她每隔几分钟都要看一眼窗外。比尔在他们吃完第一道菜的时候才回来。他长长的头发随风舞动着。 
　　“一切都很顺利，”他和芙蓉说，“奥利维德已经安置好了，爸爸妈妈向你们问好，金妮也让我带好，弗雷德和乔治让穆莉尔非常恼火，他们依旧在她的密室里做着猫头鹰订单的生意。阿姨很高兴王冠失而复得。她说她以为我们把它偷走了。” 
　　“啊呀，你阿姨还真迷人。”芙蓉说，以便挥舞着魔杖把那些在盘子升到在半空中，她指挥着它们从屋中列队而出。 
　　“我爸爸做了个王冠，”卢娜说“嗯，是个花冠呢。” 
　　罗恩和哈利对视了一下嘿嘿笑了；哈利还记得他们去拜访谢农费里厄斯时她戴的那个可笑的头饰。 
　　“是啊，他想再造一个拉文克劳的花冠。他觉得他现在能认出大多数的零件。还有那个短粗翅膀真的能分出——” 
　　前门突然发出砰的一声向。大家都转过头去看。芙蓉从厨房里跑了出来，看起来吓坏了；比尔跳了起来，魔杖对准了门；哈利、罗恩和赫敏也是。拉环悄悄地出溜到了桌子底下。 
　　“谁？”比尔喊道。 
　　“是我，莱姆斯 约翰 卢平！”咆哮的风中一个声音响起。哈利吓了一跳，真的是他吗？“我是狼人，和尼法朵拉 
　　唐克斯结婚的那个，你，贝壳小宅的保密人，告诉了我这个地址，说紧急情况下我可以来！” 
　　“是卢平。”比尔叨咕着，跑去开门。 
　　卢平跌了进来。他脸色苍白，穿着一件旅行斗篷，他定睛看了看站在面前的都有谁，然后喊道：“是个男孩！我们给他取名叫泰德，朵拉父亲的小名！” 
　　赫敏尖叫：“什——？唐克斯？——唐克斯生了？” 
　　“对，没错，她生了！”卢平喊道。桌边的人都喜悦而欣慰地感叹着；赫敏和芙蓉止不住尖叫。“恭喜恭喜啊！”罗恩说：“哈哈，孩子！”就好像他以前从没听说过这样的事似的。 
　　“是啊——是啊——是个男孩，”卢平重复着，他正沉浸在他那巨大的幸福当中。他大步跨到桌子那边拥抱了哈利；这样的场景在格里莫广场可能从来都没发生过。 
　　“你会做他的教父吧？”他放开哈利的时候说道。 
　　“我——我吗？”哈利结巴了。 
　　“对，你，就是你——朵拉非常同意，没人比你更合——” 
　　“我——好——天啊——” 
　　哈利显得很震惊，激动而又欣喜。比尔匆忙去取来红酒，芙蓉在劝说卢平也加入他们来喝一杯。 
　　“我不能在这呆太久，我还得回去，”卢平说，大家都喜气洋洋的：他看上去年轻了好几岁。“谢谢大家，谢谢你，比尔。” 
　　比尔迅速把大家的高脚杯斟满了酒，他们举起了酒杯。 
　　“为了泰迪·莱姆斯·卢平，”卢平说“一个伟大巫师的诞生！” 
　　“他长得像谁啊？”芙蓉问。 
　　“我觉得像朵拉，但她觉得像我。头发不多，刚出生的时候是黑色的，但我打赌几小时后就会变成浅黄色。也许我回去后就变成金色的了。安多米达说唐克斯的头发从出生的时候就会变色了。”他一饮而尽：“来，再来点酒。”他喜气洋洋地说，比尔又给他斟满了酒。 
　　海风吹打着小宅，屋中的炉火噼啪作响，比尔很快又拿来了另一瓶酒。看起来卢平的消息让大家无比兴奋，让他们在这被围困的形势下松了口气。新生命的诞生总是令人欣喜的。只有拉环对这种喜庆的氛围无动于衷，不一会他就溜回了现在已经是他一个人的卧室。要不是哈利看到比尔也在看着拉环上楼，他还以为只有自己注意到了呢。 
　　“不了……不了……我真得回去了，”最后卢平说道，他拒绝了再来一杯。他走过去拽起他的旅行斗蓬披在了身上。 
　　“再见，再见——我这几天会尽力给你们带来点照片的——他们要知道我见过你们肯定会很高兴的——” 
　　卢平系紧了她的斗蓬和他们告别，他拥抱了女孩子们，和男孩子们逐一握手。然后乐乐呵呵地转身步入了夜色中。 
　　“教父阿，哈利！”他们一同走回厨房准备收拾桌子的时候比尔说“多大的荣耀啊！祝贺你！” 
　　哈利放下手里的高脚杯时，比尔关上了门，突然一改刚才卢平在时的滔滔不绝： 
　　“哈利，我想私下和你说几句。想摆脱这满房子的人也不是那么容易的。”比尔踌躇着。 
　　“哈利，你在和拉环一起策划着什么。” 
　　哈利肯定比尔说的是陈述句，不是疑问句。他只是看着他，等着他继续说。 
　　“我了解妖精，”比尔说：“自从我离开霍格沃茨之后我就在古灵阁工作。巫师和妖精之间还是存在友谊的，我就有一些妖精朋友——至少一些好妖精。”比尔又开始犹豫了。 
　　“哈利，你想从拉环那里得到什么？你又答应了给他什么？” 
　　“我不能告诉你，”哈利说。“很抱歉，比尔。” 
　　厨房的门在他们身后打开了；芙蓉正打算弄进来更多的空杯子。 
　　“等一下，”比尔和她说“稍等一下。” 
　　她退了出去，关上了门。 
　　“那我就必须告诉你，”比尔继续说道“如果你和拉环达成了某种交易，尤其是这种交易还和财产有关，你就得格外小心。妖精对所有权，支付和回报是有着和我们人类完全不同的概念的。 
　　哈利突然觉得有点不舒服，就像他体内有一只蛇在蠕动。 
　　“什么意思？”他问。 
　　“我们谈论的是两个不同的物种，”比尔说：“巫师和妖精之间的交易往来已经有好几个世纪了——自从有魔法史以来。双方都有过过错，我从来不会去说巫师就是清白的。但，妖精有妖精的观念，古灵阁更倾向于它们的。就是巫师们在金银和财产方面是不值得相信的，他们根本不尊重妖精的所有权。 
　　“可我尊重——”哈利说，但比尔摇了摇头， 
　　“你不明白，哈利，除了和妖精生活在一起的人，没人能明白。对妖精来说，物品的所有权是属于它的制造者的，而不是购买者。在妖精眼里，他们做出来的东西，就是他们自己的。” 
　　“但东西被买走了——” 
　　“——那它就会被认为是花钱被租走了。他们对妖精做的东西的态度和巫师有着很大的不同。你也看到拉环看到王冠时的脸色了，他根本不赞成我们的想法。我相信他非常的想立刻把王冠送回到制作它的妖精那里。他们觉得我们占有了妖精的东西，还不用继续付费的代代相传，就和贼差不多。” 
　　哈利现在有了种不祥的预感，他怀疑比尔是不是知道了更多的东西。 
　　“我要说的就是，”比尔把手放在了门上：“你要是答应了妖精什么事情，就要格外小心。背叛妖精可比闯进古灵阁危险多了。” 
　　“好的。”比尔打开门的时候哈利说：“我会记住的。” 
　　他跟着比尔出来的时候的一个讽刺的想法涌现了出来，无疑是因为酒精的作用。他看起来和小天狼星布莱克一样成了泰迪卢平的一个疯狂的教父。　 
Chapter 26 Gringotts
Their plans were made, their preparations complete; in the smallest bedroom a single long, coarse black hair (plucked from the sweater Hermione had been wearing at Malfoy Manor) lay curled in a small glass phial on the mantelpiece.
“And you’ll be using her actual wand,” said Harry, nodding toward the walnut wand, “so I reckon you’ll be pretty convincing.”
Hermione looked frightened that the wand might sting or bit her as she picked it up.
“I hate that thing,” she said in a low voice. “I really hate it. It feels all wrong, it doesn’t work properly for me… It’s like a bit of her.”
Harry could not help but remember how Hermione has dismissed his loathing of the blackthorn wand, insisting that he was imagining things when it did not work as well as his own, telling him to simply practice. He chose not to repeat her own advice back to her, however, the eve of their attempted assault on Gringotts felt like the wrong moment to antagonize her.
“It’ll probably help you get in character, though,” said Ron. “think what that wand’s done!”
“But that’s my point!” said Hermione. “This is the wand that tortured Neville’s mum and dad, and who knows how many other people? This is the wand that killed Sirius!”
Harry had not thought of that: He looked down at the wand and was visited by a brutal urge to snap it, to slice it in half with Gryffindor’s sword, which was propped against the wall beside him.
“I miss my wand,” Hermione said miserably. “I wish Mr. Ollivander could have made me another one too.”
Mr. Ollivander had sent Luna a new wand that morning. She was out on the back lawn at that moment, testing its capabilities in the late afternoon sun. Dean, who had lost his wand to the Snatchers, was watching rather gloomily.
Harry looked down at the hawthorn wand that had once belonged to Draco Malfoy. He had been surprised, but pleased to discover that it worked for him at least as well as Hermione’s had done. Remembering what Ollivander had told them of the secret workings of wands, Harry thought he knew what Hermione’s problem was: She had not won the walnut wand’s allegiance by taking it personally from Bellatrix.
The door of the bedroom opened and Griphook entered. Harry reached instinctively for the hilt of the sword and drew it close to him, but regretted his action at once. He could tell that the goblin had noticed. Seeking to gloss over the sticky moment, he said, “We’ve just been checking the last-minute stuff, Griphook. We’ve told Bill and Fleur we’re leaving tomorrow, and we’ve told them not to get up to see us off.”
They had been firm on this point, because Hermione would need to transform in Bellatrix before they left, and the less that Bill and Fleur knew or suspected about what they were about to do, the better. They had also explained that they would not be returning. As they had lost Perkin’s old tent on the night that the Snatcher’s caught them, Bill had lent them another one. It was now packed inside the beaded bag, which, Harry was impressed to learn, Hermione had protected from the Snatchers by the simple expedient of stuffing it down her sock.
Though he would miss Bill, Fleur, Luna, and Dean, not to mention the home comforts they had enjoyed over the last few weeks, Harry was looking forward to escaping the confinement of Shell Cottage. He was tired of trying to make sure that they were not overheard, tired of being shut in the tiny, dark bedroom. Most of all, he longed to be rid of Griphook. However, precisely how and when they were to part from the goblin without handing over Gryffindor’s sword remained a question to which Harry had no answer. It had been impossible to decide how they were going to do it, because the goblin rarely left Harry, Ron, and Hermione alone together for more than five minutes at a time: “He could give my mother lessons,” growled Ron, as the goblin’s long fingers kept appearing around the edges of doors. With Bill’s warning in mind, Harry could not help suspecting that Griphook was on the watch for possible skullduggery. Hermione disapproved so heartily of the planned double-cross that Harry had given up attempting to pick her brains on how best to do it: Ron, on the rare occasions that they had been able to snatch a few Griphook-free moments, had come up with nothing better than “We’ll just have to wing it, mate.”
Harry slept badly that night. Lying away in the early hours, he thought back to the way he had felt the night before they had infiltrated the Ministry of Magic and remembered a determination, almost an excitement. Now he was experiencing jolts of anxiety nagging doubts: He could not shake off the fear that it was all going to go wrong. He kept telling himself that their plan was good, that Griphook knew what they were facing, that they were well-prepared for all the difficulties they were likely to encounter, yet still he felt uneasy. Once or twice he heard Ron stir and was sure that he too was awake, but they were sharing the sitting room with Dean, so Harry did not speak.
It was a relief when six o-clock arrived and they could slip out of their sleeping bags, dress in the semidarkness, then creep out into the garden, where they were to meet Hermione and Griphook. The dawn was chilly, but there was little wind now that it was May. Harry looked up at the stars still glimmering palely in the dark sky and listened to the sea washing backward and forward against the cliff: He was going to miss the sound.
Small green shoots were forcing their way up through the red earth of Dobby’s grave now, in a year’s time the mound would be covered in flowers. The white stone that bore the elf’s name had already acquired a weathered look. He realized now that they could hardly have laid Dobby to rest in a more beautiful place, but Harry ached with sadness to think of leaving him behind. Looking down on the grave, he wondered yet again how the elf had known where to come to rescue them. His fingers moved absentmindedly to the little pouch still strung around his neck, thorough which he could feel the jagged mirror fragment in which he had been sure he had seen Dumbledore’s eye. Then the sound of a door opening made him look around.
Bellatrix Lestrange was striding across the lawn toward them, accompanied by Griphook. As she walked, she was tucking the small, beaded bag into the inside pocket of another set of the old robes they had taken from Grimmauld Place. Though Harry knew perfectly well that it was really Hermione, he could not suppress a shiver of loathing. She was taller than he was, her long black hair rippling down her back, her heavily lidded eyes disdainful as they rested upon him; but then she spoke, and he heard Hermione through Bellatrix’s low voice.
“She tasted disgusting, worse than Gurdyroots! Okay, Ron, come here so I can do you…”
“Right, but remember, I don’t like the beard too long”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, this isn’t about looking handsome”
“It’s not that, it gets in the way! But I liked my nose a bit shorter, try and do it the way you did last time.”
Hermione sighed and set to work, muttering under her breath as she transformed various aspects of Ron’s appearance. He was to be given a completely fake identity, and they were trusting to the malevolent aura cast by Bellatrix to protect him. Meanwhile Harry and Griphook were to be concealed under the Invisibility Cloak.
“There,” said Hermione, “how does he look, Harry?”
It was just not possible to discern Ron under his disguise, but only, Harry thought because he knew him so well. Ron’s hair was now long and wavy; he had a thick brown beard and mustache, no freckles, a short, broad nose, and heavy eyebrows.
“Well, he’s not my type, but he’ll do,” said Harry. “Shall we go, then?”
All three of them glanced back at Shell Cottage, lying dark and silent under the fading stars, then turned and began to walk toward the point, just beyond the boundary wall, where the Fidelius Chard stopped working and they would be able to Disapparate. Once past the gate, Griphook spoke.
“I should climb up now, Harry Potter, I think?”
Harry bent down and the goblin clambered onto his back, his hands linked on front of Harry’s throat. He was not heavy, but Harry disliked the feeling of the goblin and the surprising strength with which he clung on. Hermione pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of the beaded bag and threw it over them both.
“Perfect,” she said, bending down to check Harry’s feet. “I can’t see a thing. Let’s go.”
Harry turned on the spot, with Griphook on his shoulders, concentrating with all his might on the Leaky Cauldron, the inn that was the entrance to Diagon Alley. The goblin clung even tighter as they moved into the compressing darkness, and seconds later Harry’s feet found pavement and he opened his eyes on Charing Cross Road. Muggles bustled past wearing the hangdog expressions of early morning, quite unconscious of the little inn’s existence.
The bar of the Leaky Cauldron was nearly deserted. Ton, the stooped and toothless landlord, was polishing glasses behind the bar counter; a couple of warlocks having a muttered conversation in the far corner glanced at Hermione and drew back into the shadows.
“Madam Lestrange,” murmured Tom, and as Hermione paused he inclined his head subserviently.
“Good morning,” said Hermione, and as Harry crept past, still carrying Griphook piggyback under the Cloak, he saw Tom look surprised.
“Too polite,” Harry whispered in Hermione’s ear as they passed out of the Inn into the tiny backyard. “You need to treat people like they’re scum!”
“Okay, okay!”
Hermione drew out Bellatrix’s wand and rapped a brick in the nondescript wall in front of them. At once the bricks began to whirl and spin: A hole appeared in the middle of them, which grew wider and wider, finally forming an archway onto the narrow cobbled street that was Diagon Alley.
It was quiet, barely time for the shops to open, and there were hardly and shoppers abroad. The crooked, cobbled street was much altered now from the bustling place Harry had visited before his first team at Hogwarts so many years before. More shops than ever were boarded up, though several new establishments dedicated to the Dark Arts had been created since his last visit. Harry’s own face glared down at him from posters plastered over many windows, always captioned with the words UNDESIRABLE NUMBER ONE.
A number of ragged people sat huddled in doorways. He heard them moaning to the few passersby, pleading for gold, insisting that they were really wizards. One man had a bloody bandage over his eye.
As they set off along the street, the beggars glimpsed Hermione. they seemed to melt away before her, drawing hoods over their faces and fleeing as fast as they could. Hermione looked after them curiously, until the man with the bloodied bandage came staggering right across her path.
“My children,” he bellowed, pointing at her. His voice was cracked, high-pitched, he sounded distraught. “Where are my children? What has he done with them? You know, you know!”
“I–I really–” stammered Hermione.
The man lunged at her, reaching for her throat. Then, with a bang and a burst of red light he was thrown backward onto the ground, unconscious. Ron stood there, his wand still outstretched and a look of shock visible behind his beard. Faces appeared at the windows on either side of the street, while a little knot of prosperous-looking passerby gathered their robes about them and broke into gentle trots, keen to vacate the scene. their entrance into Diagon Alley could hardly have been more conspicuous; for a moment Harry wondered whether it might not be better to leave now and try to think of a different plan. Before they could move or consult one another, however, they heard a cry from behind them.
“Why, Madam Lestrange!”
Harry whirled around and Griphook tightened his hold around Harry’s neck: A tall, think wizard with a crown of bushy gray hair and a long, sharp nose was striding toward them.
“It’s Travers,” hissed the goblin into Harry’s ear, but at that moment Harry could not think who Travers was. Hermione had drawn herself up to full height and said with as much contempt as she could muster:
“And what do you want?”
Travers stopped in his tracks, clearly affronted.
“He’s another Death Eater!” breathed Griphook, and Harry sidled sideways to repeat the information into Hermione’s ear.
“I merely sought to greet you,” said Travers coolly, “but if my presence is not welcome…”
Harry recognized his voice now: Travers was one of the Death Eaters who had been summoned to Xenophilius’s house.
“No, no, not at all, Travers,” said Hermione quickly, trying to cover up her mistake. “How are you?”
“Well, I confess I am surprised to see you out and about, Bellatrix.”
“Really? Why?” asked Hermione.
“Well,” Travers coughed, “I heard that the Inhabitants of Malfoy Manor were confined to the house, after the… ah… escape.”
Harry willed Hermione to keep her head. If this was true, and Bellatrix was not supposed to be out in public– “The Dark Lord forgives those who have served him most faithfully in the past,” said Hermione in a magnificent imitation of Bellatrix’s most contemptuous manner. “Perhaps your credit is not as good with him as mine is, Travers.”
Though the Death Eater looked offended, he also seemed less suspicious. He glanced down at the man Ron had just Stunned.
“How did it offend you?”
“It does not matter, it will not do so again,” said Hermione coolly.
“Some of these wandless can be troublesome,” said Travers. “While they do nothing but beg I have no objection, but one of them actually asked me to plead her case in the Ministry last week. ‘I’m a witch, sir, I’m a witch, let me prove it to you!” he said in a squeaky impersonation. “As if I was going to give her my wand–but whose wand,” said Travers curiously, “are you using at the moment, Bellatrix? I heard that your own was–”
“I have my wand here,” said Hermione coldly, holding up Bellatrix’s wand. “I don’t know what rumors you have been listening to, Travers, but you seem sadly misinformed.”
Travers seemed a little taken aback at that, and he turned instead to Ron.
“Who is your friend? I do not recognize him.”
“This is Dragomir Despard,” said Hermione; they had decided that a fictional foreigner was the safest cover for Ron to assume. “He speaks very little English, but he is in sympathy with the Dark Lord’s aims. He has traveled here from Transylvania to see our new regime.”
“Indeed? How do you do, Dragomir?”
“‘Ow you?” said Ron, holding out his hand.
Travers extended two fingers and shook Ron’s hand as though frightened of dirtying himself.
“So what brings you and your–ah–sympathetic friend to Diagon Alley this early?” asked Travers.
“I need to visit Gringotts,” said Hermione.
“Alas, I also,” said Travers. “Gold, filthy gold! We cannot live without it, yet I confess I deplore the necessity of consorting with our long-fingered friends.”
Harry felt Griphook’s clasped hands tighten momentarily around his neck.
“Shall we?” said Travers, gesturing Hermione forward.
Hermione had no choice but to fall into step beside him and head along the crooked, cobbled street toward the place where the snowy-white Gringotts stood towering over the other little shops. Ron sloped along beside them, and Harry and Griphook followed.
A watchful Death Eater was the very last thing they needed, and the worst of it was, with Travers matching at what he believed to be Bellatrix’s side, there was no means for Harry to communicate with Hermione or Ron. All too soon they arrived at the foot of the marble steps leading up to the great bronze doors. As Griphook had already warned them, the liveried goblins who usually flanked the entrance had been replaced by two wizards, both of whom were clutching long thin golden rods.
“Ah, Probity Probes,” signed Travers theatrically, “so crude–but so effective!”
And he set off up the steps, nodding left and right to the wizards, who raised the golden rods and passed them up and down his body. The Probes, Harry knew, detected spells of concealment and hidden magical objects. Knowing that he had only seconds, Harry pointed Draco’s wand at each of the guards in turn and murmured, “Confundo” twice. Unnoticed by Travers, who was looking through the bronze doors at the inner hall, each of the guards gave a little start as the spells hit them.
Hermione’s long black hair rippled behind her as she climbed the steps.
“One moment, madam,” said the guard, raising his Probe.
“But you’ve just done that!” said Hermione in Bellatrix’s commanding, arrogant voice. Travers looked around, eyebrows raised. The guard was confused. He stared down at the thin golden Probe and then at his companion, who said in a slightly dazed voice, “Yeah, you’ve just checked them, Marius.”
Hermione swept forward. Ron by her side, Harry and Griphook trotting invisibly behind them. Harry glanced back as they crossed the threshold. The wizards were both scratching their heads.
Two goblins stood before the inner doors, which were made of silver and which carried the poem warning of dire retribution to potential thieves. Harry looked up at it, and all of a sudden a knife-sharp memory came to him: standing on this very spot on the day that he had turned eleven, the most wonderful birthday of his life, and Hagrid standing beside him saying, “Like I said, yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob it.” Gringotts had seemed a place of wonder that day, the enchanted repository of a trove of gold he had never known he possessed, and never for an instant could he have dreamed that he would return to steal… But within seconds they were standing in the vast marble hall of the bank.
The long counter was manned by goblins sitting on high stools serving the first customers of the day. Hermione, Ron, and Travers headed toward an old goblin who was examining a thick gold coin through an eyeglass. Hermione allowed Travers to step ahead of her on the pretext of explaining features of the hall to Ron.
The goblin tossed the coin he was holding aside, said to nobody in particular, “Leprechaun,” and then greeted Travers, who passed over a tiny golden key, which was examined and given back to him.
Hermione stepped forward.
“Madam Lestrange!” said the goblin, evidently startled. “Dear me! How–how may I help you today?”
“I wish to enter my vault,” said Hermione.
The old goblin seemed to recoil a little. Harry glanced around. Not only was Travers hanging back, watching, but several other goblins had looked up from their work to stare at Hermione.
“You have… identification?” asked the goblin.
“Identification? I–I have never been asked for identification before!” said Hermione.
“They know!” whispered Griphook in Harry’s ear, “They must have been warned there might be an imposter!”
“Your wand will do, madam,” said the goblin. He held out a slightly trembling hand, and in a dreadful blast of realization Harry knew that the goblins of Gringotts were aware that Bellatrix’s wand had been stolen.
“Act now, act now,” whispered Griphook in Harry’s ear, “the Imperious Curse!”
Harry raised the hawthorn wand beneath the cloak, pointed it at the old goblin, and whispered, for the first time in his life, “Imperio!”
A curious sensation shot down Harry’s arm, a feeling of tingling, warmth that seemed to flow from his mind, down the sinews and veins connecting him to the wand and the curse it had just cast. The goblin took Bellatrix’s wand, examined it closely, and then said, “Ah, you have had a new wand made, Madam Lestrange!”
“What?” said Hermione, “No, no, that’s mine–”
“A new wand?” said Travers, approaching the counter again; still the goblins all around were watching. “But how could you have done, which wandmaker did you use?”
Harry acted without thinking. Pointing his wand at Travers, he muttered, “Imperio!” once more.
“Oh yes, I see,” said Travers, looking down at Bellatrix’s wand, “yes, very handsome. and is it working well? I always think wands require a little breaking in, don’t you?”
Hermione looked utterly bewildered, but to Harry’s enormous relief she accepted the bizarre turn of events without comment.
The old goblin behind the counter clapped his hands and a younger goblin approached.
“I shall need the Clankers,” he told the goblin, who dashed away and returned a moment later with a leather bag that seemed to be full of jangling metal, which he handed to his senior. “Good, good! S, if you will follow me, Madam Lestrange,” said the old goblin, hopping down off his stool and vanishing from sight. “I shall take you to your vault.”
He appeared around the end of the counter, jogging happily toward them, the contents of the leather bag still jingling. Travers was now standing quite still with his mouth hanging wide open. Ron was drawing attention to this odd phenomenon by regarding Travers with confusion.
“Wait – Bogrod!”
Another goblin came scurrying around the counter.
“We have instructions,” he said with a bow to Hermione. “Forgive me, Madam, but there have been special orders regarding the vault of Lestrange.”
He whispered urgently in Bogrod’s ear, but the Imperiused goblin shook him off.
“I am aware of the instructions, Madam Lestrange wishes to visit her vault … Very old family … old clients … This way, please …”
And, still clanking, he hurried toward one of the many doors leading off the hall. Harry looked back at Travers , who was still rooted to the spot looking abnormally vacant, and made his decision. With a flick of his wand he made Travers come with them, walking meekly in their wake as they reached the door and passed into the rough stone passageway beyond, which was lit with flaming torches.
“We’re in trouble; they suspect,” said Harry as the door slammed behind them and he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak. Griphook jumped down from his shoulders: neither Travers nor Bogrod showed the slightest surprise at the sudden appearance of Harry Potter in their midst. “They’re Imperiused,” he added, in response to Hermione and Ron’s confused queries about Travers and Bogrod, who were both now standing there looking blank. “I don’t think I did it strongly enough, I don’t know …”
And another memory darted through his mind, of the real Bellatrix Lestrange shrieking at him when he had first tried to use an Unforgivable Curse: “You need to mean them, Potter!”
“What do we do?” asked Ron. “Shall we get out now, while we can?”
“If we can,” said Hermione, looking back toward the door into the main hall, beyond which who knew what was happening.
“We’ve got this far, I say we go on,” said Harry.
“Good!” said Griphook. “So, we need Bogrod to control the cart; I no long have the authority. But there will not be room for the wizard.”
Harry pointed his wand at Travers.
“Imperio!”
The wizard turned and set off along the dark track at a smart pace.
“What are you making him do?”
“Hide,” said Harry as he pointed his wand at Bogrod, who whistled to summon a little cart that came trundling along the tracks toward them out of the darkness. Harry was sure he could hear shouting behind them in the main hall as they all clambered into it, Bogrod in front of Griphook, Harry, Ron, and Hermione crammed together in the back.
With a jerk the cart moved off, gathering speed: They hurried past Travers, who was wriggling into a crack in the wall, then the cart began twisting and turning through the labyrinthine passages, sloping downward all the time. Harry could not hear anything over the rattling of the cart on the tracks: His hair flew behind him as they swerved between stalactites, flying ever deeper into the earth, but he kept glancing back. They might as well have left enormous footprints behind them; the more he thought about it, the more foolish it seemed to have disguised Hermione as Bellatrix, to have brought along Bellatrix’s wand, when the Death Eaters knew who had stolen it –
There were a deeper than Harry had ever penetrated within Gringotts; they took a hairpin bend at speed and saw ahead of them, with seconds to spare, a waterfall pounding over the track. Harry heard Griphook shout, “No!” but there was no braking. They zoomed through it. Water filled Harry’s eyes and mouth: He could not see or breathe: Then, with an awful lurch, the cart flipped over and they were all thrown out of it. Harry heard the cart smash into pieces against the passage wall, heard Hermione shriek something, and felt himself glide back toward the ground as though weightless, landing painlessly on the rocky passage floor.
“C-Cushioning Charm,” Hermione spluttered, as Ron pulled her to her feet, but to Harry’s horror he saw that she was no longer Bellatrix; instead she stood there in overlarge robes, sopping wet and completely herself; Ron was red-haired and beardless again. They were realizing it as they looked at each other, feeling their own faces.
“The Thief’s Downfall!” said Griphook, clambering to his feet and looking back the deluge onto the tracks, which, Harry knew now, had been more than water. “It washes away all enchantment, all magical concealment! They know there are imposers in Gringotts, they have set off defenses against us!”
Harry saw Hermione checking that she still had the beaded bag, and hurriedly thrust his own hand under his jacket to make sure he had not lost the Invisibility Cloak. Then he turned to see Bogrod shaking his head in bewilderment: The Thief’s Downfall seemed to have lifted his Imperius Curse.
“We need him,” said Griphook, “we cannot enter the vault without a Gringott’s goblin. And we need the clankers!”
“Imperio!” Harry said again; his voice echoed through the stone passage as he felt again the sense of heady control that flowed from brain to wand. Bogrod submitted once more to his will, his befuddled expression changing to one of polite indifference, as Ron hurried to pick up the leather bag of metal tools.
“Harry, I think I can hear people coming!” said Hermione, and she pointed Bellatrix’s wand at the waterfall and cried, “Protego!” They saw the Shield Charm break the flow of enchanted water as it flew up the passageway.
“Good thinking,” said Harry. “Lead the way, Griphook!”
“How are we going to get out again?” Ron asked as they hurried on foot into the darkness after the goblin, Bogrod panting in their wake like an old dog.
“Let’s worry about that when we have to,” said Harry. He was trying to listen: He thought he could hear something clanking and moving around nearby. “Griphook, how much farther?”
“Not far, Harry Potter, not far …”
And they turned a corner and saw the thing for which Harry had been prepared, but which still brought all of them to a halt.
A gigantic dragon was tethered to the ground in front of them, barring access to four or five of the deepest vaults in the place. The beast’s scales had turned pale and flaky during its long incarceration under the ground, its eyes were milkily pink; both rear legs bore heavy cuffs from which chains led to enormous pegs driven deep into the rocky floor. Its great spiked wings, folded close to its body, would have filled the chamber if it spread them, and when it turned its ugly head toward them, it roared with a noise that made the rock tremble, opened its mouth, and spat a jet of fire that sent them running back up the passageway.
“It is partially blind,” panted Griphook, “but even more savage for that. However, we have the means to control it. It has learned what to expect when the Clankers come. Give them to me.”
Ron passed the bag to Griphook, and the goblin pulled out a number of small metal instruments that when shaken made a long ringing noise like miniature hammers on anvils. Griphook handed them out: Bogrod accepted his meekly.
“You know what to do,” Griphook told Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “It will expect pain when it hears the noise. It will retreat, and Bogrod must place his palm upon the door of the vault.”
They advanced around the corner again, shaking the Clankers, and the noise echoed off the rocky walls, grossly magnified, so that the inside of Harry’s skull seemed to vibrate with the den. The dragon let out another hoarse roar, then retreated. Harry could see it trembling, and as they drew nearer he saw the scars made by vicious slashes across its face, and guess that it had been taught to fear hot swords when it heard the sound of the Clankers.
“Make him press his hand to the door!” Griphook urged Harry, who turned his wand again upon Bogrod. The old goblin obeyed, pressing his palm to the wood, and the door of the vault melted away to reveal a cavelike opening crammed from floor to ceiling with golden coins and goblets, silver armor, the skins of strange creatures – some with long spines, other with drooping wings – potions in jeweled flasks, and a skull still wearing a crown. “Search, fast!” said Harry as they all hurried inside the vault. He had described Hufflepuff’s cap to Ron and Hermione, but if it was the other, unknown Horcrux that resided in this vault, he did not know what it looked like. He barely had time to glance around, however, before there was a muffled clunk from behind them: The door had reappeared, sealing them inside the vault, and they were plunged into total darkness.
“No matter, Bogrod will be able to release us!” said Griphook as Ron gave a shout of surprise. “Light your wands, can’t you? And hurry, we have little time!”
“Lumos!”
Harry shone his lit wand around the vault: Its beam fell upon glittering jewels; he saw the fake sword of Gryffindor lying on a high shelf amongst a jumble of chains. Ron and Hermione had lit their wands too, and were now examining the piles of objects surrounding them.
“Harry, could this be –? Aargh!”
Hermione screamed in pain, and Harry turned his wand on her in time to see a jeweled goblet tumbling from her grip. But as it fell, it split, became a shower of goblets, so that a second later, with a great clatter, the floor was covered in identical cups rolling in every direction, the original impossible to discern amongst them.
“It burned me!” moaned Hermione, sucking her blistered fingers.
“They have added Germino and Flagrante Curses!” said Griphook.
“Everything you touch will burn and multiply, but the copies are worthless – and if you continue to handle the treasure, you will eventually be crushed to death by the weight of expanding gold!”
“Okay, don’t touch anything!” said Harry desperately, but even as he said it, Ron accidentally nudged one of the fallen goblets with his foot, and twenty more exploded into being while Ron hopped on the spot, part of his shoe burned away by contact with the hot metal.
“Stand still, don’t move!” said Hermione, clutching at Ron.
“Just look around!” said Harry. “Remember, the cup’s small and gold, it’s got a badger engraved on it, two handles – otherwise see if you can spot Ravenclaw’s symbol anywhere, the eagle – ”
They directed their wands into every nook and crevice, turning cautiously on the spot. It was impossible not to brush up against anything; Harry sent a great cascade of fake Galleons onto the ground where they joined the goblets, and now there was scarcely room to place their feet, and the glowing gold blazed with heat, so that the vault felt like a furnace. Harry’s wandlight passed over shields and goblin-made helmets set on shelves rising to the ceiling; higher and higher he raised the beam, until suddenly it found an object that made his heart skip and his hand tremble.
“It’s there, it’s up there!”
Ron and Hermione pointed there wands at it too, so that the little golden cup sparkled in a three-way spotlight: the cup that had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, which had passed into the possession of Hepzibah Smith, from whom it had been stolen by Tom Riddle.
“And how the hell are we going to get up there without touching anything?” asked Ron.
“Accio Cup!” cried Hermione, who had evidently forgotten in her desperation what Griphook had told them during their planning sessions.
“No use, no use!” snarled the goblin.
“Then what do we do?” said Harry, glaring at the goblin. “If you want the sword, Griphook, then you’ll have to help us more than – wait! Can I touch stuff with the sword? Hermione, give it here!”
Hermione fumbled insider her robes, drew out a beaded bag, rummaged for a few seconds, then removed the shining sword. Harry seized it by its rubied hilt and touched the tip of the blade to a silver flagon nearby, which did not multiply.
“If I can just poke the sword through a handle – but how am I going to get up there?”
The shelf on which the cup reposed was out of reach for any of them, even Ron, who was tallest. The heat from the enchanted treasure rose in waves, and sweat ran down Harry’s face and back as he struggled to think of a way up to the cup; and then he heard the dragon roar on the other side of the vault door, and the sound of clanking growing louder and louder.
They were truly trapped now: There was no way out except through the door, and a horde of goblins seemed to be approaching on the other side. Harry looked at Ron and Hermione and saw terror in their faces.
“Hermione,” said Harry, as the clanking grew louder, “I’ve got to get up there, we’ve got to get rid of it – ”
She raised her wand, pointed it at Harry, and whispered, “Levicorpus.”
Hoisted into the air by his ankle, Harry hit a suit of armor and replicas burst out of it like white-hot bodies, filling the cramped space. With screams of pain, Ron, Hermione, and the two goblins were knocked aside into other objects, which also began to replicate. Half buried in a rising tide of red-hot treasure, they struggled and yelled has Harry thrust the sword through the handle of Hufflepuff’s cup, hooking it onto the blade.
“Impervius!” screeched Hermione in an attempt to protect herself, Ron, and the goblins from the burning metal.
Then the worst scream yet made Harry look down: Ron and Hermione were waist deep in treasure, struggling to keep Bogrod from slipping beneath the rising tide, but Griphook had sunk out of sight; and nothing but the tips of a few long fingers were left in view.
Harry seized Griphook’s fingers and pulled. The blistered goblin emerged by degrees, howling.
“Liberatocorpus!” yelled Harry, and with a crash he and Griphook landed on the surface of the swelling treasure, and the sword flew out of Harry’s hand.
“Get it!” Harry yelled, fighting the pain of the hot metal on his skin, as Griphook clambered onto his shoulders again, determined to avoid the swelling mass of red-hot objects. “Where’s the sword? It had the cup on it!”
The clanking on the other side of the door was growing deafening – it was too late –
“There!”
It was Griphook who had seen it and Griphook who lunged, and in that instant Harry knew that the goblin had never expected them to keep their word. One hand holding tightly to a fistful of Harry’s hair, to make sure he did not fall into the heaving sea of burning gold, Griphook seized the hilt of the sword and swung it high out of Harry’s reach. The tiny golden cup, skewered by the handle on the sword’s blade was flung into the air. The goblin astride him, Harry dived and caught it, and although he could feel it scalding his flesh he did not relinquish it, even while countless Hufflepuff cups burst from his fist, raining down upon him as the entrance of the vault opened up again and he found himself sliding uncontrollably on an expanding avalanche of fiery gold and silver that bore him, Ron, Hermione into the outer chamber.
Hardly aware of the pain from the burns covering his body, and still borne along the swell of replicating treasure, Harry shoved the cup into his pocket and reached up to retrieve the sword, but Griphook was gone. Sliding from Harry’s shoulders the moment he could, he had sprinted for cover amongst the surrounding goblins, brandishing the sword and crying, “Thieves! Thieves! Help! Thieves!” He vanished into the midst of the advancing crowd, all of whom were holding daggers and who accepted him without question.
Slipping on the hot metal, Harry struggled to his feet and knew that the only way out was through.
“Stupefy!” he bellowed, and Ron and Hermione joined in: Jets of red light flew into the crowd of goblins, and some toppled over, but others advanced, and Harry saw several wizard guards running around the corner.
The tethered dragon let out a roar, and a gush of flame flew over the goblins; The wizards fled, doubled-up, back the way they had come, and inspiration, or madness, came to Harry. Pointing his wand at the thick cuffs chaining the beast to the floor, he yelled, “Relashio!”
The cuffs broken open with loud bangs.
“This way!” Harry yelled, and still shooting Stunning Spells at the advancing goblins, he sprinted toward the blind dragon.
“Harry – Harry – what are you doing?” cried Hermione.
“Get up, climb up, come on – ”
The dragon had not realized that it was free: Harry’s foot found the crook of its hind leg and he pulled himself up onto its back. The scales were hard as steel; it did not even seem to feel him. He stretched out an arm; Hermione hoisted herself up; Ron climbed on behind them, and a second later the dragon became aware that it was untethered.
With a roar it reared: Harry dug in his knees, clutching as tightly as he could to the jagged scales as the wings opened, knocking the shrieking goblins aside like skittles, and it soared into the air. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, flat on its back, scraped against the ceiling as it dived toward the passage opening, while the pursuing goblins hurled daggers that glanced off its flanks.
“We’ll never get out, it’s too big!” Hermione screamed, but the dragon opened its mouth and belched flame again, blasting the tunnel, whose floors and ceiling cracked and crumbled. By sheer force, the dragon clawed and fought its way through. Harry’s eyes were shut tight against the heat and dust: Deafened by the crash of rock and the dragon’s roars, he could only cling to its back, expecting to be shaken off at any moment; then he heard Hermione yelling, “Defodio!”
She was helping the dragon enlarge the passageway, carving out the ceiling as it struggled upward toward the fresher air, away from the shrieking and clanking goblins: Harry and Ron copied her, blasting the ceiling apart with more gouging spells. They passed the underground lake, and the great crawling, snarling beast seemed to sense freedom and space ahead of it, and behind them the passage was full of the dragon’s thrashing, spiked tail, of great lumps of rock, gigantic fractured stalactites, and the clanking of the goblins seemed to be growing more muffled, while ahead, the dragon’s fire kept their progress clear –
And then at last, by the combined force of their spells and the dragon’s brute strength, they had blasted their way out of the passage into the marble hallway. Goblins and wizards shrieked and ran for cover, and finally the dragon had room to stretch its wings: Turning its horned head toward the cool outside air it could smell beyond the entrance, it took off, and with Harry, Ron, and Hermione still clinging to its back, it forced its way through the metal doors, leaving them buckled and hanging from their hinges, as it staggered into Diagon Alley and launched itself into the sky.
他们的计划定好了，并且也准备完毕了；在那间最小的卧室里,一条长长的、粗粗的黑头发（从赫敏在马尔夫庄园里穿过的毛衣上扯下来的）被卷曲着塞进了壁炉架上的小玻璃瓶里。 
　　“那时，你会用她的魔杖，”哈利说，冲着前面的核桃木魔杖点了点头，“所以我认为伪装会相当成功。” 
　　赫敏惊恐的看着那根魔杖，好像她一拿起它，那根魔杖就会蜇她打她一样。 
　　“我讨厌这玩意儿，”她低声说，“我真的讨厌这玩意儿。这感觉全不对，它完全不适合我……这上面有她的感觉” 
　　哈利忍不住想起了当时赫敏是怎样消除他对那根刺李树魔杖的厌恶的。她坚持认为他觉得那根魔杖没有自己那根的好用是因为他在想着其他的事情，并且告诉只要多多练习就好了。他选择不把她的建议原句奉还，毕竟在攻击古灵阁的前夜打击她并不是个好机时。 
　　“这应该可以帮你很快进入角色，”罗恩说，“想想这根魔杖原来干过什么啊！” 
　　“这恰恰就是问题所在，”赫敏说，“折磨纳威父母的就是这支魔杖，天晓得它还对谁干过这些事儿。况且小天狼星就是被它杀死的！” 
　　哈利原来没有想到这些：现在，他有一种强烈的欲望，就是用靠在他旁边墙上的格兰芬多宝剑把它砍断劈成碎片。 
　　“我想念我的魔杖，”赫敏痛苦的说，“我希望奥利凡德先生可以再给我做一根新的魔杖。” 
　　奥利凡德先生早上才给卢娜寄来了一支新的魔杖。这会儿，在午后的阳光下，她正在后院的草地上测试它的性能。迪安很郁闷的看着她，因为他的魔杖被抢夺者们搞丢了。 
　　哈利朝下看着那根曾经属于德拉科·马尔福的山楂木魔杖。他即惊奇又高兴地发现他使用马尔福的魔杖挺顺手的，就像赫敏从前一样。他想起奥利凡德先生曾经告诉他的关于魔杖工作的秘密，他想他明白了现在赫敏的问题所在：她还没有赢得魔杖的忠诚是因为她没有亲手从贝拉特里克斯手中夺过它。 
　　这时卧室的门开了，拉环走了进来。哈利下意识地握住剑柄把荐朝身边拉近了点，但他马上对自己的这一反应感到后悔。他发现了妖精注意到了他的举动，为了掩盖这个尴尬的时刻，他说：”拉环，我们正在做最后的准备，我们明天离开的事情已经告诉了比尔和芙蓉，并告诉他们不用起来送我们了。” 
　　他们已经达成共识：让比尔和芙蓉对这件事情知道得越少越好。因为赫敏在离开之前要变成贝拉特里克斯时的样子。比尔和芙蓉对他们要干的事知道或猜到得越少越好。而且他们也解释说他们不会再回来了。由于他们在被掠夺者追捕的时候把珀金斯的旧帐篷弄丢了，比尔又借给他们了一个。它现在放进了珠绣袋里——当时赫敏把它塞进袜子里躲开了掠夺者的搜查，哈利对此印象深刻。 
　　尽管他会非常想念比尔、芙蓉、卢娜和迪安，更不用说这个几星期以来他们没有享受过的舒适的家居生活，他还是现在非常想逃离这个囚禁他的贝壳小屋。他厌倦了总是要确认是否有人偷听的日子，也厌倦了被关在狭小黑暗的卧室里。更重要的是他渴望摆脱拉环。无论无何，在不交出给兰芬多宝剑的前提下，如何、何时摆脱妖精的控制，确实已经成为了一个哈利无法解决问题。他们几乎不可能决定下一步应该做什么，因为妖精每次把哈利、罗恩和赫敏三人单独留下的时间都不超过五分钟。”他简直可以给我妈妈上课了！”罗恩咆哮着，这时妖精的长手指总是不断的在门边晃悠。有了比尔诚心的提醒，哈利不得不怀疑拉环在时刻监视着他们任何可能采取的诡计。赫敏打心眼里不同意哈利使用欺骗的手段，所以哈利也不想去了解赫敏认为怎么样做最妥当的尝试。而罗恩呢，总是趁着极少数拉环不在的空当，除了说一些”伙计们，要是我们能插上翅膀多好啊”之类的话以后，再也没有其它更好的主意。 
　　那一晚，哈利睡得很不好。整个前半夜他都在辗转反侧，找到了他们偷偷潜入魔法部前一晚的那种感觉：记起了那种决心，甚至还带点兴奋的感觉。他现在正在经历着由于持续不断的怀疑所带来的焦虑的困扰：他不能摆脱担心情况会变糟的那种恐惧。他不断地告诉自己他们的计划很棒，拉环知道他们将要面对的是什么，他们已经完全准备好了去面对他们可能会遇到的任何困难，然而他还是感觉不安。有那么一两次，哈利听到罗恩在翻身，知道他也醒着，但是由于和迪安共用一间卧室，所以哈里没有说什么。 
　　六点钟终于到时对他们是一种解脱。他们钻出睡袋，趁着朦胧的光线穿好衣服，蹑手蹑脚地进到花园里，他们在那里与赫敏和拉环回合。虽然拂晓有些寒冷，但是因为是五月，风很小。他抬起头，看到星星还在漆黑的夜空里闪烁着微光；他聆听着潮来潮去冲刷着岩壁的声音——他会想念这个声音的。 
　　这个时候嫩绿的小草芽正努力地从多比坟墓上的红土间钻出来，一年之内小土堆就会被鲜花所覆盖。刻着多比的名字的白色石头看起来已经历了风吹雨打。他明白他们现在找不到比这个更好的地方来让多比长眠，但是每当哈利想起他们要把多比留在这里的时候他即伤心又难受。低头看着这个坟墓，他还在想多比是怎么知道到哪儿去营救他们的。他的手指下意识的揪着依然挂在他脖子上的小袋子，透过袋子他感觉到了破碎镜子参差不齐的边沿，在那上面他确信他曾看到了是邓布利多的眼睛。然后，传来一阵开门的声音，他抬头，环顾四方。 
　　贝拉特里克斯·莱斯特兰奇在拉环的陪伴下穿过草地大步的向他们走来。在走路的同时，她把一个小的珠绣包塞进他们从格里莫广场带来的旧袍子的内口袋里。虽然哈利明确地知道这其实是赫敏，但是还是情不自禁生出一阵反感。她比哈利要高，长长的黑头发在脑袋后面飘舞，她那有着厚眼皮的眼睛轻蔑地盯着她，然后她说话了，他听见赫敏用贝拉特里克斯的声音在说话。 
　　“她看起来比戈迪根还恶心！好吧，罗恩，到这来，让我为你……” 
　　“好吧，但是记住，我讨厌太长的胡子。” 
　　“哦，看在上帝的份上，现在不是讨论英俊的时候。” 
　　“不是那样，它挡住我的嘴了！我希望我的鼻子能短点，再试试吧好吗，最后一次就好。” 
　　赫敏叹了口气开始施咒，一边为罗恩的脸部变形一边低声嘀咕。他会被完全伪装起来的，而且他们相信贝拉特里克斯身上的邪恶气息会保护他的。而哈利和拉环将要藏到隐形衣下面。 
　　“咳，”赫敏说，“他看起来怎么样，哈利？” 
　　罗恩在伪装下几乎让人认不出来了，只留下了一点点影子。哈利想，那是因为他太了解他了。罗恩的头发现在变得有长又卷，脸上是满是的棕色胡子，雀斑消失了，还有一个又短又胖的鼻子和一对粗粗的眉毛。 
　　“呃，他不是我喜欢的类型，但别人肯定认不出他了，”哈利说，“现在我们可以走了吗？” 
　　他们三个回头看了一眼贝壳小屋，在繁星闪烁的夜空下它显得又暗又静。接着他们转身走向围栏外面尖角，在那儿赤胆忠心咒就失效了，他们可以幻影移形。一走过那个门，拉环就说： 
　　“我想我得爬到你肩上去了，哈利·波特。” 
　　哈利弯下腰，妖精爬到了他背上，他的手伸到前面环住了哈利的喉咙。他并不重，但是哈利不喜欢妖精，不喜欢妖精大力紧紧地贴在他身上。赫敏从绣珠包中拉出隐形衣，掀起来把他俩罩住。 
　　“太完美了，”她说着弯腰去检查哈利的脚步，“我什么也看不见。出发吧。” 
　　拉环在他的肩上，把自己所有的精力集中到破斧酒吧——对角巷的入口——开始了幻影移形。随着他们慢慢遁入黑暗时，妖精也在哈利身上越贴越紧。过了不久，哈利感觉脚碰到了人行道，他睁开眼睛，发现他在查林十字街上。麻瓜们步履匆匆，脸上带着清晨特有急急忙忙的表情，对这个酒店毫无觉察。 
　　破斧酒吧几乎已经荒废掉了。那个驼背、无齿的老板汤姆，正在吧台的后擦着玻璃杯，一对巫师正在远处的角落里嘀嘀咕咕地说着什么，瞥见赫敏后又回到阴影中去了。 
　　“莱斯特兰奇夫人，”汤姆低声说道，当他看到赫敏停下脚步时，谦恭的低下了头。 
　　“早上好，”赫敏说，此时的哈利正背着拉环在隐身衣的保护下从他们身边悄悄地溜过去，他看见汤姆听了赫敏的话后露出了吃惊的表情。 
　　“你对他太友善了”哈利在他们穿过酒吧走到那个小后院的时候，在赫敏耳边低声说，“你应该像对待一堆垃圾一样对待他们。” 
　　“好的，好的！” 
　　赫敏掏出贝拉特里克斯的魔杖，在他们面前那看似平淡无奇的墙上轻敲了一下。上面的砖块马上开始振动旋转，一个小洞出现在了墙壁中央，越变越大，最后一个拱门出现在了他们面前，这座拱门通向一条由鹅卵石铺成的街道，那就是对角巷。 
　　现在的对角巷太冷清了。店铺前门庭冷落，街上行人寥寥，一派萧条破败的景象。这条鹅卵石铺就的狭窄街道与哈利多年前第一次去霍格沃兹报道前比已经变得面目全非了——那时这条街道人头蹿动，热闹非常。就算和上一次来的时候比起来也变了不少，许多店铺都已经用木板封了店，而与之相对的几家专营黑魔法的商店却大模大样的冒了出来，哈利看到许多窗子上都贴着他的通缉令，上面的自己正对他怒目而视，而通缉令下面毫无疑问的是“头号不受欢迎人物”几个大字。 
　　许多衣衫褴褛的人蜷缩在店铺门口，他听到他们不住的对寥寥无几的行人呻吟着，一面乞讨，一面强调着自己是个真正的巫师。其中一个人的眼睛上还缠着血迹斑斑的绷带。 
　　当他们走在街上时，乞丐们一看到赫敏，恨不得马上从她面前消失，他们用头巾遮着脸四散躲避。赫敏正为眼前的景象纳着闷，突然，那个缠着血绷带的男人一瘸一拐的挡在了她面前。 
　　“我的孩子，”他指着她，吼道，他的音调很高，声音嘶哑，听起来已经快要发狂了，“我的孩子在哪？他是怎么对待他们的？你知道的，你知道！！” 
　　“我——我真的——”赫敏结结巴巴的申辩到。 
　　那个男人喘着粗气，直扑她的喉咙。正在这时，随着一声巨响，一道红光把他击倒在地，不省人事。罗恩站在那里，手里还举着他的魔杖，而他胡子下所露出的表情说明，他显然是被眼前的景象吓坏了。街道两旁的窗户上探出几张脸，而街上聚集的看热闹的行人则抓紧身上的长袍小跑着想离开这个是非之地。 
　　他们身后的对角巷入口快要看不到了，此时的哈利拿不准他们是不是该马上离开回去另想办法。正当他们举棋不定想要相互商量一下的时候，他们身后传来了一阵叫声。 
　　“啊，莱斯特兰奇夫人！” 
　　哈利急忙转身，拉环把哈利的脖子勒得更紧了。一个高高瘦瘦的巫师大步向他们走来——他的头发乱糟糟的，鼻子又尖又长。 
　　“那是特莱维尔”，这个妖精在哈利耳边耳语道，但是这个时候哈利根本无心去想特莱维尔是谁。赫敏站直了身子，尽可能轻蔑地说道： 
　　“你想干什么？” 
　　特莱维尔停下脚步，显然是被激怒了。 
　　“他是另一个食死徒！”拉环轻声说，哈利往侧面挪过去，把这句话跟赫敏重复了一遍。 
　　“只是和你打个招呼，”特莱维尔冷冷的说，”但是如果我的出现不受欢迎的话……” 
　　这时哈利听出他的声音了：特莱维尔是被召唤到西诺费利家的那群食死徒之一。 
　　“不，不，才不是呢，特莱维尔。”赫敏很快反应过来，想要掩饰刚才的错误。”你好吗？” 
　　“我承认看见你在外面到处跑我很惊讶，贝拉特里克斯。” 
　　“真的？为什么？”赫敏问道。 
　　“是这样，”特莱维尔咳嗽一声，“我听说住在马尔夫庄园的那些人都被关在房子里呢，在……厄……逃脱之后。” 
　　哈利希望赫敏能够冷静思考。如果这是真的，那么贝拉特里克斯就不应该在大庭广众之前到处跑—— 
　　“黑魔王原谅了那些过去曾经最虔诚地效忠他的仆人。”赫敏惟妙惟肖的模仿着贝拉特里克斯那种目空一切的神态，“也许他对你的信任不如对我的多，特莱维尔。” 
　　虽然那个食死徒看上去很不快，但还疑心没那么重了。他低头看了看被罗恩击倒的那个人。 
　　“他怎么惹到你了？” 
　　“没什么，已经没事了。”赫敏冷冷地说。 
　　“这些手里没魔杖的家伙很麻烦。”特莱维尔说道，”他们求我时我真没法拒绝，但是上周其中有个人真的求我在魔法部替她的案子说话。‘我是个女巫，先生，我是个女巫，让我证明给你看！’”他装出尖声尖气的语调，“好像我打算给她我的魔杖——不过你现在用的，”特莱维尔诧异道，“是谁的魔杖，贝拉特里克斯？我听说你自己的魔杖被——” 
　　“我的魔杖在这儿。”赫敏镇定的举起了贝拉特里克斯的魔杖说道，”我不知道你听到了什么谣言，特莱维尔，但是你显然是错误消息误导了。” 
　　特莱维尔看起来对此有一点迷惑，他把目光转向罗恩。 
　　“你这位朋友是谁？我认不出来。” 
　　“他是德拉克米尔·迪斯帕。”赫敏说道，他们已经想好了，一个编造出来的外国人是罗恩最安全的伪装。”他几乎不会说英语，不过他对黑魔王的大业很支持。他从特兰西瓦尼亚到这儿来，等着看我们的新政权建立。” 
　　“真的吗？你好啊，德拉克米尔。” 
　　“哦，你好。”罗恩伸出一只手。 
　　特莱维尔伸出两根手指和罗恩握了手，好像是害怕弄脏自己似的。 
　　“那么你和你的——支持者朋友这么早到对角巷来干什么？”特莱维尔问道。 
　　“我要去古灵阁。”赫敏说。 
　　“唉，我也要去那儿呢。”特莱维尔说，”金子，肮脏的金子！离了它我们活不下去，不过我得承认，不得不跟咱们那些长手指的朋友们搅在一起让我很难过。” 
　　哈利感觉到拉环扣住自己脖子的双手在瞬间收紧了。 
　　“一起去吧？”特莱维尔说道，冲赫敏摆了个您先请的手势。 
　　赫敏只好和他并着肩，沿着曲折的鹅卵石街道，走向那雪白的矗立在许多小商店之间的古灵阁。罗恩歪斜着走在他们旁边，哈利和拉环跟在后面。 
　　碰到一个警觉的食死徒是他们碰到的最新难题，最糟糕的是，特莱维尔走在他以为的贝拉特里斯身边，这样哈利就没办法跟赫敏或者罗恩说话了。很快他们就来到了通向高大铜门的大理石台阶下面。正如拉环事先警告的那样，通常守在入口处两侧的穿制服的妖精们被两名巫师取代了，他们每人手中都攥着细长的金棒。 
　　“啊，正直探针！”特莱维尔表情生动的说，”多么粗劣的仪器——但又是那么管用！” 
　　他迈步走上前去，朝左右两个巫师点了点头，后者举起金棒在他身上上下移动。哈利知道那探针可以探测出隐藏的咒语和魔法物品。他知道自己只有几秒钟时间，于是用德拉科的魔杖依次指着那两名守卫咕哝了两遍“迷魂乱心”。特莱维尔正透过铜大门看着里面的大厅，所以没有发现，那两个守卫被咒语击中时都稍稍呆了一下。 
　　赫敏从台阶往上走时她的黑色长发在背后起伏不定。 
　　“等一下，夫人。”一个守卫举起探针说道。 
　　“但是你们刚检查完了啊！”赫敏装着贝拉特里克斯那种居高临下的傲慢语气说道，特莱维尔双眉挑起四下环顾。那个守卫不解其意，他低头看了看手中那根细细的金棒，然后又去看自己那位头昏眼花的同事。 
　　“是啊，你已经查过他们了，马里乌斯。” 
　　赫敏一阵风般的走过去了。罗恩跟着她，哈利和拉环在隐身衣里面紧紧相随。他们跨进门内时哈利回头看了一眼，两名守卫都在抓头。 
　　内厅门口站着两个妖精，那门是银质的，门上刻着富有诗意的警告语，提醒有歹意的盗贼们偷窃的严重后果。哈利抬头看去，突然之间他脑海中电光一闪：在他一生中最美妙的十一岁生日那天，他就站在这个地方，他身边的海格说道，“就像我说的，你要是来这儿打劫会被搞得崩溃的。”那天古灵阁看上去像是个仙境，是个储藏着他从未知晓的一大笔财产的魔法金库，那个时候他从来没想过有天会来这里偷东西……但是片刻工夫，他们就站在银行敞亮的大理石大厅之中了。 
　　妖精们坐在长长的柜台后面的凳子上，为当天的第一批客人服务。赫敏罗恩和特莱维尔走向一个正带着眼镜察看一枚厚厚金币的老妖精。赫敏借口给罗恩讲解银行大厅里怎么办公，让特莱维尔走在自己前面。 
　　那个老妖精把手中的金币往旁边一扔，不知道对着谁喊了一声：“矮妖！”然后向特莱维尔打招呼，特莱维尔递过去一枚小金钥匙，妖精察看之后还给了他。 
　　赫敏向前走去。 
　　“莱斯特兰奇夫人！”那妖精喊道，显然很是震惊。”我的天啊！我——我今天能为您做点什么？” 
　　“我要去我的金库看看。”赫敏说道。 
　　老妖精似乎有点畏缩的样子。哈利四下环视，不光是特莱维尔正在犹豫的观察着，其他几个妖精们也从手头的工作中抬起头来盯着赫敏看。 
　　“您有……证件吗？”妖精问道。 
　　“证件？——从来没人找我查过证件！！”赫敏说。 
　　“他们知道了！”拉环在哈利耳边悄悄说道，“一定有人警告他们会有人冒名顶替！” 
　　“用您的魔杖就行，夫人。”妖精说道。他微微颤抖着伸出手，哈利脑海中闪过一个可怕的念头，他觉得古灵阁的妖精们已经获悉贝拉特里克斯的魔杖被偷了。 
　　“快动手！快动手！”拉环在哈利耳边小声说，“用夺魂咒！” 
　　哈利在隐身衣下面举起了山楂木制的魔杖，指向那个老妖精，在他一生中头一次轻轻的说道：“灵魂出窍！” 
　　一种奇怪的感觉从哈利的手臂中射出来，他大脑里好像趟出一股麻痒的暖流，通过杖芯和纹理将他和魔杖与发出去的咒语连在了一起。那妖精接过贝拉特里克斯的魔杖细细查看了一番，然后说道：“啊，您换了一只新的魔杖啊，莱斯特兰奇夫人！” 
　　“什么？”赫敏说，“不，不，那是我的——” 
　　“新魔杖？”特莱维尔又凑到柜台跟前，周围所有的妖精们仍旧在看他们。”但是你怎么买到的呢，哪个制杖人帮你做的？” 
　　哈利想也没想就动手了。他把魔杖指向特莱维尔，又一次念出“灵魂出窍！” 
　　“哦，是的，我明白了。”特莱维尔低头看着贝拉特里克斯的魔杖说道，“是的，很漂亮，它好用吗？我总认为魔杖需要一点磨合，你说呢？” 
　　赫敏看上去十分困惑，然而面对骤变她并没说什么，这让哈利长长松了口气。 
　　柜台后面的老妖精拍了下手，一个年轻妖精走了过来。 
　　“把钥匙给我拿来，”他告诉那个年轻妖精，后者一阵风跑开了，不大功夫拎来一只装满了叮当响的金属工具的羽毛口袋，并将这口袋递给自己的上司。”好，好！S，请跟我来，莱斯特兰奇夫人。”老妖精从凳子上跳下来，消失在视野中。”我带您到您的金库那儿去！” 
　　他出现在柜台尽头，快活的小跑过来，羽毛袋中的东西还在叮当乱响。特莱维尔一动不动的站着，嘴巴大张。特莱维尔的奇怪样子让罗恩感到百思不解。 
　　“等等——博格！” 
　　又一个妖精匆忙转过柜台走了过来。 
　　“我们有规定。”他向赫敏鞠了一躬说道，“请原谅，夫人，莱斯特兰奇家的金库还有一些特殊规定。” 
　　他急切地跟博格耳语了几句，然而被夺魂的妖精把他推开。 
　　“我知道规矩，莱斯特兰奇夫人要到她的金库那儿去……很古老的家族呢……老主顾了……请这边走……” 
　　然后，他带着那些叮当作响的东西，匆匆走向大厅尽头很多扇门之一。哈利回头去看特莱维尔，只见他仍旧站在原地茫然无措，哈利下了决心。他轻点魔杖，叫特莱维尔温顺的跟在后面，他们穿过那扇门走入了一条粗糙的石路，两旁有燃烧着的火炬来照明。 
　　“我们有麻烦了，他们起疑心了。”当门在身后关闭，哈利脱下隐身衣说道。拉环跳下他的肩膀，特莱维尔和博格都没有对哈利·波特突然出现在他们中间感到丝毫惊讶。“他们被我施了夺魂咒。”他解释说，因为赫敏和罗恩都对站在那儿眼神空洞的特莱维尔和博格提出了疑问。“我觉得那咒施得不够厉害，我不知道……” 
　　另一缕记忆飞速穿过他的脑海，他第一次试图使用不可饶恕咒语时真正的贝拉特里克斯对他尖声喊道：”你得真的想干掉我，波特！” 
　　“我们
Chapter 27 The Final Hiding Place
There was no means of steering; the dragon could not see where it was going, and Harry knew that if it turned sharply or rolled in midair they would find it impossible to cling onto its broad back. Nevertheless, as they climbed higher and higher, London unfurling below them like a gray-and-green map, Harry’s overwhelming feeling was of gratitude for an escape that had seemed impossible. Crouching low over the beast’s neck, he clung tight to the metallic scales, and the cool breeze was soothing on his burned and blistered skin, the dragon’s wings beating the air like the sails of a windmill. Behind him, whether from delight or fear he could not tell. Ron kept swearing at the top of his voice, and Hermione seemed to be sobbing.
After five minutes or so, Harry lost some of his immediate dread that the dragon was going to throw them off, for it seemed intent on nothing but getting as far away from its underground prison as possible; but the question of how and when they were to dismount remained rather frightening. He had no idea how long dragons could fly without landing, nor how this particular dragon, which could barely see, would locate a good place to put down. He glanced around constantly, imagining that he could feel his seat prickling.
How long would it be before Voldemort knew that they had broken into the Lestranges’ vault? How soon would the goblins of Gringotts notify Bellatrix? How quickly would they realize what had been taken? And then, when they discovered that the golden cup was missing? Voldemort would know, at last, that they were hunting Horcruxes.
The dragon seemed to crave cooler and fresher air. It climbed steadily until they were flying through wisps of chilly cloud, and Harry could no longer make out the little colored dots which were cars pouring in and out of the capital. On and on they flew, over countryside parceled out in patches of green and brown, over roads and rivers winding through the landscape like strips of matte and glossy ribbon.
“What do you reckon it’s looking for?” Ron yelled as they flew farther and farther north.
“No idea,” Harry bellow back. His hands were numb with cold but he did not date attempt to shift his grip. He had been wondering for some time what they would do if they saw the coast sail beneath them, if the dragon headed for open seal he was cold and numb, not to mention desperately hungry and thirsty. When, he wondered, had the beast itself last eaten? Surely it would need sustenance before long? And what if, at that point, it realized it had three highly edible humans sitting on its back?
The sun slipped lower in the sky, which was turning indigo; and still the dragon flew, cities and towns gliding out of sight beneath them, its enormous shadow sliding over the earth like a giant dark cloud. Every part of Harry ached with the effort of holding on to the dragon’s back.
“Is it my imagination,” shouted Ron after a considerable stretch of silence, “or are we losing height?”
Harry looked down and saw deep green mountains and lakes, coppery in the sunset. the landscape seemed to grow larger and more detailed as he squinted over the side of the dragon, and he wondered whether it had divined the presence of fresh water by the flashes of reflected sunlight.
Lower and lower the dragon flew, in great spiraling circles, honing in, it seemed, upon one of the smaller lakes.
“I say we jump when it gets low enough!” Harry called back to the others. “Straight into the water before it realizes we’re here!”
They agreed, Hermione a little faintly, and now Harry could see the dragon’s wide yellow underbelly rippling in the surface of the water.
“NOW!”
He slithered over the side of the dragon and plummeted feetfirst toward the surface of the lake; the drop was greater than he had estimated and he hit the water hard, plunging like a stone into a freezing, green, reed-filled world. He kicked toward the surface and emerged, panting, to see enormous ripples emanating in circles from the places where Ron and Hermione had fallen. The dragon did not seem to have noticed anything; it was already fifty feet away, swooping low over the lake to scoop up water in its scarred snout. As Ron and Hermione emerged, spluttering and gasping, from the depths of the lake, the dragon flew on, its wings beating hard, and landed at last on a distant bank.
Harry, Ron and Hermione struck out for the opposite shore. The lake did not seem to be deep. Soon it was more a question of fighting their way through reeds and mud than swimming, and at last they flopped, sodden, panting, and exhausted, onto slippery grass.
Hermione collapsed, coughing and shuddering. Though Harry could have happily lain down and slept, he staggered to his feet, drew out his wand, and started casting the usual protective spells around them.
When he had finished, he joined the others. It was the first time that he had seen them properly since escaping from the vault. Both had angry red burns all over their faces and arms, and their clothing was singed away in places. They were wincing as they dabbed essence of dittany onto their many injuries. Hermione handed Harry the bottle, then pulled out three bottles of pumpkin juice she had brought from Shell Cottage and clean, dry robes for all of them. They changes and then gulped down the juice.
“Well, on the upside,” said Ron finally, who was sitting watching the skin on his hands regrow, “we got the Horcrux. On the downside-”
“– no sword,” said Harry through gritted teeth, as he dripped dittany through the singed hole in his jeans onto the angry burn beneath.
“No sword,” repeated Ron. “That double-crossing little scab…”
Harry pulled the Horcrux from the pocket of the wet jacket he had just taken off and set it down on the grass in front of them. Glinting in the sun, it drew their eyes as they swigged their bottles of juice.
“At least we can’t wear it this time, that’d look a bit weird hanging around our necks,” said Ron, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
Hermione looked across the lake to the far bank where the dragon was still drinking.
“What’ll happen to it, do you think?” she asked, “Will it be alright?”
“You sound like Hagrid,” said Ron, “It’s a dragon, Hermione, it can look after itself. It’s us we need to worry about.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well I don’t know how to break this to you,” said Ron, “but I think they might have noticed we broke into Gringotts.”
All three of them started to laugh, and once started, it was difficult to stop. Harry’s ribs ached, he felt lightheaded with hunger, but he lay back on the grass beneath the reddening sky and laughed until his throat was raw.
“What are we going to do, though?” said Hermione finally, hiccuping herself back to seriousness. “He’ll know, won’t he? You-Know-Who will know we know about his Horcruxes!”
“Maybe they’ll be too scared to tell him!” said Ron hopefully, “Maybe they’ll cover up –”
The sky, the smell of the lake water, the sound of Ron’s voice were extinguished. Pain cleaved Harry’s head like a sword stroke. 
 
He was standing in a dimly lit room, and a semicircle of wizards faced him, and on the floor at his feet knelt a small, quaking figure.
“What did you say to me?” His voice was high and cold, but fury and fear burned inside him. The one thing that he had dreaded – but it could not be true, he could not see how…
The goblin was trembling, unable to meet the red eyes high above his.
“Say it again!” murmured Voldemort. “Say it again!”
“M-my Lord,” stammered the goblin, its black eyes wide with terror, “m-my Lord… we t-tried to st-stop them… Im-impostors, my Lord… broke -broke into the – into the Lestranges’ vault…”
“Impostors? What impostors? I thought Gringotts had ways of revealing impostors? Who were they?”
“It was… it was… the P-Potter b-boy and the t-two accomplices…”
“And they took?” he said, his voice rising, a terrible fear gripping him, “Tell me! What did they take?”
“A… a s-small golden c-cup m-my Lord…”
The scream of rage, of denial left him as if it were a stranger’s. He was crazed, frenzied, it could not be true, it was impossible, nobody had known. How was it possible that the boy could have discovered his secret?
The Elder Wand slashed through the air and green light erupted through the room; the kneeling goblin rolled over dead; the watching wizards scattered before him, terrified. Bellatrix and Lucius Malfoy threw others behind them in their race for the door, and again and again his wand fell, and those who were left were slain, all of them, for bringing him this news, for hearing about the golden cup - Alone amongst the dead he stomped up and down, and they passed before him in vision: his treasures, his safeguards, his anchors to immortality – the diary was destroyed and the cup was stolen. What if, what if, the boy knew about the others? Could he know, had he already acted, had he traced more of them? Was Dumbledore at the root of this? Dumbledore, who had always suspected him; Dumbledore, dead on his orders; Dumbledore, whose wand was his now, yet who reached out from the ignominy of death through the boy, the boy -
But surely if the boy had destroyed any of his Horcruxes, he, Lord Voldemort, would have known, would have felt it? He, the greatest wizard of them all; he, the most powerful; he, the killer of Dumbledore and of how many other worthless, nameless men. How could Lord Voldemort not have known, if he, himself, most important and precious, had been attacked, mutilated?
True, he had not felt it when the diary had been destroyed, but he had thought that was because he had no body to fell, being less than ghost… No, surely, the rest were safe… The other Horcruxes must be intact…
But he must know, he must be sure… He paced the room, kicking aside the goblin’s corpse as he passed, and the pictures blurred and burned in his boiling brain: the lake, the shack, and Hogwarts -
A modicum of calm cooled his rage now. How could the boy know that he had hidden the ring in the Gaunt shack? No one had ever known him to be related to the Gaunts, he had hidden the connection, the killings had never been traced to him. The ring, surely, was safe.
And how could the boy, or anybody else, know about the cave or penetrate its protection? The idea of the locket being stolen was absurd…
As for the school: He alone knew where in Hogwarts he had stowed the Horcrux, because he alone had plumed the deepest secrets of that place…
And there was still Nagini, who must remain close now, no longer sent to do his bidding, under his protection…
But to be sure, to be utterly sure, he must return to each of his hiding places, he must redouble protection around each of his Horcruxes… A job, like the quest for the Elder Wand, that he must undertake alone…
Which should he visit first, which was in most danger? An old unease flickered inside him. Dumbledore had known his middle name… Dumbledore might have made the connection with the Gaunts… Their abandoned home was, perhaps, the least secure of his hiding places, it was there that he would go first…
The lake, surely impossible… though was there a slight possibility that Dumbledore might have known some of his past misdeeds, through the orphanage.
And Hogwarts… but he knew the his Horcrux there was safe; it would be impossible for Potter to enter Hogsmeade without detection, let alone the school. Nevertheless, it would be prudent to alert Snape to the fact that the boy might try to reenter the castle…. To tell Snape why the boy might return would be foolish, of course; it had been a grave mistake to trust Bellatrix and Malfoy. Didn’t their stupidity and carelessness prove how unwise it was ever to trust?
He would visit the Gaunt shack first, then, and take Nagini with him. He would not be parted from the snake anymore… and he strode from the room, through the hall, and out into the dark garden where the fountain played; he called the snake in Parseltongue and it slithered out to join him like a long shadow….
 
Harry’s eyes flew open as he wrenched himself back to the present. He was lying on the bank of the lake in the setting sun, and Ron and Hermione were looking down at him. Judging by their worried looks, and by the continued pounding of his scar, his sudden excursion into Voldemort’s mind had not passed unnoticed. He struggled up, shivering, vaguely surprised that he was still wet to his skin, and saw the cup lying innocently in the grass before him, and the lake, deep blue shot with gold in the falling sun.
“He knows.” His own voice sounded strange and low after Voldemort’s high screams. “He knows and he’s going to check where the others are, and the last one,” he was already on his feet, “is at Hogwarts. I knew it. I knew it.”
“What?”
Ron was gaping at him; Hermione sat up, looking worried.
“But what did you see? How do you know?”
“I saw him find out about the cup, I – I was in his head, he’s” – Harry remembered the killings – “he’s seriously angry, and scared too, he can’t understand how we knew, and now he’s going to check the others are safe, the ring first. He things the Hogwarts one is safest, because Snape’s there, because it’ll be so hard not to be seen getting in. I think he’ll check that one last, but he could still be there within hours – ”
“Did you see where in Hogwarts it is?” asked Ron, now scrambling to his feet too.
“No, he was concentrating on warning Snape, he didn’t think about exactly where it is – ”
“Wait, wait!” cried Hermione as Ron caught up to the Horcrux and Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak again. “We can’t just go, we haven’t got a plan, we need to – ”
“We need to get going,” said Harry firmly. He had been hoping to sleep, looking forward to getting into the new tent, but that was impossible now, “Can you imagine what he’s going to do once he realizes the ring and the locket are gone? What if he moves the Hogwarts Horcrux, decides it isn’t safe enough?”
“But how are we going to get in?”
“We’ll go to Hogsmeade,” said Harry, “and try to work something out once we see what the protection around the school’s like. Get under the Cloak, Hermione, I want to stick together this time.”
“But we don’t really fit – ”
“It’ll be dark, no one’s going to notice our feet.”
The flapping of enormous wings echoed across the black water. The dragon had drunk its fill and risen into the air. They paused in their preparations to watch it climb higher and higher, now black against the rapidly darkening sky, until it vanished over a nearby mountain. Then Hermione walked forward and took her place between the other two, Harry pulled the Cloak down as far as it would go, and together they turned on the spot into the crushing darkness.
他们根本没有办法控制方向，连这条龙自己都不知道要往哪去。哈利知道，一旦这条龙来个急转弯或者在空中打个滚，他们就很难紧贴住它那宽阔的脊背了。他们在空中越飞越高，伦敦在他们下面铺展开来，看起来像一张灰绿相间的双色地图。哈利不可抑制地感激着这次能从绝境中逃脱。他低低地蜷缩在这怪兽的颈下，紧贴着那金属般的表皮，凉爽的微风抚慰着他灼伤出水泡的皮肤，巨龙扑打着空气的双翼像是一对风车的叶片。在他的身后，不知道是因为高兴还是恐惧，罗恩一直在大声地咒骂，而赫敏似乎一直在哭泣。 
　　大约过了五分钟，哈利便不再担心会被龙甩飞了，它一直往前飞，看起来只想离那地下监狱越远越好；但他们要什么时候下去，怎么下去，这仍然使人感到担忧。他不知道龙不着陆一次可以飞多远，也不清楚这只十分罕见的龙会选个什么样的地方着陆。他不时地四处张望着，隐隐觉得他的伤疤正在刺痛着……伏地魔什么时候会知道他们侵入了莱斯特兰奇家族的金库？古灵阁的妖精们需要多久去通报贝拉特里克斯？他们要多久才会知道被偷走了什么？他们什么时候才会发现金杯失踪了？最后，伏地魔就会知道，他们在寻找魂器。 
　　巨龙似乎渴望更凉爽清新的空气，它缓慢上升着，穿越了一缕缕寒冷的云朵，哈利再也看不清楚那些五颜六色的、穿梭于城市内外的车辆了。他们就这样飞过了绿褐色的一块块村庄，飞过了那些蜿蜒在地面上的公路、河流，它们看起来像是一条条或粗糙或光滑的丝带。 
　　“你说它在找什么呐？”罗恩高声喊道，他们正在向北越飞越远。 
　　“不知道。”哈利向身后吼道。他紧握的双手已冻得失去了知觉，动也不敢动。他思考了一会儿，如果这条龙飞到海上，他们要怎么办？他现在被冻得全身麻木，而且又饿又渴。他突然想知道，这条巨兽最后一次吃饭是什么时候？它一定在不久之后就得进食吧？还有，如果那个时候它知道了背后有三个可以吃的人类，那会怎么样？ 
　　太阳在越发靛青的天空中低低得移动着；龙依然飞着，下面的城镇出现在了视线里，巨兽的影子在地面滑行着，像极了一朵庞大的乌云。哈利浑身都因极力紧贴住巨龙的背而隐隐作痛。 
　　“这是幻觉吗？”罗恩在一段长时间的沉默后叫喊道，“莫非我们是在下降？” 
　　哈利向下看去，那些深绿的高山和湖泊，在夕阳的印照下显出古铜般的颜色。他从巨龙的一侧斜看望去，陆地逐渐变大，变清晰了，哈利想是湖水反射了阳光，放出这种刺眼的光芒。 
　　巨龙在其中一个较小的湖上空盘旋着，越飞越低。 “我们等它飞得够低了就跳！”哈利对后面的人喊道，“在它发现我们之前，直接跳进水里去！” 
　　他们同意了，赫敏有些虚弱。这时哈利看到火龙那宽大的下腹开始在水面上滑行。 
　　“趁现在！” 
　　他从巨龙的一边滑了下去，脚先触水笔直地掉了下去，入水的冲击比预料中要强烈一些，他像块石头一样掉进这个冰冷、长满芦苇的绿色世界。他踩着水向上游，冲出湖面喘了口气，然后看到罗恩和赫敏落水的地方激起的层层波纹，一圈圈地荡漾开去。龙似乎什么都没发觉；这会儿离他们已经有五十英尺远了，它在湖面上空低低地俯冲，用它伤痕累累的嘴巴舀起湖水。当罗恩和赫敏从水底冒出来咳嗽喘息的时候，巨龙飞了起来，它奋力拍着翅膀，就近在一块浅滩上着了陆。 
　　哈利、罗恩和赫敏则从另一边上了岸。湖水并不深，但是和在水中游泳相比，从芦苇丛和烂泥地里劈出一条道来是更加严重的问题。终于，他们拖着湿透了的身子，精疲力竭、气喘吁吁地倒在了光滑的草地上。 
　　赫敏快虚脱了，一边咳嗽一边发抖。哈利本可以高兴地躺下好好睡一觉，但他依然颤颤巍巍地站了起来，拿出魔杖，像往常一样在周围施下保护咒语。 
　　当他做完后，来到另外两个人身边。从金库逃跑出来以后，这是他第一次好好地看看他的伙伴们，罗恩和赫敏的脸上和手都上火红火红的，衣服上被烧出了好几个洞。哈利拿薄荷花香精涂在他们的伤口上时，他们痛苦地颤缩着。赫敏递给哈利一个瓶子，然后倒出了三杯从贝壳小屋里带出来的南瓜汁，拿出大家的干衣服。他们换了衣服，然后一口喝光了果汁。 
　　罗恩坐着看自己新长出的皮肤，开口说道：“好事情是我们拿到了魂器，但糟糕的是……” 
　　“却没有了剑，”哈利咬着牙说，他把薄荷花香精从牛仔裤上烧出的洞里滴在火辣辣的伤口上。 
　　“没有剑，”罗恩重复道，“那个骗人的混蛋……” 
　　哈利从湿透的夹克口袋里把魂器拿出来，放在面前的草地上。在阳光的照耀下，魂器熠熠闪烁着，他们喝完饮料后，紧紧地盯着那个魂器。 
　　“现在我们不能把它戴在身上了，让这个东西挂在脖子上会很奇怪，”罗恩说着，用手背擦干嘴巴。 
　　赫敏向遥远的湖泊对岸望去，巨龙还在那儿喝水。 
　　“你们觉得，它会怎么样？”她问道，“它还好吗？” 
　　“你听起来真像海格，”罗恩说，“那是一条龙，赫敏。它能照顾它自己。现在该担心的是我们自己。” 
　　“你是什么意思？” 
　　“噢，我不知道该怎么和你说这事儿，”罗恩说，“但我想他们恐怕已经注意到我们闯进古灵阁了。” 
　　他们三人都笑了，这一笑就一发不可收拾。哈利的肋骨剧痛起来，他已经饿得六神无主，昏昏沉沉了，在那片渐渐发红的天空下，他躺在草地上，一个劲地笑着，直到喉咙有撕裂般得疼痛了才停下来。 
　　“我们接下来怎么办？”赫敏说，她严肃的咳了一声，“他总会知道的，不是吗？神秘人会发现我们知道了关于他的魂器的事儿！” 
　　“可能他们会害怕而不敢告诉他！”罗恩抱着最后一丝希望地说，“可能他们会把这一切都掩盖起来……” 
　　天空，湖水的味道，罗恩的声音一下都消失了。疼痛像是一把刀生生将哈利的脑袋劈开了。他站在一个昏暗的房间里，一群巫师在他面前呈半圆形排开，他的脚下，跪着一个正在发抖的影子。 
　　“你刚才对我说了什么？”他的声音是如此高昂而冰冷，但他的内心却燃烧着狂怒和恐惧。他最为惧怕的一件事，居然……那一定不是真的，他不知道他们怎么会…… 
　　那妖精颤抖着，不敢仰视那猩红的眼睛。 
　　“给我再说一遍！”伏地魔低沉地说道，“给我再说一遍！” 
　　“我，我的主人，”妖精尖叫着，他的黑眼睛因恐惧而睁得大大的，“我，我的主人，我们试，试过阻止他，他们……冒，冒充者，我，我的主人……他们闯，闯进……进入了莱斯特兰奇家的金库……” 
　　“冒充者？什么冒充者？我还以为古灵阁有好多办法揭露出冒充者呢。他们是些什么人？” 
　　“是，是波，波特男，男孩和两，两个同伙……” 
　　“他们拿了？”他说，声调提高了，心里徒然升起一阵恐惧，“告诉我！他们拿走了什么？” 
　　“一，一个小，小的金杯，杯，我，我的主人。” 
　　他发出了一声愤怒的尖叫声，这声音就象一个陌生人发出的。他发狂了，他被激怒了；这不可能是真的，不可能，没人知道。那个男孩怎么可能已经发现了他的秘密？ 
　　长老魔杖在空气中猛烈地挥动着，绿光在屋子里窜来窜去；跪着的小妖精蜷缩着死去了；那些旁观的巫师恐惧地从他面前散开；贝拉特里克斯和卢修斯·马尔福丢下其他人快步冲向门口；他的魔杖一次又一次落下，那些剩下的人都被杀死了，所有人，那些把这消息带给他的人，那些听到了金杯的人—— 
　　他独自一人在尸体中来回的踱着步，眼前闪过一幅幅画面：他的财宝，他的安全保障，他走向不朽的依靠——日记本被销毁了，金杯被偷走了。如果，如果这个男孩还知道其它几个魂器怎么办？如果他知道的话，他是不是已经采取行动了？他是不是已经找到了更多的魂器？邓布利多是不是这一切的始作佣者？邓布利多总是在怀疑他；邓布利多已经丧命于他的命令之下；邓布利多的魔杖现在是他的了；但是邓布利多让那个男孩免于遭受死亡的耻辱，那个男孩—— 
　　但是，如果这男孩确实已经销毁了他的某一个魂器，他，伏地魔会知道的，不是应该能感觉到吗？他，是最伟大的巫师；他，是最强大的巫师；他，是除掉了邓布利多和其它许多无用的无名氏的杀手。当自己最重要最宝贵的东西在遭到攻击和毁坏的时候，他伏地魔怎么可能会不知道？ 
　　然而事实上，在日记本被销毁时，他根本没有察觉到，可他认为是因为当时他跟个鬼魂差不多……没有身体可以感觉。不，一定的，其它的魂器是安全的。其它几个魂器绝对还没有人碰过…… 
　　但是，他必须知道，必须确定……他在房间里踱着步，经过小妖精的尸体时一脚把它踢开。一些画面在他脑海中翻江倒海地燃烧：湖，小屋，还有霍格沃茨—— 
　　现在他的怒火已经稍稍平息了。那男孩是怎么知道他把戒指藏在冈特小屋的？没有人知道他和冈特有关系，他已经把这种联系隐藏了起来，那些谋杀也从没有追查到他身上。那枚戒指，肯定，是安全的。 
　　那个男孩，还是其他什么人，怎么可能会知道那个山洞或者闯过那些保护机关呢？那个挂坠盒被偷走的想法简直太荒谬了。 
　　至于学校里的那个，只有他知道魂器在霍格沃茨的隐藏地点，更何况，那里有着让他引以为傲的只有他了解的秘密机关…… 
　　还有纳吉尼，它现在肯定还被关着，会一直处于他的保护之下，不再被派出来执行任务了。 
　　不过可以肯定，而且势在必行的是，他必须回到他的每个藏匿地点，同时也必须加强每个魂器周围的保护措施……另外某些事情，比如寻找元老魔杖，他非得自己干不可…… 
　　那他应该先去哪呢？哪一个是最危险的？一种熟悉的不安感在他的心中摇曳，邓布利多已经知道了他的教名……邓布利多可能已经联想到了冈特家族……那所被遗弃的老宅，也许，是最不保险的一个藏匿地点，他应该最先去那里…… 
　　还有那个湖，肯定不可能……尽管邓布利多有一丝希望从孤儿院里了解到他过去的一些罪行。 
　　霍格沃茨，他知道魂器在那里是安全的。波特不可能神不知鬼不觉地进入霍格莫德村，更不用说是学校了。然而，还是应该提醒斯内普，那个男孩会试图重新潜入城堡，这点还是得小心为妙……但他不会蠢到告诉斯内普那个男孩为什么要潜回学校，这种错误他已经在贝拉特里克斯和马尔福身上犯过了。难道他们的愚笨和大意还不足以证明对他俩曾经的信任是个多么错误的决策吗？ 
　　他会先去冈特老宅，而且会带着纳吉尼，他一刻也不会再和那条蛇分开了。他大步走过房间，穿过礼堂，踏入喷着喷泉的黑暗的花园里。 
　　他用蛇佬腔唤来纳吉尼，它滑行着爬过来，像一条长长的影子似的跟他走了。 
　　随着自己的意识重新被拉回现实，哈利慢慢睁开双眼。在夕阳的余辉下，自己正躺在湖岸边，两旁的罗恩和赫敏正关切地守候着他。从他们焦急的神情和自己伤疤那持续的疼痛感来看，他应该是在不知不觉中突然的进入了伏地魔的意识。他挣扎着想要站起身来，浑身颤抖，有些惊讶地发现自己全身上下还是湿的。在前面的草地上，他看到金杯孤零零的躺在那里，而远处深蓝色的湖面反射着落日余辉的点点金斑。 
　　“他发现了，”在听过了伏地魔的高声狂吼之后，哈利自己的声音反倒听起来显得陌生而低沉，“他发现了我们的行动，而且现在正在赶去检查其它魂器，而那最后的一个，”哈利已经站了起来，“就藏在霍格沃兹。我知道，我知道……” 
　　“什么？” 
　　罗恩目瞪口呆的看着他；赫敏也坐了起来，看上去很不安。 
　　“你刚才看到了什么？你怎么会知道？” 
　　“我看到他发现了我们盗走金杯的事情，我——我就在他的大脑里，他非常的——”哈利记起了那些杀戮，“他非常的震怒，但也很恐惧。他不能理解为什么我们会知道魂器的事，他现在正赶去查看它们是否安全，首先是那枚戒指。他觉得霍格沃兹的那个是最安全的，一方面因为斯内普在那里守着，而另一方面也因为它藏得很隐秘，很难被找到。我觉得他肯定最后才去检查那个魂器，但他还是会在几小时内赶到那里。” 
　　“那你看到它在霍格沃兹的什么地方了么？”罗恩问道，现在他也已经有些站不稳了。 
　　“没有，他一心想要向斯内普示警，根本没去想那东西的确切位置——” 
　　“等等，等一下！”此时，罗恩已经拿起魂器，哈利也重新掏出了隐身衣，赫敏见状喊道，“我们现在还不能去，我们还没有拟定个计划，我们需要——” 
　　“我们需要现在动身，”哈利斩钉截铁的说。他原本想要钻进那个新帐篷里去睡一觉，但现在不可能了，“你能想象他一旦发现戒指和挂坠盒不见了以后会怎么做吗？如果他觉得霍格沃兹的魂器也不再万无一失而把它转移的话，我们该怎么办？” 
　　“但我们现在该怎么潜进去呢？” 
　　“去霍格莫德，”哈利说，“去那儿看看学校周围的保护措施，然后伺机冲进去，到隐身衣下面来，赫敏，这次我们要共同进退。” 
　　“但是那太小了——” 
　　“现在天已经很晚了，没人会去注意我们的脚。” 
　　巨龙扇动翅膀的声音在漆黑的湖面上回响，它已经喝饱了，重新腾空而起。他们停下手里的准备工作，抬头看着巨龙越飞越高，黑色的身影很快被灰暗的天空所吞噬，消失在了不远处的山中。随后，赫敏走过去站在了罗恩和哈利之间，哈利尽可能地把隐身衣罩在大家身上，三个人一起幻影移形，进入了无边的黑暗。　 
Chapter 28 The Missing Mirror
Harry’s feet touched the road. He saw the achingly familiar Hogsmeade High Street: dark shop fronts, and the mist line of black mountains beyond the village and the curve in the road ahead that led off toward Hogwarts, and light spilling from the windows of the Three Broomsticks, and with a lurch of the hear, he remembered with piercing accuracy, how he had landed here nearly a year before, supporting a desperately weak Dumbledore, all this in a second, upon landing – and then, even as he relaxed his grip upon Ron’s and Hermione’s arms, it happened.
The air was rent by a scream that sounded like Voldemort’s when he had realized the cup had been stolen: It tore at every nerve in Harry’s body, and he knew that their appearance had caused it.
Even as he looked at the other two beneath the Cloak, the door of the Three Broomsticks burst open and a dozen cloaked and hooded Death Eaters dashed into the streets, their wands aloft.
Harry seized Ron’s wrist as he raised his wand; there were too many of them to run. Even attempting it would have give away their position. One of the Death Eaters raised his wand, and the scream stopped, still echoing around the distant mountains.
“Accio Cloak!” roared one of the Death Eaters Harry seized his folds, but it made no attempt to escape. The Summoning Charm had not worked on it.
“Not under your wrapper, then, Potter?” yelled the Death Eater who had tried the charm and then to his fellows. “Spread now. He’s here.”
Six of the Death Eaters ran toward them: Harry, Ron and Hermione backed as quickly as possible down the nearest side street, and the Death Eaters missed them by inches. They waited in the darkness, listening to the footsteps running up and down, beams of light flying along the street from the Death Eaters’ searching wands.
“Let’s just leave!” Hermione whispered. “Disapparate now!”
“Great idea,” said Ron, but before Harry could reply, a Death Eater shouted, “We know you are here, Potter, and there’s no getting away! We’ll find you!”
“They were ready for us,” whispered Harry. “They set up that spell to tell them we’d come. I reckon they’ve done something to keep us here, trap us – ”
“What about dementors?” called another Death Eater. “Let’em have free rein, they’d find him quick enough!”
“The Dark Lord wants Potter dead by no hands but his – ”
“ ‘an dementors won’t kill him! The Dark Lord wants Potter’s life, nor his soul. He’ll be easier to kill if he’s been Kissed first!”
There were noises of agreement. Dread filled Harry: To repel dementors they would have to produce Patronuses which would give them away immediately.
“We’re going to have to try to Disapparate, Harry!” Hermione whispered.
Even as she said it, he felt the unnatural cold being spread over the street. Light was sucked from the environment right up to the stars, which vanished. In the pitch blackness, he felt Hermione take hold of his arm and together, they turned on the spot.
The air through which they needed to move, seemed to have become solid: They could not Disapparate; the Death Eaters had cast their charms well. The cold was biting deeper and deeper into Harry’s flesh. He, Ron and Hermione retreated down the side street, groping their way along the wall trying not to make a sound. Then, around the corner, gliding noiselessly, came dementors, ten or more of them, visible because they were of a denser darkness than their surroundings, with their black cloaks and their scabbed and rotting hands. Could they sense fear in the vicinity? Harry was sure of it: They seemed to be coming more quickly now, taking those dragging, rattling breaths he detested, tasting despair in the air, closing in - He raised his wand: He could not, would not suffer the Dementor’s Kiss, whatever happened afterward. It was of Ron and Hermione that he thought as he whispered “Expecto Patronum!”
The silver stag burst from his wand and charged: The Dementors scattered and there was a triumphant yell from somewhere out of sight
“It’s him, down there, down there, I saw his Patronus, it was a stag!”
The Dementors have retreated, the stars were popping out again and the footsteps of the Death Eaters were becoming louder; but before Harry in his panic could decide what to do, there was a grinding of bolts nearby, a door opened on the left-side of the narrow street, and a rough voice said: “Potter, in here, quick!”
He obeyed without hesitation, the three of them hurried through the open doorway.
“Upstairs, keep the Cloak on, keep quiet!” muttered a tall figure, passing them on his way into the street and slammed the door behind him.
Harry had had no idea where they were, but now he saw, by the stuttering light of a single candle, the grubby, sawdust bar of the Hog’s Head Inn. They ran behind the counter and through a second doorway, which led to a trickery wooden staircase, that they climbed as fast as they could. The stairs opened into a sitting room with a durable carpet and a small fireplace, above which hung a single large oil painting of a blonde girl who gazed out at the room with a kind of a vacant sweetness.
Shouts reached from the streets below. Still wearing the Invisibility Cloak on, they hurried toward the grimy window and looked down. Their savior, whom Harry now recognized as the Hog’s Head’s barman, was the only person not wearing a hood.
“So what?” he was bellowing into one of the hooded faces. “So what? You send dementors down my street, I’ll send a Patronus back at’em! I’m not having’em near me, I’ve told you that. I’m not having it!”
“That wasn’t your Patronus,” said a Death Eater. “That was a stag. It was Potter’s!”
“Stag!” roared the barman, and he pulled out a wand. “Stag! You idiot – Expecto Patronum!”
Something huge and horned erupted from the wand. Head down, it charged toward the High Street, and out of sight.
“That’s not what I saw” said the Death Eater, though was less certainly “Curfew’s been broken, you heard the noise,” one of his companions told the barman. “Someone was out on the streets against regulations – ”
“If I want to put my cat out, I will, and be damned to your curfew!”
“You set off the Caterwauling Charm?”
“What if I did? Going to cart me off to Azkaban? Kill me for sticking my nose out my own front door? Do it, then, if you want to! But I hope for your sakes you haven’t pressed your little Dark Marks, and summoned him. He’s not going to like being called here, for me and my old cat, is he, now?”
“Don’t worry about us.” said one of the Death Eaters, “worry about yourself, breaking curfew!”
“And where will you lot traffic potions and poisons when my pub’s closed down? What will happen to your little sidelines then?”
“Are you threatening –?”
“I keep my mouth shut, it’s why you come here, isn’t it?”
“I still say I saw a stag Patronus!” shouted the first Death Eater.
“Stag?” roared the barman. “It’s a goat, idiot!”
“All right, we made a mistake,” said the second Death Eater. “Break curfew again and we won’t be so lenient!”
The Death Eaters strode back towards the High Street. Hermione moaned with relief, wove out from under the Cloak, and sat down on a wobble-legged chair. Harry drew the curtains then pulled the Cloak off himself and Ron. They could hear the barman down below, rebolting the door of the bar, then climbing the stairs.
Harry’s attention was caught by something on the mantelpiece: a small, rectangular mirror, propped on top of it, right beneath the portrait of the girl.
The barman entered the room.
“You bloody fools,” he said gruffly, looking from one to the other of them. “What were you thinking, coming here?”
“Thank you,” said Harry. “You can’t thank you enough. You saved our lives!”
The barman grunted. Harry approached him looking up into the face: trying to see past the long, stringy, wire-gray hair beard. He wore spectacles. Behind the dirty lenses, the eyes were a piercing, brilliant blue.
“It’s your eye I’ve been seeing in the mirror.”
There was a silence in the room. Harry and the barman looked at each other.
“You sent Dobby.”
The barman nodded and looked around for the elf.
“Thought he’d be with you. Where’ve you left him?”
“He’s dead,” said Harry, “Bellatrix Lestrange killed him.”
The barman face was impassive. After a few moments he said, “I’m sorry to hear it, I liked that elf.”
He turned away, lightning lamps with prods of his wand, not looking at any of them.
“You’re Aberforth,” said Harry to the man’s back.
He neither confirmed or denied it, but bent to light the fire.
“How did you get this?” Harry asked, walking across to Sirius’s mirror, the twin of the one he had broken nearly two years before.
“Bought it from Dung ‘bout a year ago,” said Aberforth. “Albus told me what it was. Been trying to keep an eye out for you.”
Ron gasped.
“The silver doe,” he said excitedly, “Was that you too?”
“What are you talking about?” asked Aberforth.
“Someone sent a doe Patronus to us!”
“Brains like that, you could be a Death Eater, son. Haven’t I just prove my Patronus is a goat?”
“Oh,” said Ron, “Yeah… well, I’m hungry!” he added defensively as his stomach gave an enormous rumble.
“I got food,” said Aberforth, and he sloped out of the room, reappearing moments later with a large loaf of bread, some cheese, and a pewter jug of mead, which he set upon a small table in front of the fire.
Ravenous, they ate and drank, and for a while there was sound of chewing.
“Right then,” said Aberforth when the had eaten their fill and Harry and Ron sat slumped dozily in their chairs. “We need to think of the best way to get you out of here. Can’t be done by night, you heard what happens if anyone moves outdoors during darkness: Caterwauling Charm’s set off, they’ll be onto you like bowtruckles on doxy eggs. I don’t reckon I’ll be able to pass of a stag as a goat a second time. Wait for daybreak when curfew lifts, then you can put your Cloak back on and set out on foot. Get right out of Hogsmeade, up into the mountains, and you’ll be able to Disapparate there. Might see Hagrid. He’s been hiding in a cave up there with Grawp ever since they tried to arrest him.”
“We’re not leaving,” said Harry. “We need to get into Hogwarts.”
“Don’t be stupid, boy,” said Aberforth.
“We’ve got to,” said Harry.
“What you’ve got to do,” said Aberforth, leaning forward, “is to get as far from here as from here as you can.”
“You don’t understand. There isn’t much time. We’ve got to get into the castle. Dumbledore – I mean, your brother – wanted us – ”
The firelight made the grimy lenses of Aberforth’s glasses momentarily opaque, a bright flat white, and Harry remembered the blind eyes of the giant spider, Aragog.
“My brother Albus wanted a lot of things,” said Aberforth, “and people had a habit of getting hurt while he was carrying out his grand plans. You get away from this school, Potter, and out of the country if you can. Forget my brother and his clever schemes. He’s gone where none of this can hurt him, and you don’t owe him anything.”
“You don’t understand.” said Harry again.
“Oh, don’t I?” said Aberforth quietly. “You don’t think I understood my own brother? Think you know Albus better than I did?”
“I didn’t mean that,” said Harry, whose brain felt sluggish with exhaustion and from the surfeit of food and wine. “It’s… he left me a job.”
“Did he now?” said Aberforth. “Nice job, I hope? Pleasant? Easy? Sort of thing you’d expect an unqualified wizard kid to be able to do without overstretching themselves?”
Ron gave a rather grim laugh. Hermione was looking strained.
“I-it’s not easy, no,” said Harry. “But I’ve got to – ”
“Got to? Why got to? He’s dead, isn’t he?” said Aberforth roughly. “Let it go, boy, before you follow him! Save yourself!”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I – ” Harry felt overwhelmed; he could not explain, so he took the offensive instead. “But you’re fighting too, you’re in the Order of the Phoenix – ”
“I was,” said Aberforth. “The Order of the Phoenix is finished. You-Know-Who’s won, it’s over, and anyone who’s pretending different’s kidding themselves. It’ll never be safe for you here, Potter, he wants you too badly. So go abroad, go into hiding, save yourself. Best take these two with you.” He jerked a thumb at Ron and Hermione.
“They’ll be in danger long as they live now everyone knows they’ve been working with you.”
“I can’t leave,” said Harry. “I’ve got a job – ”
“Give it to someone else!”
“I can’t. It’s got to be me, Dumbledore explained it all – ”
“Oh, did he now? And did he tell you everything, was he honest with you?”
Harry wanted him with all his heart to say “Yes,” but somehow the simple word would not rise to his lips, Aberforth seemed to know what he was thinking.
“I knew my brother, Potter. He learned secrecy at our mother’s knee. Secrets and lies, that’s how we grew up, and Albus… he was a natural.”
The old man’s eyes traveled to the painting of the girl over the mantelpiece. It was, now Harry looked around properly, the only picture in the room. There was no photograph of Albus Dumbledore, nor of anyone else.
“Mr. Dumbledore” said Hermione rather timidly. “Is that your sister? Ariana?”
“Yes.” said Aberforth tersely. “Been reading Rita Skeeter, have you, missy?”
Even by the rosy light of the fire it was clear that Hermione had turned red.
“Elphias Doge mentioned her to us,” said Harry, trying to spare Hermione.
“That old berk,” muttered Aberforth, taking another swig of mead. “Thought the sun shone out of my brother’s every ocrifice, he did. Well, so did plenty of people, you three included, by the looks of it.”
Harry kept quiet. He did not want to express the doubts and uncertainties about Dumbledore that had riddled him for months now. He had made his choice while he dug Dobby’s grave, he had decided to continue along the winding, dangerous path indicated for him by Albus Dumbledore, to accept that he had not been told everything that he wanted to know, but simply to trust. He had no desire to doubt again; he did not want o hear anything that would deflect him from his purpose. He met Aberforth’s gaze, which was so strikingly like his brothers’: The bright blue eyes gave the same impression that they were X-raying the object of their scrutiny, and Harry thought that Aberforth knew what he was thinking and despised him for it.
“Professor Dumbledore cared about Harry, very much,” said Hermione in a low voice.
“Did he now?” said Aberforth. “Funny thing how many of the people my brother cared about very much ended up in a worse state than if he’d left ‘em well alone.”
“What do you mean?” asked Hermione breathlessly.
“Never you mind,” said Aberforth.
“But that’s a really serious thing to say!” said Hermione. “Are you – are you talking about your sister?”
Aberforth glared at her: His lips moved as if he were chewing the words he was holding back. Then he burst into speech.
“When my sister was six years old, she was attacked, by three Muggle boys. They’d seen her doing magic, spying through the back garden hedge: She was a kid, she couldn’t control it, no witch or wizard can at that age. What they saw, scared them, I expect. They forced their way through the hedge, and when she couldn’t show them the trick, they got a bit carried away trying to stop the little freak doing it.”
Hermione’s eyes were huge in the firelight; Ron looked slightly sick. Aberforth stood up, tall as Albus, and suddenly terrible in his anger and the intensity of his pain.
“It destroyed her, what they did: She was never right again. She wouldn’t use magic, but she couldn’t get rid of it; it turned inward and drove her mad, it exploded out of her when she couldn’t control it, and at times she was strange and dangerous. But mostly she was sweet and scared and harmless.”
“And my father went after the bastards that did it,” said Aberforth, “and attacked them. And they locked him up in Azkaban for it. He never said why he’d done it, because the Ministry had known what Ariana had become, she’d have been locked up in St. Mungo’s for good. They’d have seen her as a serious threat to the International Statute of Secrecy, unbalanced like she was, with magic exploding out of her at moments when she couldn’t keep it in any longer.”
“We had to keep her safe and quiet. We moved house, put it about she was ill, and my mother looked after her, and tried to keep her calm and happy.”
“I was her favourite,” he said, and as he said it, a grubby schoolboy seemed to look out through Aberforth’s wrinkles and wrangled beard. “Not Albus, he was always up in his bedroom when he was home, reading his books and counting his prizes, keeping up with his correspondence with the most notable magical names of the day,”
Aberforth succored. “He didn’t want to be bothered with her. She liked me best. I could get her to eat when she wouldn’t do it for my mother, I could calm her down, when she was in one of her rages, and when she was quiet, she used to help me feed the goats.”
“Then, when she was fourteen… See, I wasn’t there.” said Aberforth. “If I’d been there, I could have calmed her down. She had one of her rages, and my mother wasn’t as young as she was, and… it was an accident. Ariana couldn’t control it. But my mother was killed.”
Harry felt a horrible mixture of pity and repulsion; he did not want to hear any more, but Aberforth kept talking, and Harry wondered how long it had been since he had spoken about this; whether, in fact, he had ever spoken about it.
“So that put paid to Albus’s trip round the world with little Doge. The pair of ‘em came home for my mother’s funeral and then Doge went off on his own, and Albus settled down as head of the family. Ha!”
Aberforth spat into the fire.
“I’d have looked after her, I told him so, I didn’t care about school, I’d have stayed home and done it.
He told me I had to finish my education and he’d take over from my mother. Bit of a comedown for Mr. Brilliant, there’s no prizes for looking after your half-mad sister, stopping her blowing up the house every other day. But he did all right for a few weeks… till he came.“
And now a positively dangerous look crept over Aberforth’s face.
“Grindelwald. And at last, my brother had an equal to talk to someone just as bright and talented he was. And looking after Ariana took a backseat then, while they were hatching all their plans for a new Wizarding order and looking for Hallows, and whatever else it was they were so interested in. Grand plans for the benefit of all Wizardkind, and if one young girl neglected, what did that matter, when Albus was working for the greater good?”
“But after a few weeks of it, I’d had enough, I had. It was nearly time for me to go hack to Hogwarts, so I told ‘em, both of ‘em, face-to-face, like I am to you, now,” and Aberforth looked downward Harry, and it took a little imagination to see him as a teenager, wiry and angry, confronting his elder brother. “I told him, you’d better give it up now. You can’t move her, she’s in no fit state, you can’t take her with you, wherever it is you’re planning to go, when you’re making your clever speeches, trying to whip yourselves up a following. He didn’t like that.” said Aberforth, and his eyes were briefly occluded by the fireflight on the lenses of his glasses: They turned white and blind again. “Grindelwald didn’t like that at all. He got angry. He told me what a stupid little boy I was, trying to stand in the way of him and my brilliant brother… Didn’t I understand, my poor sister wouldn’t have to be hidden once they’d changed the world, and led the wizards out of hiding, and taught the Muggles their place?”
“And there was an argument… and I pulled my wand, and he pulled out his, and I had the Cruciatus Curse used on me by my brother’s best friend – and Albus was trying to stop him, and then all three of us were dueling, and the flashing lights and the bangs set her off, she couldn’t stand it – ”
The color was draining from Aberforth’s face as though he had suffered a mortal wound.
“ – and I think she wanted to help, but she didn’t really know what she was doing, and I don’t know which of us did it, it could have been any of us – and she was dead.”
His voice broke on the last word and he dropped down into the nearest chair. Hermione’s face was wet with tears, and Ron was almost as pale as Aberforth. Harry felt nothing but revulsion: He wished he had not heard it, wished he could wash is mind clean of it.
“I’m so… I’m so sorry,” Hermione whispered.
“Gone,” croaked Aberforth. “Gone forever.”
He wiped his nose on hiss cuff and cleared his throat.
“ ‘Course, Grindelwald scarpered. He had a bit of a track record already, back in his own country, and he didn’t want Ariana set to his account too. And Albus was free, wasn’t he? Free of the burden of his sister, free to become the greatest wizard of the – ”
“He was never free,” said Harry.
“I beg your pardon?” said Aberforth.
“Never,” said Harry. “The night that your brother died, he drank a potion that drove him out of his mind. He started screaming, pleading with someone who wasn’t there. ‘Don’t hurt them, please… hurt me instead.’ ”
Ron and Hermione were staring at Harry. He had never gone into details about what had happened on the island on the lake.
The events that had taken place after he and Dumbledore had returned to Hogwarts had eclipsed it so thoroughly.
“He thought he was back there with you and Grindelwald, I know he did,” said Harry, remembering Dumbledore whispering, pleading.
“He thought he was watching Grindelwald hurting you and Ariana… It was torture to him, if you’d seen him then, you wouldn’t say he was free.”
Aberforth seemed lost in contemplation of his own knotted and veined hands. After a long pause he said. “How can you be sure, Potter, that my brother wasn’t more interested in the greater good than in you? How can you be sure you aren’t dispensable, just like my little sister?”
A shard of ice seemed to pierce Harry’s heart.
“I don’t believe it. Dumbledore loved Harry,” said Hermione.
“Why didn’t he tell him to hide, then?” shot back Aberforth. “Why didn’t he say to him, ‘Take care of yourself, here’s how to survive’?”
“Because,” said Harry before Hermione could answer, “sometimes you’ve got to think about more than your own safety! Sometimes you’ve got to think about the greater good! This is war!”
“You’re seventeen, boy!”
“I’m of age, and I’m going to keep fighting even if you’ve given up!”
“Who says I’ve given up?”
“The Order of the Phoenix is finished,” Harry repeated, “You-Know-Who’s won, it’s over, and anyone who’s pretending different’s kidding themselves.”
“I don’t say I like it, but it’s the truth!”
“No, it isn’t.” said Harry. “Your brother knew how to finish You-Know-Who and he passed the knowledge on to me. I’m going to keep going until I succeed – or I die. Don’t think I don’t know how this might end. I’ve known it for years.”
He waited for Aberforth to jeer or to argue, but he did not. He merely moved.
“We need to get into Hogwarts,” said Harry again. “If you can’t help us, we’ll wait till daybreak, leave you in peace, and try to find a way in ourselves. If you can help us – well, now would be a great time to mention it.”
Aberforth remained fixed in his chair, gazing at Harry with the eye, that were so extraordinarily like his brother’s. At last he cleared his throat, got to his feet, walked around the little table, and approached the portrait of Ariana.
“You know what to do,” he said.
She smiled, turned, and walked away, not as people in portraits usually did, one of the sides of their frames, but along what seemed to be a long tunnel painted behind her. They watched her slight figure retreating until finally she was swallowed by the darkness.
“Er – what –?” began Ron.
“There’s only one way in now,” said Aberforth. “You must know they’ve got all the old secret passageways covered at both ends, dementors all around the boundary walls, regular patrols inside the school from what my sources tell me. The place has never been so heavily guarded.
How you expect to do anything once you get inside it, with Snape in charge and the Carrows as his deputies… well, that’s your lookout, isn’t it? You say you’re prepared to die.“
“But what…?” said Hermione, frowning at Ariana’s picture.
A tiny white dot reappeared at the end of the painted tunnel, and now Ariana was walking back toward them, growing bigger and bigger as she came. But there was somebody else with her now, someone taller than she was, who was limping along, looking excited. His hair was longer than Harry had ever seen. He appeared and torn. Larger and larger the two figures grew, until only their heads and shoulders filled the portrait.
Then the whole thing swang forward on the wall like a little door, and the entrance to a real tunnel was revealed. And out of it, his hair overgrown, his face cut, his robes ripped, clambered the real Neville Longbottom, who gave a roar of delight, leapt down from the mantelpiece and yelled.
“I knew you’d come! I knew it, Harry!”
哈利的双脚落在了路面上。霍格莫德大街那熟悉的景象展现在他眼前：阴暗的店面、远处雾蒙蒙的黑色山峰和那前面延伸到霍格沃茨的曲折小路，以及从三把扫帚酒吧的窗户里透出的亮光。落地的瞬间，他突然清楚地回想起将近一年以前，他是如何搀扶着极度虚弱的邓布利多在这里着陆的。 
　　哈利刚要松手放开罗恩和赫敏的胳膊，突然空气中传来尖叫声，那声音就像是伏地魔得知金杯被偷的时候发出的。这个声音让哈利全身的神经都紧张了起来：他们被发现了。 
　　正当他的目光转向隐身衣下的另外两个伙伴时，三把扫帚酒吧的门突然打开了，十二个披着斗篷，蒙着面具的食死徒高举着他们的魔杖冲到了街上。罗恩正要举起他的魔杖，哈利拉住了他的手腕。对方人太多了，根本跑不掉——只要稍不注意就会暴露他们的位置。 
　　一个食死徒举起魔杖。尖叫声消失了，但依然可以听见从山那边传来的回声。 
　　“隐身衣飞来！”一个食死徒吼道。 
　　哈利紧紧抓住隐身衣，可是它并没有要飞走的迹象。飞来咒对它并不起作用。 
　　“没穿你的小斗篷，波特？”那个使用魔咒的食死徒大叫道，随后对他的同伙们说：“散开找，他就在这儿！” 
　　六个食死徒向他们跑过来，差点抓住他们。哈利、罗恩和赫敏用他们最快的速度退到最近的巷子里。他们在黑暗中静静地等着，聆听着街上传来的忙乱的脚步声。食死徒们的魔杖发出的用来搜寻他们的光束四处晃动着。 
　　“我们走！”赫敏低语道，“马上幻影移形！” 
　　“好主意，”罗恩说，但还没等哈利回答，一个食死徒喊道：“我们知道你在这儿，波特，你逃不掉的！我们会找到你的！” 
　　“他们早就准备好了，”哈利低声说，“他们用了魔咒发现我们来，我确定他们还会做些什么来困住我们，不让我们走……” 
　　“为什么不用摄魂怪？”另外一个食死徒大声说，“把摄魂怪放出来的话会很快找到他的！” 
　　“黑魔王要亲手杀死波特……” 
　　“摄魂怪并不会杀死他！黑魔王要的是波特的命，不是他的魂儿。相反，被摄魂怪吻过以后，他会更容易被杀死的！” 
　　他们大声争论着。哈利感到阵阵恐惧——要击退摄魂怪就必须召唤守护神，这样他们马上就会被发现。 
　　“我们必须试试幻影移形，哈利！”赫敏小声说。 
　　就在这时，哈利感觉到一股不自然的寒气在街上传播开来，周围的光都被吸走了，连天上的星星也消失了。在漆黑一团中，他感到赫敏抓住了他的胳膊。他们俩一起准备幻影移形。 
　　他们周围的空气似乎凝固住了一样。无法幻影移形——食死徒果然用了什么咒语。越来越浓的寒气刺入哈利的身体。他、罗恩和赫敏贴着墙，摸索着沿着巷子向后退，努力不发出声响。他们刚转过一个拐角，就发现十只或更多的摄魂怪披着黑色的斗篷，能够看到它们是因为它们比周围环境要暗很多，它们伸出布满疤痕的腐烂的手，悄无声息地飘了过来。它们能够感到周围的恐惧吗吗？哈利确信这一点——它们似乎移动得更快了，伴随着让哈利非常厌恶的咳咳作响的拖长了的呼吸声，品味着空气中的绝望，不断向他们逼近…… 
　　他举起手中的魔杖——他决不能忍受摄魂怪的吻，不管之后会发生什么。 
　　他心里想着罗恩和赫敏，同时低声念出：“呼神护卫！” 
　　一只银色的牡鹿从他的魔杖尖里飞了出来冲向前方，摄魂怪四散逃走了。一个得意的声音从什么地方喊道：“找到他了！那边，在那边！我看见他的守护神了，一只牡鹿！” 
　　摄魂怪被击退了，繁星重新显现出来。食死徒的脚步声越来越响，但是还没等哈利从惊恐中回过神来有所动作，不远处传来门闩打开的声音。这条狭窄街道的左手边一扇小门打开了。一个粗犷的声音说道：“波特，进来，快！” 
　　哈利想都没想就这样做了，他们三个快速地进了门。 
　　“上楼去，别脱掉隐身衣，别出声！”一个高大的身影喃喃低语。他经过他们身边，走到街上，重重地关上了门。 
　　哈利一开始还不知道这是哪儿，现在，借助那儿唯一的一支蜡烛微弱的光线，他认出了猪头酒吧那脏兮兮的销屑吧台。他们跑到柜台后面，穿过一扇门，迅速爬上了一段木制的楼梯来到了客厅。客厅里铺着结实的地毯，小壁炉上方挂着一张巨大的油画，画中的金发女孩带着一种空洞的甜美地凝视着屋子。 
　　楼下的街上传来叫喊声。他们披着隐身衣，急忙来到脏兮兮的窗子旁边向下看去。他们的救星——哈利现在认出了他正是猪头酒吧的招待——是唯一一个没有戴面具的人。 
　　“怎么？”他愤怒地向一个戴着面具的家伙吼道，“怎么？你们让摄魂怪来到我的街上，我当然可以用守护神把它们赶走！我才不想让它们靠近我，我告诉你，绝对不行！” 
　　“那不是你的守护神，”一个食死徒说，“那是一只牡鹿，是波特的！” 
　　“牡鹿！”招待咆哮道，接着他抽出魔杖，“牡鹿！你们这些笨蛋，呼神护卫！” 
　　一个巨大的长着角的东西从他的魔杖中涌了出来，头朝下地冲向大街，直到视线之外。 
　　“我看到的不是那个东西。”那个食死徒说，尽管他也不是非常确定。 
　　“有人违反了宵禁，你也应该听到了，”他的一个同伴告诉招待，“违反了规定，到街上来……” 
　　“我想要出来溜溜猫怎么了？去他的鬼宵禁！” 
　　“是你触发了宵禁咒？” 
　　“是又怎样？把我关进阿兹卡班？以‘在自己家门口走走’为罪名杀了我？如果你们想的话，请便吧！不过，看在你们自己的份上，但愿你们还没有按下你们那小黑魔标记来召唤他。我想他可不愿意因为我和我这只老猫被叫到这儿来，不是么？” 
　　“不用为我们担心。”一个食死徒说道，“操心你自己吧，竟然敢违反宵禁！” 
　　“如果我的酒吧关门了，你们打算去哪儿买那些药剂和毒药？你们那点可怜的小买卖还怎么做？” 
　　“你竟敢威胁……” 
　　“我可以闭嘴，这不正是你们来这儿的目的么？” 
　　“我还是觉得我一开始看到的守护神是一只牡鹿！”第一个食死徒争辩道。 
　　“牡鹿？”招待吼道，“是山羊，笨蛋！” 
　　“好，是我们看错了，”第二个食死徒说，“不过你要是再敢违反宵禁，我们绝不饶过你！” 
　　食死徒们回头向大街走去。赫敏终于松了口气，从隐身衣下面爬了出来，坐在了一张摇摇晃晃的椅子上。哈利拉上了窗帘，把隐身衣从他和罗恩身上掀开。他们听见了楼下招待重新闩好门，爬上楼梯的声音。 
　　哈利注意到了放在壁炉架的顶上的一样东西：一面长方形的小镜子被，就在那幅女孩画像的正下方。 
　　招待走了进来。 
　　“你们这些蠢蛋，”他看了看他们，粗声粗气地说，“你们到底在想什么？竟然到这儿来！” 
　　“谢谢，”哈利说，“真是感谢不尽，你救了我们的命！” 
　　招待咕哝着说着什么。哈利靠近他，透过长长的、绳子似的灰色头发和胡须，仔细地瞧着他的脸。。他带着一副眼镜。脏兮兮的镜片后面藏着一双敏锐的、充满智慧的蓝色眼睛。 
　　“原来我在镜子里看到的是你的眼睛。” 
　　屋子里很静。哈利和招待对视着。 
　　“是你让多比来的。” 
　　招待点了点头，然后四顾着找那个家养小精灵。 
　　“我以为他会跟你们在一起。你们把他留在哪儿了？” 
　　“他死了，”哈利说，“被贝拉特里克斯·莱斯特兰奇杀死了。” 
　　招待面无表情，过了一小会儿，他说：“太可惜了，我一直很喜欢那个小家伙。” 
　　他转过身去，用魔杖戳了一下灯，把它点亮，不去看任何人。 
　　“你是阿不福思吧？”哈利对着那个男人的后背说。 
　　招待没有回答他，弯下腰去点炉火。 
　　“你怎么弄到这个的？”哈利走向屋子里那面天狼星魔镜，问道。这面镜子和他在将近两年之前打碎的那面是一对。 
　　“一年前，我从老邓那儿买的，”阿不福思说，“阿不思跟我说了这是什么玩意儿。从那以后我就一直关注着你。” 
　　罗恩深吸了一口气。 
　　“银色的雌鹿，”他激动地说，“也是你吗？” 
　　“你在说什么？”阿不福思问道。 
　　“有人为我们召唤了一个雌鹿守护神！” 
　　“你这个脑子，都能去做食死徒了，孩子。你没看到我刚才演示了我的守护神是一只山羊吗？” 
　　“哦，”罗恩嘀咕着，他的肚子发了很大的咕噜声，他趁机说，“嗯……那个……我饿了！” 
　　“我这儿有吃的。”阿不福思说着走出房间，过一会儿回来了，手里拿着一大条面包、一些奶酪和一锡壶蜂蜜酒，把它们放到了炉火前面的一张小桌子上。 
　　他们贪婪地吃着喝着，有那么一会儿功夫，只有狼吞虎咽的声音。 
　　吃饱以后，哈利和罗恩一屁股坐下来，懒洋洋地靠在了椅子背上，阿不福思说：“现在，我们得想个好主意让你们离开这儿。晚上不行，你们也看到有人要趁夜色出门是什么后果了：一旦触发了宵禁咒，他们就会像护树罗锅看到了狐媚子蛋一样向你们扑过来。我可不敢保证下一次我还能把牡鹿说成是山羊来蒙混过关。等到天一亮，宵禁结束的时候，你们就披上你们的隐身衣徒步离开霍格莫德，走到大山里面去，在那儿你们就可以幻影移形了。你们可能会见到海格，从被追捕的时候开始，他就带着格洛普一直藏在一个山洞里。” 
　　“我们不走，”哈利说，“我们要到霍格沃茨去。” 
　　“别犯傻了，孩子。”阿不福思说。 
　　“我们必须去。”哈利说。 
　　“你们必须做的，”阿不福思探过身去说，“是离开这儿，越远越好。” 
　　“你不明白，时间不多了。我们必须进到城堡里去，邓布利多——我是说，你的弟弟——需要我们……” 
　　壁炉发出的火光使得阿不福思的肮脏的眼镜片顷刻间变得不透明了，泛着白色漫射，让哈利想起了巨蜘蛛阿拉戈克瞎了的双眼。 
　　“我哥哥阿不思总是需要这样那样的东西，”阿不福思说，“他的那些伟大的计划总是会让一些人受伤。波特，你要马上离开这个学校，如果可以的话，离开这个国家。忘掉我哥哥和他那些自作聪明的计划吧，他已经去了一个没有什么能伤害他的地方，你也不欠他什么了。” 
　　“你不明白……”哈利重复道。 
　　“哦？我不明白？”阿不福思平静地说，“你觉得我会不明白我自己的哥哥吗？你觉得你比我还了解阿不思吗？” 
　　“我不是那个意思，”哈利回答道。他吃喝得太多，脑子有些疲倦。 
　　“其实……他交给了我一项任务。” 
　　“任务？”阿不福思问道，“是份好差事吧，我希望？令人愉快？轻松容易？是那种指望一个不够格的小巫师没等好好锻炼自己就能完成的事？” 
　　罗恩挤出一个难看的笑容，赫敏看起来很紧张。 
　　“我——不，这并不轻松，”哈利说，“但是我必须——” 
　　“必须？为什么必须？他已经死了，不是么？”阿不福思粗声说，“放弃吧，孩子。在你落得像他一样的下场以前，先救救你自己吧！” 
　　“我不能这样。” 
　　“为什么不能？” 
　　“我——”哈利很受打击，不知道该怎么辩解，于是他以攻为守，“但你不也是在奋斗吗？你是凤凰社的一员……” 
　　“我曾经是，”阿不福思说，“但凤凰社已经不存在了。神秘人赢了，一切都结束了。任何不这样认为的人都是在欺骗自己罢了。你在这儿永远不会安全的，他们太渴望找到你了。所以，听我的，快点出国去吧，去藏起来，保护好自己，最好带上他们俩。”他用大拇指指了指罗恩和赫敏。 
　　“谁都知道他们是你的死党，所以他们现在也不安全。” 
　　“我不能走，”哈利说，“我还有任务……” 
　　“把它留给别人！” 
　　“不行，必须要我来做。邓布利多都向我解释了……” 
　　“哦，是吗？那他把所有的事情都告诉你了吗？他没有隐瞒什么吗？” 
　　哈利打心眼儿里想要说“是”，但是这个“是”字却怎么也说不出口。阿不福思似乎看出了他在想什么。 
　　“我了解我的哥哥，波特。他从小就会保守秘密。秘密和谎言，我们就是这样长大的。阿不思……他在这方面绝对是个天才。” 
　　老人的眼神移向壁炉架上方挂着的女孩画像。哈利现在才发现，这是整个屋子里唯一的一幅画。即没有阿不思·邓布利多的照片，也没有其他什么人的。 
　　“邓布利多先生，”赫敏小心翼翼地说，“那是你的妹妹吗？阿瑞娜？” 
　　“是。”阿不福思简单地答道。“你读过丽塔斯基特的文章了，小姐？” 
　　虽然炉火发出的光线很暗，但还是可以清楚地看出赫敏的脸变红了。 
　　“埃非亚·多戈跟我们提到过她。”哈利替赫敏辩解道。 
　　“那个老家伙，”阿不福思嘀咕着，喝了一大口蜂蜜酒，“他以为我哥哥是最杰出的人。很多人，包括你们三个，也都这样想。但他只是看起来杰出而已。” 
　　哈利没说什么。他不想表达这几个月来一直困扰着他的对邓布利多的质疑和不信任。在给多比挖坟墓的时候，他就下了决心，不管阿不思·邓布利多指引给他的这条路有多么崎岖和危险，他都要要坚持下去；虽然他还并不知道所有他想要的答案，但只要简单的信任就好。他再也不想怀疑了，不想听到任何会让他动摇的劝诫。他发现阿不福思凝视着他，那明亮的、能看穿一切的眼睛简直和他哥哥的一模一样。哈利觉得阿不福思看出了他的想法，并且很不以为然。 
　　“邓布利多教授非常关心哈利。”赫敏小声说道。 
　　“是么？”阿不福思说，“真有趣。多少人都因为他的关心落得了更糟糕的下场。” 
　　“你什么意思？”赫敏气喘吁吁地问道。 
　　“不用你管。”阿不福思回答道。 
　　“可这事关重大！”赫敏说，“难道……是你们的妹妹？” 
　　阿不福思瞪着她，嘴唇动了动，像是在把刚到嘴边的话嚼碎了一样，随后冲口出而： 
　　“我妹妹六岁的时候，被三个麻瓜男孩攻击了。他们透过后花园的篱笆看到了她用魔法。她还是个孩子，她不会控制自己——没有哪个巫师在那么小的年纪能控制住自己。我猜他们看到以后是吓坏了。他们越过篱笆，还没等她给他们展示她的戏法，他们就像疯了一样阻止了她这个小怪胎。” 
　　在火光中，赫敏的眼睛睁得大大的；罗恩看起来有点不舒服。阿不福思站了起来，跟他哥哥差不多高，突然间充满了巨大的愤怒和极大的痛苦。 
　　“他们所做的事情毁了她：从那以后，她再也没正常过。她不肯用魔法，但却摆脱不掉它；它吞噬了她的内心，让她彻底疯掉了。当不受控制的时候，它又爆发出来，让她变得相当陌生和危险……但大部分时间里，她还是相当可爱的，胆小而没有敌意。” 
　　“我父亲找到了那几个混蛋，”阿不福思接着说，“还教训了他们。结果他因此被关在了阿兹卡班。他从来没说出这么做的原因，因为如果魔法部知道了阿瑞娜变成了什么样子，她将要永远被关在圣芒戈了。他们认为如果她体内的魔法不受控制地爆发出来，对于《国际保密法》将会是相当大的挑战。” 
　　“我们不得不给她找个安全的地方休养。于是我们搬了家，跟别人说她病了。我妈妈一直照看着她，尽可能让她每天安安静静，开开心心的。” 
　　“她最喜欢我了，” 
　　阿不福思满是皱纹，须发纠结的脸看起来就象一个脏兮兮的校园男生，“而不是阿不思，他在家时总是躲在自己的屋子里看书，数着他那些奖状，为了成为‘当代最著名的名字’之一。” 
　　阿不福思继续说道：“他从来不为她操心。她最听我的话了，不愿意吃饭的时候，我总能帮我妈妈哄她吃下去。她发脾气的时候，我能让她平静下来；而当她听话的时候我们就一起喂山羊。” 
　　“在那之后，她十四岁的时候……唉，当时我不在场，”阿不福思说，“如果我在，我一定能止住她的……她爆发了，我妈妈不如她年轻，然后……出了一点小事故，阿瑞娜没控制住自己，结果我妈妈死了。” 
　　哈利的心中既有点同情，又有些排斥。他不想再听下去了，但是阿不福思不停地说着，哈利不知道他说了有多久，事实上，甚至不知道他说了些什么。 
　　“这件事耽误了阿不思和小多戈的环球旅行，他们俩回到家来参加妈妈的葬礼。之后多戈自己走了，阿不思留下来当一家之主，呸！” 
　　阿不福思向火里吐了一口唾沫。 
　　“我跟他说，我要留在家里照顾妹妹，不上学也没关系。他说我必须完成学业，他会接替妈妈来照顾妹妹。让这么有才华的人天天照顾自己那疯疯癫癫的妹妹，阻止她隔三差五就把房子炸个底朝天，还真是有些屈才。不过不管怎么说，开头的几周他做的倒是还好……直到那个人出现。” 
　　阿不福思脸上渐渐露出吓人的表情。 
　　“格林沃德。终于，我哥哥找到了和他一样聪明有才华的、志同道合的人。他们谈论的话题从建立新的巫师组织的计划，到寻找圣物，到一切他们感兴趣的事物，而照看阿瑞娜已经变得次要了。阿不思做的是伟大的事业，他忽视了一个小女孩，和造福巫师界的宏伟计划比起来，算得了什么呢？” 
　　“但是，过了几周，我实在不能忍了。快要到我回霍格沃茨的日子了，所以我对他们说——对他们俩，面对面地，就像我现在对你们一样，”阿不福思低头看着哈利。可以想象他年轻的时候，生气地面对着他哥哥时瘦瘦高高的样子。 
　　“我告诉他，你最好马上放手，你不能这样对待她。她还没康复，不管你打算去哪，你都不能带着她；你每次去做你那些聪明的演讲的时候，不能驱赶着她象个跟班一样跟着你。不过这让他很不高兴。”阿不福思说。他的双眼又一次被眼镜片反射的火光所淹没，闪现出一片白色，像瞎了一样。“格林沃德更不高兴。他很生气，说我是个愚蠢的小孩，竟然妨碍他和我的天才哥哥的计划……我真不明白等他们改变了世界，巫师们也不用想办法隐蔽了，麻瓜们也能学得规规矩矩了……我可怜的妹妹就不用再东躲西藏了？” 
　　“我们吵了起来……我拿出了魔杖，他也拿出了魔杖。他——我哥哥最好的朋友，对我用了钻心咒，阿不思想要阻止他，但随后我们三个展开了混战。闪烁的光线和噼啪的响声刺激到了我妹妹，她实在不能忍受了……” 
　　阿不福思像是受到了致命的伤痛，脸色越来越苍白。 
　　“……我猜她是要帮忙，但她大概也不清楚自己要做什么。我不知道是我们当中的谁造成了这场悲剧——谁都有可能。总之她死了。” 
　　说到最后，阿不福思的嗓子已经哑了。他一屁股瘫坐在旁边的椅子上。赫敏已是泪流满面，而罗恩的脸几乎变得和阿不福思一样地惨白。哈利感到厌恶极了，他真希望自己压根没听到这些话，恨不得把这段记忆消除。 
　　“这真是……真是太悲惨了……”赫敏低声说。 
　　“她走了……”阿不福思沙哑地说道，“再也回不来了。” 
　　他用袖口擦了下鼻涕，清了清嗓子。 
　　“当然，格林沃德跑了。他在自己国家的时候就有过一些不良记录，他可不想把阿瑞娜的死也算到他的账上。阿不思倒是解脱了，不是么？甩掉了妹妹这么大的一个负担，他可以安心做他的‘最伟大的巫师’……” 
　　“他从来没有解脱过。”哈利打断了他。 
　　“你说什么？”阿不福思说。 
　　“从来没有。”哈利说，“你哥哥死的那个晚上，他喝了一种令他发疯的药。他开始尖叫，向某个虚幻的人恳求着：‘请不要伤害他们……我愿意替他们承受这一切……’” 
　　罗恩和赫敏睁大眼睛看着哈利。他从来没跟他们详细讲过他和邓布利多在湖中小岛上发生了什么：自他跟邓布利多回到霍格沃滋以后，事情是怎么发生的已经被完全盖过了。 
　　“我知道，他回到了和你还有格林沃德在一起时的幻觉当中。”哈利说着，回想起邓布利多自言自语的，苦苦哀求的样子。 
　　“他仿佛看到格林沃德伤害了你和阿瑞娜……这对他是一种折磨。如果你看到他那个时候的样子，你就不会说他解脱了。” 
　　阿不福思把脸埋进他那苍老而嶙峋的双手，陷入了沉思。过了很长时间，他说：“波特，你怎么敢确定，比起你，我哥哥不会更关心他那伟大的事业？你怎么敢说，你对于他不会像我妹妹那样，可有可无？” 
　　哈利的心里像是被尖冰刺穿了一样。 
　　“我不信。邓布利多从来都很喜欢哈利。”赫敏说。 
　　“那他怎么不让他躲起来？”阿不福思反驳道，“他怎么不跟他说，‘你要小心，我来教你怎么才能活下去’？” 
　　“因为，”还没等赫敏回答，哈利说，“有的时候你不能只顾自己的安危！有的时候你必须去想想那个伟大的事业！这是一场战争！” 
　　“可你才十七岁啊，孩子！” 
　　“我已经成年了，即便你放弃了，我也要继续战斗！” 
　　“谁说我放弃了？” 
　　“凤凰社已经不存在了。”哈利重复着阿不福思刚才说过的话，“神秘人赢了，一切都结束了。任何不这样认为的人都是在欺骗自己罢了。” 
　　“我不希望这样，但这是事实！” 
　　“不，这不是。”哈利说，“你哥哥很清楚怎样才能打败神秘人，现在他把这些知识传给了我。我要一直继续下去，直到成功——或者死去。不要以为我不知道这一切会如何结束，很久以前我就知道了。” 
　　他以为阿不福思会嘲笑他，或者会跟他争辩，但是他没有。他只是动了动身子。 
　　“我们必须到霍格沃茨去。”哈利又说了一遍，“如果你帮不上我们，我们会等到天亮离开这儿，自己想办法进到霍格沃茨去。如果你能帮忙——那么，最好现在就告诉我们。” 
　　阿不福思坐在椅子里没动，用那双像极了他哥哥的眼睛凝视着哈利。最后他清了清嗓子，站了起来，绕过小桌子走到阿瑞娜的画像跟前。 
　　“你知道怎么做。” 
　　她笑了笑，转身走开了。她并不是象一般画像里的人那样从一侧走出画框，而是沿着身后像是画出来的一条长长的通道离去。他们看着她的身影一点点变小，最后消失在黑暗之中。 
　　“呃……怎么……”罗恩打破沉寂。 
　　“现在只有一个办法能进去。”阿不福思说，“但你们应该知道，他们守住了所有秘密通道的出入口，墙外到处都是摄魂怪，据我得到的消息，学校里面还有日常的巡逻。那儿从来没被这么严密地把守过。斯内普负责里头的一切，还有卡卢兄妹做他的跟班，呃……那是专为你们设的监视哨，不是吗？你说你已经有赴死的觉悟了。” 
　　“但是怎么……”赫敏对着阿瑞娜的画像皱着眉头问道。 
　　一个小白点又出现在了画中通道的尽头，阿瑞娜一步一步走向他们，看起来变得越来越大。但这次她领着另外一个人。这个人个头比她高，走路一瘸一拐的，看起来很兴奋的样子。他的头发比哈利见过的所有人都要长。随着他们越走越近，身影越来越大，模样也渐渐显现出来，直到画框里只剩下他们的头和肩膀。 
　　随后，整幅画像一扇小门一样打开了，门后露出了一个真正的密道入口。而眼前爬出来的这个头发长乱，脸颊瘦削，衣衫褴褛的人，竟是真正的纳威 
　　隆巴顿！他高兴得大叫了一声，跳下壁炉架，大声说： 
　　“哈利！我就知道你会来的！”　 
Chapter 29 The Lost Diadem
Neville – what the – how –?“
But Neville had spotted Ron and Hermione, and with yells of delight was hugging them too. The longer Harry looked at Neville, the worse he appeared: One of his eyes was swollen yellow and purple, there were gouge marks on his face, and his general air of unkemptness suggested that he had been living enough. Nevertheless, his battered visage shone with happiness as he let go of Hermione and said again, “I knew you’d come! Kept telling Seamus it was a matter of time!”
“Neville, what’s happened to you?”
“What? This?” Neville dismissed his injuries with a shake of the head. “This is nothing, Seamus is worse. You’ll see. Shall we get going then? Oh,” he turned to Aberforth, “Ab, there might be a couple more people to the way.”
“Couple more?” repeated Aberforth ominously. “What d’you mean, a couple more, Longbottom? There’s a curfew and a Camwaulding Charm on the whole village!”
“I know, that’s why they’ll be Apparating directly into the bar,” said Neville. “Just send them down the passage when they get here, will you? Thanks a lot.”
Neville held out his hand to Hermione and helped her to climb up onto the mantelpiece and into the tunnel; Ron followed, then Neville. Harry addressed Aberforth.
“I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve saved our lives twice.”
“Look after ‘em, then,” said Aberforth gruffly. “I might not be able to save ‘em a third time.”
Harry chambered up onto the mantelpiece and through the hole behind Ariana’s portrait. There were smooth stone steps on the other side: It looked as though the passageway had been there for years. Brass lamps hung from the walls and the earthy floor was worn and smooth; as they walked, their shadows rippled, fanlike, across the wall.
“How long’s this been here?” Ron asked as they set off. “It isn’t on the Marauder’s Map, is it Harry? I thought there were only seven passages in and out of school?”
“They sealed off all of those before the start of the year,” said Neville. “There’s no chance of getting through any of them now, not with the curses over the entrances and Death Eaters and dementors waiting at the exits.” He started walking backward, beaming, drinking them in. “Never mind that stuff … Is it true? Did you break into Gringotts? Did you escape on a dragon? It’s everywhere, everyone’s talking about it, Terry Boot got beaten up by Carrow for yelling about it in the Great Hall at dinner!”
“Yeah, it’s true,” said Harry.
Neville laughed gleefully.
“What did you do with the dragon?”
“Released it into the wild,” said Ron. “Hermione was all for keeping it as a pet”
“Don’t exaggerate, Ron – ”
“But what have you been doing? People have been saying you’ve just been on the run, Harry, but I don’t think so. I think you’ve been up to something.”
“You’re right,” said Harry, “but tell us about Hogwarts, Neville, we haven’t heard anything.”
“It’s been …. Well, it’s not really like Hogwarts anymore,” said Neville, the smile fading from his face as he spoke. “Do you know about the Carrows?”
“Those two Death Eaters who teach here?”
“They do more than teach,” said Neville. “They’re in charge of all discipline. They like punishment, the Carrows.”
“Like Umbridge?”
“Nah, they make her look tame. The other teachers are all supposed to refer us to the Carrows if we do anything wrong. They don’t, though, if they can avoid it. You can tell they all hate them as much as we do.”
“Amycus, the bloke, he teaches what used to be Defense Against the Dark Arts, except now it’s just the Dark Arts. We’re supposed to practice the Cruciatus Curse on people who’ve earned detentions – ”
“What?”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s united voices echoed up and down the passage.
“Yeah,” said Neville. “That’s how I got this one,” he pointed at a particularly deep gash in his cheek, “I refused to do it. Some people are into it, though; Crabbe and Goyle love it. First time they’ve ever been top in anything, I expect.”
“Alecto, Amycus’s sister, teaches Muggle Studies, which is compulsory for everyone. We’ve all got to listen to her explain how Muggles are like animals, stupid and dirty, and how they drive wizards into hiding by being vicious toward them, and how the natural order is being reestablished. I got this one,” he indicated another slash to his face, “for asking her how much Muggle blood she and her brother have got.”
“Blimey, Neville,” said Ron, “there’s a time and a place for getting a smart mouth.”
“You didn’t see her,” said Neville. “You wouldn’t have stood it either. The thing is, it helps when people stand up to them, it gives everyone hope. I used to notice that when you did it, Harry.”
“But they’ve used you as a knife sharpener,” said Ron, winding slightly as they passed a lamp and Neville’s injuries were thrown into even greater relief.
Neville shrugged.
“Doesn’t matter. They don’t want to spill too much pure blood, so they’ll torture us a bit if we’re mouthy but they won’t actually kill us.”
Harry did not know what was worse, the things that Neville was saying or the matter-of-fact tone in which he said them.
“The only people in real danger are the ones whose friends and relatives on the outside are giving trouble. They get taken hostage. Old Xeno Lovegood was getting a bit too outspoken in The Quibbler, so they dragged Luna off the train on the way back for Christmas.”
“Neville, she’s all right, we’ve seen her – ”
“Yeah, I know, she managed to get a message to me.”
From his pocket he pulled a golden coin, and Harry recognized it as one of the fake Galleons that Dumbledore’s Army had used to send one another messages.
“These have been great,” said Neville, beaming at Hermione. “The Carrows never rumbled how we were communicating, it drove them mad. We used to sneak out at night and put graffiti on the walls: Dumbledore’s Army, Still Recruiting, stuff like that. Snape hated it.”
“You used to?” said Harry, who had noticed the past tense.
“Well, it got more difficult as time went on.” said Neville. “We lost Luna at Christmas, and Ginny never came back after Easter, and the three of us were sort of the leaders. The Carrows seemed to know I was behind a lot of it, so they started coming down on me hard, and then Michael Corner went and got caught releasing a first-year they’d chained up, and they tortured him pretty badly. That scared people off.”
“No kidding,” muttered Ron, as the passage began to slope upward.
“Yeah, well, I couldn’t ask people to go through what Michael did, so we dropped those kinds of stunts. But we were still fighting, doing underground stuff, right up until a couple of weeks ago. That’s when they decided there was only one way to stop me, I suppose, and they went for Gran.”
“They what?” said Harry, Ron, and Hermione together.
“Yeah,” said Neville, panting a little now, because the passage was climbing so steeply, “well, you can see their thinking. It had worked really well, kidnapping kids to force their relatives to behave. I s’pose it was only a matter of time before they did it the other way around. Thing was,” he faced them, and Harry was astonished to see that he was grinning, “they bit off a bit more than they could chew with Gran. Little old witch living alone, they probably thought hey didn’t need to send anyone particularly powerful. Anyway,” Neville laughed, “Dawlish is still in St. Mungo’s and Gran’s on the run. She sent me a letter,” he clapped a hand to the breast pocket of his robes, “telling me she was proud of me, that I’m my parent’s son, and to keep it up.”
“Cool,” said Ron.
“Yea,” said Neville happily. “Only thing was, once they realized they had no hold over me, they decided Hogwarts could do without me after all. I don’t know whether they were planning to kill me or send me to Azkaban, either way, I knew it was time to disappear.”
“But,” said Ron, looking thoroughly confused, “aren’t – aren’t we heading straight back for Hogwarts?”
“‘Course,” said Neville. “You’ll see. We’re here.”
They turned a corner and there ahead of them was the end of the passage. Another short flight of steps led to a door just like the one hidden behind Ariana’s portrait. Neville pushed it open and climbed through. As Harry followed, he heard Neville call out for unseen people:
“Look who it is! Didn’t I tell you?”
As Harry emerged into the room behind the passage, there were several screams and yells: “HARRY!”
“It’s Potter, it’s POTTER!”
“Ron!”
“Hermione!”
He had a confused impression of colored hangings, of lamps and many faces. The next moment, he, Ron, and Hermione were engulfed, hugged, pounded on the back, their hair ruffled, their hands shaken, by what seemed to be more than twenty people. They might have just won a Quidditch final.
“Okay, okay, calm down!” Neville called, and as the crowd backed away, Harry was able to take in their surroundings.
He did not recognize the dorm at all. It was enormous, and looked rather like the interior of a particularly sumptuous tree house, or perhaps a gigantic ship’s cabin. Multicolored hammocks were strung from the ceiling and from the balcony that ran around the dark wood-paneled and windowless walls, which were covered in bright tapestry hangings. Harry saw the gold Gryffindor lion, emblazoned on scarlet; the black badger of Hufflepuff, set against yellow; and the bronze eagle of Ravenclaw, on blue. The silver and green of Slytherin alone were absent. There were bulging bookcases, a few broomsticks propped against the walls, and in the corner, a large wood-cased wireless.
“Where are we?”
“Room of Requirement, of course!” said Neville. “Surpassed itself, hasn’t it? The Carrows were chasing me, and I knew I had just one chance for a hideout: I managed to get through the door and this is what I found! Well, it wasn’t exactly like this when I arrived, it was a load smaller, there was only one hammock and just Gryffindor hangings. But it’s expanded as more and more of the D.A. have arrived.”
“And the Carrows can’t get in?” asked Harry, looking around for the door.
“No,” said Seamus Finnigan, whom Harry had not recognized until he spoke: Seamus’s face was bruised and puffy. “It’s a proper hideout, as long as one of us stays in here, they can’t get at us, the door won’t open. It’s all down to Neville. He really gets this room. You’ve got to ask for exactly what you need – like, ‘I don’t want any Carrow supporters to be able to get in’ – and it’ll do it for you! You’ve just got to make sure you close the loopholes. Neville’s the man!”
“It’s quite straightforward, really,” said Neville modestly. “I’d been in here about a day and a half, and getting really hungry, and wishing I could get something to eat, and that’s when the passage to Hog’s Head opened up. I went through it and met Aberforth. He’s been providing us with food, because for some reason, that’s the one thing the room doesn’t really do.”
“Yeah, well, food’s one of the five exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration,” said Ron to general astonishment.
“So we’ve been hiding out here for nearly two weeks,” said Seamus, “and it just makes more hammocks every time we need room, and it even sprouted a pretty good bathroom once girls started turning up – ”
“ – and thought they’d quite like to wash, yes,” supplied Lavender Brown, whom Harry had not noticed until that point. Now that he looked around properly, he recognized many familiar faces. Both Patil twins were there, as were Terry Boot, Ernie Macmillan, Anthony Goldstein, and Michael Corner.
“Tell us what you’ve been up to, though,” said Ernie. “There’ve been so many rumors, we’ve been trying to keep up with you on Potterwatch.” He pointed at the wireless. “You didn’t break into Gringotts?”
“They did!” said Neville. “And the dragon’s true too!”
There was a smattering of applause and a few whoops; Ron took a bow.
“What were you after?” asked Seamus eagerly.
Before any of them could parry the question with one of their own, Harry felt a terrible, scorching pain in the lightning scar. As he turned his back hastily on the curious and delighted faces, the Room of Requirement vanished, and he was standing inside a ruined stone shack, and the rotting floorboards were ripped apart at his feet, a disinterred golden box lay open and empty beside the hole, and Voldemort’s scream of fury vibrated inside his head.
With an enormous effort he pulled out of Voldemort’s mind again, back to where he stood, swaying, in the Room of Requirement, sweat pouring from his face and Ron holding him up.
“Are you all right, Harry?” Neville was saying. “What to sit down? I expect you’re tired, aren’t –?”
“No,” said Harry. He looked at Ron and Hermione, trying to tell them without words that Voldemort had just discovered the loss of one of the other Horcruxes. Time was running out fast: If Voldemort chose to visit Hogwarts next, they would miss their chance.
“We need to get going,” he said, and their expressions told him that they understood.
“What are we going to do, then, Harry?” asked Seamus. “What’s the plan?”
“Plan?” repeated Harry. He was exercising all his willpower to prevent himself succumbing again to Voldemort’s rage: His scar was still burning. “Well, there’s something we – Ron, Hermione, and I – need to do, and then we’ll get out of here.”
Nobody was laughing or whooping anymore. Neville looked confused.
“What d’you mean, ‘get out of here’?”
“We haven’t come back to stay,” said Harry, rubbing his scar, trying to soothe the pain. “There’s something important we need to do – ”
“What is it?”
“I – I can’t tell you.”
There was a ripple of muttering at this: Neville’s brows contracted.
“Why can’t you tell us? It’s something to do with fighting You-Know-Who, right?”
“Well, yeah – ”
“Then we’ll help you.”
The other members of Dumbledore’s Army were nodding, some enthusiastically, others solemnly. A couple of them rose from their chairs to demonstrate their willingness for immediate action.
“You don’t understand,” Harry seemed to have said that a lot in the last few hours. “We – we can’t tell you. We’ve got to do it – alone.”
“Why?” asked Neville.
“Because …” In his desperation to start looking for the missing Horcrux, or at least have a private discussion with Ron and Hermione about where they might commence their search. Harry found it difficult to gather his thoughts. His scar was still searing. “Dumbledore left the three of us a job,” he said carefully, “and we weren’t supposed to tell – I mean, he wanted us to do it, just the three of us.”
“We’re his army,” said Neville. “Dumbledore’s Army. We were all in it together, we’ve been keeping it going while you three have been off on your own – ”
“It hasn’t exactly been a picnic, mate,” said Ron.
“I never said it had, but I don’t see why you can’t trust us. Everyone in this room’s been fighting and they’ve been driven in here because the Carrows were hunting them down. Everyone in here’s proven they’re loyal to Dumbledore – loyal to you.”
“Look,” Harry began, without knowing what he was going to say, but it did not matter. The tunnel door had just opened behind him.
“We got your message, Neville! Hello you three, I thought you must be here!”
It was Luna and Dean. Seamus gave a great roar of delight and ran to hug his best friend.
“Hi, everyone!” said Luna happily. “Oh, it’s great to be back!”
“Luna,” said Harry distractedly, “what are you doing here? How did you –?”
“I sent for her,” said Neville, holding up the fake Galleon. “I promised her and Ginny that if you turned up I’d let them know. We all thought that if you came back, it would mean revolution. That we were going to overthrow Snape and the Carrows.”
“Of course that’s what it means,” said Luna brightly. “Isn’t it, Harry? We’re going to fight them out of Hogwarts?”
“Listen,” said Harry with a rising sense of panic, “I’m sorry, but that’s not what we came back for. There’s something we’ve got to do, and then – ”
“You’re going to leave us in this mess?” demanded Michael Cornet.
“No!” said Ron. “What we’re doing will benefit everyone in the end, it’s all about trying to get rid of You-Know-Who – ”
“Then let us help!” said Neville angrily. “We want to be a part of it!”
There was another noise behind them, and Harry turned. His heart seemed to fall: Ginny was now climbing through the hole in the wall, closely followed by Fred, George, and Lee Jordan. Ginny gave Harry a radiant smile: He had forgotten, he had never fully appreciated, how beautiful she was, but he had never been less pleased to see her.
“Aberforth’s getting a bit annoyed,” said Fred, raising his hand in answer to several cries of greeting. “He wants a kip, and his bar’s turned into a railway station.”
Harry’s mouth fell open. Right behind Lee Jordan came Harry’s old girlfriend, Cho Chang. She smiled at him.
“I got the message,” she said, holding up her own fake Galleon and she walked over to sit beside Michael Corner.
“So what’s the plan, Harry?” said George.
“There isn’t one,” said Harry, still disoriented by the sudden appearance of all these people, unable to take everything in while his scar was still burning so fiercely.
“Just going to make it up as we go along, are we? My favorite kind,” said Fred.
“You’ve got to stop this!” Harry told Neville. “What did you call them all back for? This is insane – ”
“We’re fighting, aren’t we?” said Dean, taking out his fake Galleon. “The message said Harry was back, and we were going to fight! I’ll have to get a wand, though – ”
“You haven’t got a wand–?” began Seamus.
Ron turned suddenly to Harry.
“Why can’t they help?”
“What?”
“They can help.” He dropped his voice and said, so that none of them could hear but Hermione, who stood between them, “We don’t know where it is. We’ve got to find it fast. We don’t have to tell them it’s a Horcrux.”
Harry looked from Ron to Hermione, who murmured, “I think Ron’s right. We don’t even know what we’re looking for, we need them.” And when Harry looked unconvinced, “You don’t have to do everything alone, Harry.”
Harry thought fast, his scar still prickling, his head threatening to split again. Dumbledore had warned him against telling anyone but Ron and Hermione about the Horcruxes. Secrets and lies, that’s how we grew up, and Albus … he was a natural … Was he turning into Dumbledore, keeping his secrets clutched to his chest, afraid to trust? But Dumbledore had trusted Snape, and where had that led? To murder at the top of the highest tower …
“All right,” he said quietly to the other two. “Okay,” he called to the room at large, and all noise ceased: Fred and George, who had been cracking jokes for the benefit of those nearest, fell silent, and all of the looked alert, excited.
“There’s something we need to find,” Harry said. “Something – something that’ll help us overthrow You-Know-Who. It’s here at Hogwarts, but we don’t know where. It might have belonged to Ravenclaw. Has anyone heard of an object like that? Has anyone come across something with her eagle on it, for instance?”
He looked hopefully toward the little group of Ravenclaws, to Padma, Michael, Terry, and Cho, but it was Luna who answered, perched on the arm of Ginny’s chair.
“Well, there’s her lost diadem. I told you about it, remember, Harry? The lost diadem of Ravenclaw? Daddy’s trying to duplicate it.”
“Yeah, but the lost diadem,” said Michael Corner, rolling his eyes, “is lost, Luna. That’s sort of the point.”
“When was it lost?” asked Harry.
“Centuries ago, they say,” said Cho, and Harry’s heart sank. “Professor Flitwick says the diadem vanished with Ravenclaw herself. People have looked, but,” she appealed to her fellow Ravenclaws. “Nobody’s ever found a trace of it, have them?”
They all shook their heads.
“Sorry, but what is a diadem?” asked Ron.
“It’s a kind of crown,” said Terry Boot. “Ravenclaw’s was supposed to have magical properties, enhance the wisdom of the wearer.”
“Yes, Daddy’s Wrackspurt siphons – ”
But Harry cut across Luna.
“And none of you have ever seen anything that looks like it?”
They all shook their heads again. Harry looked at Ron and Hermione and his own disappointment was mirrored back at him. An object that had been lost this long, and apparently without trace, did not seem like a good candidate for the Horcrux hidden in the castle … Before he could formulate a new question, however, Cho spoke again.
“If you’d like to see what the diadem’s supposed to look like, I could take you up to our common room and show you, Harry. Ravenclaw’s wearing it in her statue.”
Harry’s scar scorched again: For a moment the Room of Requirement swam before him, and he saw instead the dark earth soaring beneath him and felt the great snake wrapped around his shoulders. Voldemort was flying again, whether to the underground lake or here, to the castle, he did not know: Either way, there was hardly any time left.
“He’s on the move,” he said quietly to Ron and Hermione. He glanced at Cho and then back at them. “Listen, I know it’s not much of a lead, but I’m going to go look at this statue, at least find out what the diadem looks like. Wait for me here and keep, you know – the other one – safe.”
Cho had got to her feet, but Ginny said rather fiercely, “No, Luna will take Harry, won’t you, Luna?”
“Oooh, yes, I’d like to,” said Luna happily, as Cho sat down again, looking disappointed.
“How do we get out?” Harry asked Neville.
“Over here.”
He led Harry and Luna to a corner, where a small cupboard opened onto a steep staircase. “It comes out somewhere different every day, so they’ve never been able to find it,” he said. “Only trouble is, we never know exactly where we’re going to end up when we go out. Be careful, Harry, they’re always patrolling the corridors at night.”
“No problem,” said Harry. “See you in a bit.”
He and Luna hurried up the staircase, which was long, lit by torches, and turned corners in unexpected places. At last they reached what appeared to be solid wall.
“Get under here,” Harry told Luna, pulling out the Invisibility Cloak and throwing it over both of them. He gave the wall a little push.
It melted away at his touch and they slipped outside. Harry glanced back and saw that it had resealed itself at once. They were standing in a dark corridor. Harry pulled Luna back into the shadows, fumbled in the pouch around his neck, and took out the Marauder’s Map. Holding it close to his nose he searched, and located his and Luna’s dots at last.
“We’re up on the fifth floor,” he whispered, watching filch moving away from them, a corridor ahead. “Come on, this way.”
They crept off.
Harry had prowled the castle at night many times before, but never had his heart hammered that fast, never had so much depended on his safe passage through the place. Through squares of moonlight upon the floor, past suits of armor whose helmets creaked at the sound of their soft footsteps, around corners beyond which who knew what lurked. Harry and Luna walked, checking the Marauder’s Map whenever light permitted, twice pausing to allow a ghost to pass without drawing attention to themselves. He expected to encounter an obstacle at any moment; his worst fear was Peeves, and he strained his ears with every step to hear the first, telltale signs of the poltergeist’s approach.
“The way, Harry,” breathed Luna, plucking his sleeve and pulling him toward a spiral staircase.
They climbed in tight, dizzying circles; Harry had never been up here before. At last they reached a door. There was no handle and no keyhole: nothing but a plain expanse of aged wood, and a bronze knocker in the shape an eagle.
Luna reached out a pale hand, which looked eerie floating in midair, unconnected to arm or body. She knocked once, and in the silence it sounded to Harry like a cannon blast. At once the beak of the eagle opened, but instead of a bird’s called, a soft, musical voice said, “Which came first, the phoenix or the flame?”
“Hmm … What do you think, Harry?” said Luna, looking thoughtful.
“What? Isn’t there a password?”
“Oh no, you’ve got to answer a question,” said Luna.
“What if you get it wrong?”
“Well, you have to wait for somebody who gets it right,” said Luna. “That way you learn, you see?”
“Yeah … Trouble is, we can’t really afford to wait for anyone else, Luna.”
“No, I see what you mean,” said Luna seriously. “Well then, I think the answer is that a circle has no beginning.”
“Well reasoned,” said the voice, and the door swung open.
The deserted Ravenclaw common room was a wide, circular room, airier than any Harry had ever seen at Hogwarts. Graceful arched windows punctuated the walls, which were hung with blue-and-bronze silks. By day, the Ravenclaws would have a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains. The ceiling was domed and painted with stars, which were echoed in the midnight-blue carpet. There were tables, chairs, and bookcases, and in a niche opposite the door stood a tall statue of white marble.
Harry recognized Rowena Ravenclaw from the bust he had seen at Luna’s house. The statue stood beside a door that led, he guessed, to dormitories above. He strode right up to the marble woman, and she seemed to look back at him with a quizzical half smile on her face, beautiful yet slightly intimidating. A delicate-looking circlet had been reproduced in marble on top of her head. It was not unlike the tiara Fleur had worn at her wedding. There were tiny words etched into it. Harry stepped out from under the Cloak and climbed up onto Ravenclaw’s plinth to read them.
“‘Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.’”
“Which makes you pretty skint, witless,” said a cackling voice.
Harry whirled around, slipped off the plinth, and landed on the floor. The sloping-shouldered figure of Alecto Carrow was standing before him, and even as Harry raised his wand, she pressed a stubby forefinger to the skull and snake branded on her forearm.
“纳威—这——怎么会？” 
　　但是纳威认出了罗恩与赫敏，高兴地叫出了声，紧紧地拥抱了他们。哈利越看纳威，越觉得他看起来很糟：他的一只眼睛呈黄紫色肿胀着，脸上到处是伤痕，而且从他凌乱的样子来看，他似乎经受了不少折磨。不过他伤痕累累的脸上仍闪着兴奋的光芒：“就知道你们会来的，我一直在告诉西莫这只是时间的问题。”他把赫敏放开后又说。 
　　"纳威，你怎么了？" 
　　“什么？这个？”纳威摇摇头，并不在意他的伤势，“这点事不算什么，西莫更惨，你会看到的。要不我们现在就进去吧？哦，”他转过来对阿不福思说，“阿不，估计还有几个人正在过来的路上呢。” 
　　“还有几个人？” 阿不福思重复着，好像有种不祥的意味，“什么叫还有几个人啊，隆巴顿？整个村子可是有宵禁令和监视咒的！” 
　　“我知道，所以他们会直接幻影显形到酒吧里，”纳威说道，“等他们到了，记得让他们通过，好吧？谢谢哦！” 
　　纳威把他的手伸给赫敏，帮助她爬上壁炉架，进入地道；罗恩紧跟着她，然后是纳威。哈利转向阿不福思。 
　　“我真不知道怎么感谢你，你两次救了我们的命。” 
　　“那就照顾好他们，”阿不福思粗声粗气地说，“第三次我就不一定能够再救他们了。” 
　　哈利爬上壁炉架，穿过阿瑞娜肖像后面的洞。洞的另一边有光滑的石梯：看起来这条通道好像已经有些年头了。黄铜的壁灯悬挂在墙上，土地面由于长期使用而变得光滑；他们行进时影子在墙上交织成起伏不定的扇形。 
　　“这东西在这有多久了？”在他们出发时罗恩问道，“这可不在活点地图上，是吧哈利？我还以为只有七个人从这里进出过学校呢。” 
　　“他们在学期刚开始时把这些秘道全都封起来了，”纳威说，“这里再也不可能通过了，尤其是在入口处有咒语，出口处有食死徒和摄魂怪的情况下。”他开始向后退，好像并不对此在意的样子。“别管这些东西……那是真的吗？你们闯进了古灵阁?从龙那里死里逃生？现在不管什么地方，大家都在谈论着这个，泰瑞·布特就是因为在大礼堂吃饭时忍不住喊出了这些事，才被卡罗兄妹给揍了的！” 
　　“呵呵，那是真的。”哈利说。 
　　纳威兴高采烈地笑着。 
　　“你是怎么处理那只龙的啊？” 
　　“把它放归野外了， ”罗恩说，“赫敏还赞成把它当成宠物养呢。” 
　　“请你不要夸大其词，罗恩——” 
　　“但是你们最近到底在做什么？人们都说你们藏起来了，哈利，但是我可不相信，我敢肯定你一定做了些什么。” 
　　“你说的对，”哈利说，“不过先跟我们讲讲霍格沃茨，纳威，我们还什么都没听说呢。” 
　　“唉，这里已经不是以前的霍格沃茨了，”纳威说道，他脸上的笑容褪去了，“你听说了关于卡罗兄妹的事吗？” 
　　“那两个在这里教书的食死徒？” 
　　“他们不光教书，”纳威说，“还负责纪律管理。卡罗兄妹喜欢惩罚。” 
　　"就像乌姆里奇那样？" 
　　“她在他们面前只能相形见绌。如果我们做错了事，其他老师都要向卡罗兄妹汇报。不过他们尽可能不这样做。可以说，他们和我们一样讨厌卡罗兄妹。” 
　　“一个叫阿米科斯的家伙教黑魔法防御术，不过现在只是黑魔法。他们让我们对被关禁闭的人使用不可饶恕咒·” 
　　“什么？” 
　　哈利、罗恩和赫敏的声音在通道中上下回荡着。 
　　“真的，”纳威说。“我这伤疤就是这么来的，”他指着自己脸颊上一处特别深的伤口说，“我拒绝这样做。不过有些人会觉得这很有趣；克拉布和高尔简直爱上这规定了。我想这是他们第一次可以凌驾一切。” 
　　“阿勒克图, 
　　阿米科斯的姐妹，在教麻瓜研究，现在这门课是必修课了。我们都得听她讲解麻瓜是如何像动物一样愚蠢肮脏，是如何用暴力把巫师们搞得只能躲藏起来，以及一种自然秩序正在重新建立。这个，”他指着脸上另一道斜着的伤疤说，“是因为我问她，她和她哥哥到底沾染了多少麻瓜的血而得到的。” 
　　“啊，纳威，”罗恩说“你需要学聪明一点。” 
　　“你没看到过她，”纳威说，“如果你见过，就不会这么说了。重点是，如果有人能站起来反抗他们，会给其他人带来希望。你这么做的时候我就发现了，哈利。” 
　　“但是他们会拿你来开刀的，”罗恩说，当他们经过一盏壁灯时，风变弱了，纳威脸上的伤痕清晰得就像浮雕一样。 
　　纳威耸耸肩。 
　　“没关系啦。他们可不想浪费更多的纯血种，所以他们会因为这些口头反抗而折磨我们，但不会真的杀了我们。” 
　　哈利不知道那个会更糟一些：是纳威正在叙说的这些事情，还是他说这些时平静的语气。 
　　“真正有危险的人是朋友或亲戚在外面惹麻烦的，他们会被当作人质抓起来。老西诺·洛夫古德就是在《唱唱反调》里面有点太无所顾忌了，结果他们那帮人就在圣诞节后回学校的火车上把卢娜拽了下去。” 
　　“纳威，她一切都好，我们见过她——” 
　　“是啊，我知道，她给我送了信儿。” 
　　他从兜里掏出一枚金币，哈利认出这是D·A用来互相传递消息用的一枚假的加隆。 
　　“这玩意儿真是太棒了，”纳威说，满面笑容的看着赫敏，“卡罗兄妹俩做梦也想不到我们是怎么联络的，他们简直要被弄得疯掉了。我们以前经常在半夜偷偷溜出去，在墙上刻了诸如‘D·A招募新兵’一类的话。把斯内普气的不行。” 
　　“以前？”哈利注意到是过去时，便问道。 
　　“唉，越到后来就越难了，”纳威说，“圣诞节我们损失了卢娜，金妮复活节之后再也没回来，我们仨又是领头的。看上去卡罗兄妹知道我和大部分事情都脱不了干系，就开始教训我。后来迈克尔·科纳在释放一个被他们关起来的新生的时候被抓住了，结果被狠狠的修理了一顿。大伙就再也不敢了。” 
　　“别开玩笑了！”罗恩咕哝道，这时候通道开始向上升了。 
　　“是啊，嗯，我不能让大伙步迈克尔的后尘，所以那些把戏我们也不再用了。可我们还在坚持战斗，都是秘密活动，一直到几个星期以前。我猜他们是在那时候认识到只有一种办法能阻止我，就是打我奶奶的主意。” 
　　“他们什么？”哈利、赫敏、罗恩异口同声问道。 
　　“是啊，”纳威说，路越来越难走，他有一点喘了，“嗯，你能知道他们是怎么想的。绑架小孩儿，逼迫他们的亲戚就范，这一招屡试不爽。我想他们反其道而行之只不过是时间问题。可事实是，”他面对着他们，哈利惊讶的发现纳威竟然在微笑，“他们从奶奶那儿可是一点好果子都没讨到。他们可能觉得根本没必要派什么厉害的人物去对付一个既矮又老，还是一个人住的女巫。无论如何，”纳威大笑起来，“德力士还呆在圣芒戈，而奶奶已经逃之夭夭了。她还给我写了封信，”他拍了拍长袍上的胸袋，“跟我说她为我感到骄傲，说我不愧是我父亲的儿子，还说让我坚持到底。” 
　　“太酷了！”罗恩说。 
　　“对极了！”纳威开心地说，“只有一件事，他们发觉手中没有能威胁我的东西，终于决心让我从霍格沃茨消失。我不知道他们是打算杀掉我还是把我送进阿兹卡班，可我知道不论是哪种，我都是时候该销声匿迹了。” 
　　“可是，”罗恩说，看上去完全懵了，“我们——我们不是正朝着霍格沃茨往回走吗？” 
　　“当然，”纳威说。“你会明白的。我们到了。” 
　　转过一个拐角，通道的尽头就在他们眼前。还有一小段阶梯，通向和阿瑞娜肖像后面那扇差不多的门。纳威把它推开，钻了过去。哈利紧跟其后，听到纳威对着一帮看不见的人大声说： 
　　“快看看这是谁！别怪我没告诉你们！” 
　　哈利一进到这间通道尽头的屋子就引起一片大呼小叫：“哈利！”“是波特，就是波特！”“罗恩！”“赫敏！” 
　　看着五颜六色的帘子、灯，还有一张张脸，哈利感到很迷惑。一眨眼的工夫，他、罗恩和赫敏就被二十几个人团团围住了，人们拥抱他们，不停地拍他们的后背，弄乱了他们的头发，还跟他们握手。好像他们刚赢了魁地奇的决赛一样。 
　　“好了，好了，都冷静！”纳威叫道，人群渐渐退去，哈利这才看清周围的情况。 
　　他几乎认不出这间宿舍。它大极了，看上去就像是在一间富丽堂皇的树屋里面，或者一艘巨船的船舱。暗色木头镶嵌的没有窗子的墙上挂着色彩明快的织锦帘子，各种颜色的吊床紧靠着天花板和围绕着墙的阳台整齐地排成一排。哈利看见了用猩红色布装饰的格兰芬多金色狮子，黄色衬着的赫奇帕奇黑獾，蓝色装饰的拉文克劳青色老鹰，唯独少了银绿相间的斯莱特林。还有凸出来书架，靠墙立着的几把扫帚，角落里还有一个大大的木头做的收音机。 
　　“我们这是在哪儿？” 
　　“当然是有求必应屋了！”纳威说。“它看起来比以前大多了，不是吗？卡罗兄妹抓我的时候，我知道只有一个地方能躲起来：我设法通过了这扇门，就找到了现在的这个地方。嗯，我来时这里还完全不是现在这个样，当时这里小多了，只有一张吊床，帘子也只有格兰芬多的。不过随着D·A·的成员越来越多，屋子就自动扩大了。” 
　　“那卡罗兄妹进不来？”哈利问，他往四处看，想找到门在哪儿。 
　　“没错，”西莫·斐尼甘说，他的脸因瘀伤而肿着，直到他开口说话哈利才认出是他。“在这儿藏着真是再合适不过了，只要我们有一个人呆在这儿，他们就进不来,门是不会自己开的。这全是纳威的功劳。他把这间屋子用的得心应手。你得说明白你到底想要什么——就像‘我不想让卡罗那伙人进来’——它才会照你说的做！你得保证说的滴水不漏。纳威真是好样的！” 
　　“那不算太难，真的，”纳威谦虚地说。“我那时候呆在这儿大约已经一天半了，饿坏了，真盼着能有什么吃的东西，就在那时去猪头酒吧的路出现了。我走过通道，结果遇见了阿不福思，他现在一直给我们做饭。因为某种原因，这间屋子没法给我们食物。” 
　　“啊，对了，食物是甘普元素转换定律的五个例外之一，”罗恩对迷惑的人们说· 
　　“我们躲在这差不多两个星期了，”西莫说，“每次我们需要更多的空间时，它就能变出吊床来，当女生们来的时候，它甚至变出了一间相当不错的盥洗室——” 
　　“——当她们觉得很想要洗澡时，是的，”拉文德·布朗补充道，哈利直到那时才注意到她。他仔仔细细地看了一圈，认出了许多熟悉的面孔。佩蒂尔孪生姐妹都在这儿，还有特里-布特，厄尼·麦克米兰，安东尼·戈德斯坦和迈克尔·科纳。 
　　“跟我们说说你都干了些什么，”厄尼说，“现在到处都是谣言，我们一直在通过波特兄弟会得知你的最新消息。”他指着收音机。“你们没有闯进古灵阁？” 
　　“他们当然进去了！”纳威说。“而且关于龙的传闻也是货真价实的！ ” 
　　“然后你干什么了？”西莫焦急地问。 
　　没等每个人都提出他们想问的问题，哈利感觉到他的闪电伤疤开始火烧火燎地疼起来。他赶紧转过身背对着好奇而兴奋的人群。突然有求必应屋消失了，现在哈利站在一个破损得很严重的石头小屋里，他脚下已经腐烂的地板正在裂开，在一个被挖开的洞旁边，一个掀开盖子的金盒子躺倒着，里面什么也没有。伏地魔愤怒的叫声在他的脑海中回荡着。 
　　把他自己从伏地魔的思想里剥离不是什么容易事，当哈利摇摇晃晃的回到他本来站着的地方时，罗恩正扶着满脸是汗的他。 
　　“你还好吧，哈利？”纳威问道。“要坐下吗？我猜你一定了累坏了，是不……？” 
　　“不是，”哈利说。他看着罗恩和赫敏，试图不出声地告诉他们伏地魔刚刚发现他的一个魂器被毁掉了。没有时间了，如果伏地魔下一步准备拜访霍格沃茨，他们很可能会失去机会。 
　　“我们必须继续走了，”他说，他们的表情告诉他，他们明白了。 
　　“那我们接下来干什么，哈利？”西莫问，“有什么计划？” 
　　“计划？”哈利重复着。他正用全部的意志力使自己不再次地屈服于伏地魔的愤怒情绪：他的伤疤还在火烧火燎地痛着。“那个，我们——罗恩，赫敏和我——有些事需要去做，完成后我们会离开这儿。” 
　　人们不再笑或者咳嗽。纳威看起来很疑惑。 
　　“你说‘离开这'是什么意思啊?” 
　　"我们不是回来待着的，”哈利说，一边揉着他的伤疤，试图减轻一些疼痛。“有些很重要的事情需要我们去做——” 
　　“那是什么？” 
　　“我——我不能告诉你。” 
　　四周响起一片嘀咕声；纳威的眉头紧皱在一起。“为什么不能告诉我们？是和对抗神秘人有关的，对不对？” 
　　“呃——对——” 
　　“那我们也要加入。” 
　　D·A的其他人都点头同意，有几个人显得特别有激情，其他人则很郑重。其中几个为了表示对接下来行动的决心与毅力甚至从椅子里站了起来。 
　　“你们不明白，”在最近的几个小时里哈利好像已经说过很多次这句话了。 
　　“我——我们不能告诉你们，这是我们必须——单独——来做的事情。” 
　　“为什么？”纳威问。 
　　“因为……”他是在不顾死活地寻找魂器，或者至少可以单独和罗恩赫敏讨论一下他们该从哪里开始调查。哈利发现他很难集中思想。他的伤疤还在痛，“邓布利多给我们三个布置了任务，”他很小心的说，“而且不允许我们向外透露——我的意思是，他只想让我们三个去完成这项工作。” 
　　“我们是他的军队，”纳威说。“邓布利多军。我们一直都在一起，在我们都努力抗争的时候，你们三个却偷偷摸摸地做自己的事——” 
　　“这不是野餐会，哥们，”罗恩说 
　　“我没有这么说，但是我不明白为什么你们不能相信我们。在这个房子里的每个人都参加了战斗，正是因为这个他们才在这间房子里，因为卡罗兄妹正在对他们紧追不舍。这里的每个人都证明了他们对邓布利多的忠心——对你的忠心。” 
　　“听着，”哈利说道，并不知道他接下来要说什么，但是那并没有关系。隧道的门突然在他身后打开了。 
　　“我们得到了你的消息，纳威！嗨你们三个，我就知道你们肯定在这！” 
　　是卢娜和迪安。西莫高兴得大叫一声，跑过去拥抱他的铁哥们。 
　　“嗨，大家好！”卢娜开心地说，“哎，能回来真是太好了！” 
　　“卢娜，”哈利心烦意乱的说，“你怎么在这？你是怎么——？” 
　　“我告诉她的，”纳威说着举起那枚假加隆，“我答应过她和金妮如果你回来就告诉她们。我们都以为你回来是为了革命。我们可以推翻斯内普和卡罗兄妹了。” 
　　“当然是为了这个啊！”卢娜兴高采烈的说，“是不是，哈利？我们要把他们打出霍格沃茨？” 
　　“听着，”哈利感到有些惊慌，“对不起，但这不是我们回来的原因。我们回来是为了做一些事情，然后——” 
　　“然后你就把这烂摊子留给我们，自己走掉？”迈克尔·科纳像是在盘问哈利。 
　　“不是！”罗恩嚷道，“我们做的事情最终会让大家都受益的，都是为了消灭神秘人——” 
　　“那就让我们也帮忙！”纳威有些着急的说，“我们也想加入！” 
　　另一个声响在他们身后响起，哈利转过身去。他的心跳加速起来：金妮正从墙上的洞里爬出来，紧接着是她的双胞胎哥哥弗雷德和乔治，还有李·乔丹。金妮给了哈利一个灿烂的微笑：他都忘了自己从来没有仔细欣赏过金妮的美丽，但是也从没有像现在一样不想见到她。 
　　“阿不福思有点生气了，”弗雷德说，一边举起他的手回应一些向他打招呼的声音。“他想睡觉，但是他的酒吧现在就像一个火车站。” 
　　哈利张大了嘴，因为他的前女友出现在李·乔丹后面，秋·张对着他微笑：“我得到了消息。”她说，手里拿着那枚假加隆，走到迈克尔·科纳身边坐下。 
　　“那么计划是什么，哈利？”乔治问道。 
　　“还没有计划，”哈利说，正被突然出现的几个人搞得不知所措，他的伤疤痛得太厉害以至于他还不能接受所有的事。 
　　“我们自己把他们搞定是不是？我最喜欢的。”弗雷德说到。 
　　“你不能这样做！”哈利对纳威吼道，“把他们都叫回来是为了什么？这太荒唐——” 
　　“我们在战斗，对不？”迪安说，把他的假加隆也拿了出来，“消息说哈利回来了，我们要开始战斗了！尽管我还需要一根魔杖——” 
　　“你还没有魔杖？”西莫问道。 
　　罗恩突然转向哈利。 
　　“他们为什么不能帮忙？” 
　　“什么？” 
　　“他们可以帮忙，”他把声音降低，这样除了站在他们两人中间赫敏就没有人能够听到他说话了，“我们也不知道那个东西在哪，而且我们还要快点找到它。我们不用告诉他们那是一个魂器。” 
　　哈利从罗恩转向赫敏，她小声地说：“我觉得罗恩是对的，我们都不知道要找的那个东西是什么，我们需要他们的帮助。”“你不用什么都一个人来承担，哈利。”看到哈利迟疑的表情，她赶紧加了一句。 
　　哈利快速的想了一下，他的伤疤还在刺痛，头似乎又要裂开了。 
　　邓布利多警告过他关于魂器的事情只能够告诉罗恩和赫敏。秘密与谎言，我们都是这么长大的，而阿不思……他是天才……他是否要变成像邓布利多一样，把他的秘密紧紧藏在心中，不敢面对真相？可是邓布利多相信斯内普，但是这又造成了什么后果？他还不是在天文塔上把他杀了…… 
　　“好吧！”他对另外两个人小声说到。“好吧，”他对着整个屋子喊道，其他声音都停止了：弗雷德和乔治停止给旁边的人讲笑话，所有人看起来都很警觉而兴奋。 
　　“我们要找一些东西，”哈利说，“一些——一些可以帮助我们打败神秘人的东西。它在霍格沃茨，可是我们不知道确切的位置。它可能是属于拉文克劳的什么东西。有没有人恰好见过类似物品？比如说上面有那只老鹰的？” 
　　他充满希望地看着那一小群拉文克劳的人：帕德玛、迈克尔、特里，还有秋,可回答他的是坐在金妮椅子把手上的卢娜。 
　　“恩，是丢失的金冕。我告诉过你的，记得吗,哈利？拉文克劳丢失的金冕？爸爸试图复制过它。” 
　　“是的，但是那个丢失的金冕，”麦克尔科纳转了转眼珠说，“已经丢了啊，卢娜。这没什么意义。” 
　　“它什么时候丢的？”哈利问。 
　　“他们说是好几个世纪以前，”秋说，哈利的心沉了一下，“弗利维教授说那个金冕是和拉文克劳本人一起消失的。人们试图寻找过，但是，”她向其他的几个拉文克劳询问道，“人们连一个碎片都没找到过，是不是？” 
　　他们都摇摇头。 
　　“对不起，不过那是个什么东西？”罗恩问。 
　　”是一种王冠，”特里-布特说，“拉文克劳应该是有一个魔法器具，使佩带着它的人更加聪明。” 
　　“是的，爸爸的思维推进器——” 
　　哈利打断了卢娜。 
　　“你们从来没见过任何和它相似的东西吗？” 
　　他们又都摇头。哈利看着罗恩和赫敏，心里感到十分失望。把一个丢失了这么久而且下落不明的东西当作魂器，藏在城堡里可不像是个好主意……在他还没想好另一个问题之前，秋又开口了。 
　　“如果你想看看那个金冕长成什么样子，我可以带你去我们的公共休息室，哈利。拉文克劳在她的画像里戴着它。” 
　　哈利的伤疤又开始炙热的烧痛着：有求必应屋开始在他眼前晃动，然后黑色的土地出现在他的下面，他甚至感觉到那条大蛇正缠在他的肩上。伏地魔又开始飞行了，也许是去那条地下河，也许正在来城堡的路上。他不确定：其中是哪一条路,是不是没剩多少时间了？ 
　　“他在路上！”他对罗恩和赫敏小声说。他瞥了一眼秋，转过身背对着他们。“听着，我知道这没有多大意义，但是我决定去看一眼那个肖像，至少搞清楚那金冕长什么样子。在这等我一下，要保护好，你们知道，那个魂器的安全。” 
　　秋已经站起来，但是金妮却突然凶巴巴地说“不用，卢娜会带哈利去，对吧，卢娜？” 
　　“啊，是，我很乐意，”卢娜高兴地说。秋只好重新坐下，看起来挺失望。 
　　“我们怎么出去”哈利问纳威。 
　　“那里。” 
　　他带领哈利和卢娜走到一个放着小碗柜的角落，从那里有一段向上的陡峭的台阶。 
　　“这里的出入口每天都是不一样的，所以他们不可能找到它，”他说，“问题是我们不知道出去时会到哪。小心点，哈利，他们每天晚上都会在走廊里巡逻。” 
　　“没问题的，待会见！” 
　　他和卢娜赶紧爬上那些被火炬照亮的长长的台阶，转了个弯。最后到达了一段好像是坚固的墙的地方。 
　　“到这下面来”哈利对卢娜说，把隐形衣拿出来罩在他们身上。他轻轻推了一下那面墙，就在他接触到墙的那一瞬间墙消失了，他们滑到了外面。哈利瞥了一眼后面，那个出口立刻自己又封上了。现在他们站在一条漆黑的走廊里。哈利把卢娜推进阴影里，在脖子上面的小袋子里摸索出活点地图。把鼻子凑到跟前，找到了他和卢娜所在的小黑点。 
　　“我们在第五层，”他小声说，看着费里奇在他们前面的走廊消失，“这边走。” 
　　他们小心翼翼地悄悄移动。 
　　哈利曾在晚上在城堡悄悄走动过很多次，但是他的心从来没跳得这么快过，也从没象现在这么希望他所通过的地方都是安全的。走过月光在地板上留下的方形投影，两旁盔甲上头盔在他们轻得不能再轻的脚步中吱吱响着，鬼知道在转角处有谁在埋伏着。 
　　哈利和卢娜一边走一边在灯光足够亮的地方查看着活点地图，有两次不得不停下让幽灵通过，不让他们发现。他做好了随时碰到障碍的准备；不过最让他担心的还是皮皮鬼，他努力的听着每一声可以预示这个令人讨厌的家伙靠近的声音。 
　　“这边，哈利。”卢娜屏住呼吸说着，抓住他的袖子，带他来到了一处螺旋形的楼梯。 
　　他们爬着这些令人头晕目眩的台阶；哈利以前从没来过这里。最后他们到了一扇没有拉手和钥匙孔的门面前：一大块有些年头的木头和一块青铜制老鹰形状的门环。 
　　卢娜伸出一支苍白的手，那手看起来好像漂浮在空中，并没有与胳膊或身体相连。她轻敲了一次，但在寂静中对于哈利来说却像大炮发射一样响。老鹰的嘴突然张开了，但发出不是鸟叫而是一个轻柔而悦耳的声音说道，“先有鸡还是先有蛋？” 
　　“恩……你觉得呢，哈利？”卢娜沉思着问。 
　　“什么？没有口令吗？” 
　　“哦，没有，你必须要回答问题。”卢娜说。 
　　“那回答错了怎么办？” 
　　“那你就得等着下一个能答对问题的人来了，”卢娜说，“这样你就可以学到东西，明白？” 
　　“呃——是啊……问题是我们等不及下一个人来啊，卢娜。” 
　　“是啊，我明白你的意思，”卢娜很认真地说，“那么，我觉得答案就是一个循环无始无终。” 
　　“答得不错，”那个声音说到，然后门旋转着打开。 
　　空着的拉文克劳公共休息室是一个宽敞的圆形房间，比哈利在霍格沃次见到的任何地方都要梦幻。墙上可爱的拱形窗户上挂着蓝色和青铜色的丝质窗帘。白天，拉文克劳们可以很好的欣赏到周围的山丘景色。穹形屋顶上面画着星星与地上的深蓝色地毯相互呼应。屋子里面有桌子，椅子和书柜，而正对着门的壁龛里有一尊白色大理石的肖像。 
　　哈利认出了罗伊纳·拉文克劳，因为他在卢娜家里见到过她的那尊半身像。肖像在一扇门旁边，他猜可能是通往上面宿舍的。他大步走到大理石女人面前，她似乎也在看着他，脸上露出一丝古怪的微笑，美丽却有一点惶恐。她的头上是那个白色大理石做的精致的圆圈。和芙蓉在婚礼上戴的冕状头饰不同。金冕上面有些雕刻上去的字母。哈利钻出斗篷站到拉文克劳的底座上去读。 
　　“无可估量的智慧是一个人最大的财富。” 
　　“也能让你变得一文不值，白痴！”一个如同母鸡咯咯叫的声音说到。 
　　哈利迅速转身，从基座上跌下来，落在地板上。阿勒克图卡罗肩膀倾斜的身影出现在他的面前，就在哈利举起魔杖的同时，她把短粗的食指放在了前臂上骷髅与蛇的印记上。
Chapter 30 The Sacking of Severus Snape
The moment her finger touched the Mark, Harry’s scar burned savagely, the starry room vanished from sight, and he was standing upon an outcrop of rock beneath a cliff, and the sea was washing around him and there was a triumph in his heart – They have the boy.
A loud bang brought Harry back to where he stood. Disoriented, he raised his wand, but the witch before him was already falling forward; she hit the ground so hard that the glass in the bookcases tinkled.
“I’ve never Stunned anyone except in our D.A. lessons,” said Luna, sounding mildly interested. “That was noisier than I though it would be.”
And sure enough, the ceiling had begun to tremble Scurrying, echoing footsteps were growing louder from behind the door leading to the dormitories. Luna’s spell had woken Ravenclaws sleeping above.
“Luna, where are you? I need to get under the Cloak!”
Luna’s feet appeared out of nowhere,; he hurried to her side and she let the Cloak fall back over them as the door opened and a stream of Ravenclaws, all in their nightclothes, flooded into the common room. there were gasps and cries of surprise as they saw Alecto lying there unconscious. Slowly they shuffled in around her, a savage beast that might wake at any moment and attack them. Then one brave little first-year darted up to her and prodded her backside with his big toe.
“I think she might be dead!” he shouted with delight.
“Oh look,” whispered Luna happily, as the Ravenclaws crowded in around Alecto. “They’re pleased!”
“Yeah… great…”
Harry closed his eyes, and as his scar throbbed he chose to sink again into Voldemort’s mind…. He was moving along the tunnel into the first cave…. He had chosen to make sure of the locker before coming…but that would not take him long….
There was a rap on the common room door and every Ravenclaw froze. From the other side, Harry heard the soft, musical voice that issued from the eagle door knocker: “Where do Vanished objects go?”
“I dunno, do I? Shut it!“ snarled an uncouth voice that Harry knew was that of the Carrow brother , Amycus, ”Alecto? Alecto? Are you there? Have you got him? Open the door!“
The Ravenclaws were whispering amongst themselves, terrified. Then without warning, there came a series of loud bangs, as though somebody was firing a gun into the door.
“ALECTO! If he comes, and we haven’t got Potter – d’you want to go the same way as the Malfoys? ANSWER ME!“ Amycus bellowed, shaking the door for all he was worth, but still it did not open. The Ravenclaws were all backing away, and some of the most frightened began scampering back up the stair case to their beds. Then, just as Harry was wondering whether he ought not to blast open the door and Stun Amycus before the Death Eater could do anything else, a second, most familiar voice rang out beyond the door.
“May I ask what you are doing, Professor Carrow?”
“Trying – to get– through this damned – door!” shouted Amycus. “Go and get Flitwick! Get him to open it, now!”
“But isn’t your sister in there” asked Professor McGonagall. “Didn’t Professor Flitwick let her in earlier this evening, at your urgent request? Perhaps she could open the door for you? Then you needn’t wake up half the castle.”
“She ain’t answering, you old besom! You open it! Darn! Do it, now!“
“Certainly, if you wish it,“ said Professor McGonagall, with awful coldness, There was a genteel tap of the knocker and the musical voice asked again.
“Where do Vanished objects go?”
“Into non being, which is to say, everything,” replied Professor McGonagall.
“Nicely phrased,” replied the eagle door knocker, and the door swung open.
The few Ravenclaws who had remained behind sprinted for the stairs as Amycus burst over the threshold, brandishing his wand. Hunched like his sister, he had a pallid, doughy face and tiny eyes, which fell at once on Alecto, sprawled motionless on the floor. He let out a yell of fury and fear.
“What’ve they done, the little whelps?“ he screamed. ”I’ll Cruciate the lot of ‘em till they tell me who did it – and what’s the Dark Lord going to say?“ he shrieked, standing over his sister and smacking himself on the forehead with his fist, ”We haven’t got him, and they’ve gone and killed her!“
“She’s only Stunned,” said Professor McGonagall impatiently, who had stooped down to examine Alecto. “She’ll be perfectly all right.”
“No she bludgering well won’t!” bellowed Amycus. “Not after the Dark Lord gets hold of her! She’s gone and sent for him, I felt me Mark burn, and he thinks we’ve got Potter!”
“‘Got Potter’?” said Professor McGonagall sharply, “What do you mean, ‘got Potter’?”
“He told us Potter might try and get inside Ravenclaw Tower, and to send for him if we caught him!”
“Why would Harry Potter try to get inside Ravenclaw Tower! Potter belongs in my House!”
Beneath the disbelief and anger, Harry heard a little strain of pride in her voice and affection for Minerva McGonagall gushed up inside him.
“We was told he might come in here!” said Carrow. “I dunno why, do I?”
Professor McGonagall stood up and her beady eyes swept the room. Twice they passed right over the place where Harry and Luna stood.
“We can push it off on the kids,” said Amycus, his pig like face suddenly crafty. “Yeah, that’s what we’ll do. We’ll say Alecto was ambushed by the kids, them kids up there” – he looked up at the starry ceiling toward the dormitories – “ and we’ll say they forced her to pres her Mark, and that’s why he got a false alarm…. He can punish them. Couple of kids more or less, what’s the difference?”
“Only the difference between truth and lie, courage and cowardice,“ said Professor McGonagall, who had turned pale, ”a difference, in short, which you and your sister seem unable to appreciate. But let me make one thing very clear. You are not going to pass off your many ineptitudes on the students of Hogwarts. I shall not permit it.“
“Excuse me?”
Amycus moved forward until he was offensively close to Professor McGonagall, his face within inches of hers. She refused to back away, but looked down at him as if he were something disgusting she had found stuck to the lavatory seat.
“It’s not a case of what you’ll permit, Minerva McGonagall. Your time’s over. It’s us what’s in charge here now, and you’ll back me up or you’ll pay the price.“
And he spat in her face.
Harry pulled the Cloak off himself, raised his wand, and said, “You shouldn’t have done that.”
As Amycus spun around, Harry shouted, “Crucio!”
The Death Eater was lifted off his feet. He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain, and then, with a crunch and a shattering of glass, he smashed into the front of a bookcase and crumpled, insensible, to the floor. “I see what Bellatrix meant,” said Harry, the blood thundering through his brain, “you need to really mean it.”
“Potter!“ whispered Professor McGonagall, clutching her heart. “Potter – you’re here! What–? How–?” She struggled to pull herself together. “Potter, that was foolish!”
“He spat at you,” said Harry.
“Potter, I – that was very – gallant of you – but don’t you realize –?“
“Yeah, I do,” Harry assured her. Somehow her panic steadied him. “Professor McGonagall, Voldemort’s on the way.”
“Oh, are we allowed to say the name now?” asked Luna with an air of interest, pulling off the Invisibility Cloak. The appearance of a second outlaw seemed to overwhelm Professor McGonagall, who staggered backward and fell into a nearby chair, clutching at the neck of her old tartan dressing gown.
“I don’t think it makes any difference what we call him,” Harry told Luna. “He already knows where I am.”
In a distant part of Harry’s brain, that part connected to the angry, burning scar, he could see Voldemort sailing fast over the dark lake in the ghostly green boat…. He had nearly reached the island where the stone basin stood….
“You must flee,” whispered Professor McGonagall, “Now Potter, as quickly as you can!”
“I can’t,” said Harry, “There’s something I need to do. Professor, so you know where the diadem of Ravenclaw is?”
“The d-diadem of Ravenclaw? Of course not – hasn’t it been lost for centuries?“ She sat up a little straighter ”Potter, it was madness, utter madness, for you to enter this castle–“
“I had to,“ said Harry. ”Professor, there’s something hidden here that I’m supposed to find, and it could be the diadem– if I could just speak to Professor Flitwick–“
There was a sound of movement, of clinking glass. Amycus was coming round. Before Harry or Luna could act, Professor McGonagall rose to her feet, pointed her wand at the groggy Death Eater, and said, “Imperio.”
Amycus got up, walked over to his sister, picked up her wand, then shuffled obediently to Professor McGonagall and handed it over along with his own. Then he lay down on the floor beside Alecto. Professor McGonagall waved her wand again, and a length of shimmering silver rope appeared out of thin air and snaked around the Carrows, binding them tightly together.
“Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, turning to face him again with superb indifference to the Carrows’ predicament. “if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named does indeed know that you are here–”
As she said it, a wrath that was like physical pain blazed through Harry, setting his scar on fire, and for a second he looked down upon a basin whose potion had turned clear, and saw that no golden locket lay safe beneath the surface–.
“Potter, are you all right.” said a voice, and Harry came back. He was clutching Luna’s shoulder to steady himself.
“Time’s running out, Voldemort’s getting nearer, Professor, I’m acting on Dumbledore’s orders, I must find what he wanted me to find! But we’ve got to get the students out while I’m searching the castle – It’s me Voldemort wants, but he won’t care about killing a few more or less, not now–“ not now he knows I’m attacking Horcruxes, Harry finished the sentence in his head.
“You’re acting on Dumbledore’s orders?” she repeated with a look of dawning wonder. Then she drew herself up to her fullest height.
“We shall secure the school against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named while you search for this – this object.”
“Is that possible?”
“I think so,” said Professor McGonagall dryly, “we teachers are rather good at magic, you know. I am sure we will be able to hold him off for a while if we all put our best efforts into it. Of course, something will have to be done about Professor Snape–”
“Let me –”
“–and if Hogwarts is about to enter a state of siege, with the Dark Lord at the gates, it would indeed be advisable to take as many innocent people out of the way as possible. With the Floo Network under observation, and Apparition impossible within the grounds–“
“There’s a way,” said Harry quickly, and he explained about the passageway leading into the Hog’s Head.
“Potter, we’re talking about hundreds of students–”
“I know, Professor, but if Voldemort and the Death Eaters are concentrating on the school boundaries they won’t be interested in anyone who’s Disapparating out of Hog’s Head.”
“There’s something in that,“ she agreed. She pointed her wand at the Carrows, and a silver net fell upon their bound bodies, tied itself around them, and hoisted them into the air, where they dangled beneath the blue-and-gold ceiling like two large, ugly sea creatures. ”Come. We must alert the other Heads of House. You’d better put that Cloak back on.“
She marched toward the door, and as she did so she raised her wand. From the tip burst three silver cats with spectacle markings around their eyes. the Patronuses ran sleekly ahead, filling the spiral staircase with silvery light, as Professor McGonagall, Harry, and Luna hurried back down.
Along the corridors they raced, and one by one the Patronuses left them. Professor McGonagall’s tartan dressing gown rustled over the floor, and Harry and Luna jogged behind her under the Cloak.
They had descended two more floors when another set of quiet joined theirs. Harry, whose scar was still prickling, heard them first. He felt in the pouch around his neck for the Marauder’s Map, but before he could take it our, McGonagall too seemed to become aware of their company. She halted, raised her wand ready to duel, and said, “Who’s there?”
“It is I,” said a low voice.
From behind a suit of armor stepped Severus Snape.
Hatred boiled up in Harry at the sight of him. He had forgotten the details of Snape’s appearance in the magnitude of his crimes, forgotten how his greasy black hair hung in curtains around his thin face, how his black eyes had a dead, cold look. He was not wearing nightclothes, but was dressed in his usual black cloak, and he too was holding his wand ready for a fight.
“Where are the Carrows?” he asked quietly.
“Wherever you told them to be, I expect, Severus,” said Professor McGonagall.
Snape stepped nearer, and his eyes flitted over Professor McGonagall into the air around her, as if he knew that Harry was there. Harry held his wand up too, ready to attack.
“I was under the impression,“ said Snape, ”That Alecto had apprehended an intruder.“
“Really?” said Professor McGonagall. “And what gave you that impression?”
Snape mad a slight flexing movement of his left arm, where the Dark Mark was branded into his skin.
“Oh, but naturally,” said Professor McGonagall. “You Death Eaters have your own private means of communication, I forgot.”
Snape pretended not to have heard her. His eyes were still probing the air all about her, and he was moving gradually closer, with an air of hardly noticing what he was doing.
“I did not know that it was your night to patrol the corridors Minerva.“
“You have some objection?”
“I wonder what could have brought you out of our bed at this late hour?”
“I thought I heard a disturbance,” said Professor McGonagall.
“Really? But all seems calm.”
Snape looked into her eyes.
“Have you seen Harry Potter, Minerva? Because if you have. I must insist–”
Professor McGonagall moved faster than Harry could have believed. Her wand slashed through the air and for a split second Harry thought that Snape must crumple, unconscious, but the swiftness of his Shield Charm was such that McGonagall was thrown off balance. She brandished her wand at a touch on the wall and it flew out of its bracket. Harry, about to curse Snape, was forced to pull Luna out of the way of the descending flames, which became a ring of fire that filled the corridor and flew like a lasso at Snape– Then it was no longer fire, but a great black serpent that McGonagall blasted to smoke, which re-formed and solidified in seconds to become a swarm of pursuing daggers. Snape avoided them only by forcing the suit of armor in front of him, and with echoing clangs the daggers sank, one after another, into its breast–
“Minerva!” said a squeaky voice, and looking behind him, still shielding Luna from flying spells, Harry saw Professors Flitwick and Sprout sprinting up the corridor toward them in their nightclothes, with the enormous Professor Slughorn panting along at the rear.
“No!” squealed Flitwick, raising his wand. “You’ll do no more murder at Hogwarts!”
Flitwick’s spell hit the suit of armor behind which Snape had taken shelter. With a clatter it came to life. Snape struggled free of the crushing arms and sent it flying back toward his attackers. Harry and Luna had to dive sideways to avoid it as it smashed into the wall and shattered. When Harry looked up again, Snape was in full flight, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout all thundering after him. He hurtled through a classroom door and, moments later, he heard McGonagall cry, “Coward! COWARD!”
“What’s happened, what’s happened?” asked Luna.
Harry dragged her to her feet and they raced along the corridor, trailing the Invisibility Cloak behind them, into the deserted classroom where Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout were standing at a smashed window.
“He jumped,” said Professor McGonagall as Harry and Luna ran into the room.
“You mean he’s dead?“ Harry sprinted to the window, ignoring Flitwick’s and Sprout’s yells of shock at his sudden appearance.
“No, he’s not dead,“ said McGonagall bitterly. ”Unlike Dumbledore, he was still carrying a wand… and he seems to have learned a few tricks from his master.“
With a tingle of horror, Harry saw in the distance a huge, bat like shape flying through the darkness toward the perimeter wall.
There were heavy footfalls behind them, and a great deal of puffing. Slughorn had just caught up.
“Harry!“ he panted, massaging his immense chest beneath his emerald-green silk pajamas. “My dear boy… what a surprise…Minerva, do please explain…Severus…what…?”
“Our headmaster is taking a short break,“ said Professor McGonagall, pointing at the Snape-shaped hole in the window.
“Professor!” Harry shouted his hand on his forehead, He could see the Inferi-filled lake sliding beneath him, and he felt a ghostly green boat bump into the underground shore, and Voldemort lept from it with murder in his heart–
“Professor, we’ve got to barricade the school, he’s coming now!“
“Very well. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is coming,” she told the other teachers. Sprout and Flitwick gasped. Slughorn let out a low groan. “Potter has work to do in the castle on Dumbledore’s orders. We need to put in place every protection of which we are capable while Potter does what he needs to do.”
“You realize , of course, that nothing we do will be able to keep out You-Know-Who indefinitely?” squeaked Flitwick.
“But we can hold him up.” said Professor Sprout.
“Thank you, Pomona,” said Professor McGonagall, and between the two witches there passed a look of grim understanding. 
“I suggest we establish basic protection around the place, then gather our students and meet in the Great Hall. Most must be evacuated, though if any of those who are over age wish to stay and fight, I think they ought to be given the chance.“
“Agreed,” said Professor Sprout, already hurrying toward the door. “I shall meet you in the Great Hall in twenty minutes with my House.”
And as she jogged out of sight, they could hear her muttering, “Tentacula, Devil’s Snare. And Snargaluff pods…yes, I’d like to see the Death Eaters fighting those.”
“I can act from here,” said Flitwick, and although he could barely see out of it, he pointed his wand through the smashed window and started muttering incantations of great complexity. Harry heard a weird rushing noise, as though Flitwick had unleashed the power of the wind into the grounds.
“Professor,” Harry said, approaching the little Charms master. “Professor, I’m sorry to interrupt, but this is important. Have you got any idea where the diadem of Ravenclaw is?”
“–Protego Horribillis – the diadem of Ravenclaw?“ squeaked Flitwick. ”A little extra wisdom never goes amiss, Potter, but I hardly think it would be much use in this situation!“
“I only meant – do you know where it is? Have you ever seen it?”
“Seen it! Nobody has seen it in living memory! Long since lost, boy.”
Harry felt a mixture of desperate disappointment and panic. What, then, was the Horcrux?
“We shall meet you and your Ravenclaws in the Great Hall, Filius!“ said Professor McGonagall, beckoning to Harry and Luna to follow her.
They had just reached the door when Slughorn rumbled into speech.
“My word,“ he puffed, pale and sweaty, his walrus mustache aquiver. ”What a to-do! I’m not at all sure whether this is wise, Minerva. He is bound to find a way in, you know, and anyone who has tried to delay him will be in the most grievous peril–“
“I shall expect you and the Slytherins in the Great Hall in twenty minutes also.” said Professor McGonagall. “If you wish to leave with your students, we shall not stop you. But if any of you attempt to sabotage our resistance or take up arms against us within this castle, then, Horace, we duel to kill.”
“Minerva!” he said, aghast.
“The time has come for Slytherin House to decide upon its loyalties,“ interrupted Professor McGonagall. ”Go and wake your students, Horace.“
Harry did not stay to watch Slughorn splutter. He and Luna stayed after Professor McGonagall, who had taken up a position in the middle of the corridor and raised her wand.
“Piertotum–oh, for heaven’s sake, Filch, not now–“
The aged caretaker had just come hobbling into view, shouting “Students out of bed! Students in the corridors!”
“They’re supposed to be you blithering idiot!“ shouted McGonagall. ”Now go and do something constructive! Find Peeves!“
“P-Peeves?” stammered Filch as though he had never heard the name before.
“Yes, Peeves, you fool, Peeves! Haven’t you been complaining about him for a quarter of a century? Go and fetch him, at once.“
Filch evidently thought Professor McGonagall had taken leave of her senses, but hobbled away, hunch-shouldered, muttering under his breath.
“And now – Piertotum Locomator!“ cried Professor McGonagall. And all along the corridor the statues and suits of armor jumped down from their plinths, and from the echoing crashes from the floors above and below, Harry knew that their fellows throughout the castle had done the same.
“Hogwarts is threatened!” shouted Professor McGonagall. “Man the boundaries, protect us, do your duty to our school!”
Clattering and yelling, the horde of moving statues stampeded past Harry, some of them smaller, others larger than life. There were animals too, and the clanking suits of armor brandished swords and spiked balls on chains.
“Now, Potter,” said McGonagall. “you and Miss Lovegood had better return to your friends and bring them to the Great Hall – I shall rouse the other Gryffindors.”
They parted at the top of the next staircase, Harry and Luna turning back toward the concealed entrance to the Room of Requirement. As they ran, they met crowds of students, most wearing traveling cloaks over their pajamas, being shepherded down to the Great Hall by teachers and prefects.
“That was Potter!”
“Harry Potter!“
“It was him, I swear, I just saw him!”
But Harry did not look back, and at last they reached the entrance to the Room of Requirement, Harry leaned against the enchanted wall, which opened to admit them, and he and Luna sped back down the steep staircase.
“Wh–?”
As the room came into view, Harry slipped down a few stairs in shock. It was packed, far more crowded than when he had last been in there. Kingsley and Lupin were looking up at him, as were Oliver Wood, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, Bill and Fleur, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.
“Harry, what’s happening?” said Lupin, meeting him at the foot of the stairs.
“Voldemort’s on his way, they’re barricading he school – Snape’s run for it – What are you doing here? How did you know?”
“We sent messages to the rest of Dumbledore’s Army,“ Fred explained. ”You couldn’t expect everyone to miss the fun, Harry, and the D.A. let the Order of the Phoenix know, and it all kind of snowballed.“
“What first, Harry?” called George. “What’s going on?”
“They’re evacuating the younger kids and everyone’s meeting in the Great Hall to get organized,” Harry said. “We’re fighting.”
There was a great roar and a surge toward the stairs, he was pressed back against he wall as they ran past hi, the mingled members of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore’s Army, and Harry’s old Quidditch team, all with their wands drawn, heading up into the main castle.
“Come on, Luna,” Dean called as he passed, holding out his free hand, she took it and followed him back up the stairs.
The crowd was thinning. Only a little knot of people remained below in the Room of Requirement, and Harry joined them. Mrs. Weasley was struggling with Ginny. Around them stood Lupin, Fred, George, Bill and Fleur.
“You’re underage!” Mrs. Weasley shouted at her daughter as Harry approached “I won’t permit it! The boys, yes, but you, you’ve got to go home!”
“I won’t!”
Ginny’s hair flew as she pulled her arm out of her mother’s grip.
“I’m in Dumbledore’s Army–”
“A teenagers’ gang!”
“A teenagers’ gang that’s about to take him on, which no one else has dared to do!” said Fred.
“She’s sixteen!” shouted Mrs. Weasley. “She’s not old enough! What you two were thinking bringing her with you – – ”
Fred and George looked slightly ashamed of themselves.
“Mom’s right, Ginny,“ said Bill gently. ”You can’t do this. Everyone underage will have to leave, it’s only right.“
“I can’t go home!” Ginny shouted, angry tears sparkling in her eyes. “my whole family’s here, I can’t stand waiting there alone and not knowing and –”
Her eyes met Harry’s for the first time. She looked at him beseechingly, but he shook his head and she turned away bitterly.
“Fine,” she said, staring at the entrance to the tunnel back to the Hog’s Head. “I’ll say good-by now, then, and–”
There was a scuffling and a great thump. Someone else had clambered out of the tunnel, overbalanced slightly, and fallen. He pulled himself up no the nearest chair, looked around through lopsided horn-rimmed glasses, and said, “Am I too late? Has it started. I only just found out, so I – I –”
Percy spluttered into silence. Evidently he had not expected to run into most of his family. There was a long moment of astonishment, broken by Fleur turning to Lupin and saying, in a wildly transparent attempt to break the tension. “So– ‘ow eez leetle Teddy?”
Lupin blinked at her, startled. The silence between the Weasleys seemed to be solidifying, like ice.
“I – oh yes – he’s fine!” Lupin said loudly. “yes, Tonks is with him – at her mother’s –”
Percy and the other Weasleys were still staring at one another, frozen.
“Here, I’ve got a picture?” Lupin shouted, pulling a photograph from inside his jacket and showing it to Fleur and Harry, who saw a tiny baby with a tuft of bright turquoise hair, waving fat fists at the camera.
“I was a fool!” Percy roared, so loudly that Lupin nearly dropped his photograph. “I was an idiot, I was a pompous prat, I was a – a –”
“Ministry-loving, family-disowning, power-hungry moron,” said Fred.
Percy swallowed.
“Yes, I was!”
“Well, you can’t say fairer than that,” said Fred, holding his hand out to Percy.
Mrs. Weasley burst into tears. She ran forward, pushed Fred aside, and pulled Percy into a strangling hug, while he patted her on the back, his eyes on his father.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Percy said.
Mr. Weasley blinked rather rapidly, then he too hurried to hug his son.
“What made you see sense, Perce?” inquired George.
“It’s been coming on for a while,“ said Percy, mopping his eyes under his glasses with a corner of his traveling cloak. ”But I had to find a way out and it’s not so easy at the Ministry, they’re imprisoning traitors all the time. I managed to make contact with Aberforth and he tipped me off ten minutes ago that Hogwarts was going to make a fight of it, so here I am.“
“Well, we do look to our prefects to take a lead at times such as these,” said George in a good imitation of Percy’s most pompous manner. “Now let’s get upstairs and fight, or all the good Death Eaters’ll be taken.”
“So, you’re my sister in-law now?” Said Percy, shaking hands with Fleur as they hurried off toward the staircase with Bill, Fred, and George.
“Ginny!” barked Mrs. Weasley.
Ginny had been attempting, under cover of the reconciliations to sneak upstairs too.
“Molly, how about this,” said Lupin. “Why doesn’t Ginny stay here , then at least she’ll be on the scene and know what’s going on, but she won’t be in the middle of the fighting?”
“I–”
“That’s a good idea,” said Mr. Weasley firmly, “Ginny, you stay in this room, you hear me?”
Ginny did not seem to like the idea much, but under her father’s unusually stern gaze, she nodded. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Lupin headed off to the stairs as well.
“Where’s Ron?” asked Harry, “Where’s Hermione?”
“They must have gone up the Great Hall already,” Mr. Weasley called over his shoulder.
“ I didn’t see them pass me,” said Harry.
“They said something about a bathroom,” said Ginny, “not long after you left.”
“A bathroom?”
Harry strode across the room to an open door leading off the Room of Requirement and checked the bathroom beyond. It was empty.
“You’re sure they said bath–?”
But then his scar seared and the Room of Req1uirement vanished. He was looking through the high wrought-iron gates with winged boats on pillars at either side, looking through the dark grounds toward the castle, which was ablaze with lights. Nagini lay draped over his shoulders. He was possessed of that cold, cruel sense of purpose that preceded murder.
在她的手指触碰到黑魔标志的那一瞬间，哈利的伤疤像被火烧着了一样剧烈的疼痛起来，布满星星的房间从眼前消失了，他正站在悬崖下一块露出海面的岩石上，海浪在他周围拍打着，在他心中有一种狂喜的感觉——他们抓到了那个男孩。 
　　?！一声巨响将哈利拉回到拉文克劳公共休息室。他已经失去了方向感，只是胡乱地举起了魔杖，但是在他面前的巫师已经朝前倒下；她重重地撞向地板，以致书架上的玻璃器皿都发出叮叮当当的脆响。 
　　“我除了在D·A课上的练习，从来就没击倒过任何人，”卢娜有点兴奋，“动静比我想象中的还要大。” 
　　很明显，天花板开始急剧的震动起来，从门后到宿舍急匆匆的脚步回响声越来越大。卢娜的咒语惊醒了睡在上面的拉文克劳学院的学生。 
　　“卢娜，你在哪？我得躲在隐身衣下！” 
　　卢娜的脚一下出现在了跟前，哈利急忙到她的身边，她用隐身衣重新盖住他们，与此同时，休息室的门开了。一群穿着睡衣的拉文克劳学生涌进公共休息室。当他们看到阿勒克图没有知觉的躺在那时，人群里发出一阵吸气声和几声惊呼。他们慢慢地拖着脚步将她围了起来，好像她是一只随时会醒来攻击他们的残暴野兽。然后一个勇敢的一年级学生冲向她，并用他的大脚指戳了戳她的背。 
　　“我想她可能死了！”他欣喜的叫道。 
　　“噢！你看，”卢娜开心地低声说，拉文克劳的学生们在阿勒克图周围围了上来。 “他们很高兴！” 
　　“是的……太棒了……” 
　　哈利闭上了眼睛，他的伤疤抽痛起来，迫使他再次沉入伏地魔的思想……他正在沿着通向第一个洞穴的隧道里移动着……他选择在来之前先确定保护魂器的机关是否安全……但是这不会占用他太长的时间。 
　　公共休息室的门上响起一阵扣门声，所有拉文克劳的学生都呆住了。从门的那一边，哈利听到一个温柔而悦耳的声音从鹰型的门环里传出，“消失了的东西会上哪儿去？” 
　　“我怎么知道？闭嘴！”一个粗俗的声音咆哮道，哈利知道那是卡罗兄妹的另一个，阿米科斯，“阿勒克图？阿勒克图？你在那儿吗？捉到他没？快开门！” 
　　拉文克劳的同学们惊恐地小声交谈着。然后没有任何的预兆地，一阵震耳欲聋的巨响，就好像有人正拿着枪向门里开火一样。 
　　“阿勒克图！如果他来了，而我们还没捉到波特——难道你想和马尔福落得一样的下场吗？快回答我！”阿米科斯吼叫着，用尽全身的力气摇晃着门，但是它依然没有开。拉文克劳的人渐渐向后退，其中一些胆小的开始跑上楼梯，回到他们的床上。正当哈利考虑着是不是应该在食死徒造成什么更大的举动之前把门炸开然后击昏阿米科斯的时候，一个最熟悉的声音从门外很远的地方传来。 
　　“能问一下你正在干什么吗，卡罗教授？” 
　　“正试图——通——过这该死的——门！”阿米科斯吼道，“把弗利维叫来！让他来开门，现在就去！” 
　　“但是你妹妹不是在里面吗？”麦格教授问。“在你的急切要求下，弗利维教授不是让你的妹妹在今天晚上早些时候进去了吗？也许她能为你打开门？那你就不需要惊醒半座城堡的人了。” 
　　“她没回答，你这只老扫把！你来打开它！快点!现在就干！” 
　　“当然，如果你想这样，”麦格教授用一种可怕的冷酷声调说。 
　　麦格教授优雅地敲了敲门，那个悦耳的声音再次问话了： 
　　“消失了的东西会上哪儿去？” 
　　“土崩瓦解，无处可寻，世间万物，无一例外。”麦格教授回答道。 
　　“句子真漂亮，”鹰形门环回应说，门也跟着旋转开来。 
　　当阿米科斯挥舞着魔杖冲进休息室的时候，少数留在房间的拉文克劳学生，急忙向楼梯跑去。他像他妹妹一样驼背，长着一张暗淡苍白的脸和一双极小的眼睛，他立刻扑倒在了四肢摊开在地板上动也不动的阿勒克图身上，发出一声狂怒而惊恐的叫喊。 
　　“他们对你做了什么，那些小兔崽子们？”他大喊。“我会用钻心咒对付他们！直到他们告诉我是谁干的----黑魔王会说什么？”他尖声叫着，站在他妹妹的旁边，用拳头捶锤打着自己的额头，“我们没有捉到他，他们还杀了她逃走了!” 
　　“她只是被击晕了，”麦格教授弯下腰，检查了阿勒克图后，不耐烦地说道，“她会好起来的。” 
　　“她不会的！”阿米科斯咆哮道，“黑魔王饶不了她！她已经召唤了他，我曾感觉我的黑魔标志在灼烧，他以为我们捉到了波特！” 
　　“捉到波特？”麦格教授尖锐地说道，“你说‘捉到波特’是什么意思？” 
　　“黑魔王说波特可能会试图进入拉文克劳的塔楼，如果我们捉住了波特就召唤他！” 
　　“为什么哈利波特会试图进入拉文克劳的塔楼！波特属于我的学院！” 
　　除了怀疑和愤怒，哈利还从她的声音里听出了一点自豪，他对米勒娃麦格教授的感激一下涌上了心头。 
　　“我们被告知他可能进来这里！”卡罗说，“我怎么知道他为什么会来？” 
　　麦格教授站了起来，目光锐利地扫视着房间——两次扫过哈利和卢娜站着的地方。 
　　“我们可以把责任推给这些小兔崽子，”阿米科斯说，他那猪一样的脸突然变得狡诈起来。“对，就是这样。我们会说阿勒克图是被学生们伏击了，那些在楼上的学生”--他抬头看向布满星星的天花板上面的寝室--“我们会说他们强迫她按下黑魔标记，所以他才收到了假警报……他可以惩罚他们——或多或少的一些孩子——多少都无所谓。” 
　　“真实和谎言是勇敢和胆小的唯一区别，”麦格教授的脸变得苍白，“简单的说，就是你和你妹妹所不能理解的区别。不过，让我把一点讲清楚。你不能把你的许多失职推卸到霍格沃茨的学生的身上。我不会允许。” 
　　“你说什么？” 
　　阿米科斯向前移动了几步，令人讨厌地走到麦格教授身边，他的脸离她只有几英寸。她没有退缩，反而俯视着他，就像看着黏在马桶座上的一些恶心的东西一样。 
　　“这可由不得你，米勒娃·麦格。你的时代已经结束了，现在我们掌管这里，你要么服从我，要么就得付出代价。” 
　　阿米科斯一巴掌打在她的脸上。 
　　哈利一把从身上扯下隐身衣，举起魔杖道，“你会后悔那么做的！” 
　　阿米科斯转过身来，哈利大叫一声，“钻心剜骨！” 
　　这个食死徒被抬离了地面。他像一个溺水者一样在空中不断翻腾、挣扎，发出痛苦的嚎叫，然后，随着嘎扎声和玻璃的破碎的声音，他撞上了书架，身体卷曲着，毫无知觉地倒在了地上。 
　　“我明白贝拉的意思了，”哈利说，血液潮水般往大脑里涌来，“你得真的想干掉对方。” 
　　“波特！”麦格教授捉住她的胸口低声说，“波特——你在这！你想做——？你是怎么——？”她努力使自己平静下来。 “波特，刚才那样非常卤莽！” 
　　“但他扇了你一巴掌，”哈利说。 
　　“波特，我——你那样非常——英勇——但是你没意识到——？” 
　　“不，我意识到了，”哈利让她放心。不知何故，她的惊慌反而让哈利稳定了心情，“麦格教授，伏地魔正在来的路上。” 
　　“噢！我们现在被允许说这个名字了？”卢娜扯掉了隐身衣兴奋的说。又一个“逃犯”的出现似乎击垮了麦格教授，她摇摇晃晃的退了几步跌进附近的一把椅子里，抓着她旧格子晨衣的颈部。 
　　“我认为我们如何称呼他并没有什么区别。”哈利告诉卢娜，“他已经知道了我在哪儿。” 
　　在哈利的大脑深处，一个连接着极度的愤怒与灼痛的伤疤地方。他可以看见伏地魔正在一艘幽灵丝的绿色小船里快速穿行在黑色的湖面上，他就快要接近石盆所在的小岛了。 
　　“你必须逃跑。”麦格教授轻声说，“现在就走，波特，越快越好。” 
　　“我不能，”哈利说，“我还有些事情要做。教授。你知道拉文克劳的金冕在哪吗？” 
　　“拉文克劳的金-金冕？当然不知道，——它不是丢失了几个世纪了吗？”她稍稍坐直了身子，“波特，你现在回来是疯狂的——极度疯狂的行为” 
　　“但我必须这么做，”哈利说，“教授，有些东西藏在城堡里，我得把它找出来，那可能就是金冕——如果我能和弗利维教授谈谈——” 
　　玻璃叮叮当当地响起来了，有什么东西在动。阿米科斯正醒过来。哈利和卢娜还没来得及举起魔杖，麦格教授就站了起来，用魔杖指着摇摇晃晃的食死徒说道，“魂魄出窍。” 
　　阿米科斯站起来，走向他的妹妹，拾起她的魔杖，又拖着脚步顺从的走向麦格教授，把自己的魔杖和妹妹的一起交给她。随后，他在阿勒克图旁边的地板上躺下。麦格教授再次挥舞魔杖，一股闪着微光的银绳从稀薄的空气中出现，并象蛇一样盘绕着卡罗兄妹，将他们紧紧的绑了起来。 
　　“波特，”麦格教授重新把脸转向哈利，对卡罗兄妹所处的困境无动于衷，“如果那个不能被提到名字的人确实知道你在这——” 
　　正当她说着的时候，一股愤怒就象真实的疼痛一般贯穿了哈利，让他的伤疤如同火烧一般。有那么一会儿，他低头看到石盆里的药剂已变得清澈，却没看见稳稳地躺在水面下的金坠盒子——。 
　　“波特，你还好吗。” 一个声音说，哈利又清醒过来。他抓着卢娜的肩膀借此来稳住自己。 
　　“时间不多了，伏地魔越来越近了，教授，我正在执行邓布利多的命令，我必须找到他让我找到的东西！但是我在城堡里寻找的时候必须让学生们离开——伏地魔想要的是我，而他不会关心会杀掉多少个学生，特别是现在——”特别是现在他知道我正在试图毁掉魂器时。哈利在脑海中说完这句话。 
　　“你正在执行邓布利多的命令？”她重复道，看起来相当的惊愕。然后，她努力让自己站直身子。 
　　“在你寻找这个-这个东西的时候，我们会保障学校免遭神秘人的毒手。” 
　　“那有可能吗？” 
　　“我想可以，”麦格教授干巴巴的说，“我们老师对于魔法可是很在行，你知道的。如果我们尽全力，我可以肯定我们能拖住他一会儿。当然，对于斯内普教授我们需要做点什么——” 
　　“让我——” 
　　“-随着伏地魔进入大门，霍格沃茨就将要陷入包围中，让尽可能多的无辜的人逃走确实是明智的做法。但飞路网被监视了起来，在城堡内也不能用幻影移形——” 
　　“有一条路，”哈利快速说，他说明了通向猪头酒吧的秘道。 
　　“波特，但是有数以百计的学生——” 
　　“我知道，教授，但是如果伏地魔和食死徒把注意力放在守住学校的边界时，他们不会注意到从猪头酒吧消失掉的人的。 
　　“有道理，”她同意了。麦格教授将魔杖指向卡罗兄妹俩，一张银色的网落在他们被绑着的身体上，然后拉紧罩住了他们，并将他们升到了空中，他们在蓝金色的天花板下摇摆着，就象两只又大又丑的海怪。“快过来，我们得警告其他学院的院长。你最好把隐身衣穿上。” 
　　麦格教授走向门边，举起魔杖。三只银色的猫顿时从魔杖尖端跳了出来，它们的眼睛周围都有着眼镜一样的花纹。守护神跑在前头，让螺旋梯充满了银色的光芒，麦格教授、哈利和卢娜匆忙走下来。 
　　他们沿着走廊奔跑着，守护神一个接一个地消失了。麦格教授的格子呢晨衣袍子在地板上发出沙沙的响声，哈利和卢娜在隐身衣下紧跟着她。 
　　他们下了两三层楼，突然传来一阵不易察觉的响动。哈利最先听到，他的伤疤仍然刺痛。他将手伸进挂在脖子上的小袋子拿活点地图，但他还没拿得出来，麦格教授似乎也察觉到了他们新同伴的到来。她停住脚步，举起魔杖准备战斗，“谁在那？” 
　　“是我，”一个低沉的声音说。 
　　西弗勒斯·斯内普从一套盔甲后面走了出来。 
　　一看到他，仇恨开始在哈利心中翻滚。他已经忘了在斯内普犯下的罪行中他的样貌的细节，忘了他那油腻腻的头发是如何像窗帘一样遮在他瘦削的脸上，忘记了他黑色的眼睛中带着怎样麻木而冷酷的眼神。他没有穿着睡衣，而是穿着他一贯的黑色长袍，同样他也拿着魔杖准备战斗。 
　　“卡罗兄妹在哪？”他平静的问道。 
　　“我想他们在你让他们去的地方，西弗勒斯。”麦格教授说。 
　　斯内普走近了，他的眼睛掠过麦格教授，看向她周围的空气，就好像他知道哈利在那里一样。哈利也捏紧了他的魔杖，准备攻击。 
　　“我有一种感觉，”斯内普说，“阿勒克图发现了一个入侵者。” 
　　“真的？”麦格教授说。“你那种感觉从哪里来的？” 
　　斯内普轻轻地挠了挠他的左臂，烙着黑魔标志的地方。 
　　“哦，那是理所当然，”麦格教授说，“我忘了你们食死徒有你们自己的通讯手段。” 
　　斯内普假装没有听她讲话，他的眼睛依然在麦格教授身边的空气里搜索，他靠得更近了，让人不知道他到底想做什么。 
　　“我不知道今天晚上是你负责巡视走廊，米勒娃。” 
　　“你有异议吗？” 
　　“我只是想知道为什么这么晚了你要下床到这里来。” 
　　“我认为有一场骚乱，”麦格教授说。 
　　“是吗？但是一切都看起来很平静。” 
　　斯内普看向她的眼睛。 
　　“你见过哈利波特了，米勒娃？因为如果你见过他了。我必须强调——” 
　　麦格教授以哈利难以相信的速度动起来。她的魔杖划过空气，有一瞬间哈利认为斯内普一定已经没有知觉地倒下了。但是斯内普迅速念出的防护咒却让麦格教授失去了平衡。她挥舞着的魔杖碰到了墙壁，并从托架上飞了出来。哈利正准备对斯内普念咒，却被迫将卢娜拉离了那道逐渐消失的火焰，它变成了一个火环照亮了走廊，然后像一个套索飞向斯内普—— 
　　然后火焰消失了，只有一条被麦格教授炸成烟的黑色大毒蛇，这些烟雾重新成型，片刻凝固成了一群飞刀。斯内普只能将那套盔甲挡在身前来躲避飞刀，随着叮叮当当的回声，它们一个接一个地刺入了盔甲的胸部。 
　　“米勒娃！”一个尖细的声音说，哈利一边看向他后面，一边保护着卢娜躲避飞来的咒语，他看见弗利维教授和斯普劳特教授穿着睡衣穿过走廊跑向他们，身躯庞大的斯拉霍恩教授气喘吁吁的尾随其后。 
　　“不！”弗利维教授长声尖叫，举起他的魔杖。“你不能再在霍格沃茨杀人！” 
　　弗利维教授的咒语撞在斯内普用于掩蔽的那套盔甲上。随着咔嚓一声，它活了过来。斯内普挣扎着摆脱那些可以碾碎人的手臂并让它飞向攻击他的人。当它砸到墙上散成碎片时，哈利和卢娜不得不蹲到一旁来躲避它。当哈利再次抬起头的时候，斯内普正在飞行，麦格教授、弗利维教授和斯普劳特教授都在他身后紧跟着他。他急急地飞过一扇教室门，片刻之后，他听到麦格教授喊道“胆小鬼！胆小鬼！” 
　　“怎么了？怎么了？”卢娜问。 
　　哈利把她扶了起来，他们沿着走廊跑进了那个废弃的教室，隐型斗蓬都被他们甩在了身后。麦格教授、弗利维教授、斯普劳特教授正站在一面破碎的窗户前。 
　　“他跳了下去，”当哈利和卢娜跑进教室的时候，麦格教授说道。 
　　“你是说他已经死了？”哈利跑向窗户，并没有理睬弗利维教授和斯普劳特教授因为他的突然出现而发出的惊呼。 
　　“不，他没死。”麦格教授悲痛地说。“不像邓布利多，他仍然拿着魔杖……而且他好像从他的主子那学会了一点花招。” 
　　带着因恐怖而起麻刺感，他看到远方有一个巨大的、蝙蝠形的东西穿过黑暗飞向城堡的围墙。 
　　他们身后传来沉重的脚步声和大声的喘气声。斯拉格霍恩刚刚赶到。 
　　“哈利！”他喘着气，揉着他那鲜绿色丝质睡衣下巨大的胸脯，“我亲爱的孩子……真是一个惊喜……米勒娃，可以解释一下么……西弗勒斯……到底怎么回事？” 
　　“我们的校长想暂时休息一下。”麦格教授边说，边指着窗户上一个斯内普形状的洞。 
　　“教授！” 
　　哈利手放在额头上喊道，他可以看见那片堆满阴尸的湖被他飞快地他抛在身后，感觉到一只幽灵似的绿色小船撞上了地下湖的岸边，伏地魔带着想杀人的暴怒离开了船—— 
　　“教授，我们需要在学校里布置障碍，他快来了！” 
　　“很好。神秘人来了，”她告诉其他老师。弗利维教授和斯普劳特教授吸了口气。斯拉霍恩则发出低低的呻吟。“按照邓布利多的指示，波特在城堡里有事情需要做。当波特在做他需要做的事情的时候，我们要尽我们所能安置所有的保护措施。” 
　　“当然，但是你应该知道无论我们做什么也不可能挡得住神秘人！”弗利维教授尖叫道。 
　　“但是我们可以拖延他的时间。”斯普劳特教授说。 
　　“谢谢你，波莫纳，”麦格教授说，她们互相交换了一个会意的眼神，“我建议在学校外围建立最基本的防护，然后将我们的学生集中起来，在礼堂碰面。绝大多数学生都必须撤离，可是如果有些成年的想留下来战斗的，我想应该给他们机会。” 
　　“我同意，”斯普劳特教授说着已经冲到了门口，“我会带着我们学院的学生在二十分钟后在礼堂和你碰面。” 
　　当斯普劳特教授跑着消失在大家的视野中，他们可以听到她咕哝着，“触须， 魔鬼网和巴波块茎……是的，我倒要看看这些食死徒怎么对付它们。” 
　　“我就从这儿开始好了。”弗利维教授说，虽然他几乎看不到窗外，他举起魔杖穿过穿过破碎的窗户，开始咕哝着相当复杂的咒语。哈利听到一阵奇怪的唰唰声，就好像弗利维教授在地面上制造了一场飓风。 
　　“教授，”哈利说，靠近这个矮小的魔咒课教授。“教授，很抱歉打扰您，但是这很重要。您知不知道拉文克劳的金冕在哪？” 
　　“——防御保护——拉文克劳的金冕？”弗利维教授尖声说，“了解一点点课外的知识是不会有错的，波特，但是我实在不知道在现在这种情况下那有什么用!” 
　　“我只是说——您知道它在哪吗？您曾见过它吗？” 
　　“见过它？现在活着的人没人见过它！遗失很久了，孩子。” 
　　哈利感到既绝望又失望又惊慌。那么，它是魂器吗？ 
　　“我们会在大礼堂等你和你拉文克劳的学生，弗利维!” 麦格教授说， 向哈利和卢娜招手示意他们过来跟着她。 
　　当他们刚到门口时，斯拉格霍恩突然低声说道。 
　　“我说，”他的脸变得极度苍白，汗津津的，海象般的胡须颤抖着。“这种做法！我根本不确定这是否明智，米勒娃。他一定会找到方法进来，你知道，任何企图耽搁他的人都会陷入极度危险中——” 
　　“我也希望你和斯莱特林的学生在二十分钟后来到大礼堂。”麦格教授说，“如果你想带着你的学生离开，我们不会阻止你。但是如果你们中的任何一个在这所城堡里妨碍我们的抵抗行动，或是对我们拔剑相向的话，那么霍拉斯，我们会斗争到底。” 
　　“米勒娃！”他吓呆了。 
　　“现在是让斯莱特林学院决定对谁效忠的时候了，”麦格教授打断他，“去叫醒你的学生，霍拉斯。” 
　　哈利没有留下继续听斯拉格霍恩絮絮叨叨。他和卢娜紧跟着麦格教授，她站在走廊中间的位置举起了她的魔杖。 
　　“灵魂——噢，看在上帝的份上，费尔奇，不是现在——” 
　　那个上了年纪的看守员刚蹒跚着进入视线内，就大叫道，“学生们都下了床！他们都在走廊上！” 
　　“他们都当你是满腹牢骚的白痴！”麦格教授喊道。“现在去做一些有建设性的事！找到皮皮鬼！” 
　　“皮——皮皮鬼？”费尔奇结结巴巴地，好像他以前从没听到过这个名字。 
　　“是的，皮皮鬼，你这个傻瓜，皮皮鬼！你不是已经抱怨他二十五年了吗？把他带来，马上。” 
　　费尔奇显然认为麦格教授失去了判断力，但是仍然蹒跚着离开，驼着背，小声的咕哝着。 
　　“现在——灵魂复生!” 
　　麦格教授大喊。沿着走廊的所有雕像和盔甲都从他们的底座上跳了下来，从楼上和楼下传来的撞击的回声看来，哈利知道它们分布在城堡每个角落里的同伴们也都做了同样的事。 
　　“霍格沃茨正在受到威胁！”麦格教授大喊。“在学校外围就位，保护我们，为我们的学校尽你们的责任吧！” 
　　伴随着咔嚓声和叫喊声，一群移动的雕像——包括一些动物雕像——从哈利身边匆忙的跑过，有些很小，有些则比人还大，周身叮当作响的盔甲们挥舞着剑和用链条串起来的锥形球。 
　　“现在，波特。”麦格教授说，“你和洛夫古德小姐最好到你们的朋友那儿把他们带到礼堂里——我去叫醒其他格兰芬多的学生。” 
　　他们在下一个楼梯的顶端分开了，哈利和卢娜转向了去有求必应屋的隐蔽入口方向。他们在奔跑时遇到了一群学生，其中大多数都在睡衣外面套着旅行斗篷，正被老师和级长带去礼堂。 
　　“那是波特！” 
　　“哈利。波特！” 
　　“就是他，我发誓，我刚看见了他！” 
　　但是哈利并没有回头，最后他们到达了有求必应屋的入口，哈利靠在施过魔法的墙上，墙壁打开来让他们进去，他和卢娜快速地走下陡峭的楼梯。 
　　“什——？” 
　　当房间映入眼帘的时候，哈利因为震惊在楼梯上绊了一跤。这里被塞得满满的，比他最后一次来这里时更加拥挤。金斯莱和卢平抬头看向他，还有奥利弗·伍德、凯蒂·贝尔、安吉利娜·约翰逊、艾利西娅·斯平内特，比尔和芙蓉，韦斯莱先生和太太。 
　　“哈利，发生什么事了？”卢平走到楼梯底脚，站在哈利面前。 
　　“伏地魔正在过来，他们在设置障碍阻碍他进学校——斯内普为这个逃了——你们在这做什么？你们怎么知道？” 
　　“我们给其余的D·A成员发了消息，”弗雷德解释说，“你不会觉得有谁想错过这个有趣的事情吧，哈利。然后D·A又让凤凰社的成员知道，这事儿就像滚雪球越滚越大了。” 
　　“我们接下来做什么，哈利？”乔治问，“现在情况怎么样？” 
　　“他们正在疏散低年级的孩子，大家都在礼堂集合以方便组织，”哈利说，“我们正在准备战斗。” 
　　大家发出一声怒吼，涌向楼梯，当他们从哈利身边跑过时他又被挤到了墙上，有凤凰社的成员，D·A成员还有哈利的老魁地奇球队的队员，他们全都拔出了魔杖，昂首跨入城堡。 
　　“快点，卢娜!”迪安在经过时喊道，并且向她伸出另一只手，她抓住它跟在迪安后面上了楼梯。 
　　人群慢慢减少了。只有一撮人还在有求必应屋下面，哈利走了过去。韦斯莱夫人正在和金妮争论，卢平、弗雷德、乔治、比尔和芙蓉都围在她们身边。 
　　“你还没有成年！”当哈利靠近他们时，韦斯莱夫人正对她女儿喊道， “我绝不允许！你的哥哥们可以去，但是你，必须回家！” 
　　“我不回去！” 
　　金妮从她妈妈紧握的手里抽出胳膊的时，头发飞了起来。 
　　“我是D·A的一员——” 
　　“一群十几岁的孩子！” 
　　“一群十几岁要支持哈利波特的孩子，没有人敢这么做！”弗雷德说。 
　　“她只有十六岁！”韦斯莱夫人大喊道。“她还小！你们俩怎么会想把她带上——” 
　　弗雷德和乔治有些愧疚的看着对方。 
　　“妈妈是对的，金妮。”比尔温柔的说，“你不能去。每个未成年的学生都必须离开，这才是正确的决定。” 
　　“我不能回家！”金妮大叫道，愤怒的泪花在她的眼中闪烁。“我所有的亲人都在这儿，我不能呆在家里孤单地等待，什么事情也不知道而且——” 
　　她和哈利的眼神交汇了。金妮恳求的望着他，哈利却摇了摇头，她便悲痛地转过头去。 
　　“好吧，”她说，凝视着通往猪头酒吧通道的入口。“我现在要说再见了，然后，我会——” 
　　突然，随着“砰”的一声的巨响。一个人从通道爬了出来，有些失去平衡，一头栽了下来。他努力站起来，跌进了最近的一把椅子里，透过歪着的牛角框眼镜看着四周，说道：“我太晚了吗？开始了没？我刚找到出口，所以我——我——” 
　　珀西慌乱的止住话头。显然他并没想到会碰见这么多家人。大家由于惊讶而一言不发，最后芙蓉向卢平的问话打破了这场沉默，显而易见，她想转移话题以消除这紧张的气氛。“呃——小泰迪还好吗？” 
　　卢平惊愕的盯着她。韦斯莱们的沉默看起来正在凝固成冰。 
　　“我——啊是的——他很好！”卢平大声说。“是的，唐克斯和他在一起——在她母亲的——” 
　　珀西依然和其他的韦斯莱还在对视着，一动也不动。 
　　“这里，我有一张照片！”卢平大声说，说着从里面的夹克里掏出一张照片，并展示给芙蓉和哈利看，他们看到一个有一撮青绿色头发的小婴儿，对着相机摇晃着他的小胖拳头。 
　　“我是个傻瓜！”珀西吼得非常大声，卢平差点失手掉下照片。“我是个白痴，我是一个华而不实的窝囊废，我是一个……一个……” 
　　“一个热爱魔法部，否认家庭，权利欲望过剩的蠢货。”弗雷德说。 
　　珀西咽了咽口水。 
　　“是的，我是的！” 
　　“那好，没有比那样说更公正的了，”弗雷德将他的手伸向珀西。 
　　韦斯莱夫人突然大哭起来。她向前跑去，将弗雷德推向一边，把珀西拉入怀中给了他一个快要扼死他的拥抱，他也轻轻的拍着韦斯莱夫人的背，眼睛却望着他的父亲。 
　　“我很抱歉，爸爸。”珀西说。 
　　韦斯莱先生相当迅速的眨了眨眼睛，然后他也赶紧抱住了他的儿子。 
　　“是什么让你认清事实的，珀西？”乔治询问道。 
　　“已经有一段时间了，”珀西说，用他旅行斗篷的一角擦着眼镜后面的眼睛。 
　　“然而我必须找出一个办法逃出来，这在魔法部可不容易，他们每时每刻都在监禁着。但我还是设法联系到了阿不福思，他十分钟前向我泄露说霍格沃茨将要有一场自卫战，所以我就到这儿来了。” 
　　“不错，我们期待着我们的级长在这样关键的时候发挥领导作用，”乔治惟妙惟肖的模仿珀西一贯华而不实的腔调。“现在，让我们上楼去战斗，抓住所有的食死徒。” 
　　“那么，你现在是我嫂子啦？”珀西说着和芙蓉握了握手，随后赶快和比尔、弗雷德和乔治跑上楼梯。 
　　“金妮！”韦斯莱夫人咆哮着。 
　　金妮正试图在这场家庭和解的掩护之下偷偷摸摸溜上楼梯。 
　　“莫莉，这样吧，”卢平说，“为什么不让金妮呆在这儿呢？起码这样她可以知道现场到底发生了什么，而她却不会参与到这场战斗中去。” 
　　“我——” 
　　“这是个好主意。”韦斯莱先生坚定的说，“金妮，你呆在这个房间，听到了吗？” 
　　金妮看起来并不是十分喜欢这个主意，但是在韦斯莱先生不同寻常的严厉注视下，她点了点头。韦斯莱先生和韦斯莱太太，还有卢平也上了楼梯。 
　　“罗恩哪去了？”哈利说，“还有赫敏？” 
　　“他们一定是已经去了礼堂。”韦斯莱先生越过他的肩膀说。 
　　“我没看到他们从我身边经过，”哈利说。 
　　“他们说了些关于一间浴室的话，”金妮说，“就在你离开后没多久。” 
　　“一间浴室？” 
　　哈利大踏步的穿过房间，来到一扇开着的、连接着有求必应屋的门前，他检查了在那边的浴室，是空的。 
　　“你肯定他们说的是浴——？” 
　　然而他的伤疤灼痛起来，有求必应屋消失了。他正注视着一扇高大的煅铁大门，门两侧的柱子上各有一艘有翼的船，注释黑暗尽头的城堡——那里正被灯火点亮。纳吉尼在他的肩膀上盘卧着，他的全身被先前那种冷酷，残忍，想杀人的感觉占据着。　 
Chapter 31 The Battle of Hogwarts
The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall was dark and scattered with stars, and below it the four long House tables were lined with disheveled students, some in traveling cloaks, others in dressing gowns. Here and there shone the pearly white figures of the school ghosts. Every eye, living and dead was fixed upon Professor McGonagall, who was speaking from the raised platform at the top of the Hall. Behind her stood the remaining teaches, including the palomino centaur, Firenze, and the members of the Order of the Phoenix who had arrived to fight.
“…evacuation will be overseen by Mr. Filch and Madame Pomfrey. Prefects, when I give the word, you will organize your House and take your charges in orderly fashion to the evacuation point.”
Many of the students looked petrified. However, as Harry skirted the walls, scanning the Gryffindor table for Ron and Hermione, Ernie Macmillan stood up at the Hufflepuff table and shouted; “And what if we want to stay and fight?”
There was a smattering of applause.
“If you are of age, you may stay.” said Professor McGonagall.
“What about our things?” called a girl at the Ravenclaw table. “Our trunks, our owls?”
“We have no time to collect possessions.” said Professor McGonagall. “The important thing is to get you out of here safely.”
“Where’s Professor Snape?” shouted a girl from the Slytherin table.
“He has, to use the common phrase, done a bunk.” replied Professor McGonagall and a great cheer erupted from the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws.
Harry moved up the Hall alongside the Gryffindor table, still looking for Ron and Hermione. As he passed, faces turned in his direction, and a great deal of whispering broke out in his wake.
“We have already placed protection around the castle,” Professor McGonagall was saying, “but it is unlikely to hold for very long unless we reinforce it. I must ask you, therefore, to move quickly and calmly, and do as your prefects – ”
But her final words were drowned as a different voice echoed throughout the Hall. It was high, cold, and clear. There was no telling from where it came. It seemed to issue from the walls themselves. Like the monster it had once commanded, it might have lain dormant there for centuries.
“I know that you are preparing to fight.” There were screams amongst the students, some of whom clutched each other, looking around in terror for the source of the sound. “Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood.”
There was silence in the Hall now, the kind of silence that presses against the eardrums, that seems too huge to be contained by walls.
“Give me Harry Potter,” said Voldemort’s voice, “and they shall not be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded.”
“You have until midnight.”
The silence swallowed them all again. Every head turned, every eye in the place seemed to have found Harry, to hold him forever in the glare of thousands of invisible beams. Then a figure rose from the Slytherin table and he recognized Pansy Parkinson as she raised a shaking arm and screamed, “But he’s there! Potter’s there. Someone grab him!”
Before Harry could speak, there was a massive movement. The Gryffindors in front of him had risen and stood facing, not Harry, but the Slytherins. Then the Hufflepuffs stood, and almost at the same moment, the Ravenclaws, all of them with their backs to Harry, all of them looking toward Pansy instead, and Harry, awestruck and overwhelmed, saw wands emerging everywhere, pulled from beneath cloaks and from under sleeves.
“Thank you, Miss Parkinson.” said Professor McGonagall in a clipped voice. “You will leave the Hall first with Mr. Filch. If the rest of your House could follow.”
Harry heard the grinding of the benches and then the sound of the Slytherins trooping out on the other side of the Hall.
“Ravenclaws, follow on!” cried Professor McGonagall.
Slowly the four tables emptied. The Slytherin table was completely deserted, but a number of older Ravenclaws remained seated while their fellows filed out; even more Hufflepuffs stayed behind, and half of Gryffindor remained in their seats, necessitating Professor McGonagall’s descent from the teachers’ platform to chivvy the underage on their way.
“Absolutely not, Creevey, go! And you, Peakes!”
Harry hurried over to the Weasleys, all sitting together at the Gryffindor table.
“Where are Ron and Hermione?”
“Haven’t you found -?” began Mr. Weasley, looking worried.
But he broke off as Kingsley had stepped forward on the raised platform to address those who had remained behind.
“We’ve only got half an half an hour until midnight, so we need to act fast. A battle plan has been agreed between the teachers of Hogwarts and the Order of the Phoenix. Professors Flitwick, Sprout and McGonagall are going to take groups of fighters up to the three highest towers – Ravenclaw, Astronomy, and Gryffindor – where they’ll have good overview, excellent positions from which to work spells. Meanwhile Remus” – he indicated Lupin – “Arthur” – he pointed toward Mr. Weasley, sitting at the Gryffindor table – “and I will take groups into the grounds. We’ll need somebody to organize defense of the entrances or the passageways into the school – ”
“Sounds like a job for us.” called Fred, indicating himself and George, and Kingsley nodded his approval.
“All right, leaders up here and we’ll divide up the troops!”
“Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, hurrying up to him, as students flooded the platform, jostling for position, receiving instructions, “Aren’t you supposed to be looking for something?”
“What? Oh,” said Harry, “oh yeah!”
He had almost forgotten about the Horcrux, almost forgotten that the battle was being fought so that he could search for it: The inexplicable absence of Ron and Hermione had momentarily driven every other thought from his mind.
“Then go, Potter, go!”
“Right – yeah – ”
He sensed eyes following him as he ran out of the Great Hall again, into the entrance hall still crowded with evacuating students. He allowed himself to be swept up the marble staircase with them, but at the top he hurried off along a deserted corridor. Fear and panic were clouding his thought processes. He tried to calm himself, to concentrate on finding the Horcrux, but his thoughts buzzed as frantically and fruitlessly as wasps trapped beneath a glass. Without Ron and Hermione to help him he could not seem to marshal his ideas. He slowed down, coming to a halt halfway along a passage, where he sat down on the plinth of a departed statue and pulled the Marauder’s Map out of the pouch around his neck. He could not see Ron’s of Hermione’s names anywhere on it, though the density of the crowd of dots now making its way to the Room of Requirement might, he thought, be concealing them. He put the map away, pressed his hands over his face, and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate.
Voldemort thought I’d go to Ravenclaw Tower.
There it was, a solid fact, the place to start. Voldemort had stationed Alecto Carrow in the Ravenclaw common room, and there could be only one explanation; Voldemort feared that Harry already knew his Horcrux was connected to that House.
But the only object anyone seemed to associate with Ravenclaw was the lost diadem… and how could the Horcrux be the diadem? How was it possible that Voldemort, the Slytherin, had found the diadem that had eluded generations of Ravenclaws? Who could have told him where to look, when nobody had seen the diadem in living memory?
In living memory…
Beneath his fingers, Harry’s eyes flew open again. He leapt up from the plinth and tore back the way he had come, now in pursuit of his one last hope. The sound of hundreds of people marching toward the Room of Requirement grew louder and louder as he returned to the marble stairs. Prefects were shouting instructions, trying to keep track of the students in their own houses, there was much pushing and shouting; Harry saw Zacharias Smith bowling over first years to get to the front of the queue, here and there younger students were in tears, while older ones called desperately for friends or siblings.
Harry caught sight of a pearly white figure drifting across the entrance hall below and yelled as loudly as he could over the clamor.
“Nick! NICK! I need to talk to you!”
He forced his way back through the tide of students, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs, where Nearly Headless Nick, ghost of Gryffindor Tower, stood waiting for him.
“Harry! My dear boy!”
Nick made to grasp Harry’s hands with both of his own; Harry felt as though they had been thrust into icy water.
“Nick, you’ve got to help me. Who’s the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower?”
Nearly Headless Nick looked surprised and a little offended.
“The Gray Lady, of course; but if it is ghostly services you require -?”
“It’s got to be her – d’you know where she is?”
“Let’s see…”
Nick’s head wobbled a little on his ruff as he turned hither and thither, peering over the heads of the swarming students.
“That’s her over there, Harry, the young woman with the long hair.”
Harry looked in the direction of Nick’s transparent, pointing finger and saw a tall ghost who caught sight of Harry looking at her, raised her eyebrows, and drifted away through a solid wall.
Harry ran after her. Once through the door of the corridor into which she had disappeared, he saw her at the very end of the passage, still gliding smoothly away from him.
“Hey – wait – come back!”
She consented to pause, floating a few inches from the ground. Harry supposed that she was beautiful, with her waist-length hair and floor-length cloak, but she also looked haughty and proud. Close in, he recognized her as a ghost he had passed several times in the corridor, but to whom he had never spoken.
“You’re the Gray Lady?”
She nodded but did not speak.
“The ghost of Ravenclaw Tower?”
“That is correct.”
Her tone was not encouraging.
“Please, I need some help. I need to know anything you can tell me about the lost diadem.”
A cold smile curved her lips.
“I am afraid,” she said, turning to leave, “that I cannot help you.”
“WAIT!”
He had not meant to shout, but anger and panic were threatening to overwhelm him. He glanced at his watch as she hovered in front of him. It was a quarter to midnight.
“This is urgent.” he said fiercely. “If that diadem’s at Hogwarts, I’ve got to find it, fast.”
“You are hardly the first student to covet the diadem.” she said disdainfully. “Generations of students have badgered me – ”
“This isn’t about trying to get better marks!” Harry shouted at her, “It’s about Voldemort – defeating Voldemort – or aren’t you interested in that?”
She could not blush, but her transparent cheeks became more opaque, and her voice was heated as she replied, “Of course I – how dare you suggest –?”
“Well, help me then!”
Her composure was slipping.
“It – it is not a question of – ” she stammered. “My mother’s diadem – ”
“Your mother’s?”
She looked angry with herself.
“When I lived,” she said stiffly, “I was Helena Ravenclaw.”
“You’re her daughter? But then, you must know what happed to it.”
“While the diadem bestows wisdom,” she said with an obvious effort to pull herself together, “I doubt that it would greatly increase you chances of defeating the wizard who calls himself Lord – ”
“Haven’t I told you, I’m not interested in wearing it!” Harry said fiercely. “There’s no time to explain – but if you care about Hogwarts, if you want to see Voldemort finished, you’ve got to tell me anything you know about the diadem!”
She remained quite still, floating in midair, staring down at him, and a sense of hopelessness engulfed Harry. Of course, if she had known anything, she would have told Flitwick of Dumbledore, who had surely asked her the same question. He had shaken his head and made to turn away when she spoke in a low voice.
“I stole the diadem from my mother.”
“You – you did what?”
“I stole the diadem.” repeated Helena Ravenclaw in a whisper. “I sought to make myself cleverer, more important than my mother. I ran away with it.”
He did not know how he had managed to gain her confidence and did not ask, he simply listened, hard, as she went on.
“My mother, they say, never admitted that the diadem was gone, but pretended that she had it still. She concealed her loss, my dreadful betrayal, even from the other founders of Hogwarts.”
“Then my mother fell ill – fatally ill. In spite of my perfidy, she was desperate to see me one more time. She sent a man who had long loved me, though I spurned his advances, to find me. She knew that he would not rest until he had done so.”
Harry waited. She drew a deep breath and threw back her head.
“He tracked me to the forest where I was hiding. When I refused to return with him, he became violent. The baron was always a hot-tempered man. Furious at my refusal, jealous of my freedom, he stabbed me.”
“The Baron? You mean -?”
“The Bloody Baron, yes,” said the Gray Lady, and she lifted aside the cloak she wore to reveal a single dark wound in her white chest. 
“When he saw what he had done, he was overcome with remorse. He took the weapon that had claimed my life, and used it to kill himself. All these centuries later, he wears his chains as an act of penitence… as he should.” she added bitterly.
“And – and the diadem?”
“It remained where I had hidden it when I heard the Baron blundering through the forest toward me. Concealed inside a hollow tree.”
“A hollow tree?” repeated Harry. “What tree? Where was this?”
“A forest in Albania. A lonely place I thought was far beyond my mother’s reach.“
“Albania,” repeated Harry. Sense was emerging miraculously from confusion, and now he understood why she was telling him what she had denied Dumbledore and Flitwick. “You’ve already told someone this story, haven’t you? Another student?”
She closed her eyes and nodded.
“I had… no idea… He was flattering. He seemed to… understand… to sympathize…“
Yes, Harry thought. Tom Riddle would certainly have understood Helena Ravenclaw’s desire to possess fabulous objects to which she had little right.
“Well, you weren’t the first person Riddle wormed things out of.” Harry muttered. “He could be charming when he wanted…”
So, Voldemort had managed to wheedle the location of the lost diadem out of the Gray Lady. He had traveled to that far-flung forest and retrieved the diadem from its hiding place, perhaps as soon as he left Hogwarts, before he even started work at Borgin and Burkes.
And wouldn’t those secluded Albanian woods have seemed an excellent refuge when, so much later, Voldemort and needed a place to lie low, undisturbed, for ten long years?
But the diadem, once it became his precious Horcrux, had not been left in that lowly tree…. No, the diadem had been returned secretly to its true home, and Voldemort must have put it there – 
“– the night he asked for a job!” said Harry, finishing his thought.
“I beg your pardon?”
“He hid the diadem in the castle, the night he asked Dumbledore to let him teach!” said Harry. Saying it out loud enabled him to make sense of it all. “He must’ve hidden the diadem on his way up to, or down from, Dumbledore’s office! But it was well worth trying to get the job – then he might’ve got the chance to nick Gryffindor’s sword as well – thank you, thanks!”
Harry left her floating there, looking utterly bewildered. As he rounded the corner back into the entrance hall, he checked his watch. It was five minutes until midnight, and though he now knew what the last Horcrux was, he was no closer to discovering where it was…
Generations of students had failed to find the diadem; that suggested that it was not in Ravenclaw Tower – but if not there, where? What hiding place had Tom Riddle discovered inside Hogwarts Castle, that he believed would remain secret forever?
Lost in desperate speculation, Harry turned a corner, but he had taken only a few steps down the new corridor when the window to his left broke open with a deafening, shattering crash. As he leapt aside, a gigantic body flew in through the window and hit the opposite wall.
Something large and furry detached itself, whimpering, from the new arrival and flung itself at Harry.
“Hagrid!“ Harry bellowed, fighting off Fang the boarhound’s attentions as the enormous bearded figure clambered to his feet “What the –?”
“Harry, yer here! Yer here!“
Hagrid stooped down, bestowed upon Harry a cursory and rib-cracking hug, then ran back to the shattered window.
“Good boy, Grawpy!“ he bellowed through the hole in the window. ”I’ll se yer in a moment, there’s a good lad!“
Beyond Hagrid, out in the dark night, Harry saw bursts of light in the distance and heard a weird, keening scream. He looked down at his watch: It was midnight. The battle had begun.
“Blimey, Harry,” panted Hagrid, “this is it, eh? Time ter fight?”
“Hagrid, where have you come from?”
“Heard You-Know-Who from up in our cave,“ said Hagrid grimly. ”Voice carried, didn’t it? ‘Yet got till midnight ter gimme Potter.’ Knew yeh mus’ be here, knew that mus’ be happenin’. Get down, Fang. So we come ter join in, me an’ Grawpy an’ Fang. Smashed our way through the boundary by the forest, Grawpy was carryin’ us, Fang an’ me. Told him ter let me down at the castle, so he shoved me through the window, bless him. Not exactly what I meant, bu’ – where’s Ron an’ Hermione?“
“That,” said Harry, “is a really good question. Come on.”
They hurried together along the corridor, Fang lolloping beside them. Harry could hear movement through the corridors all around: running footsteps, shouts; through the windows, he could see more flashes of light in the dark grounds.
“Where’re we goin’?” puffed Hagrid, pounding along at Harry’s heels, making the floorboards quake.
“I dunno exactly,” said Harry, making another random turn, “but Ron and Hermione must be around here somewhere….”
The first casualties of the battle were already strewn across the passage ahead: The two stone gargoyles that usually guarded the entrance to the staffroom had been smashed apart by a jinx that had sailed through another broken window. Their remains stirred feebly on the floor, and as Harry leapt over one of their disembodied heads, it moaned faintly. “Oh, don’t mind me… I’ll just be here and crumble….”
Its ugly stone face made Harry think suddenly of the marble bust of Rowena Ravenclaw at Xenophilius’s house, wearing that mad headdress – and then of the statue in Ravenclaw Tower, with the stone diadem upon her white curls….
And as he reached the end of the passage, the memory of a third stone effigy came back to him: that of an ugly old warlock, onto whose head Harry himself had placed a wig and a battered old hat. The shock shot through Harry with the heat of firewhisky, and he nearly stumbled.
He knew, at least, where the Horcrux sat waiting for him….
Tom Riddle, who confided in no one and operated alone, might have been arrogant enough to assume that he, and only he, had penetrated the deepest mysteries of Hogwarts Castle. Of course, Dumbledore and Flitwick, those model pupils, had never set foot in that particular place, but he, Harry, had strayed off the beaten track in his time at school – here at least was a secret area he and Voldemort knew, that Dumbledore had never discovered –
He was roused by Professor Sprout, who was thundering past followed by Neville and half a dozen others, all of them wearing earmuffs and carrying what appeared to be large potted plants.
“Mandrakes!” Neville bellowed at Harry over his shoulder as he ran. “Going to lob them over the walls – they won’t like this!”
Harry knew now where to go. He sped off, with Hagrid and Fang galloping behind him. They passed portrait after portrait, and the painted figures raced alongside them, wizards and witches in ruffs and breeches, in armor and cloaks, cramming themselves into each others’ canvases, screaming news from other parts of the castle. As they reached the end of this corridor, the whole castle shook, and Harry knew, as a gigantic vase blew off its plinth with explosive force, that it was in the grip of enchantments more sinister than those of the teachers and the Order.
“It’s all righ’, Fang – it’s all righ’!“ yelled Hagrid, but the great boarhound had taken flight as slivers of china flew like shrapnel through the air, and Hagrid pounded off after the terrified dog, leaving Harry alone.
He forged on through the trembling passages, his wand at the ready, and for the length of one corridor the little painted knight, Sir Cadrigan, rushed from painting to painting beside him, clanking along in his armor, screaming encouragement, his fat little pony cantering behind him.
“Braggarts and rogues, dogs and scoundrels, drive them out, Harry Potter, see them off!”
Harry hurtled around a corner and found Fred and a small knot of students, including Lee Jordan and Hannah Abbott, standing beside another empty plinth, whose statue had concealed a secret passageway. Their wands were drawn and they were listening at the concealed hole.
“Nice night for it!” Fred shouted as the castle quaked again, and Harry sprinted by, elated and terrified in equal measure. Along yet another corridor he dashed, and then there were owls everywhere, and Mrs. Norris was hissing and trying to bat them with her paws, no doubt to return them to their proper place….
“Potter!”
Aberforth Dumbledore stood blocking the corridor ahead, his wand held ready.
“I’ve had hundreds of kids thundering through my pub, Potter!”
“I know, we’re evacuating,” Harry said, “Voldemort’s – ”
“– attacking because they haven’t handed you over, yeah,” said Aberforth. “I’m not deaf, the whole of Hogsmeade heard him. And it never occurred to any of you to keep a few Slytherins hostage? There are kids of Death Eaters you’ve just sent to safety. Wouldn’t it have been a bit smarter to keep ‘em here?”
“It wouldn’t stop Voldemort,” said Harry, “and your brother would never have done it.”
Aberforth grunted and tore away in the opposite direction.
Your brother would never have done it…. Well, it was the truth, Harry thought as he ran on again: Dumbledore, who had defended Snape for so long, would never have held students ransom….
And then he skidded around a final corner and with a yell of mingled relief and fury he saw them: Ron and Hermione; both with their arms full of large, curved, dirty yellow objects, Ron with a broomstick under his arms.
“Where the hell have you been?“ Harry shouted.
“Chamber of Secrets,” said Ron.
“Chamber – what?“ said Harry, coming to an unsteady halt before them.
“It was Ron, all Ron’s idea!” said Hermione breathlessly. “Wasn’t it absolutely brilliant? There we were, after we left, and I said to Ron, even if we find the other one, how are we going to get rid of it? We still hadn’t got rid of the cup! And then he thought of it! The basilisk!”
“What the –?”
“Something to get rid of Horcruxes,” said Ron simply.
Harry’s eyes dropped to the objects clutched in Ron and Hermione’s arms: great curved fangs; torn, he now realized, from the skull of a dead basilisk.
“But how did you get in there?” he asked, staring from the fangs to Ron. “You need to speak Parseltongue!”
“He did!” whispered Hermione. “Show him, Ron!”
Ron made a horrible strangled hissing noise.
“It’s what you did to open the locket,“ he told Harry apologetically. ”I had to have a few goes to get it right, but,“ he shrugged modestly, ”we got there in the end.“
“He was amazing!“ said Hermione. ”Amazing!“
“So…” Harry was struggling to keep up. “So…”
“So we’re another Horcrux down,“ said Ron, and from under his jacket he pulled the mangled remains of Hufflepuff’s cup. ”Hermione stabbed it. Thought she should. She hasn’t had the pleasure yet.“
“Genius!” yelled Harry.
“It was nothing,“ said Ron, though he looked delighted with himself. ”So what’s new with you?“
As he said it, there was an explosion from overhead: All three of them looked up as dust fell from the ceiling and they heard a distant scream.
“I know what the diadem looks like, and I know where it is,” said Harry, talking fast. “He hid it exactly where I had my old Potions book, where everyone’s been hiding stuff for centuries. He thought he was the only one to find it. Come on.”
As the walls trembled again, he led the other two back through the concealed entrance and down the staircase into the Room of Requirement. It was empty except for three women: Ginny, Tonks and an elderly witch wearing a moth-eaten hat, whom Harry recognized immediately as Neville’s grandmother.
“Ah, Potter,” she said crisply as if she had been waiting for him. “You can tell us what’s going on.”
“Is everyone okay?” said Ginny and Tonks together.
“‘S far as we know,” said Harry. “Are there still people in the passage to the Hog’s Head?”
He knew that the room would not be able to transform while there were still users inside it.
“I was the last to come through,” said Mrs. Longbottom. “I sealed it, I think it unwise to leave it open now Aberforth has left his pub. Have you seen my grandson?”
“He’s fighting,” said Harry.
“Naturally,” said the old lady proudly. “Excuse me, I must go and assist him.”
With surprising speed she trotted off toward the stone steps.
Harry looked at Tonks.
“I thought you were supposed to be with Teddy at your mother’s?”
“I couldn’t stand not knowing – ” Tonks looked anguished. “She’ll look after him – have you seen Remus?”
“He was planning to lead a group of fighters into the grounds – ”
Without another word, Tonks sped off.
“Ginny,” said Harry, “I’m sorry, but we need you to leave too. Just for a bit. Then you can come back in.”
Ginny looked simply delighted to leave her sanctuary.
“And then you can come back in!“ he shouted after her as she ran up the steps after Tonks. ”You’ve got to come back in!“
“Hang on a moment!“ said Ron sharply. ”We’ve forgotten someone!“
“Who?” asked Hermione.
“The house-elves, they’ll all be down in the kitchen, won’t they?”
“You mean we ought to get them fighting?” asked Harry.
“No,” said Ron seriously, “I mean we should tell them to get out. We don’t want anymore Dobbies, do we? We can’t order them to die for us – ”
There was a clatter as the basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione’s arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet.
“Is this the moment?” Harry asked weakly, and when nothing happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, he raised his voice. “Oi! There’s a war going on here!”
Ron and Hermione broke apart, their arms still around each other.
“I know, mate,” said Ron, who looked as though he had recently been hit on the back of the head with a Bludger, “so it’s now or never, isn’t it?”
“Never mind that, what about the Horcrux?“ Harry shouted. ”D’you think you could just – just hold it in until we’ve got the diadem?“
“Yeah – right – sorry – ” said Ron, and he and Hermione set about gathering up fangs, both pink in the face.
It was clear, as the three of them stepped back into the corridor upstairs, that in the minutes that they had spent in the Room of Requirement the situation within the castle had deteriorated severely: The walls and ceiling were shaking worse than ever; dust filled the air, and through the nearest window, Harry saw bursts of green and red light so close to the foot of the castle that he knew the Death Eaters must be very near to entering the place. Looking down, Harry saw Grawp the giant meandering past, swinging what looked like a stone gargoyle torn from the roof and roaring his displeasure.
“Let’s hope he steps on some of them!” said Ron as more screams echoed from close by.
“As long as it’s not any of our lot!” said a voice: Harry turned and saw Ginny and Tonks, both with their wands drawn at the next window, which was missing several panes. Even as he watched, Ginny sent a well-aimed jinx into a crowd of fighters below.
“Good girl!“ roared a figure running through the dust toward them, and Harry saw Aberforth again, his gray hair flying as he led a small group of students past. ”They look like they might be breaching the north battlements, they’ve brought giants of their own.“
“Have you seen Remus?” Tonks called after him.
“He was dueling Dolohov,” shouted Aberforth, “haven’t seen him since!”
“Tonks,” said Ginny, “Tonks, I’m sure he’s okay – ”
But Tonks had run off into the dust after Aberforth.
Ginny turned, helpless, to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
“They’ll be all right,“ said Harry, though he knew they were empty words. ”Ginny, we’ll be back in a moment, just keep out of the way, keep safe – come on!“ he said to Ron and Hermione, and they ran back to the stretch of wall beyond which the Room of Requirement was waiting to do the bidding of the next entrant.
I need the place where everything is hidden. Harry begged of it inside his head, and the door materialized on their third run past.
The furor of the battle died the moment they crossed the threshold and closed the door behind them: All was silent. They were in a place the size of a cathedral with the appearance of a city, its towering walls built of objects hidden by thousands of long-gone students.
“And he never realized anyone could get in?” said Ron, his voice echoing in the silence.
“He thought he was the only one,” said Harry. “Too bad for him I’ve had to hide stuff in my time… this way,” he added. “I think it’s down here….”
They sped off up adjacent aisles; Harry could hear the others’ footsteps echoing through the towering piles of junk, of bottles, hats, crates, chairs, books, weapons, broomsticks, bats….
“Somewhere near here,” Harry muttered to himself. “Somewhere… somewhere…”
Deeper and deeper into the labyrinth he went, looking for objects he recognized from his one previous trip into the room. His breath was loud in his ears, and then his very soul seemed to shiver. There it was, right ahead, the blistered old cupboard in which he had hidden his old Potions book, and on top of it, the pockmarked stone warlock wearing a dusty old wig and what looked like an ancient discolored tiara.
He had already stretched out his hand, though he remained few feet away, when a voice behind him said, “Hold it, Potter.”
He skidded to a halt and turned around. Crabbe and Goyle were standing behind him, shoulder to shoulder, wands pointing right at Harry. Through the small space between their jeering faces he saw Draco Malfoy.
“That’s my wand you’re holding, Potter,” said Malfoy, pointing his own through the gap between Crabbe and Goyle.
“Not anymore,” panted Harry, tightening his grip on the hawthorn wand. “Winners, keepers, Malfoy. Who’s lent you theirs?”
“My mother,” said Draco.
Harry laughed, though there was nothing very humorous about the situation. He could not hear Ron or Hermione anymore. They seemed to have run out of earshot, searching for the diadem.
“So how come you three aren’t with Voldemort?” asked Harry.
“We’re gonna be rewarded,” said Crabbe. His voice was surprisingly soft for such an enormous person: Harry had hardly ever heard him speak before. Crabbe was speaking like a small child promised a large bag of sweets. “We ‘ung back, Potter. We decided not to go. Decided to bring you to ‘im.”
“Good plan,” said Harry in mock admiration. He could not believe that he was this close, and was going to be thwarted by Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. He began edging slowly backward toward the place where the Horcrux sat lopsided upon the bust. If he could just get his hands on it before the fight broke out…
“So how did you get in here?” he asked, trying to distract them.
“I virtually lived in the Room of Hidden Things all last year,” said Malfoy, his voice brittle. “I know how to get in.”
“We was hiding in the corridor outside,” grunted Goyle. “We can do Disslusion Charms now! And then,” his face split into a gormless grin, “you turned up right in front of us and said you was looking for a die-dum! What’s a die-dum?”
“Harry?” Ron’s voice echoed suddenly from the other side of the wall to Harry’s right. “Are you talking to someone?”
With a whiplike movement, Crabbe pointed his wand at the fifty foot mountain of old furniture, of broken trunks, of old books and robes and unidentifiable junk, and shouted, “Descendo!”
The wall began to totter, then the top third crumbled into the aisle next door where Ron stood.
“Ron!” Harry bellowed, as somewhere out of sight Hermione screamed, and Harry heard innumerable objects crashing to the floor on the other side of the destabilized wall: He pointed his wand at the rampart, cried, “Finite!” and it steadied.
“No!” shouted Malfoy, staying Crabbe’s arm as the latter made to repeat his spell. “If you wreck the room you might bury this diadem thing!”
“What’s that matter?” said Crabbe, tugging himself free. “It’s Potter the Dark Lord wants, who cares about a die-dum?”
“Potter came in here to get it,” said Malfoy with ill-disguised impatience at the slow-wittedness of his colleagues. “so that must mean – ”
“‘Must mean’?” Crabbe turned on Malfoy with undisguised ferocity. “Who cares what you think? I don’t take your orders no more, Draco. You an’ your dad are finished.”
“Harry?” shouted Ron again, from the other side of the junk wad. “What’s going on?”
“Harry?” mimicked Crabbe. “What’s going on – no, Potter! Crucio!”
Harry had lunged for the tiara; Crabbe’s curse missed him but hit the stone bust, which flew into the air; the diadem soared upward and then dropped out of sight in the mass of objects on which the bust had rested.
“STOP!” Malfoy shouted at Crabbe, his voice echoing through the enormous room. “The Dark Lord wants him alive – ”
“So? I’m not killing him, am I?” yelled Crabbe, throwing off Malfoy’s restraining arm. “But if I can, I will, the Dark Lord wants him dead anyway, what’s the diff –?”
A jet of scarlet light shot past Harry by inches: Hermione had run around the corner behind him and sent a Stunning Spell straight at Crabbe’s head. It only missed because Malfoy pulled him out of the way.
“It’s that Mudblood! Avada Kedavra!”
Harry saw Hermione dive aside, and his fury that Crabbe had aimed to kill wiped all else from his mind. He shot a Stunning Spell at Crabbe, who lurched out of the way, knocking Malfoy’s wand out of his hand; it rolled out of sight beneath a mountain of broken furniture and bones.
“Don’t kill him! DON’T KILL HIM!” Malfoy yelled at Crabbe and Goyle, who were both aiming at Harry: Their split second’s hesitation was all Harry needed.
“Expelliarmus!”
Goyle’s wand flew out of his hand and disappeared into the bulwark of objects beside him; Goyle leapt foolishly on the spot, trying to retrieve it; Malfoy jumped out of range of Hermione’s second Stunning Spell, and Ron, appearing suddenly at the end of the aisle, shot a full Body-Bind Curse at Crabbe, which narrowly missed.
Crabbe wheeled around and screamed, “Avada Kedavra!” again. Ron leapt out of sight to avoid the jet of green light. The wand-less Malfoy cowered behind a three-legged wardrobe as Hermione charged toward them, hitting Goyle with a Stunning Spell as she came.
“It’s somewhere here!” Harry yelled at her, pointing at the pile of junk into which the old tiara had fallen. “Look for it while I go and help R – ”
“HARRY!” she screamed.
A roaring, billowing noise behind him gave him a moment’s warning. He turned and saw both Ron and Crabbe running as hard as they could up the aisle toward them.
“Like it hot, scum?” roared Crabbe as he ran.
But he seemed to have no control over what he had done. Flames of abnormal size were pursuing them, licking up the sides of the junk bulwarks, which were crumbling to soot at their touch.
“Aguamenti!” Harry bawled, but the jet of water that soared from the tip of his wand evaporated in the air.
“RUN!”
Malfoy grabbed the Stunned Goyle and dragged him along; Crabbe outstripped all of them, now looking terrified; Harry, Ron, and Hermione pelted along in his wake, and the fire pursued them. It was not normal fire; Crabbe had used a curse of which Harry had no knowledge. As they turned a corner the flames chased them as though they were alive, sentient, intent upon killing them. Now the fire was mutating, forming a gigantic pack of fiery beasts: Flaming serpents, chimaeras, and dragons rose and fell and rose again, and the detritus of centuries on which they were feeding was thrown up into the air into their fanged mouths, tossed high on clawed feet, before being consumed by the inferno.
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had vanished from view: Harry, Ron and Hermione stopped dead; the fiery monsters were circling them, drawing closer and closer, claws and horns and tails lashed, and the heat was solid as a wall around them.
“What can we do?” Hermione screamed over the deafening roars of the fire. “What can we do?”
“Here!”
Harry seized a pair of heavy-looking broomsticks from the nearest pile of junk and threw one to Ron, who pulled Hermione onto it behind him. Harry swung his leg over the second broom and, with hard kicks to the ground, they soared up in the air, missing by feet the horned beak of a flaming raptor that snapped its jaws at them. The smoke and heat were becoming overwhelming: Below them the cursed fire was consuming the contraband of generations of hunted students, the guilty outcomes of a thousand banned experiments, the secrets of the countless souls who had sought refuge in the room. Harry could not see a trace of Malfoy, Crabbe, or Goyle anywhere. He swooped as low as he dare over the marauding monsters of flame to try to find them, but there was nothing but fire: What a terrible way to die…. He had never wanted this….
“Harry, let’s get out, let’s get out!” bellowed Ron, though it was impossible to see where the door was through the black smoke.
And then Harry heard a thin, piteous human scream from amidst the terrible commotion, the thunder of devouring flame.
“It’s – too – dangerous –!” Ron yelled, but Harry wheeled in the air. His glasses giving his eyes some small protection from the smoke, he raked the firestorm below, seeking a sign of life, a limb or a face that was not yet charred like wood….
And he saw them: Malfoy with his arms around the unconscious Goyle, the pair of them perched on a fragile tower of charred desks, and Harry dived. Malfoy saw him coming and raised one arm, but even as Harry grasped it he knew at once that it was no good. Goyle was too heavy and Malfoy’s hand, covered in sweat, slid instantly out of Harry’s –
“IF WE DIE FOR THEM, I’LL KILL YOU, HARRY!” roared Ron’s voice, and, as a great flaming chimaera bore down upon them, he and Hermione dragged Goyle onto their broom and rose, rolling and pitching, into the air once more as Malfoy clambered up behind Harry.
“The door, get to the door, the door!” screamed Malfoy in Harry’s ear, and Harry sped up, following Ron, Hermione, and Goyle through the billowing black smoke, hardly able to breathe: and all around them the last few objects unburned by the devouring flames were flung into the air, as the creatures of the cursed fire cast them high in celebration: cups and shields, a sparkling necklace, and an old, discolored tiara –
“What are you doing, what are you doing, the door’s that way!” screamed Malfoy, but Harry made a hairpin swerve and dived. The diadem seemed to fall in slow motion, turning and glittering as it dropped toward the maw of a yawning serpent, and then he had it, caught it around his wrist –
Harry swerved again as the serpent lunged at him; he soared upward and straight toward the place where, he prayed, the door stood open; Ron, Hermione and Goyle had vanished; Malfoy was screaming and holding Harry so tightly it hurt. Then, through the smoke, Harry saw a rectangular patch on the wall and steered the broom at it, and moments later clean air filled his lungs and they collided with the wall in the corridor beyond.
Malfoy fell off the broom and lay facedown, gasping, coughing, and retching. Harry rolled over and sat up: The door to the Room of Requirement had vanished, and Ron and Hermione sat panting on the floor beside Goyle, who was still unconscious.
“C-Crabbe,” choked Malfoy as soon as he could speak. “C-Crabbe…”
“He’s dead,” said Ron harshly.
There was silence, apart from panting and coughing. Then a number of huge bangs shook the castle, and a great cavalcade of transparent figures galloped past on horses, their heads screaming with bloodlust under their arms. Harry staggered to his feet when the Headless Hunt had passed and looked around: The battle was still going on all around him. He could hear more scream than those of the retreating ghosts. Panic flared within him.
“Where’s Ginny?” he said sharply. “She was here. She was supposed to be going back into the Room of Requirement.”
“Blimey, d’you reckon it’ll still work after that fire?” asked Ron, but he too got to his feet, rubbing his chest and looking left and right. “Shall we split up and look –?”
“No,” said Hermione, getting to her feet too. Malfoy and Goyle remained slumped hopelessly on the corridor floor; neither of them had wands. “Let’s stick together. I say we go – Harry, what’s that on your arm?”
“What? Oh yeah – ”
He pulled the diadem from his wrist and held it up. It was still hot, blackened with soot, but as he looked at it closely he was just able to make out the tiny words etched upon it; WIT BEYOND MEASURE IS MAN’S GREATEST TREASURE.
A bloodlike substance, dark and tarry, seemed to be leaking from the diadem. Suddenly Harry felt the thing vibrate violently, then break apart in his hands, and as it did so, he thought he heard the faintest, most distant scream of pain, echoing not from the grounds or the castle, but from the thing that had just fragmented in his fingers.
“It must have been Fiendfyre!” whimpered Hermione, her eyes on the broken piece.
“Sorry?”
“Fiendfyre – cursed fire – it’s one of the substances that destroy Horcruxes, but I would never, ever have dared use it, it’s so dangerous – how did Crabbe know how to –?”
“Must’ve learned from the Carrows,” said Harry grimly.
“Shame he wasn’t concentrating when they mentioned how to stop it, really,” said Ron, whose hair, like Hermione’s, was singed, and whose face was blackened. “If he hadn’t tried to kill us all, I’d be quite sorry he was dead.”
“But don’t you realize?” whispered Hermione. “This means, if we can just get the snake – ”
But she broke off as yells and shouts and the unmistakable noises of dueling filled the corridor. Harry looked around and his heart seemed to fail: Death Eaters had penetrated Hogwarts. Fred and Percy had just backed into view, both of them dueling masked and hooded men.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione ran forward to help: Jets of light flew in every direction and the man dueling Percy backed off, fast: Then his hood slipped and they saw a high forehead and streaked hair –
“Hello, Minister!” bellowed Percy, sending a neat jinx straight at Thicknesse, who dropped his wand and clawed at the front of his robes, apparently in awful discomfort. “Did I mention I’m resigning?”
“You’re joking, Perce!” shouted Fred as the Death Eater he was battling collapsed under the weight of three separate Stunning Spells. Thicknesse had fallen to the ground with tiny spikes erupting all over him; he seemed to be turning into some form of sea urchin. Fred looked at Percy with glee.
“You actually are joking, Perce…. I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were – ”
The air exploded. They had been grouped together, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and Percy, the two Death Eaters at their feet, one Stunned, the other Transfigured; and in that fragment of a moment, when danger seemed temporarily at bay, the world was rent apart, Harry felt himself flying through the air, and all he could do was hold as tightly as possible to that thin stick of wood that was his one and only weapon, and shield his head in his arms: He heard the screams and yells of his companions without a hope of knowing what had happened to them –
And then the world resolved itself into pain and semidarkness: He was half buried in the wreckage of a corridor that had been subjected to a terrible attack. Cold air told him that the side of the castle had been blown away, and hot stickiness on his cheek told him that he was bleeding copiously. Then he heard a terrible cry that pulled at his insides, that expressed agony of a kind neither flame nor curse could cause, and he stood up, swaying, more frightened than he had been that day, more frightened, perhaps, than he had been in his life….
And Hermione was struggling to her feet in the wreckage, and three redheaded men were grouped on the ground where the wall had blasted apart. Harry grabbed Hermione’s hand as they staggered and stumbled over stone and wood.
“No – no – no!” someone was shouting. “No! Fred! No!” And Percy was shaking his brother, and Ron was kneeling beside them, and Fred’s eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face.
礼堂大厅里深黑色的被施了魔法的天花板上散落着烁烁的星辰，下面的四张学院的长桌旁坐满了衣冠不整的学生，有些穿着旅行时用的斗篷，有些还穿着晨衣，散发着珍珠白色光芒的幽灵们在学院里来来去去。不论是学生还是鬼魂，他们的眼睛都紧紧地盯着在大厅中的一个升起的平台上讲话的麦格教授，她身后站着留下来的老师们，包括马人费伦泽，以及凤凰社里赶来参加战斗的人。 
　　“……撤离将会在费尔奇先生和庞弗雷女士的监督下进行。各位级长，在我下达这个命令之后，你们立刻负责组织你们学院有秩序地到达撤离地点。” 
　　许多学生看上去都吓呆了。然而，当哈利沿在墙边走过，在格兰芬多的桌子上寻找着罗恩和赫敏的身影时，赫奇帕奇的厄尼·麦克米兰站到了桌子上大声说：“如果我们想留下来战斗呢？” 
　　有零零落落的掌声响起来。 
　　“如果年龄合格，你们可以留下。”麦格教授说道。 
　　“我们的行李怎么办？”拉文克劳的一个女生问道，“我们的皮箱呢？我们的猫头鹰呢？” 
　　“我们没有时间收拾行李了。”麦格教授说。“现在最重要的事，是安全地把你们从这儿送出去。” 
　　“斯内普教授在哪里？”一个斯莱特林的一个女生大声喊。 
　　“他已经，用个成语来说，逃之夭夭了。”麦格教授回答。与此同时，格兰芬多、赫奇帕奇和拉文克劳的人群中爆发出一阵欢呼声。 
　　哈利沿着墙根走过格兰芬多的长桌，仍然在寻找罗恩和赫敏。当他经过时，许多人转过头看着他，窃窃私语。 
　　“我们已经在城堡周围布置下了保护措施，”麦格教授说道，“但是如果我们不增强它的话就支撑不了很久。因此我要求你们，必须迅速而冷静地行动，按照你们级长的——” 
　　然而，她的话尾被大厅里回荡着的另一个声音给淹没了。那声音刺耳，冷酷而清晰。谁也说不出它从哪儿传来的，就好像是墙壁本身发出的声音，好像一个沉睡了几百年的野兽苏醒了过来。 
　　“我知道你们打算抗争。”学生中发出尖叫声，一些人害怕地紧抱成一团，恐惧地四下寻找着声音的来源。“你们的努力都是无用的。你们无法与我抗衡。我并不想杀你们。我对霍格沃茨的教师非常尊敬，我不愿意溅洒纯血统的血液。” 
　　大厅里现在安静下来了，这种安静压迫着耳膜，它实在是太过巨大了，以至于似乎不能再被大厅容纳了。 
　　“把哈利·波特交给我，”伏地魔说，“就没有人会受到伤害。给我哈利·波特，我就不会碰这个学校。给我哈利·波特，我将会奖赏你们。” 
　　“午夜前给我答案。” 
　　寂静再一次吞没了他们。每个人都转过头去，每双眼睛都在寻找哈利，他久久地被束缚在由几千束看不见的光形成的注视里。一个身影爬上了斯莱特林的桌子，哈利认出了那是潘西·帕金森，她拼命摇动着手臂，尖叫，“他在那儿！波特在那儿！来人捉住他啊！” 
　　还没等哈利开口，大批人群开始移动。他面前的格兰芬多的学生起身护住哈利，与斯莱特林的人对峙着。然后，赫奇帕奇的人都站了起来，几乎在同时拉文克劳的人也是如此，所有人都背对着哈利，所有人都转身冲着潘西，魔杖从四面八方伸出来，从长袍和袖子下伸出来。哈利震惊而不知所措。 
　　“谢谢你，帕金森小姐。”麦格教授清楚地说道，“你第一个跟费尔奇先生离开大厅。如果你们学院的人想走可以跟着你。” 
　　哈利听到了长凳碰撞的声音，斯莱特林的人很快就在大厅聚集起来。 
　　“拉文克劳，跟上！”麦格教授大声说。 
　　很快，四个桌子旁的人走光了。斯莱特林一个人都没有留下，一些拉文克劳高年级的学生仍然坐在桌边，比他们小的学生都出去了；有更多的赫奇帕奇留了下来；半数以上的格兰芬多学生没有动，麦格教授被迫离开讲台，走下来驱赶那些低年级学生。 
　　“绝对不行，科林，快走！还有你，匹克斯！” 
　　哈利快步走到了韦斯莱家人的身边，一起坐在格兰芬多的桌边。 
　　“罗恩和赫敏在哪儿？” 
　　“你还没找到……”韦斯莱先生担心地问。 
　　但是当金斯莱走上讲台，开始对余下的人讲话时，韦斯莱先生不说话了。 
　　“到午夜前我们只有半个小时了，所以我们必须迅速行动。霍格沃茨的老师和凤凰社的成员已经通过了一个作战计划。费立维教授，斯普劳特教授和麦格教授带领成队的人上到三个最高的塔上——拉文克劳塔，天文塔和格兰芬多塔——那里有不错的视野和绝佳的发射咒语位置。同时莱姆斯——”他指着卢平，“亚瑟，”他指着坐在格兰芬多的桌边的韦斯莱先生“和我，会带领人到地面作战。我们需要一些人到学校的入口处和走廊里组织抵抗——” 
　　“听起来那是我们的工作。”弗雷德喊道，指着他自己和乔治，金斯莱赞同地点了点头。 
　　“好了，领队都上来，我们分配队伍！” 
　　“波特，”麦格教授快步走到他面前说，其他学生都涌上平台，在人群中互相冲撞着寻找自己的位置，接受作战指示。“你是不是应该去找什么东西？” 
　　“什么？哦，”哈利说，“哦，对！” 
　　他差点忘记了关于魂器的事情，几乎忘记了战斗一旦打响他就可以接着找它：罗恩和赫敏原因不明的缺席把他脑子里其他所有的念头都打消了。 
　　“那快去，波特，去！” 
　　“好……我这就去……” 
　　他再一次跑向大厅的门口时，还能感觉到背后跟随着他的目光。大厅门口挤满了疏散出去的学生，他任由自己被他们推挤到大理石楼梯上，然而到达楼梯顶端后，他就沿着一条废弃的走廊开始快跑，恐惧和惊慌扰乱了他的思绪。他试图让自己冷静下来，集中精力寻找魂器，可他的思路就像被困在玻璃杯里的黄蜂一样——狂暴而徒劳地横冲直撞。离开了罗恩和赫敏，哈利似乎不能理清自己的思绪。他放慢速度，在走廊的中间停了下来，坐在一个毁坏了的雕像底座上，从挂在脖子上的驴皮小袋里拽出活点地图。他到处都找不到罗恩和赫敏的名字，不过他觉得有可能是因为有求必应屋的学生太多，把他俩的名字挡住了。他把地图放到一边，闭上眼睛，把脸深深地埋进双手中，试图去集中精神。 
　　伏地魔认为我去了拉文克劳塔楼。 
　　那就是该开始的地方，事实很确定，伏地魔派阿列克托·加罗驻守在拉文克劳的公共休息室里，这只有一个解释，那就是伏地魔害怕哈利已经知道了他的魂器和那个地方联系着。 
　　但是每个人都觉得唯一能和拉文克劳联系上的东西就是丢失的王冠……魂器怎么可能是王冠呢？伏地魔，一个斯莱特林，他是怎么找到拉文克劳家族中失传了几代的王冠？活着的人没有谁看到过那个王冠，是谁告诉他去哪里可以找到的？ 
　　活着的人…… 
　　哈利睁开被手指捂住的眼睛，一下子从底座上跳起来，从他来的路上挤开一条道，拼命想抓住似乎是他最后的一线希望。他跑向大理石楼梯的时候，听到了成百上千的人往有求必应屋走去的嘈杂声音。级长们大声喊叫着发出命令，尽力与本学院的学生保持着联系，人群拥挤不堪，吵吵嚷嚷。哈利看见扎密赖斯·史密斯为了赶到队伍的前面击倒了几个一年级生，到处都有年幼的学生在哭，而年长些的人都在绝望地喊着自己同伴和兄弟姐妹的名字。 
　　哈利瞥见一个珍珠白色的幽灵从大厅入口下方漂浮过去，一片喧嚣中他用自己最大的声音喊道： 
　　“尼克！尼克！我需要和你谈谈！” 
　　他拼命地穿过学生的浪潮，到达了楼梯的底部。格兰芬多塔里的鬼魂，差点没头的尼克站在那里等着他。 
　　“哈利！我亲爱的孩子！” 
　　尼克握住哈利的手；哈利感觉自己好像是把手浸入了冰水一样。 
　　“尼克，你一定得帮帮我。拉文克劳的鬼魂是谁？” 
　　差点没头的尼克看上去很惊讶，而且有一点不愉快。 
　　“当然是格雷女士；但如果你需要鬼魂为你服务——” 
　　“必须得是她！你知道她在哪里吗？” 
　　“让我找找……” 
　　尼克四下寻找的时候，头在圆形领花上轻微摇晃着，他透过拥挤的学生凝视着什么。 
　　“她在那儿，哈利，有长头发的那个年轻女士。” 
　　哈利顺着尼克透明的手指看到了一个高个子的鬼魂，发现哈利看她，她扬起了眉毛，漂浮着穿过一面墙走了。 
　　哈利向她追过去，走过她消失的走廊门口就看见她在走道的尽头，仍然平稳地漂浮着远离他。 
　　“嘿——等等——回来！” 
　　她听从哈利的话停了下来，在地面上方又飘了几英寸。哈利猜想她是一个有着及腰长发，穿着曳地长斗篷的美人，但是她看上去也很高傲不逊。离得近了哈利就意识到他以前在走廊上碰到过她，只是从来没有说过话。 
　　“你是格雷女士？” 
　　她点点头，没有说话。 
　　“你是拉文克劳塔的鬼魂？” 
　　“不错。”她的声音丝毫不鼓舞人心。 
　　“拜托了，我需要你的帮助。我要知道关于丢失的王冠的事情，请你告诉我你所知道的全部。” 
　　她的嘴角扯出一抹冷笑。 
　　“恐怕，”她边说边转身准备离开，“我不能帮你。” 
　　“等等！” 
　　他并不想喊叫的，但是愤怒和恐慌威胁着要吞没他。她在他面前盘旋的时候，哈利扫了一眼手表，还有一刻钟到午夜。 
　　“这很紧急。”他大喊着，“如果那王冠还在霍格沃茨，我必须得找到它，尽快。” 
　　“你并不是第一个垂涎这王冠的学生。”她轻蔑地说，“一代又一代的学生企图迫使我——” 
　　“这可不是为了想要多得几分！”哈利朝她喊叫着。“这是关于伏地魔——打败伏地魔——你对那也不感兴趣吗？” 
　　她是不能脸红的，不过她透明的双颊却开始变得模糊，她用激烈的语气反驳道：“我当然——你怎么敢认为……” 
　　“那么，帮帮我！” 
　　她镇定的表情隐去了。 
　　“那——那不是——”她开始结巴，“我母亲的王冠——” 
　　“你母亲的？” 
　　她看上去对自己很生气。 
　　“当我还活着的时候，”她僵硬地回答，“我叫海伦娜·拉文克劳。” 
　　“你是她的女儿？那么，你一定知道它发生过什么事情。” 
　　“那王冠象征着智慧，”她明显在努力着控制自己。“我怀疑戴上它能大幅提升你击败那个称他自己为黑魔王的人的概率……” 
　　“我说了我没兴趣戴它！”哈利愤怒地咆哮，“没时间跟你解释了，但是如果你在乎霍格沃茨，如果你希望伏地魔倒台，那你必须把你所知道关于王冠的所有事情都告诉我！” 
　　她仍然是静止的悬浮在半空中，低头看着哈利。一种绝望的感觉席卷了他的全身，她如果真的知道些什么，当然会告诉弗立维或者邓布利多，他们肯定问过她同样的问题了。当哈利正准备摇摇头，转身离开的时候，她低声说道：“我从我母亲那里偷到了王冠。” 
　　“你……你什么？” 
　　“我偷了王冠。”海伦娜·拉文克劳轻声说，“我想让自己更聪明一点，变得比我母亲更重要，我带着它离开了。” 
　　哈利不知道自己为什么得到了她的信任，他也并没有问，只是静静听着她艰难地往下讲。 
　　“据说我母亲从来不承认王冠丢了，仍然装作它还在她那里。她隐瞒了她的损失和我的背叛，甚至是对霍格沃茨其他的创立者也是如此。” 
　　“后来我母亲病倒了……病得很重。尽管我背叛了她，她仍然苦苦想着见我最后一面。她派了一个爱了我很久但是多次被我拒绝的人来找我。她知道如果那个人不把我带回去是不会罢休的。” 
　　哈利等待着。她深深吸了口气，把头扭了过去。 
　　“他追踪我到了我当时藏身的森林里。当我拒绝跟他一起回去时，他变得很激动。巴罗一直都是个有着火暴性子的人。他对于我的拒绝十分愤怒，嫉妒我的自由，他刺杀了我。” 
　　“巴罗？你指的是——？” 
　　“是的，他就是血人巴罗，”格雷女士说着撩起了斗篷的一侧，给哈利看了她白色胸口上的深色的创伤。“当他意识到自己做了什么以后，他被巨大的悔恨淹没了，他用夺去了我生命的武器杀死了自己。这么多世纪以来，他一直戴着他的链条表示悔恨……他的确该这么做。” 
　　她苦涩地说。 
　　“那……那王冠？” 
　　“它仍然在当初我藏它的那个地方，我听到巴罗摸索进我藏身的森林时，把它藏进一棵空心的树里。” 
　　“一棵空心的树？”哈利重复道，“什么树？在哪儿？” 
　　“阿尔巴尼亚的一个森林。一个孤独的地方，我认为那里能够远离我母亲的控制。” 
　　“阿尔巴尼亚，”哈利重复道，混乱的思绪中浮现一种奇怪的感觉，现在他理解了为什么她告诉他不肯告诉邓布利多和弗立维。“你以前对别人说过这个故事了，对吗？别的学生？” 
　　她闭上了眼睛点了点头。 
　　“我不……知道……他在……奉承。他看上去……懂得……去同情……” 
　　是的，哈利想，汤姆·里德尔肯定能理解海伦莲娜·拉文克劳那种迫切地想要占有不属于自己的神奇物件的欲望。 
　　“嗯，你并不是第一个被里德尔套出话来的人。”哈利咕哝着说，“当他想要什么东西时他就会变得很迷人……” 
　　不错，伏地魔已经从格雷女士这里套出了丢失王冠藏匿的地点。他已经去过了那广袤的森林，而且把王冠从它藏身的地方取了出来，也许就在他离开霍格沃茨后不久，甚至在他开始在博金－博克商店工作之前。 
　　而后来，发生了那些事情以后，当伏地魔需要一个能够安静的藏身长达十年的地方，还有哪里比那些被隔绝的阿尔巴尼亚森林更好呢？ 
　　可是那个王冠一旦变成他珍贵的魂器，就不会再留在那个低矮的树丛里了……是的，王冠已经被秘密地送回了它真正的家，伏地魔一定是把它放在那儿了…… 
　　“……他来求职的那天晚上！”哈利思考完毕之后说道。 
　
Chapter 32 The Elder Wand
The world had ended, so why had the battle not ceased, the castle fallen silent in horror, and every combatant laid down their arms? Harry’s mind was in free fall, spinning out of control, unable to grasp the impossibility, because Fred Weasley could not be dead, the evidence of all his senses must be lying–And then a body fell past the hole blown into the side of the school and curses flew in at them from the darkness, hitting the wall behind their heads.
“Get down!” Harry shouted, as more curses flew through the night: He and Ron had both grabbed Hermione and pulled her to the floor, but Percy lay across Fred’s body, shielding it from further harm, and when Harry shouted “Percy, come on, we’ve got to move!” he shook his head.
“Percy!” Harry saw tear tracks streaking the grime coating Ron’s face as he seized his elder brother’s shoulders and pulled, but Percy would not budge. “Percy, you can’t do anything for him! We’re going to–”
Hermione screamed, and Harry, turning, did not need to ask why. A monstrous spider the size of a small car was trying to climb through the huge hole in the wall. one of Aragog’s descendants had joined the fight.
Ron and Harry shouted together; their spells collided and the monster was blown backward, its legs jerking horribly, and vanished into the darkness.
“It brought friends!” Harry called to the others, glancing over the edge of the castle through the hole in the wall the curses had blasted. More giant spiders were climbing the side of the building, liberated from the Forbidden Forest, into which the Death Eaters must have penetrated. Harry fired Stunning Spells down upon them, knocking the lead monster into its fellows, so that they rolled back down the building and out of sight. Then more curses came soaring over Harry’s head, so close he felt the force of them blow his hair.
“Let’s move, NOW!”
Pushing Hermione ahead of him with Ron, Harry stooped to seize Fred’s body under the armpit. Percy, realizing what Harry was trying to do, stopped clinging to the body and helped: together, crouching low to avoid the curses flying at them from the grounds, they hauled Fred out of the way.
“Here,” said Harry, and they placed him in a niche where a suit of armor had stood earlier. He could not bear to look at Fred a second longer than he had to, and after making sure that the body was well-hidden, he took off after Ron and Hermione. Malfoy and Goyle had vanished but at the end of the corridor, which was now full of dust and falling masonry, glass long gone from windows, he saw many people running backward and forward, whether friends or foes he could not tell. Rounding the corner, Percy let out a bull-like roar: “ROOKWOOD!” and sprinted off in the direction of a tall man, who was pursuing a couple of students. “Harry, in here!” Hermione screamed.
She had pulled Ron behind a tapestry. They seemed to be wrestling together, and for one mad second Harry thought that they were embracing again; then he saw that Hermione was trying to restrain Ron, to stop him running after Percy.
“Listen to me – LISTEN RON!”
“I wanna help – I wanna kill Death Eaters–”
His face was contorted, smeared with dust and smoke, and he was shaking with rage and grief.
“Ron, we’re the only ones who can end it! Please – Ron – we need the snake, we’ve got to kill the snake!” said Hermione.
But Harry knew how Ron felt: Pursuing another Horcrux could not bring the satisfaction of revenge; he too wanted to fight, to punish them, the people who had killed Fred, and he wanted to find the other Weasleys, and above all make sure, make quite sure, that Ginny was not – but he could not permit that idea to form in his mind – “We will fight!” Hermione said. “We’ll have to, to reach the snake! But let’s not lose sight now of what we’re supposed to be d-doing! We’re the only ones who can end it!”
She was crying too, and she wiped her face on her torn and singed sleeve as she spoke, but she took great heaving breaths to calm herself as, still keeping a tight hold on Ron, she turned to Harry.
“You need to find out where Voldemort is, because he’ll have the snake with him, won’t he? Do it, Harry – look inside him!”
Why was it so easy? Because his scar had been burning for hours, yearning to show him Voldemort’s thoughts? He closed his eyes on her command, and at once, the screams and bangs and all the discordant sounds of the battle were drowned until they became distant, as though he stood far, far away from them…
 
He was standing in the middle of a desolate but strangely familiar room, with peeling paper on the walls and all the windows boarded up except for one. The sounds of the assault on the castle were muffled and distant. The single unblocked window revealed distant bursts of light where the castle stood, but inside the room was dark except for a solitary oil lamp.
He was rolling his wand between his fingers, watching it, his thoughts on the room in the castle, the secret room only he had ever found, the room, like the chamber, that you had to be clever and cunning and inquisitive to discover…He was confident that the boy would not find the diadem…although Dumbledore’s puppet had come much farther than he ever expected…too far…
“My Lord,” said a voice, desperate and cracked. He turned: there was Lucius Malfoy sitting in the darkest corner, ragged and still bearing the marks of the punishment he had received after the boy’s last escape. One of his eyes remained closed and puffy. “My Lord…please…my son…”
“If your son is dead, Lucius, it is not my fault. He did not come and join me, like the rest of the Slytherins. Perhaps he has decided to befriend Harry Potter?”
“No – never,” whispered Malfoy. “You must hope not.”
“Aren’t – aren’t you afraid, my Lord that Potter might die at another hand but yours?” asked Malfoy, his voice shaking. “Wouldn’t it be…forgive me…more prudent to call off this battle, enter the castle, and seek him y-yourself?”
“Do not pretend Lucius. You wish the battle to cease so that you can discover what has happened to your son. And I do not need to seek Potter. Before the night is out, Potter will have come to find me.”
Voldemort dropped his gaze once more to the wand in his fingers. It troubled him…and those things that troubled Lord Voldemort needed to be rearranged…“Go and fetch Snape.”
“Snape, m-my Lord?”
“Snape. Now. I need him. There is a – service – I require from him. Go.”
Frightened, stumbling a little through the gloom, Lucius left the room. Vodlemort continued to stand there, twirling the wand between his fingers, staring at it.
“It is the only way, Nagini,” he whispered, and he looked around, and there was the great thick snake, now suspended in midair, twisting gracefully within the enchanted, protected space he had made for her, a starry, transparent sphere somewhere between a glittering cage and a tank.
With a gasp, Harry pulled back and opened his yees at the same moment his ears were assaulted with the screeches and cries, the smashes and bangs of battle.
“He’s in the Shrieking Shack. The snake’s with him, it’s got some sort of magical protection around it. He’s just sent Lucius Malfoy to find Snape.”
“Voldemort’s sitting in the shrieking Shack?” said Hermione, outraged. “He’s not – he’s not even FIGHTING?”
“He doesn’t think he needs to fight,” said Harry. “He thinks I’m going to go to him.”
“But why?”
“He knows I’m after Horcruxes – he’s keeping Nagini close beside him – obviously I’m going to have to go to him to get near the thing–”
“Right,” said Ron, squaring his shoulders. “So you can’t go, that’s what he wants, what he’s expecting. You stay here and look after Hermione, and I’ll go and get it–” Harry cut across Ron.
“You two stay here, I’ll go under the Cloak and I’ll be back as soon as I–”
“No,” said Hermione,, “it makes much more sense if I take the Cloak and–”
“Don’t even think about it,” Ron snarled at her. before Hermione could get farther than “Ron, I’m just as capable – The tapestry at the top of the staircase on which they stood was ripped open.
“POTTER!”
Two masked Death Eaters stood there, but even before their wands were fully raised, Hermione shouted “Glisseo!”
The stairs beneath their feet flattened into a chute and she, Harry, and Ron hurtled down it, unable to control their speed but so fast that the Death Eaters’ Stunning Spells flew far over their heads. They shot through the concealing tapestry at the bottom and spun onto the floor, hitting the opposite wall.
“Duro!” cried Hermione, pointing her wand at the tapestry, and there were two loud, sickening crunches as the tapestry turned to stone and the Death Eaters pursuing them crumpled against it.
“Get back!” shouted Ron, and he, Harry, and Hermione hurled themselves against a door as a herd of galloping desks thundered past, shepherded by a sprinting Professor McGonagall. She appeared not to notice them. Her hair had come down and there was a gash on her cheek. As she turned the corner, they heard her scream,
“CHARGE!”
“Harry, you get the Cloak on,” said Hermione. “Never mind us–”
But he threw it over all three of them; large though they were he doubted anyone would see their disembodied feet through the dust that clogged the air, the falling stone, the shimmer of spells. they ran down the next staircase and found themselves in a corridor full of duelers. The portraits on either side of the fighters were crammed with figures screaming advice and encouragement, while Death Eaters, both masked and unmasked, dueled students and teachers. Dean had won himself a wand, for he was face-to-face with Dolohov, Parvati with Travers. Harry, Ron and Hermione raised their wands at once, ready to strike, but the duelers were weaving and darting so much that there was a strong likelihood of hurting on of their own side if they cast curses. Even as they stood braced, looking for the opportunity to act, there came a great “Wheeeeee!” and looking up, Harry saw Peeves zooming over them, dropping Snargaluff pods down onto the Death Eaters, whose heads were suddenly engulfed in wriggling green tubers like fat worms.
“ARGH!”
A fistful of tubers had hit the Cloak over Ron’s head; the damp green roots were suspended improbably in midair as Ron tried to shake them loose.
“Someone’s invisible there!” shouted a masked Death Eater, pointing.
Dean made the most of the Death Eater’s momentary distraction, knocking him out with a stunning Spell; Dolohov attempted to retaliate, and Parvati shot a Body Bind Curse at him. “LET’S GO!” Harry yelled, and he, Ron, and Hermione gathered the Cloak tightly around themselves and pelted, heads down, through the midst of the fighters, slipping a little in pools of Snargaluff juice, toward the top of the marble staircase into the entrance hall.
“I’m Draco Malfoy, I’m Draco, I’m on your side!” Draco was on the upper landing, pleading with another masked Death Eater. Harry Stunned the Death Eater as they passed. Malfoy looked around, beaming, for his savior, and Ron punched him from under the Cloak. Malfoy fell backward on top of the Death Eater, his mouth bleeding, utterly bemused.
“And that’s the second time we’ve saved your life tonight, you two-faced bastard!” Ron yelled.
There were more duelers all over the stairs and in the hall. Death Eaters everywhere Harry looked: Yaxley, close to the front doors, in combat with Flitwick, a masked Death Eater dueling Kingsley right beside them. Students ran in every direction; some carrying or dragging injured friends. Harry directed a Stunning Spell toward the masked Death Eater; it missed but nearly hit Neville, who had emerged from nowhere brandishing armfuls of Venomous Tentacula, which looped itself happily around the nearest Death Eater and began reeling him in.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione sped won the marble staircase: glass shattered on the left, and the Slytherin hourglass that had recorded House points spilled its emeralds everywhere, so that people slipped and staggered as they ran. Two bodies fell from the balcony overhead as they reached the ground a gray blur that Harry took for an animal sped four-legged across the hall to sink its teeth into one of the fallen.
“NO!” shrieked Hermione, and with a deafening blast from her wand, Fenrir Greyback was thrown backward from the feebly struggling body of Lavender Brown. He hit the marble banisters and struggled to return to his feet. Then, with a bright white flash and a crack, a crystal ball fell on top of his head, and he crumpled to the ground and did not move.
“I have more!” shrieked Professor Trelawney from over the banisters. “More for any who want them! Here–” And with a move like a tennis serve, she heaved another enormous crystal sphere from her bag, waved her wand through the air, and caused the ball to speed across the hall and smash through a window. At the same moment, the heavy wooden front doors burst open, and more of the gigantic spiders forced their way into the front hall.
Screams of terror rent the air: the fighters scattered, Death Eaters and Hogwartians alike, and red and green jets of light flew into the midst of the oncoming monsters, which shuddered and reared, more terrifying than ever.
“How do we get out?” yelled Ron over all the screaming, but before either Harry or Hermione could answer they were bowled aside; Hagrid had come thundering down the stairs, brandishing his flowery pink umbrella.
“Don’t hurt ‘em, don’t hurt ‘em!” he yelled.
“HAGRID, NO!”
Harry forgot everything else: he sprinted out from under the cloak, running bent double to avoid the curses illuminating the whole hall.
“HAGRID, COME BACK!”
But he was not even halfway to Hagrid when he saw it happen: Hagrid vanished amongst the spiders, and with a great scurrying, a foul swarming movement, they retreated under the onslaught of spells, Hagrid buried in their midst.
“HAGRID!” Harry heard someone calling his own name, whether friend or foe he did not care: He was springing down the front steps into the dark grounds, and the spiders were swarming away with their prey, and he could see nothing of Hagrid at all.
“HAGRID!”
He thought he could make out an enormous arm waving from the midst of the spider swarm, but as he made to chase after them, his way was impeded by a monumental foot, which swung down out of the darkness and made the ground on which he stood shudder. He looked up: A giant stood before him, twenty feet high, its head hidden in shadow, nothing but its treelike, hairy shins illuminated by light from the castle doors. With one brutal, fluid movement, it smashed a massive fist through an upper window, and glass rained down upon Harry, forcing him back under the shelter of the doorway.
“Oh my–!” shrieked Hermione, as she and Ron caught up with Harry and gazed upward at the giant now trying to seize people through the window above.
“DON’T!” Ron yelled, grabbing Hermione’s hand as she raised her wand. “Stun him and he’ll crush half the castle–”
“HAGGER?”
Grawp came lurching around the corner of the castle; only now did Harry realize that Grawp was, indeed, an undersized giant. The gargantuan monster trying to crush people on the upper floors turned around and let out a roar. The stone steps trembled as he stomped toward his smaller kin, and Grawp’s lopsided mouth fell open, showing yellow, half brick-sized teeth; and then they launched themselves at each other with the savagery of lions.
“RUN!” Harry roared; the night was full of hideous yells and blows as the giants wrestled, and he seized Hermione’s hand and tore down the steps into the grounds, Ron bringing up the rear. Harry had not lost hope of finding and saving Hagrid; he ran so fast that they were halfway toward the forest before they were brought up short again.
The air around them had frozen: Harry’s breath caught and solidified in his chest. Shapes moved out in the darkness, swirling figures of concentrated blackness, moving in a great wave towards the castles, their faces hooded and their breath rattling…
Ron and Hermione closed in beside him as the sounds of fighting behind them grew suddenly muted, deadened, because a silence only dementors could bring was falling thickly through the night, and Fred was gone, and Hagrid was surely dying or already dead…
“Come on, Harry!” said Hermione’s voice from a very long way away.
“Patronuses, Harry, come on!”
He raised his wand, but a dull hopelessness was spreading throughout him: How many more lay dead that he did not yet know about? He felt as though his soul had already half left his body….
“HARRY, COME ON!” screamed Hermione.
A hundred dementors were advancing, gliding toward them, sucking their way closer to Harry’s despair, which was like a promise of a feast…
He saw Ron’s silver terrier burst into the air, flicker feebly, and expire; he saw Hermione’s otter twist in midair and fade, and his own wand trembled in his hand, and he almost welcomed the oncoming oblivion, the promise of nothing, of no feeling…
And then a silver hare, a boar, and fox soared past Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s heads: the dementors fell back before the creatures’ approach. Three more people had arrived out of the darkness to stand beside them, their wands outstretched, continuing to cast Patronuses: Luna, Ernie, and Seamus.
“That’s right,” said Luna encouragingly, as if they were back in the Room of Requirement and this was simply spell practice for the D.A. “That’s right, Harry…come on think of something happy…”
“Something happy?” he said, his voice cracked.
“We’re all still here,” she whispered, “we're still fighting. Come on, now….”
There was a silver spark, then a wavering light, and then, with the greatest effort it had ever cost him the stag burst from the end of Harry’s wand. It cantered forward, and now the dementors scattered in earnest, and immediately the night was mild again, but the sounds of the surrounding battle were loud in his ears.
“Can’t thank you enough,” said Ron shakily, turning to Luna, Ernie, and Seamus “you just saved–”
With a roar and an earth-quaking tremor, another giant came lurching out of the darkness from the direction of the forest, brandishing a club taller than any of them.
“RUN!” Harry shouted again, but the others needed no telling; They all scattered, and not a second too soon, for the next moment the creature’s vast foot had fallen exactly where they had been standing. Harry looked round: Ron and Hermione were following him, but the other three had vanished back into the battle. “Let’s get out of range!” yelled Ron as the giant swung its club again and its bellows echoed through the night, across the grounds where bursts of red and green light continued to illuminate the darkness.
“The Whomping willow,” said Harry, “go!” Somehow he walled it all up in his mind, crammed it into a small space into which he could not look now: thoughts of Fred and Hagrid, and his terror for all the people he loved, scattered in and outside the castle, must all wait, because they had to run, had to reach the snake and Voldemort, because that was, as Hermione said, the only way to end it – 
He sprinted, half-believing he could outdistance death itself, ignoring the jets of light flying in the darkness all around him, and the sound of the lake crashing like the sea, and the creaking of the Forbidden Forest though the night was windless; through grounds that seemed themselves to have risen in rebellion, he ran faster than he had ever moved in his life, and it was he who saw the great tree first, the Willow that protected the secret at its roots with whiplike, slashing branches. Panting and gasping, Harry slowed down, skirting the willow’s swiping branches, peering through the darkness toward its tick trunk, trying to see the single knot in the bark of the old tree that would paralyze it. Ron and Hermione caught up, Hermione so out of breath that she could not speak.
“How – how’re we going to get in?” panted Ron. “I can – see the place – if we just had – Crookshanks again –”
“Crookshanks?” wheezed Hermione, bent double, clutching her chest. “Are you a wizard, or what?”
“Oh – right – yeah –”
Ron looked around, then directed his wand at a twig on the ground and said “Winguardium Leviosa!” The twig flew up from the ground, spun through the air as if caught by a gust of wind, then zoomed directly at the trunk through the Willow’s ominously swaying branches. It jabbed at a place near the roots, and at once, the writhing tree became still. “Perfect!” panted Hermione. “Wait.”
For one teetering second, while the crashes and booms of the battle filled the air, Harry hesitated. Voldemort wanted him to do this, wanted him to come…Was he leading Ron and Hermione into a trap? But the reality seemed to close upon him, cruel and plain: the only way forward was to kill the snake, and the snake was where Voldemort was, and Voldemort was at the end of this tunnel…
“Harry, we’re coming, just get in there!” said Ron, pushing him forward.
Harry wriggled into the earthy passage hidden in the tree’s roots.
It was a much tighter squeeze than it had been the last time they had entered it. The tunnel was low-ceilinged: they had had to double up to move through it nearly four years previously; now there was nothing for it but to crawl. Harry went first, his wand illuminated, expecting at any moment to meet barriers, but none came. They moved in silence, Harry’s gaze fixed upon the swinging beam of the wand held in his fist. At last, the tunnel began to slope upward and Harry saw a sliver of light ahead. Hermione tugged at his ankle.
“The Cloak!” she whispered. “Put the Cloak on!”
He groped behind him and she forced the bundle of slippery cloth into his free hand. With difficulty he dragged it over himself, murmured, “Nox,” extinguishing his wandlight, and continued on his hands and knees, as silently as possible, all his senses straining, expecting every second to be discovered, to hear a cold clear voice, see a flash of green light.
 
And then he heard voices coming from the room directly ahead of them, only slightly muffled by the fact that the opening at the end of the tunnel had been blocked up by what looked like an old crate. Hardly daring to breathe, Harry edged right up tot he opening and peered through a tiny gap left between crate and wall.
The room beyond was dimly lit, but he could see Nagini, swirling and coiling like a serpent underwater, safe in her enchanted, starry sphere, which floated unsupported in midair. He could see the edge of a table, and a long-fingered white hand toying with a wand.
Then Snape spoke, and Harry’s heart lurched: Snape was inches away from where he crouched, hidden.
“…my Lord, their resistance is crumbling –”
“– and it is doing so without your help,” said Voldemort in his high, clear voice. “Skilled wizard though you are, Severus, I do not think you will make much difference now. We are almost there…almost.”
“Let me find the boy. Let me bring you Potter. I know I can find him, my Lord. Please.”
Snape strode past the gap, and Harry drew back a little, keeping his eyes fixed upon Nagini, wondering whether there was any spell that might penetrate the protection surrounding her, but he could not think of anything. One failed attempt, and he would give away his position…
Voldemort stood up. Harry could see him now, see the red eyes, the flattened, serpentine face, the pallor of him gleaming slightly in the semidarkness.
“I have a problem, Severus,” said Voldemort softly.
“My Lord?” said Snape.
Voldemort raised the Elder Wand, holding it as delicately and precisely as a conductor’s baton.
“Why doesn’t it work for me, Severus?”
In the silence Harry imagined he could hear the snake hissing slightly as it coiled and uncoiled–or was it Voldemort’s sibilant sigh lingering on the air?
“My – my lord?” said Snape blankly. “I do not understand. You – you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand.”
“No,” said Voldemort. “I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary, but this wand…no. It has not revealed the wonders it has promised. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander all those years ago.”
Voldemort’s tone was musing, calm, but Harry’s scar had begun to throb and pulse: Pain was building in his forehead, and he could feel that controlled sense of fury building inside Voldemort.
“No difference,” said Voldemort again.
Snape did not speak. Harry could not see his face. He wondered whether Snape sensed danger, was trying to find the right words to reassure his master.
Voldemort started to move around the room: Harry lost sight of him for seconds as he prowled, speaking in that same measured voice, while the pain and fury mounted in Harry.
“I have thought long and hard, Severus…do you know why I have called you back from battle?”
And for a moment Harry saw Snape’s profile. His eyes were fixed upon the coiling snake in its enchanted cage.
“No, my Lord, but I beg you will let me return. Let me find Potter.”
“You sound like Lucius. Neither of you understands Potter as I do. He does not need finding. Potter will come to me. I knew his weakness you see, his one great flaw. He will hate watching the others struck down around him, knowing that it is for him that it happens. He will want to stop it at any cost. He will come.”
“But my Lord, he might be killed accidentally by someone other than yourself–”
“My instructions to the Death Eaters have been perfectly clear. Capture Potter. Kill his friends – the more, the better – but do not kill him.”
“But it is of you that I wished to speak, Severus, not Harry Potter. You have been very valuable to me. Very valuable.”
“My Lord knows I seek only to serve him. But – let me go and find the boy, my Lord. Let me bring him to you. I know I can –”
“I have told you, no!” said Voldemort, and Harry caught the glint of red in his eyes as he turned again, and the swishing of his cloak was like the slithering of a snake, and he felt Voldemort’s impatience in his burning scar. “My concern at the moment, Severus, is what will happen when I finally meet the boy!”
“My Lord, there can be no question, surely –?”
“– but there is a question, Severus. There is.”
Voldemort halted, and Harry could see him plainly again as he slid the Elder Wand through his white fingers, staring at Snape.
“Why did both the wands I have used fail when directed at Harry Potter?”
“I – I cannot answer that, my Lord.”
“Can’t you?”
The stab of rage felt like a spike driven through Harry’s head: he forced his own fist into his mouth to stop himself from crying out in pain. He closed his eyes, and suddenly he was Voldemort, looking into Snape’s pale face.
“My wand of yew did everything of which I asked it, Severus, except to kill Harry Potter. Twice it failed. Ollivander told me under torture of the twin cores, told me to take another’s wand. I did so, but Lucius’s wand shattered upon meeting Potter’s.”
“I – I have no explanation, my Lord.”
Snape was not looking at Voldemort now. His dark eyes were still fixed upon the coiling serpent in its protective sphere.
“I sought a third wand, Severus. the Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore.”
And now Snape looked at Voldemort, and Snape’s face was like a death mask. it was marble white and so still that when he spoke, it was a shock to see that anyone lived behind the blank eyes.
“My Lord – let me go to the boy –”
“All this long night when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here,” said Voldemort, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “wondering, wondering, why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for its rightful owner…and I think I have the answer.”
Snape did not speak.
“Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen.”
“My Lord–”
“The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot truly be mine.”
“My Lord!” Snape protested, raising his wand.
“It cannot be any other way,” said Voldemort. “I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last.”
And Voldemort swiped the air with the Elder Wand. It did nothing to Snape, who for a split second seemed to think he had been reprieved: but then Voldemort’s intention became clear. The snake’s cage was rolling through the air, and before Snape could do anything more than yell, it had encased him, head and shoulders, and Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue.
“Kill.”
There was a terrible scream. Harry saw Snape’s face losing the little color it had left; it whitened as his black eyes widened, as the snake’s fangs pierced his neck, as he failed to push the enchanted cage off himself, as his knees gave way and he fell to the floor.
“I regret it,” said Voldemort coldly.
He turned away; there was no sadness in him, no remorse. It was time to leave this shack and take charge, with a wand that would now do his full bidding. He pointed it at the starry cage holding the snake, which drifted upward, off Snape, who fell sideways onto the floor, blood gushing from the wounds in his neck. Voldemort swept from the room without a backward glance, and the great serpent floated after him in its huge protective sphere.
 
Back in the tunnel and his own mind, Harry opened his eyes; He had drawn blood biting down on his knuckles in an effort not to shout out. Now he was looking through the tiny crack between crate and wall, watching a foot in a black boot trembling on the floor.
“Harry!” breathed Hermione behind him, but he had already pointed his wand at the crate blocking his view. It lifted an inch into the air and drifted sideways silently. As quietly as he could, he pulled himself up into the room.
He did not know why he was doing it, why he was approaching the dying man: he did not know what he felt as he saw Snape’s white face, and the fingers trying to staunch the bloody wound at his neck. Harry took off the invisibility cloak and looked down upon the man he hated, whose widening black eyes found Harry as he cried to speak. Harry bent over him, and Snape seized the front of his robes and pulled him close.
A terrible rasping, gurgling noise issued from Snape’s throat.
“Take…it…Take…it…”
Something more than blood was leaking from Snape. Silvery blue, neither gas nor liquid, it gushed form his mouth and his ears and his eyes, and Harry knew what it was, but did not know what to do – A flask, conjured from thin air, was thrust into his shaking hand by Hermione. Harry lifted the silvery substance into it with his wand. When the flask was full to the brim, and Snape looked as though there was no blood left in him, his grip on Harry’s robes slackened.
“Look…at….me…” he whispered.
The green eyes found the black, but after a second, something in the depths of the dark pari seemed to vanish, leaving them fixed, blank, and empty. The hand holding Harry thudded to the floor, and Snape moved no more.
世界已经完了，否则为什么这场战斗还没有停止?城堡在一片惊恐中沉寂，每个决斗者都放下了他们的武器吗？ 
　　哈利的思路在下沉，不受控制地乱转，无法相信这不可能发生的事，因为弗雷德·韦斯莱是不会死的，他看到的那些一定是幻像—— 
　　紧接着，一个身影穿过学校一侧炸开的洞口掉了下来，从阴暗处冒出来许多咒语飞向他们，击在他们脑袋后面的墙上。“趴下！”哈利喊道，更多的咒语从黑暗中飞过。他和罗恩两人拽过赫敏把她推倒在地板上，可珀西却压在弗雷德的尸体上，不想让他受更多伤害，哈利吼道“珀西，快过来，我们必须离开这里！”他摇了摇头。 
　　“珀西！”哈利看到罗恩抓住他大哥的肩膀把他拖起来，布满灰尘的脸上带着泪痕，但是珀西没有动，“珀西，你帮不了他！我们要——” 
　　赫敏尖叫起来，哈利转过身，不需要问为什么了。一只像一辆小汽车那么大的巨型蜘蛛正试图从墙上的大洞中爬进来。阿拉戈克的一个后裔已经加入了这场战斗。 
　　罗恩和哈利一起大声吼着，他们的咒语打在那怪物身上，把它击退了一步，它的长脚用可怕的速度移动着，消失在黑暗之中。 
　　“它还带来了同伴！”哈利从墙上被咒语炸出来的洞向城堡边缘看了一眼，对其他人说。更多巨蜘蛛从禁林中解放出来，沿着楼一侧爬上来，爬进肯定被食死徒入侵的地方。哈利往下向它们发射昏迷咒，把领头的怪物撞到它的同伴中间，它们摇晃着掉下楼消失不见了。接着更多咒语射来飞向哈利的头顶，险险地擦过，他感到它们的力量吹动了他的头发。 
　　“我们走，现在！” 
　　哈利把赫敏推到他和罗恩的前面，弯腰把弗雷德的尸体夹在腋下。珀西意识到了哈利的举动，不再紧贴着尸体，过来帮忙：他们一起蹲下贴近地面来躲避飞向他们的咒语，一边把弗雷德的尸体拖到不显眼的地方。 
　　“这里，”哈利说，他们把他安放在原先站着套盔甲的一个凹陷处。他不忍再多看弗雷德一眼，确保他的尸体已经被藏好后，他跟在罗恩和赫敏身后离开了。马尔福和高尔已经消失在走廊尽头，现在那里遍布着灰尘和掉落的石头，还有大块的窗玻璃，他看见许多人跑着向他们这边后退，无法辨认是朋友还是敌人。绕过墙角，珀西发出一声像公牛般的吼叫：“卢克伍德！”，便向一个正在追几个学生的高大男子疾步跑去。 
　　“哈利，到这儿来！”赫敏尖声叫道。 
　　她刚把罗恩推到一副挂毯后面。他们似乎扭打在一起，有那么疯狂的一秒钟，哈利还以为他们又拥抱了，随后他看到赫敏试图阻止罗恩，不让他跟在珀西后面跑过去。 
　　“听我说——听着，罗恩！” 
　　“我要去帮忙——我要杀了食死徒——” 
　　他那沾上了尘土和灰的脸扭曲着，既愤怒又悲伤地不停地颤抖。 
　　“罗恩，我们是唯一可以停止这一切的人！拜托——罗恩，我们需要那条蛇，我们必须去杀死那条蛇！”赫敏说道。 
　　但是哈利明白罗恩是什么感觉：追击另一个魂器不能满足他的复仇欲望，他太想投入战斗了，去惩罚那个杀了弗雷德的人，他还想找到其他韦斯莱家的人，而最重要的是，确认，彻底确认，金妮没有——他不允许脑子里出现那个念头—— 
　　“我们会去战斗！”赫敏说，“我们也必须找到那条蛇！但是我们不能忘了我们被要求去做的事！我们是唯一可以停止这一切的人！” 
　　她哭的太伤心了，一边用自己烧焦的破袖子擦掉脸上的眼泪像是要说话，却只是深深地吸了口气使自己冷静下来，仍然紧紧抓着罗恩，然后她转向哈利。“你需要找到伏地魔在哪里，他肯定会带着那条蛇，不是吗？这么做，哈利——进入他的大脑！”为什么这次那么容易？是因为他那灼烧了几个小时的伤疤渴望着向他展示伏地魔的思想吗？他听从她的命令，闭上眼，接着立刻，尖叫声和巨响声，还有所有战争中的不和谐的声音被淹没了，直到变得遥远了，就像他站在离它们很远很远的地方一样…… 
　　他正站在一个空荡荡的，却又异常熟悉的房间中央，四壁上带着剥落的墙纸，除了一扇窗户外其余都被钉上了木板。城堡内的袭击声像被盖住了隔得很远。那扇没被钉上的窗子里显示出远处城堡那儿发出的光亮，但是这个房间里却是一片黑暗，仅有一盏油灯。 
　　他正用手指摆弄着魔杖，一边注视着它，他人在这儿心却在城堡，这个秘密的房间只是他刚发现的，像是间旧寝室，你得够聪明，够狡猾，有好奇心才能找到它……他自信那男孩不会找到这个王冠……尽管邓布利多的傀儡比他所料想的要走得更远……太远了…… 
　　“主人，”一个嘶哑的声音不顾一切地说道。他转过来：卢修斯·马尔福坐在屋子最阴暗的角落里，衣衫褴褛，依旧带着他上一次得知那个男孩逃走后惩罚他的痕迹。一只眼睛还肿得张不开。“主人……求求您……我儿子……” 
　　“如果你的儿子死了，卢修斯，那不是我的错。他没有像剩下的斯莱特林一样来加入我。也许他决定和哈利·波特做朋友了？” 
　　“不会——绝不会。”马尔福低声说。 
　　“你最好希望他不会。” 
　　“主人，您——您不怕波特可能死在另一个人而不是您的手上吗？”马尔福问道，他的声音颤抖着。“会不会……请原谅……停止这场战斗会更谨慎些，然后您——您亲自到城堡去找他？” 
　　“别装了，卢修斯。你当然希望战斗停止后可以去看看你儿子怎么样了。但是我不需要去找波特。今晚之前，波特会不得不自己来找我的。” 
　　伏地魔的目光再次落到指间的那根魔杖上。它困扰着他……那些困扰着伏地魔的事情都需要好好整理一遍…… 
　　“去把斯内普带来。” 
　　“斯内普，主——主人？” 
　　“斯内普。现在。我需要他。我需要他的——一个——帮助。快去。” 
　　卢修斯害怕地，有点趔趄地穿过黑暗，离开了房间。伏地魔继续站在那儿，转动着指间的魔杖，他盯着它。 
　　“只有这一条路，纳尼吉，”他轻声说，环视了一下四周，一条又粗又大的蛇正悬浮在半空，在他为她施了魔法保护的空间里--------一个大小介于发光的笼子和水池间的、布满星星的、透明的球体，优雅地盘旋着。 
　　哈利喘着气回到了现实中，张开了眼睛，在同一时间，战斗的尖叫和哭喊声，碎裂和重击声冲击着他的耳朵。 
　　“他在尖叫棚屋。那条蛇和他在一起，被某种魔法保护包围着。他刚刚派卢修斯·马尔福去找斯内普了。” 
　　“伏地魔待在尖叫棚屋里？”赫敏用被侮辱的口气说，“他没有——他居然没有去战斗？” 
　　“他认为他没有必要参战，”哈利说，“他觉得我会去找他的。” 
　　“可是为什么呢？” 
　　“他知道我在找下一个魂器——他把纳尼吉放在身边很近的地方——很明显我要得到他近旁的东西就不得不去找他。” 
　　“没错，”罗恩挺了挺肩膀说，“他就是这么想的，现在正这样期待着，所以你不能去。你待在这儿照顾赫敏，我去抓住它——” 
　　哈利拦住罗恩。 
　　“你们两个待在这儿，我穿着隐形衣去，然后尽快回来——” 
　　“不，”赫敏说，“我穿着隐形衣去会更好，然后——” 
　　“想都别想，” 在赫敏进一步想说什么之前罗恩对她吼道。 
　　“罗恩，我有这个能力——”正在这时他们站着的楼梯顶上的挂毯被撕开了。 
　　“波特！” 
　　两个戴着面具的食死徒站在那儿，然而在他们的魔杖还没举得够高前，赫敏叫道，“滑道立现！” 
　　他们脚下的台阶变成了平滑的斜道，接着她、哈利和罗恩都从上面快速滑了下去，速度快得无法控制，以至于食死徒的昏迷咒从他们头顶上空很远的地方飞了过去。他们像子弹似的穿过那条遮蔽他们的挂毯，旋转着降落在地板上，然后撞到了对面的墙。 
　　“石化！”赫敏用魔杖指着挂毯喊道，只听嘎吱嘎吱地响了两声，那挂毯随即变成了石头，压在了追击他们的食死徒身上。 
　　“回来！”罗恩喊道，然后他、哈利和赫敏靠着一扇门卧倒，一边看到飞奔的麦格教授引着一大堆书桌轰隆隆地快速飞了过去。看起来她没有注意到他们，头发披散开来，脸颊上还有一个很深的伤口。当她拐过角落时，他们听到她尖叫道：“冲啊！” 
　　“哈利，你穿上隐形衣，”赫敏说，“别管我们——” 
　　但是他把隐形衣罩在了他们三个身上，尽管他们太大了，但他怀疑没人能通过遍布灰尘的空气、掉下来的石头和咒语发出的微光看到他们那没有身体的脚。 
　　他们跑下另一层楼梯，发现自己来到了一个充满了决斗者的走廊里。当两个戴了面具的食死徒与没戴面具的教师和学生决斗时，不管哪一边的战士旁的肖像画里都挤满了人，尖叫着出主意和给予鼓励。迪安和多洛霍夫面对面，他已经给自己赢得了一根魔杖，帕瓦蒂对着特莱维尔。哈利、罗恩和赫敏立刻举起了他们的魔杖，准备战斗，但是来回奔跑着的决斗者太多了，如果他们发射咒语的话，会有很大可能伤到自己人。正当他们站着不动，找机会攻击时，传来响亮的一声“啊啊啊啊啊！”哈利抬头看去，皮皮鬼正急速上升着，把疙瘩藤的荚果丢到食死徒的头上，他们的脑袋立刻被像肥胖的毛毛虫似的蠕动着的绿色小疙瘩吞没了。 
　　“嗷！” 
　　一小撮疙瘩击中了隐形衣底下的罗恩的脑袋，罗恩试图抖落它们，粘糊糊的绿色的根须显得似乎不太可能地悬挂在半空中。 
　　“有人隐身在那里！”一个戴面具的食死徒指着叫道。 
　　但是迪安让大多数食死徒在那一瞬间分心了，他们正向他发射着昏迷咒，多洛霍夫企图报复，帕瓦蒂对他施了一个束缚咒。 
　　“我们走！”哈利叫道，随后他、罗恩和赫敏顶着紧紧包裹着他们的隐形衣，或上或下地在战士们中间穿梭，经过一滩疙瘩藤的汁液时滑了一下，爬上大理石楼梯的顶部来到门厅里。 
　　“我是德拉科·马尔福，我是德拉科，我是你们那边的人！” 
　　德拉科在上面的平台上，向另一个戴面具的食死徒恳求。哈利在他们经过的时候击晕了那个食死徒：马尔福惊喜地看向四周，找着他的救星，罗恩隔着隐形衣戳了他一下。马尔福退了一步倒在了那个食死徒身上，嘴流着血，目瞪口呆。 
　　“这是我们今天晚上第二次救了你的命了，你这个两面派的家伙！”罗恩叫道。 
　　楼梯上和大厅里出现了更多的决斗者，哈利到处都看到食死徒：前门附近是亚克斯利，正和弗立维战斗，他们右边是金斯莱和一个戴面具的食死徒。学生们朝各个方向跑去，一些还扶着或拖着受伤的朋友。哈利对那个戴面具的食死徒发了个昏迷咒，没打到，反而差点击中纳威，他正出现每个角落挥舞着丢出大把的毒触手，它们开心地爬向最近的食死徒，开始盘绕在他身上。 
　　哈利、罗恩和赫敏迅速爬下了大理石楼梯，在他们左边，斯莱特林沙漏的玻璃粉碎，记录学院分数的绿宝石洒得到处都是，以至于人们跑过的时候都连滚带爬的。来到地面时两个身影从他们头顶上方的阳台上掉了下来，哈利感觉一个像动物似的灰扑扑的东西用四肢飞快地穿过大厅，把牙齿深深地扎进其中一个掉下来的人身上。 
　　“不！”赫敏尖声叫道，随着她魔杖里发出一阵震耳欲聋的爆炸声，芬里尔·格雷伯克从拉文德·布朗无力动弹的身体上被向后击飞了出去，撞到大理石栏杆上，挣扎着想站起来。然后，随着一道明亮的白光闪过，啪地一声，一个水晶球掉在了他的头上，把他砸倒在地上，不动了。 
　　“我还有很多！”特里劳妮教授从栏杆上方尖声喊道，“有谁想要都可以！这儿——” 
　　过了一会儿，就像是发网球似的，她从包里拿出一个巨大的水晶球，在空中挥了挥魔杖，那个球急速穿过大厅，打碎了一扇窗户。同一时间，木制的笨重的前门被炸开，许多巨蜘蛛用武力开路，爬进了门厅。 
　　恐惧的尖叫声撕裂了空气，决斗者们都散开了，不管是食死徒还是霍格沃兹的人，都朝逼近的怪物们身上发射或红或绿的光，它们颤抖着立起来，显得从未有过的可怕。 
　　“我们怎么出去？”罗恩盖过所有的尖叫声喊道，然而，在哈利或赫敏能够回答之前，他们都被挤到一边：海格走下阶梯，发出雷鸣般的巨响，挥舞着他那把粉红色的花伞。 
　　“别伤害他们，别伤害他们！”他大声叫道。 
　　“海格，不！” 
　　哈利忘记了一切，飞快地从隐形衣下面跑出来，弯下半个身子奔跑着，避开那些照亮了整个大厅的咒语。 
　　“海格，回来！” 
　　他甚至还没有跑到一半，就看到了所发生的事，海格在蜘蛛中间消失了，随着一个大转弯，一阵恶心的爬动，它们在咒语的冲击下撤退了，海格被掩在它们中间。 
　　“海格！” 
　　哈利听到有人在叫他的名字，不关心是朋友还是敌人，他飞也似的跑下前面的台阶来到昏暗的场地上，随后蜘蛛带着它们掠夺来的牺牲品蜂拥出来，哈利根本没有看到海格的任何踪迹。 
　　“海格！” 
　　 
　　他觉得他认出了在蜘蛛群中摆动着的一只巨大手臂，然而当他试图去追赶它们的时候，却被从黑暗中晃动着走了出来的，一只印象深刻的大脚挡住了去路，他站着的大地正抖动着。他抬头看去：一个巨人站在他面前，二十英尺高，脑袋隐在了城堡大门的阴影里。在城堡内亮光的照耀下，可以看到那长满了毛发、像树一样的胫骨。它挥动着一只结实的拳头打碎了上面的一扇窗户，碎玻璃像雨一样洒向哈利，迫使他退回门口的遮蔽处。 
　　“哦，我的——！”赫敏尖叫道，她和罗恩刚追上哈利，抬头盯着那个正试图通过上方那扇窗户抓人的巨人。 
　　“不要！”罗恩喊道，拉住赫敏正举起魔杖的手，“如果击昏他，他会压塌半座城堡——” 
　　“哈格？” 
　　格洛普在城堡的一角徘徊，哈利现在才明白格洛普完全只是一个还年幼的巨人。这个庞大的怪物发出了一声咆哮，试图把在上面几层张望的人群碾碎。他对那些小得多的同类跺了跺脚，石头地板抖了几抖，格洛普那歪斜的嘴巴向下咧着，露出半块砖头般大小的黄牙，于是他们像充满野性的狮子那样准备采取行动了。 
　　“跑！”哈利吼道，这个夜里充满着恐惧的尖叫和好似巨人格斗般发出的风声，他抓着赫敏的手飞奔着冲下台阶来到场地上，罗恩随后跟着。哈利还没有放弃发现和拯救海格的希望，他跑得那样快，以至他们刚到达后很快就已经跑在通向林子的路上了。 
　　他们周围的空气冷了下来，哈利吸进去的空气在胸腔里凝结了。黑暗中出现了几个影子，漆黑的身形旋转着，成群结队地向城堡方向飘去，它们的脸上罩着兜帽，呼吸声格格作响…… 
　　罗恩和赫敏站在他附近，他们身后的战斗声突然变弱，完全消失了，因为一种只有摄魂怪才能带来的寂静降临了，厚厚地包围了整个夜空…… 
　　“快，哈利！”是赫敏的声音，好像是从很远的地方传来，“守护神咒，哈利，快！” 
　　他举起魔杖，然而一种充满阴暗的绝望在他的身上散播开来：弗雷德走了，海格也确实奄奄一息或者已经死了，还有更多他不知道的人在垂死挣扎，他感到他的灵魂似乎也已有一半离开了身体…… 
　　“哈利，快！”赫敏尖叫道。 
　　一百多个摄魂怪在前进，向他们这里滑行，一路吸收着快乐接近哈利，把绝望带给他，就像答应带他赴一场盛宴…… 
　　他看见罗恩银色的猎狗在空中突然出现，微弱地闪了闪，然后消失不见；他看见赫敏银色的水獭在半空中扭动，变淡了，还有他自己的魔杖在手中颤抖，他几乎要迎接这即将到来的湮没，什么都不必承诺，什么都感觉不到…… 
　　接着，一只银色的野兔、一只野猪、一只狐狸从哈利、罗恩和赫敏的脑袋旁飞过，摄魂怪在这些动物逼近前退却了。又有三个人从黑暗中出现站到他们身边，他们伸出魔杖，继续发出他们的守护神，是卢娜、厄尼和西莫。 
　　“对，”卢娜鼓励地说，好像他们又回到了有求必应屋，这只是D·A的一次咒语练习。“就是这样，哈利……快，想想高兴的事……” 
　　“高兴的事？”哈利说，声音是嘶哑的。 
　　“我们都还在这儿，”她低声说，“我们仍然在战斗。快，现在……” 
　　有一阵银色的火花，然后是一道摇曳的光芒，再接下来，凭着从未有过的努力，那只牡鹿突然从哈利的魔杖中出现。它向前慢跑着，摄魂怪纷纷散开，立刻，淡淡的夜幕又回来了，而周围战斗的声音也在他的耳朵里变得更响。 
　　“真是感激不尽，”罗恩转向卢娜、厄尼和西莫，虚弱地说，“你们刚刚救了——” 
　　随着一声咆哮，一阵地震般的抖动，另一个巨人从禁林方向的黑暗里蹒跚着走出来，挥舞着一根比他们任何一个人都要高的棍子。 
　　“跑！”哈利再次叫道，不过其他人已经不需要告诉，都分散了开来，还不到一秒钟，下一刻那个生物巨大的脚已经结实地踩到了他们刚刚站着的地方。哈利看看周围，罗恩和赫敏跟在他后面，其他三人重新投入战斗，消失不见了。 
　　“我们离他远一点！”罗恩喊道，这时巨人又挥舞着棍子，发出的气流声在夜空中回荡，他走了过去，所经之处仍爆发着红绿光芒。 
　　“打人柳那里！”哈利说道，“快走！” 
　　不知何故，他的思想被彻底包围，充斥着他现在无法看清的一个小空间，关于弗雷德和海格的思考，对所有他爱的人的担忧，城堡内外的生离死别……都被驱散了。因为他们必须奔跑，必须到那条蛇、还有伏地魔那里去，因为正如赫敏所说的，这是可以停止一切的唯一方法—— 
　　他急速跑着，差不多有一半相信自己已把死亡抛在身后，不再理会周围正飞向黑暗的大束光芒。发出碰撞声的湖就像大海一样，尽管无风的夜晚，禁林也在嘎吱作响，穿过似乎要自动投入战斗的场地，哈利用一生中最快的速度奔跑着，最先看见了那棵大树——打人柳用像鞭子一样挥着的枝条保护着它根部的秘密。 
　　哈利气喘吁吁地放慢了速度，绕着打人柳用力抽打着的枝条走，透过黑暗向它粗壮的树干看去，试着寻找这棵老树的上那唯一可以让它瘫痪的节疤。罗恩和赫敏赶了上来，赫敏喘得根本说不出话。 
　　“怎么——我们要怎么进去？”罗恩指着它说，“我可以——看到那个地方——如果我们——能再让克鲁克山——” 
　　“克鲁克山？”赫敏艰难地喘着气，弯下了半个身子，抓着胸口，“你是个巫师吗？还是什么别的东西？” 
　　“哦——对——是啊——” 
　　罗恩看看四周，然后用魔杖指着地上的一根小树枝，说道：“羽加迪姆 
　　勒维奥萨！”那根树枝从地上飞起来，像被狂风带动似的旋转着，急速上升到树干处，穿入打人柳正疯狂抽动着的枝条，径直对着根部附近的地方猛戳了一下，打人柳立刻静止不动了。 
　　“漂亮！”赫敏喘着气说。 
　　“等等。” 
　　在那摇摇欲坠的一瞬间，当战斗的爆炸声和撞击声四处传来时，哈利犹豫了。伏地魔想让他这么做，想让他来……他是领着罗恩和赫敏跳入了一个陷阱吗？ 
　　但是现实似乎使他结束了思考，简单而又残酷：前进的唯一方法是杀了那条蛇，而有蛇的地方就有伏地魔，伏地魔就在这条隧道的尽头…… 
　　“哈利，我们进来了，快到里面去！”罗恩说，一边往前推他。 
　　哈利在隐藏在树根里的泥土通道里蜿蜒行进着。它比他们上次来时更挤了些。隧道的天花板很低，四年前他们不得不低下半个身体来通过，而现在他们除了爬之外也没有别的办法。哈利在第一个，他用魔杖来照明，本以为随时都会碰到障碍，然而一个也没有。他们无声地移动着，哈利的目光一直集中在紧握着的魔杖上。 
　　终于，通道的上方变成了斜坡，哈利看见前方有一条光线。赫敏吃力地拉着他的脚踝。 
　　“隐形衣！”她低声说，“穿上隐形衣！” 
　　他摸索着身后，赫敏把包好的光滑的织物塞到他那只空着的手里。他艰难地套到身上，咕哝道：“诺克斯，”魔杖的光熄灭了，他继续靠手和膝盖移动，尽可能安静，他的所有感官都绷紧了，准备着随时被发现，听到一个冷冷的声音，看到一道绿光闪过。 
　　随后，他听到他们正前方的屋子传来了说话声，稍微有点儿压抑，因为通道的出口被一个看起来像是旧的柳条箱似的东西堵住了。哈利几乎不敢呼吸，向出口的右侧缓缓挪动，通过墙和箱子间的一条小缝向外看去。 
　　这间屋子光线朦胧，不过他还是可以看到纳尼吉，如同一条在水底的蛇似的盘旋扭动着，安全地待在她那施了魔法的、布满星星的球体里，不靠任何支持地漂浮在半空中。他可以看到一张桌子的边缘，一只有着细长手指的苍白的手正把玩着一根魔杖。接着斯内普开口了，哈利的心顿了一下，斯内普离他蜷缩着隐藏的地方只有几英寸。 
　　“……主人，他们的抵抗正在崩溃——” 
　　“——在没有你的帮助下，”伏地魔用他那高而清晰的嗓音说，“尽管你是个有能力的巫师，西弗勒斯，我不认为你现在还能有多大作用。我们的人几乎都在那里了……几乎。” 
　　“让我去找那个男孩。让我去把波特带给你。我知道我能找到他，主人，求你。” 
　　斯内普大步经过那条缝隙，哈利往回缩了缩，继续盯着上方的纳尼吉，想着有什么咒语可以穿透她周围的保护，然而他什么都想不出来。只要有一次失败的尝试，他就会暴露自己的所在…… 
　　伏地魔站起来，哈利现在可以看到他了，那红色的眼睛、扁平的蛇一样的脸，苍白的肤色在昏暗中微微地发亮。 
　　“我有一个问题，西弗勒斯，”伏地魔轻声说。 
　　“主人？” 
　　伏地魔举起长老魔杖，姿势优美、准确地握着它，就像拿着一根指挥棒。 
　　“为什么它在我这儿就没作用呢，西弗勒斯？” 
　　一片寂静中，哈利觉得他可以听到那条正盘旋伸展着的蛇轻微的嘶嘶声，或者是伏地魔那咝咝的叹息声还停留在空气里？ 
　　“主——主人？”斯内普茫然地说，“我不明白。您——您已经用那根魔杖施展了非凡的魔法。” 
　　“不，”伏地魔说，“我只施展了我平常的魔法。我是非凡的，而这根魔杖……不是，它还没有显示出它那传说中的奇妙威力。我并不觉得这根魔杖和我以前从奥里凡德那儿拿到的有任何不同。” 
　　伏地魔的语气是沉思而平静的，但是哈利的伤疤开始抽动，额头上的疼痛在加强，他能感到伏地魔体内压抑着的愤怒在上升。 
　　“没有任何不同。”伏地魔又一次说道。 
　　斯内普没有说话，哈利看不见他的脸，他想知道斯内普是否感觉到了危险，或者正试着寻找合适的字眼来使他的主人平静。 
　　伏地魔开始绕着房间走动，当他徘徊着时，哈利有一会儿无法看到他，他仍然用那种缓慢的语调在说话，而哈利体内的疼痛和愤怒上升了。 
　　“我辛苦地想了很久，西弗勒斯……你知道我为什么要把你从战斗中叫回来吗？” 
　　有那么一会儿，哈利看到了斯内普的侧面，他的双眼正集中在魔法笼子里那条盘旋着的蛇身上。 
　　“不知道，主人，但我请求您让我回去。让我去找波特。” 
　　“你的话听上去像卢修斯。你们两个都不像我这样了解波特。他不需要去找。波特会到我这里来的。我清楚他的弱点，你看，他的一个重大缺陷。他不喜欢看着身边的人被打倒，他知道这一切都是因为他。所以他会不惜一切代价去阻止。他会来的。” 
　　“但是主人，他可能被其他人误杀而不是您自己——” 
　　“我对食死徒的指示已经相当明确了。抓住波特。杀了他的同伴——越多越好——但是不要杀死他。” 
　　“但是我想谈的是你，西弗勒斯，不是哈利·波特。你对我非常有价值。非常有价值。” 
　　“主人明白我去找只是为了服侍主人。但——让我去找那男孩，主人。让我把波特带来给你。我知道我能——” 
　　“我告诉过你了，不行！”伏地魔说道，哈利看到他再次转身时眼睛里有红光在闪烁，他的斗篷发出嗖嗖声，就像是蛇在爬行，通过灼烧着的伤疤，他感到了伏地魔的不耐烦。“我现在关心的是，西弗勒斯，我最后碰见那个男孩时会发生什么呢？” 
　　“主人，不会有任何问题，确实——” 
　　“——但是有一个问题，西弗勒斯。有一个。” 
　　伏地魔停住了，哈利可以再次清楚地看到他苍白的手指滑过那根长老魔杖，眼睛盯着斯内普。 
　　“为什么我用过的那两根魔杖在指着哈利·波特时都失效了呢？” 
　　“我——我无法回答，主人。” 
　　“你不能吗？” 
　　一阵刺痛像钉子一样穿过了哈利的头，他用力把拳头塞进嘴里，不让自己因为疼痛而叫出声来。他闭上了眼睛，然后突然间他变成了伏地魔，正看着斯内普苍白的脸。 
　　“我的紫杉木魔杖在我的要求下可以做任何事情，西弗勒斯，除了杀死哈利·波特，两次都失败了，奥里凡德在折磨下告诉我孪生杖心的事，并建议我去换一根魔杖。我这么做了，但是卢修斯的魔杖在碰到波特的时也碎了。” 
　　“我——我不能解释，主人。” 
　　斯内普现在没有看着伏地魔。他黑色的眼睛仍旧集中在上方那条在保护球体里旋转的蛇身上。 
　　“我找到了第三根魔杖，西弗勒斯。长老魔杖，命运之杖、死神的手杖。我从它的前任主人那里拿来——从阿不思·邓布利多的坟墓里拿来了。” 
　　现在斯内普看向伏地魔了，斯内普的脸看上去像一张死人面具。白得像大理石，如此沉寂，以至于当他说话时会令人震惊地发现那双空洞的眼睛后面竟然还有一个活着的人。 
　　“主人——让我去找那个男孩——” 
　　“这一整个漫长的夜晚，当我在胜利的边缘时，我一直坐在这里，”伏地魔说，声音几乎不比耳语响多少，“疑惑着，疑惑着，为什么长老魔杖拒绝显示它应该具备的威力，拒绝像传说中的那样为它真正的主人效力……然后我想我找到了答案。” 
　　斯内普没有说话。 
　　“你也许已经明白了？毕竟，你是个聪明人，西弗勒斯。你曾经是个忠实的好仆人，我为这必须发生的事感到惋惜。” 
　　“主人——” 
　　“长老魔杖不能完全地为我服务，西弗勒斯，是因为我不是它真正的主人。长老魔杖属于杀死它上一个主人的巫师。你杀了阿不思·邓布利多。而你还活着，长老魔杖就无法真正为我所有。” 
　　“主人！”斯内普抗议道，举起了他的魔杖。 
　　“没有别的选择，”伏地魔说，“我必须掌控这根魔杖，西弗勒斯。掌控这根魔杖，那么最终我会掌控波特。” 
　　伏地魔用魔杖对着空气重击了一下。它对斯内普没有影响，有那么一刹那，他似乎以为自己被饶恕了，然而伏地魔的用意马上就很清楚了。装着蛇的笼子滚动着穿过空中，在斯内普除了喊叫外来不及做其他任何事之前，笼子包住了他的头和肩膀。伏地魔用蛇佬腔说话了。 
　　“杀。” 
　　一阵恐怖的尖叫。哈利看见斯内普脸上剩余的一点血色也消失不见，同时黑色的眼睛骤然放大，蛇的毒牙穿透了他的脖子，他徒劳地挣脱套着他的魔法笼子，膝盖一软，倒在了地板上。 
　　“我很遗憾，”伏地魔冷冷地说。 
　　他转过身去，没有一点悲伤和愧疚。有了一根现在完全服从于他的魔杖，是时候离
Chapter 34 The Forest Again
Finally, the truth. Lying with his face pressed into the dusty carpet of the office where he had once thought he was learning the secrets of victory, Harry understood at last that he was not supposed to survive. His job was to walk calmly into Death’s welcoming arms. Along the way, he was to dispose of Voldemort’s remaining links to life, so that when at last he flung himself across Voldemort’s path, and did not raise a wand to defend himself, the end would be clean, and the job that ought to have been done in Godric’s Hollow would be finished. Neither would live, neither could survive.
He felt his heart pounding fiercely in his chest. How strange that in his dread of death, it pumped all the harder, valiantly keeping him alive. But it would have to stop, and soon. Its beats were numbered. How many would there be time for, as he rose and walked through the castle for the last time, out into the grounds and into the forest?
Terror washed over him as he lay on the floor, with that funeral drum pounding inside him. Would it hurt to die? All those times he had thought that it was about to happen and escaped, he had never really thought of the thing itself: His will to live had always been so much stronger than his fear of death. Yet it did not occur to him now to try to escape, to outrun Voldemort. It was over, he knew it, and all that was left was the thing itself: dying.
If he could only have died on that summer’s night when he had left number four, Privet Drive, for the last time, when the noble phoenix feather wand had saved him! If he could only have died like Hedwig, so quickly he would not have known it had happened! Or if he could have launched himself in front of a wand to save someone he loved… He envied even his parents’ deaths now. This cold-blooded walk to his own destruction would require a different kind of bravery. He felt his fingers trembling slightly and made an effort to control them, although no one could see him; the portraits on the walls were all empty.
Slowly, very slowly, he sat up, and as he did so he felt more alive and more aware of his own living body than ever before. Why had he never appreciated what a miracle he was, brain and nerve and bounding heart? It would all be gone… or at least, he would be gone from it. His breath came slow and deep, and his mouth and throat were completely dry, but so were his eyes.
Dumbledore’s betrayal was almost nothing. Of course there had been a bigger plan: Harry had simply been too foolish to see it, he realized that now. He had never questioned his own assumption that Dumbledore wanted him alive. Now he saw that his life span had always been determined by how long it took to eliminate all the Horcruxes. Dumbledore had passed the job of destroying them to him, and obediently he had continued to chip away at the bonds tying not only Voldemort, but himself, to life! How neat, how elegant, not to waste any more lives, but to give the dangerous task to the boy who had already been marked for slaughter, and whose death would not be a calamity, but another blow against Voldemort.
And Dumbledore had known that Harry would not duck out, that he would keep going to the end, even though it was his end, because he had taken trouble to get to know him, hadn’t he? Dumbledore knew, as Voldemort knew, that Harry would not let anyone else die for him now that he had discovered it was in his power to stop it. The images of Fred, Lupin, and Tonks lying dead in the Great Hall forced their way back into his mind’s eye, and for a moment he could hardly breathe. Death was impatient…
But Dumbledore had overestimated him. He had failed: The snake survived. One Horcrux remained to bind Voldemort to the earth, even after Harry had been killed. True, that would mean an easier job for somebody. He wondered who would do it… Ron and Hermione would know what needed to be done, of course… That would have been why Dumbledore wanted him to confide in two others… so that if he fulfilled his true destiny a little early, they could carry on…
Like rain on a cold window, these thoughts pattered against the hard surface of the incontrovertible truth, which was that he must die. I must die. It must end.
Ron and Hermione seemed a long way away, in a far-off country; he felt as though he had parted from them long ago. There would be no good-byes and no explanations, he was determined of that. This was a journey they could not take together, and the attempts they would make to stop him would waste valuable time. He looked down at the battered gold watch he had received on his seventeenth birthday. Nearly half of the hour allotted by Voldemort for his surrender had elapsed.
He stood up. His heart was leaping against his ribs like a frantic bird. Perhaps it knew it had little time left, perhaps it was determined to fulfill a lifetime’s beats before the end. He did not look back as he closed the office door.
The castle was empty. He felt ghostly striding through it alone, as if he had already died. The portrait people were still missing from their frames; the whole place was eerily still, as if all its remaining lifeblood were concentrated in the Great Hall where the dead and the mourners were crammed.
Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak over himself and descended through the floors, at last walking down the marble staircase into the entrance hall. Perhaps some tiny part of him hoped to be sensed, to be seen, to be stopped, but the Cloak was, as ever, impenetrable, perfect, and he reached the front doors easily.
Then Neville nearly walked into him. He was one half of a pair that was carrying a body in from the grounds. Harry glanced down and felt another dull blow to his stomach: Colon Creevey, though underage, must have sneaked back just as Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had done. He was tiny in death.
“You know what? I can manage him alone, Neville,” said Oliver Wood, and he heaved Colin over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and carried him into the Great Hall.
Neville leaned against the door frame for a moment and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He looked like an old man. Then he set off on the steps again into the darkness to recover more bodies.
Harry took one glance back at the entrance of the Great Hall. People were moving around, trying to comfort each other, drinking, kneeling beside the dead, but he could not see any of the people he loved, no hint of Hermione, Ron, Ginny, or any of the other Weasleys, no Luna. He felt he would have given all the time remaining to him for just one last look at them; but then, would he ever have the strength to stop looking? It was better like this.
He moved down the steps and out into the darkness. It was nearly four in the morning, and the deathly stillness of the grounds felt as though they were holding their breath, waiting to see whether he could do what he must.
Harry moved toward Neville, who was bending over another body.
“Neville.”
“Blimey, Harry, you nearly gave me heart failure!”
Harry had pulled off the Cloak: The idea had come to him out of nowhere, born out of a desire to make absolutely sure.
“Where are you going, alone?” Neville asked suspiciously.
“It’s all part of the plan,” said Harry. “There’s something I’ve got to do. Listen –Neville –”
“Harry!” Neville looked suddenly scared. “Harry, you’re not thinking of handing yourself over?”
“No,” Harry lied easily. “‘Course not… this is something else. But I might be out of sight for a while. You know Voldemort’s snake. Neville? He’s got a huge snake… Calls it Nagini…”
“I’ve heard, yeah… What about it?”
“It’s got to be killed. Ron and Hermione know that, but just in case they –”
The awfulness of that possibility smothered him for a moment, made it impossible to keep talking. But he pulled himself together again: This was crucial, he must be like Dumbledore, keep a cool head, make sure there were backups, others to carry on. Dumbledore had died knowing that three people still knew about the Horcruxes; now Neville would take Harry’s place: There would still be three in the secret.
“Just in case they’re – busy – and you get the chance –”
“Kill the snake?”
“Kill the snake,” Harry repeated.
“All right, Harry. You’re okay, are you?”
“I’m fine. Thanks, Neville.”
But Neville seized his wrist as Harry made to move on.
“We’re all going to keep fighting, Harry. You know that?”
“Yeah, I –”
The suffocating feeling extinguished the end of the sentence; he could not go on. Neville did not seem to find it strange. He patted Harry on the shoulder, released him, and walked away to look for more bodies.
Harry swung the Cloak back over himself and walked on. Someone else was moving not far away, stooping over another prone figure on the ground. He was feet away from her when he realized it was Ginny.
He stopped in his tracks. She was crouching over a girl who was whispering for her mother.
“It’s all right,” Ginny was saying. “It’s ok. We’re going to get you inside.”
“But I want to go home,“ whispered the girl. ”I don’t want to fight anymore!“
“I know,” said Ginny, and her voice broke. “It’s going to be all right.”
Ripples of cold undulated over Harry’s skin. He wanted to shout out to the night, he wanted Ginny to know that he was there, he wanted her to know where he was going. He wanted to be stopped, to be dragged back, to be sent back home….
But he was home. Hogwards was the first and best home he had known. He and Voldemort and Snape, the abandoned boys, had all found home here….
Ginny was kneeling beside the injured girl now, holding her hand. With a huge effort Harry forced himself on. He thought he saw Ginny look around as he passed, and wondered whether she had sensed someone walking nearby, but he did not speak, and he did not look back.
Hagrid’s hut loomed out of the darkness. There were no lights, no sound of Fang scrabbling at the door, his bark booming in welcome. All those visits to Hagrid, and the gleam of the copper kettle on the fire, and rock cakes and giant grubs, and his great bearded face, and Ron vomiting slugs, and Hermione helping him save Norbert…
He moved on, and now he reached the edge of the forest, and he stopped.
A swarm of dementors was gliding amongst the trees; he could feel their chill, and he was not sure he would be able to pass safely through it. He had not strength left for a Patronus. He could no longer control his own trembling. It was not, after all, so easy to die. Every second he breathed, the smell of the grass, the cool air on his face, was so precious: To think that people had years and years, time to waste, so much time it dragged, and he was clinging to each second. At the same time he thought that he would not be able to go on, and knew that he must. The long game was ended, the Snitch had been caught, it was time to leave the air….
The Snitch. His nerveless fingers fumbled for a moment with the pouch at his neck and he pulled it out.
I open at the close.
Breathing fast and hard, he stared down at it. Now that he wanted time to move as slowly as possible, he seemed to have sped up, and understanding was coming so fast it seemed to have bypassed though. This was the close. This was the moment.
He pressed the golden metal to his lips and whispered, “I am about to die.”
The metal shell broke open. He lowered his shaking hand, raised Draco’s wand beneath the Cloak, and murmured, “Lumos.”
The black stone with is jagged crack running down the center sat in the two halves of the Snitch. The Resurrection Stone had cracked down the vertical line representing the Elder Wand. The triangle and circle representing the Cloak and the stone were still discernible.
And again Harry understood without having to think. It did not matter about bringing them back, for he was about to join them. He was not really fetching them: They were fetching him.
He closed his eyes and turned the stone over in his hand three times.
He knew it had happened, because he heard slight movements around him that suggested frail bodies shifting their footing on the earthy, twig-strewn ground that marked the outer edge of the forest. He opened his eyes and looked around.
They were neither ghost nor truly flesh, he could see that. They resembled most closely the Riddle that had escaped from the diary so long ago, and he had been memory made nearly solid. Less substantial than living bodies, but much more than ghosts, they moved toward him. And on each face, there was the same loving smile.
James was exactly the same height as Harry. He was wearing the clothes in which he had died, and his hair was untidy and ruffled, and his glasses were a little lopsided, like Mr. Weasley’s.
Sirius was tall and handsome, and younger by far than Harry had seen him in life. He loped with an easy grace, his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face.
Lupin was younger too, and much less shabby, and his hair was thicker and darker. He looked happy to be back in this familiar place, scene of so many adolescent wanderings.
Lily’s smile was widest of all. She pushed her long hair back as she drew closer to him, and her green eyes, so like his, searched his face hungrily, as though she would never be able to look at him enough.
“You’ve been so brave.”
He could not speak. His eyes feasted on her, and he thought that he would like to stand and look at her forever, and that would be enough.
“You are nearly there,” said James. “Very close. We are… so proud of you.”
“Does it hurt?”
The childish question had fallen from Harry’s lips before he could stop it.
“Dying? Not at all,” said Sirius. “Quicker and easier than falling asleep.”
“And he will want it to be quick. He wants it over,” said Lupin.
“I didn’t want you to die,” Harry said. These words came without his volition. “Any of you. I’m sorry –”
He addressed Lupin more than any of them, beseeching him.
“– right after you’d had your son… Remus, I’m sorry –”
“I am sorry too,” said Lupin. “Sorry I will never know him… but he will know why I died and I hope he will understand. I was trying to make a world in which he could live a happier life.”
A chilly breeze that seemed to emanate from the heart of the forest lifted the hair at Harry’s brow. He knew that they would not tell him to go, that it would have to be his decision.
“You’ll stay with me?”
“Until the very end,” said James.
“They won’t be able to see you?” asked Harry.
“We are part of you,” said Sirius. “Invisible to anyone else.”
Harry looked at his mother.
“Stay close to me,” he said quietly.
And he set of. The dementors’ chill did not overcome him; he passed through it with his companions, and they acted like Patronuses to him, and together they marched through the old trees that grew closely together, their branches tangled, their roots gnarled and twisted underfoot. Harry clutched the Cloak tightly around him in the darkness, traveling deeper and deeper into the forest, with no idea where exactly Voldemort was, but sure that he would find him. Beside him, making scarcely a sound, walked James, Sirius, Lupin, and Lily, and their presence was his courage, and the reason he was able to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
His body and mind felt oddly disconnected now, his limbs working without conscious instruction, as if he were passenger, not driver, in the body he was about to leave. The dead who walked beside him through the forest were much more real to him now than the living back at the castle: Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and all the others were the ones who felt like ghosts as he stumbled and slipped toward the end of his life, toward Voldemort…
A thud and a whisper: Some other living creature had stirred close by. Harry stopped under the Cloak, peering around, listening, and his mother and father, Lupin and Sirius stopped too.
“Someone there,” came a rough whisper close at hand. “He’s got an Invisibility Cloak. Could it be –?”
Two figures emerged from behind a nearby tree: Their wands flared, and Harry saw Yaxley and Dolohov peering into the darkness, directly at the place Harry, his mother and father and Sirius and Lupin stood. Apparently they could not see anything.
“Definitely heard something,“ said Yaxley. ”Animal, d’you reckon?“
“That head case Hagrid kept a whole bunch of stuff in here,” said Dolohov, glancing over his shoulder.
Yaxley looked down at his watch.
“Time’s nearly up. Porter’s had his hour. He’s not coming.”
“Better go back,” said Yaxley. “Find out what the plan is now.”
He and Dolohov turned and walked deeper into the forest. Harry followed them, knowing that they would lead him exactly where he wanted to go. He glanced sideways, and his mother smiled at him, and his father nodded encouragement.
They had traveled on mere minutes when Harry saw light ahead, and Yaxley and Dolohov stepped out into a clearing that Harry knew had been the place where the monstrous Aragog had once lived. The remnants of his vast web were there still, but the swarms of descendants he had spawned had been driven out by the Death Eaters, to fight for their cause.
A fire burned in the middle of the clearing, and its flickering light fell over a crowd of completely silent, watchful Death Eaters. Some of them were still masked and hooded; others showed their faces. Two giants sat on the outskirts of the group, casting massive shadows over the scene, their faces cruel, rough-hewn like rock. Harry saw Fenrir, skulking, chewing his long nails; the great blond Rowle was dabbing at his bleeding lip. He saw Lucius Malfoy, who looked defeated and terrified, and Narcissa, whose eyes were sunken and full of apprehension.
Every eye was fixed upon Voldemort, who stood with his head bowed, and his white hands folded over the Elder Wand in front of him. He might have been praying, or else counting silently in his mind, and Harry, standing still on the edge of the scene, though absurdly of a child counting in a game of hide-and-seek. Behind his head, still swirling and coiling, the great snake Nagini floated in her glittering, charmed cage, like a monstrous halo.
When Dolohov and Yaxley rejoined the circle, Voldemort looked up.
“No sign of him, my Lord,” said Dolohov.
Voldemort’s expression did not change. The red eyes seemed to burn in the firelight. Slowly he drew the Elder Wand between his long fingers.
“My Lord –”
Bellatrix had spoken: She sat closest to Voldemort, disheveled, her face a little bloody but otherwise unharmed.
Voldemort raised his hand to silence her, and she did not speak another word, but eyed him in worshipful fascination.
“I thought he would come,” said Voldemort in his high, clear voice, his eyes on the leaping flames. “I expected him to come.”
Nobody spoke. They seemed as scared as Harry, whose heart was now throwing itself against his ribs as though determined to escape the body he was about to cast aside. His hands were sweating as he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it beneath his robes, with his wand. He did not want to be tempted to fight.
“I was, it seems… mistaken,” said Voldemort.
“You weren’t.”
Harry said it as loudly as he could, with all the force he could muster: He did not want to sound afraid. The Resurrection Stone slipped from between his numb fingers, and out of the corner of his eyes he saw his parents, Sirius, and Lupin vanish as he stepped forward into the firelight. At that moment he felt that nobody mattered but Voldemort. It was just the two of them.
The illusion was gone as soon as it had come. The giants roared as the Death Eaters rose together, and there were many cries, gasps, even laughter. Voldemort had frozen where he stood, but his red eyes had found Harry, and he stared as Harry moved toward him, with nothing but the fire between them.
Then a voice yelled: “HARRY! NO!”
He turned: Hagrid was bound and trussed, tied to a tree nearby. His massive body shook the branches overhead as he struggled, desperate.
“NO! NO! HARRY, WHAT’RE YEH –?”
“QUIET!” shouted Rowle, and with a flick of his wand, Hagrid was silenced.
Bellatrix, who had leapt to her feet, was looking eagerly from Voldemort to Harry, her breast heaving. The only things that moved were the flames and the snake, coiling and uncoiling in the glittering cage behind Voldemort’s head.
Harry could feel his wand against his chest, but he made no attempt to draw it. He knew that the snake was too well protected, knew that if he managed to point the wand at Nagini, fifty curses would hit him first. And still, Voldemort and Harry looked at each other, and now Voldemort tilted his head a little to the side, considering the boy standing before him, and a singularly mirthless smile curled the lipless mouth.
“Harry Potter,” he said very softly. His voice might have been part of the spitting fire. “The Boy Who Lived.”
None of the Death Eaters moved. They were waiting: Everything was waiting. Hagrid was struggling, and Bellatrix was panting, and Harry thought inexplicably of Ginny, and her blazing look, and the feel of her lips on his – Voldemort had raised his wand. His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. Harry looked back into the red eyes, and wanted it to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear –
He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone.
原来，这才是真相。哈利躺在那个他曾经以为自己洞悉了胜利秘密的办公室里，把脸埋进一条脏兮兮的毯子，终于明白了自己注定无法幸存。他所要做的，只是平静地走进死神欢迎的怀抱当中。在赴死之前，他还要切断伏地魔与人间残留的那一点儿联系。这样，当最后他没有任何防备的来到伏地魔面前时，一切就可以彻彻底底地结束了。 
　　他在高锥克山谷就应该完成的工作到那时也就结束了。两个人都将死去，无一生还。他感到心脏在胸腔中怦怦地跳动着。真是奇怪，此刻他心中充满了对死亡的恐惧，然而他的心脏却跳动得如此有力，支撑着他活下去。但是，它就要停止工作了，而且很快就要。时日无多了。假如他站起来，最后一次走过城堡，穿过场地，进入禁林：还剩下多少时间让他来做这一切呢? 
　　死亡的鼓声在他躺在地上的身体里沉重地回响，恐惧传遍了哈利全身。他会因恐惧而死吗?从前，每次在他以为死神即将降临时，都得以逃脱。可他却从未思考过这个问题：他求生的欲望总是远远超过他对死亡的恐惧。然而，现在他却并不想逃跑，不想逃离伏地魔。他知道一切已经结束了，现在惟一剩下的只有一条路：死亡。 
　　如果他能在最后一次离开女贞路4号的那个夏夜就死去该有多好——可那支含有高贵的凤凰羽毛的魔杖救了他！如果他能像海德薇那样死去该有多好——快得他都不明白这是怎么发生的！或者如果他能将自己的身体挡在魔杖前——为了保护一个他所爱的人该有多好……他现在甚至有些妒忌他的父母能够那样死去。然而，这样无情地走向自己的末日需要另一种勇气。他感到自己的手指在轻轻颤抖，尽管没有人看得见——墙上的肖像已经全部空了——他还是努力去控制它们。 
　　他非常缓慢地坐起身来。这么做的同时，他比从前更加强烈地感觉到自己的存在，并且更加清醒地意识到自己鲜活的生命。为什么以前他都没有认识到自己——大脑、神经和跳动的心脏——也是一个奇迹呢？它们都将消失，或者说，至少他是要离开它们的。他的呼吸渐渐变得缓慢而深沉，他感到嘴巴和喉咙很干，连眼睛也是。 
　　邓布利多的出卖几乎不算什么。如今哈利终于意识到，他们显然一直有一个更大的计划。 
　　只是他以前太傻才没有发现。他甚至从未怀疑过，就理所当然地认为邓布利多是希望他活下去的。现在他才明白，他生命的长短仅仅取决于消灭所有的魂器所需的时间。邓布利多把销毁魂器的工作交给了自己，而自己也遵从他的指示，继续破坏着那不仅把伏地魔，也把他同这个世界联系起来的纽带！多么简洁，多么优雅，不用再浪费其他任何一条生命，而是把这危险的任务留给那个已经被标记了‘杀戮’的男孩。他的死不会是一件不幸的事，而是给伏地魔的又一个致命一击。 
　　而且邓布利多知道哈利是不会逃避的，就算是死他也会坚持到底，因为他已经不怕麻烦地接近并了解了哈利，不是吗？邓布利多知道，伏地魔也知道，既然哈利已经发现只有凭借自己的力量才能阻止这一切，那他就不会让其他的任何人为他而死。死去的弗雷德、卢平和唐克斯躺在礼堂中的身影浮现在他脑中无法挥去，有那么一会儿他简直都无法呼吸了。死神竟如此急不可耐…… 
　　但是邓布利多高估了哈利。他失败了：那条蛇活了下来。即使在哈利死后，仍会有一个魂器载着伏地魔的灵魂碎片留在这世上。不过，是的，如果他死了其他人会更容易地完成这个任务。会是谁呢？哈利猜想着。当然，罗恩和赫敏肯定会知道该做什么……这也许就是邓布利多希望哈利信任他们的原因吧……这样的话，假如他提前完成了自己的使命，他们还可以将计划继续实施下去…… 
　　就像雨点敲打在冰冷的窗户上，他的想法也敲打在那无可争议的事实之上。那事实就是，他必须得死。我必须死。这一切必须结束。 
　　罗恩和赫敏仿佛离他很远，就像在一个遥远的国度，他感觉他们已经分开好长时间了。他决定不向他们告别或者做任何解释——这是一段注定无法共同经历的旅途，他们为阻止他所做的努力只会浪费宝贵的时间。他低头看了看他17岁生日时收到的金表——现在已经被压扁了——伏地魔留给他投降的时间已经过去了将近一半。 
　　他站起来，心脏像一只受惊的小鸟一样狂乱地跳动并撞击着肋骨。也许它知道时间不多了，也许它打算在一切结束之前再跳最后一下。哈利关上办公室的门，没有再回头看。 
　　城堡里空荡荡的，独自一人大步地穿过城堡时，哈利感到很可怕，就像自己已经死了似的。相框里的肖像们仍然不知踪影；所有的地方都异常寂静，仿佛这里仅剩的生气都集中在那个挤满了死伤者和哀悼者的礼堂里。 
　　哈利穿上隐形衣，下了楼梯，最后走下大理石台阶进入门厅。也许他心里还是有那么一点希望自己能被别人感觉到，看到，把他阻拦下来。但是，隐形衣还是像以前那么完美而且不可感知，他很容易就到达了前门。 
　　这时，纳威差点儿撞到他的身上。他正和另外一个人一起把伤员从场地上抬进来。哈利下意识地向下看了一眼，顿时觉得胃猛地一沉：是科林?克里维。尽管还没到年龄，但他一定是像马尔福、克拉布和高尔那样偷偷地溜过来的。在死神的面前，他显得是那样的渺小。 
　　“知道吗，我一个人就能把他照顾好，纳威。”奥利弗?伍德像消防员扛梯子那样一把将科林扛在肩上，走进了礼堂。
　　纳威扶着门框站了一会，用手背擦了擦额头。他看来像个老人。然后他再次出发，抬脚步入黑暗当中去拯救更多的伤者。 
　　哈利回头看了一眼门厅：人们在里面忙碌着，试图互相安慰，喝酒安抚情绪，或者跪在死者身旁祈祷。但没有看到一个他关心的人——没有赫敏，没有罗恩，没有金妮或者韦斯莱家中的任何一员，也没有卢娜。如果可以的话，他愿意用他生命中剩下的全部时间来交换，只要能让他再看他们最后一眼。但是如果那样，他又是否有足够的勇气回过头，接着上路呢？也许现在这样才更好吧。 
　　他走下台阶，迈入黑暗当中。已经将近凌晨4点了，场地上死一般的寂静让人觉得好像所有人都在屏着呼吸，等着看哈利到底敢不敢去完成的使命。 
　　哈利走向纳威，他正弯腰查看着另一位伤员。 
　　“纳威。” 
　　“哎呀，哈利，你差点吓死我了。” 
　　哈利已经把隐形衣拽了下来：这时一个主意忽然在他的脑海中闪现——毕竟他希望一切都万无一失。 
　　“你要去哪？一个人？”纳威有些怀疑地问。 
　　“这都是计划的一部分，”哈利说，“有些事我必须去做。听着，纳威——” 
　　“哈利！”纳威突然满脸恐惧地说，“哈利，你没有打算一个人去找伏地魔，对吗？” 
　　“当然，”哈利骗他，一副轻松的样子，“当然没这个打算——是一些别的事情。不过我可能会暂时离开。你知道伏地魔的那条蛇吗，纳威？他有一条巨大的蛇，叫纳吉尼——” 
　　“是的，我听说过，它怎么了？” 
　　“它应该被杀死。罗恩和赫敏知道，但是万一他们——” 
　　想起那可怕的情景，一种令人窒息的感觉让他无法继续说下去，他被迫停了一会。但是他很快让自己继续下去：现实很残酷，他得像邓布利多那样，保持头脑冷静，确保无论怎样都有后援人员接着干下去。邓布利多死的时候知道还有三个人了解魂器的秘密；现在纳威要代替哈利的位置：这样依然还是有三个人知道这个秘密。 
　　“要是万一他们——对付不过来——那么你就抓住机会——” 
　　“杀了那条蛇？” 
　　“杀了那条蛇。”哈利重复道。 
　　“好的，哈利。你还好着呢，是不是？” 
　　“我很好，谢谢，纳威。” 
　　可是就在哈利准备离开的时候，纳威抓住了他的手腕。 
　　“我们都会继续战斗的，哈利，知道吗？” 
　　“是的，我——” 
　　那种令人喘不过气来的感觉又袭来了，让他没办法说下去。不过看起来纳威并没有发现什么异常。他拍了拍哈利的肩膀，松开手，走开去寻找更多的伤员。 
　　哈利重新把隐形衣盖在身上向前走去。不远处有人在走动，接着停在了另一个俯卧在地面上的人跟前。他走到离那个人几英尺远的地方时，才意识那是金妮。 
　　他停下脚步。她正蹲在一个轻声叫着妈妈的小女孩旁边。 
　　“没什么 ，”金妮说，“没事的。我们要把你抬到里面去。” 
　　“可是我想回家，”小女孩用微弱的声音说，“我再也不想战斗了！” 
　　“我懂，”金妮说，声音有些沙哑，“很快就好了。” 
　　哈利顿时感觉像坠入冰窖一般全身发抖。他真想对着夜空大叫一声，他想让金妮知道他在这儿，他想让她知道他要去哪。他想要被人阻止，被人拽回去，想被送回家…… 
　　但是他现在已经在家了。霍格沃茨是他所知道的第一个也是最好的一个家。他、伏地魔和斯内普，三个孤儿，都在这儿找到了家的感觉…… 
　　金妮现在正跪在那个受伤的女孩身边，握着她的手。哈利费了很大的劲才让自己继续向前走去。他想他看到金妮在他走过的时候四处张望了一下，不知道她是否感觉到了附近有人走过，不过哈利没有讲话，也没有再回头。 
　　海格的小屋在黑暗中若隐若现。里面没有灯光，没有牙牙扒着门，发出欢迎他的吠声。哈利不禁回忆起从前他们去拜访海格时的情景：火上的那口闪烁着微光的大铜锅，岩皮饼和巨蛴螬，他那张满是胡子的脸，罗恩在吐鼻涕虫，赫敏帮忙他救走诺伯…… 
　　他继续向前走。到达禁林的边缘时，他停了下来。 
　　一群摄魂怪正在丛林间滑行；他可以感受到它们腐臭的气息，他不敢保证自己能安全地穿越禁林。他已经没有力气来召唤守护神了。而且他在不能自已地发抖。毕竟，死也不是那么容易的事情。在他还能呼吸的每一秒钟里，草地的清香，掠过脸庞的冷空气，都变得这么珍贵：想想那些有着大把光阴的人们，对时间毫不爱惜，肆意挥霍着，可他却拼命地想抓住每一分每一秒。那一瞬间他觉得自己快要坚持不下去了，可他知道自己必须坚持。这个漫长的游戏已经结束了，告密者也被抓住了，现在是离开的时候了…… 
　　金色飞贼。 
　　他用手指在脖子上紧张地摸索了一会，然后把一个小袋子拽了出来。 
　　最后关头再打开。 
　　哈利冷静地低头注视着它。既然他现在希望时间尽可能地慢下来，他的一切似乎都变得更快了，思维则更是如此。 
　　现在就是最后关头。现在就是打开的时候。 
　　他把飞贼贴在嘴唇上，轻声说道：“我就要死了。” 
　　飞贼的盖子打开了。他放下手，在隐形衣下举起德拉科的魔杖，低声说：“荧光闪烁。”一块黑色的石头缓慢地从分成两半的飞贼中间漂浮了下来，带着‘噼啪’的轻响。回魂石沿着那条代表着元老魔杖的直线‘啪’的一声裂开了。不过代表着回魂石和隐形衣的圆形和三角形仍然依稀可见。 
　　哈利又一次不假思索就明白了：他们根本不用复活，因为哈利即将随他们而去。事实上不是他在召唤他们，而是他们在召唤他。 
　　他闭上双眼，把石头在手中转动了三次。 
　　他知道他成功了，因为他可以听到他四周有轻微的移动声，有虚弱的身影在禁林边缘那铺满了树枝的土地上轻轻地走动着。他睁开眼睛环顾四周。 
　　他知道，他们既不是鬼魂也不是真正的人。他们就像很久以前里德尔从日记中逃出来的时候那样，那是一段已经凝固在脑海中的记忆。他们向他走过来——看起来比活人来得虚幻，却比鬼魂来得真实。每个人的脸上都带着同样的充满爱意的笑容。 
　　詹姆和哈利一样高。他穿着他死的时候的那身衣服，头发脏兮兮的凌乱的翘着，眼镜有点斜了，像韦斯莱先生那样子。 
　　小天狼星高大英俊，比哈利认识的生活中的他显得年轻。他的手插在口袋里，一边优雅地慢慢跑着，一边咧开嘴笑着。 
　　卢平也很年轻，而且看起来不那么寒酸，头发又黑又厚。回到这个他熟悉的地方，这个少年时曾无数次游荡过的地方，他看起来很高兴。 
　　莉莉是所有人中最高兴的。她走近哈利，把长发甩到身后。她绿色的眼睛，简直就跟哈利的一样。她如此渴望地看着他的脸，就像从来都看不够似的。 
　　“你真勇敢。” 
　　哈利说不出话来。他一直看着她，他真想站在这，就这样看着她，直到永远。不，永远也不够长。 
　　“你就要到了，”詹姆说，“非常近，我们……我们是这样地以你为荣。” 
　　“那会疼吗？” 
　　他还来不及阻止，这个幼稚的问题就从他嘴里冒了出来。 
　　“死吗？一点也不，”小天狼星说，“很快的，比睡着还简单。” 
　　“而且伏地魔也希望快点结束。他想让这一切结束。”卢平说。 
　　“我不想你们死，”哈利说，这些话未经考虑就说了出来，“不想你们中的任何一个死去。对不起——”他充满歉意对他们说，不过对卢平的歉意更多——他几乎是在恳求卢平了。 
　　“——你才刚刚有了孩子……莱姆斯，我很抱歉——” 
　　“我也很遗憾，”卢平说，“因为我永远都见不了他……但是他会知道我为何死去，而且我希望他能理解——为了能让他生活在一个更美好的世界里” 
　　一阵阴冷的微风吹来，似乎来自禁林的中心，哈利感到他浑身的汗毛都立起来了。他知道他们是不会劝他离开的，他必须自己做决定。 
　　“你们会和我在一起的，对吗？” 
　　“直到最后。”詹姆说。 
　　“他们看不见你们？”哈利问。 
　　“我们是你的一部分，”小天狼星说，“谁都看不见我们。” 
　　哈利看着他的妈妈。 
　　“离我近点儿。”他轻声说。 
　　然后他出发了。摄魂怪的寒意没有伤害到他；他和他的同伴们一起穿过禁林——他们像守护神那样保护着他——穿过紧挨着生长在一起的古木，它们的树枝在头顶缠绕，根部在脚下纠结。哈利在黑暗中拉紧隐形衣，向森林的深处走去。他不知道伏地魔到底在哪，但他知道自己会找到他的。詹姆，小天狼星，卢平和莉莉在他身边悄无声息地走着，他们的出现给了他勇气，让他一步一步向前走去。 
　　他的身体和意识好象奇怪地分离了，他的手脚不受控制地向前移动着，就好像他已经不是这具自己即将离开的躯体的主人了。他感觉到现在在他身边行走的这些死去的人们比那些在城堡中的活人更加真切：罗恩、赫敏、金妮。其他的所有人——在他跌跌撞撞地走向生命的尽头，走向伏地魔时——更像是鬼魂一样虚无缥缈，遥不可及…… 
　　忽然，附近传来一声重响和一阵耳语：另外的什么生物正在朝这靠近。哈利在隐形衣下停了下来，仔细地四处看了看，听着周围的动静，他的爸爸妈妈，小天狼星和卢平也停了下来。 
　　“有人在那，”附近一个压低了的粗声粗气的声音说道，“他有一件隐形衣，难道是——？” 
　　两个人影出现在近旁的一棵树后。借着他们的魔杖闪着微光，哈利看见了亚克斯利和多洛霍夫正盯着黑暗中哈利和他的同伴们所在的位置。不过显然，他们什么也看不到。 
　　“确实听到了什么声音。”亚克斯利说，“你觉得会是动物吗？” 
　　“那个大块头海格在这养了一群乱七八糟的东西，” 多洛霍夫说着回头看了看。 
　　亚克斯利低头看了看他的表。 
　　“时间快到了，波特还在磨蹭，他不会来了。” 
　　“最好回去吧，”亚克斯利说，“看看现在的计划是什么。” 
　　他和多洛霍夫转身走向禁林深处。哈利尾随他们。他知道他们会把自己准确地带到他想去的地方。他朝旁边看了看，发现妈妈正微笑着看着自己，爸爸对他鼓励地点了点头。 
　　他们仅仅走了几分钟，哈利就看到了前面的光，然后亚克斯利和多洛霍夫走进了一片林间的空地。哈利知道，这曾经是巨型蜘蛛阿拉戈克住的地方。它那张巨大的蜘蛛网的残留的碎片还留在那里，可它的后代们已经被食死徒赶了出去，这里成了他们的大本营。 
　　空地中间燃着一堆火，摇曳的火光照在一群沉默而警惕的食死徒的脸上。他们中有些人还带着面具蒙着头巾，有些人则面无遮掩。两个巨人坐在圈子的外围，在火光的照耀下投下一片巨大的阴影，他们的脸像岩石一样粗糙，脸上带着残忍的表情。哈利看见芬里厄躲避在一旁玩弄着它的长尾巴，那个金发的大个子莱尔正在轻抚他流血的嘴唇。他看见了卢修斯?马尔福——一副受挫的，惊恐的样子，还有纳西莎，她的凹陷的眼睛里充满了忧惧。 
　　每一双眼睛都紧紧看着伏地魔，他正低头站着，惨白的双手在元老魔杖上方交叉着。他也许正在祈祷，或者在脑海中静静地数数，而哈利，则一动不动地站在这场景的边缘——想起了小孩子玩躲猫猫时数数的样子，多么荒谬！他的身后，纳吉尼盘旋蜷缩的身体漂浮在施过咒语的闪闪发光的笼子里，像一个巨大的光环。 
　　当亚克斯利和多洛霍夫重新回到圈子时，伏地魔抬起头。 
　　“没有他的消息，我的主人。” 多洛霍夫说。 
　　伏地魔的不动声色。他红色的眼睛在火光中仿佛就要燃烧起来了。慢慢地，他用修长的手指举起元老魔杖。 
　　“我的主人——” 
　　贝拉特里克斯说：她坐在离伏地魔最近的位置上，浑身凌乱，脸上有一点血迹，但并没有受伤。伏地魔起手指阻止了她，她就再也没有开口，但却用崇敬的眼光看着伏地魔。 
　　“我想他会来的，”伏地魔盯着跳动的火焰，用他清晰而傲慢的声音说，“我期待他的到来。” 
　　没有人说话。他们看起来像哈利一样害怕，他的心脏狂跳着，似乎下定决心要冲破他的胸腔从这具他准备丢弃的躯壳中逃出去。他拉下隐形衣，把它和魔杖一起塞到长袍下面——他不想和伏地魔决斗。 
　　“哦，看起来……我可能错了，”伏地魔说。 
　　“你没有。” 
　　哈利聚起他身上所有的力气，用最大的声音说出了这句话：他不想让听见的人觉得他很害怕。回魂石从他麻木的手指中间滑落，借助眼角的余光，他看到在他向火光走去时，他的父母，小天狼星还有卢平都一起消失了。那一刻他觉得除了伏地魔，其他任何人都是无关紧要的。这只是他们两个人的事。 
　　不过幻想马上就消失了。巨人开始咆哮，食死徒们一起站了起来，他听见人群中有叫喊声，喘息声，甚至是笑声。伏地魔一动不动地站在那儿，他红色的眼睛看见了哈利，然后他就那么看着哈利向前走，直到他们中间只剩下一堆篝火。
　　这时有一个声音叫了起来：“哈利，不要！” 
　　他转过身：海格被绑在旁边的一棵树上。他不顾一切地拼命扭动着庞大的身躯，头顶的树枝都摇晃了起来。 
　　“不！不要！哈利，你在——？“ 
　　“无声无息！”莱尔的魔杖轻轻一挥，海格就不作声了。 
　　贝拉特里克斯跳了起来，充满渴望地看着伏地魔和哈利，胸脯剧烈的起伏着。现在惟一在动的东西就是火光，还有纳吉尼——它在伏地魔身后闪着微光的笼子里一会卷曲一会舒展。 
　　哈利可以感到魔杖挨着他的胸膛，但他没有去拿。他知道那条蛇被保护得很好，他还知道如果他试图把魔杖指向纳吉尼，无数条咒语会先射向他。哈利和伏地魔仍然注视着对方，这时伏地魔微微把头偏向一旁，打量着站在他眼前的这个男孩，无唇的嘴角微微上扬，露出了一个罕见的笑容。 
　　“哈利?波特，”他轻轻地叫着，声音柔软的就像是摇曳的火苗的一部分。“大难不死的男孩。” 
　　食死徒们都没有动。他们在等待：所有的人都在等待着。 
　　海格在挣扎，贝拉特克斯在大口喘气，而哈利居然毫无理由地想起了金妮：她炽热的眼神，她吻他时的感觉—— 
　　伏地魔已经举起魔杖了，他的头仍然偏向一边，就像一个好奇的孩子，想看看如果他继续下去的话会怎样。哈利注视着那双红色的眼睛，希望他现在就动手，快点吧，在他还能站着的时候，在他还没有失去控制，泄露出他的恐惧的时候—— 
　　他看见伏地魔的嘴巴张开，一道绿光闪过，一切都结束了。 
Chapter 36 The Flaw in the Plan
He was flying facedown on the ground again. The smell of the forest filled his nostrils. He could feel the cold hard ground beneath his cheek, and the hinge of his glasses which have been knocked sideways by the fall cutting into his temple. Every inch of him ached, and the place where Killing Curse had hit him felt like the bruise of an iron-clad punch. He did not stir, but he remained exactly where he had fallen, with his left arm bent out at an awkward angle and his mouth gaping.
He had expected to hear cheer of triumph and jubilation at his death, but instead hurried footsteps, whispers, and solicitous murmurs filled the air.
“My Lord… my Lord…”
It was Bellatrix’s voice, and she spoke as if to a lover. Harry did not dare open his eyes, but allowed his other senses to explore his predicament. He knew that his wand was still stowed beneath his robes because he could feel it pressed between his chest and the ground. A slight cushioning effect in the area of his stomach told him that the Invisibility Cloak was also there, stuffed out of sight.
“My Lord…”
“That will do,” said Voldemort’s voice.
More footsteps. Several people were backing away from the same spot. Desperate to see what was happening and why, Harry opened his eyes by a millimeter.
Voldemort seemed to be getting to his feet. Various Death Eaters were hurrying away from him, returning to the crowd lining the clearing. Bellatrix alone remained behind, kneeling beside Voldemort.
Harry closed his eyes again and considered what he had seen. The Death Eaters have been buddled around Voldemort, who seem to have fallen to the ground. Something had happened when he had hit Harry with the Killing Curse. Had Voldemort too collapsed? It seemed like it. And both of them had briefly fallen unconscious and both of them had now returned…
“My Lord, let me –”
“I do not require assistance,” said Voldemort coldly, and though he could not see it, Harry pictured Bellatrix withdrawing a helpful hand. “The boy… Is he dead?”
There was a complete silence in the clearing. Nobody approached Harry, but he felt their concentrated gaze; it seemed to press him harder into the ground, and he was terrified a finger or an eyelid might twitch.
“You,” said Voldemort, and there was a bang and a small shriek of pain. “Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead.”
Harry did not know who had been sent to verify. He could only lie there, with his heart thumping traitorously, and wait to be examined, but at the same time nothing, small comfort through it was, that Voldemort was wary of approaching him, that Voldemort suspected that all had not gone to plan….
Hands, softer than he had been expecting, touched Harry’s face, and felt his heart. He could hear the woman’s fast breathing, her pounding of life against his ribs.
“Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?”
The whisper was barely audible, her lips were an inch from his ear, her head bent so low that her long hair shielded his face from the onlookers.
“Yes,” he breathed back.
He felt the hand on his chest contract: her nails pierced him. Then it was withdrawn. She had sat up.
“He is dead!” Narcissa Malfoy called to the watchers.
And now they shouted, now they yelled in triumph and stamped their feet, and through his eyelids, Harry saw bursts of red and silver light shoot into the air in celebration.
Still feigning death on the ground, he understood. Narcissa knew that the only way she would be permitted to enter Hogwarts, and find her son, was as part of the conquering army. She no longer cared whether Voldemort won.
“You see?” screeched Voldemort over the tumult. “Harry Potter is dead by my hand, and no man alive can threaten me now! Watch! Crucio!”
Harry had been expecting it, knew his body would not be allowed to remain unsullied upon the forest floor; it must be subjected to humiliation to prove Voldemort’s victory. He was lifted into the air, and it took all his determination to remain limp, yet the pain he expected did not come. He was thrown once, twice, three times into the air. His glasses flew off and he felt his wand slide a little beneath his robes, but he kept himself floppy and lifeless, and when he fell to ground for the last time, the clearing echoed with jeers and shrieks of laughter.
“Now,” said Voldemort, “we go to the castle, and show them what has become of their hero. Who shall drag the body? No – Wait – ”
There was a fresh outbreak of laughter, and after a few moments Harry felt the ground trembling beneath him.
“You carry him,” Voldemort said. “He will be nice and visible in your arms, will he not? Pick up your little friend, Hagrid. And the glasses – put on the glasses – he must be recognizable – ”
Someone slammed Harry’s glasses back onto his face with deliberate force, but the enormous hands that lifted him into the air were exceedingly gentle. Harry could feel Hagrid’s arms trembling with the force of his heaving sobs; great tears splashed down upon him as Hagrid cradled Harry in his arms, and Harry did not dare, by movement or word, to intimate to Hagrid that all was not, yet, lost.
“Move,” said Voldemort, and Hagrid stumbled forward, forcing his way through the close-growing trees, back through the forest.
Branches caught at Harry’s hair and robes, but he lay quiescent, his mouth lolling open, his eyes shut, and in the darkness, while the Death Eaters coed all around them, and while Hagrid sobbed blindly, nobody looked to see whether a pulse beat in the exposed neck of Harry Potter….
The two giants crashed along behind the Death Eaters; Harry could hear trees creaking and falling as they passed; they made so much din that birds toes shrieking into the sky, and even the jeers of the Death Eaters were drowned. The victorious procession marched on toward the open ground, and after a while Harry could tell, by the lightening of the darkness through his closed eyelids, that the trees were beginning to thin.
“BANE!”
Hagrid’s unexpected bellow nearly forced Harry’s eyes open. “Happy now, are yeh, that yeh didn’t fight, yeh cowardly bunch o’ nags? Are yeh happy Harry Potter’s – d-dead…?”
Hagrid could not continue, but broke down in fresh tears. Harry wondered how many centaurs were watching their procession pass; he dared not open his eyes to look. Some of the Death Eaters called insults at the centaurs as they left them behind. A little later, Harry sensed, by a freshening of the air, that they had reached the edge of the forest.
“Stop.”
Harry thought that Hagrid must have been forced to obey Voldemort’s command, because he lurched a little. And now a chill settled over them where they stood, and Harry heard the rasping breath of the dementors that patrolled the other trees. They would not affect him now.
The fact of his own survival burned inside him, a talisman against them, as though his father’s stag kept guardian in his heart.
Someone passed close by Harry, and he knew that it was Voldemort himself because he spoke a moment later, his voice magically magnified so that it swelled through the ground, crashing upon Harry’s eardrums.
“Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone.”
“The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together.”
There was silence in the grounds and from the castle. Voldemort was so close to him that Harry did not dare open his eyes again.
“Come,” said Voldemort, and Harry heard him move ahead, and Hagrid was forced to follow. Now Harry opened his eyes a fraction, and saw Voldemort striding in front them, wearing the great snake Nagini around his shoulders, now free of her enchanted cage. But Harry had no possibility of extracting the wand concealed under his robes without being noticed by the Death Eaters, who marched on the either side of them through the slowly lightening darkness….
“Harry,” sobbed Hagrid. “Oh, Harry… Harry…”
Harry shut his eyes tight again. He knew that they were approaching the castle and strained his ears to distinguish, above the gleeful voices of the Death Eaters and their tramping footsteps, signs of life from those within.
“Stop.”
The Death Eaters came to a halt; Harry heard them spreading out in a line facing the open front doors of the school. He could see, even though his closed lids, the reddish glow that meant light streamed upon him from the entrance hall. He waited. Any moment, the people for whom he had tried to die would see him, lying apparently dead, in Hagrid’s arms.
“NO!”
The scream was the more terrible because he had never expected or dreamed that Professor McGonagall could make such a sound. He heard another women laughing nearby, and knew that Bellatrix gloried in McGonagall’s despair. He squinted again for a single second and saw the open doorway filling with people, as the survivors of the battle came out onto the front steps to face their vanquishers and see the truth of Harry’s death for themselves. He saw Voldemort standing a little in front of him, stroking Nagini’s head with a single white finger. He closed his eyes again.
“No!”
“No!”
“Harry! HARRY!”
Ron’s, Hermione’s, and Ginny’s voices were worse than McGonagall’s; Harry wanted nothing more than to call back, yet he made himself lie silent, and their cries acted like a trigger; the crowd of survivors took up the cause, screaming and yelling abuse at the Death Eathers, until - “SILENCE!” cried Voldemort, and there was a bang and a flash of bright light, and silence was forced upon them all. “It is over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!”
Harry felt himself lowered onto the grass.
“You see?” said Voldemort, and Harry felt him striding backward and forward right beside the place where he lay. “Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!”
“He beat you!” yelled Ron, and the charm broke, and the defenders of Hogwarts were shouting and screaming again until a second, more powerful bang extinguished their voices once more.
“He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds,” said Voldemort, and there was a relish in his voice for the lie. “killed while trying to save himself – ”
But Voldemort broke off: Harry heard a scuffle and a shout, then another bang, a flash of light, and grunt of pain; he opened his eyes an infinitesimal amount. Someone had broken free of the crowd and charged at Voldemort: Harry saw the figure hit the ground. Disarmed, Voldemort throwing the challenger’s wand aside and laughing.
“And who is this?” he said in his soft snake’s hiss. “Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?”
Bellatrix gave a delighted laugh.
“It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?”
“Ah, yes, I remember,” said Voldemort, looking down at Neville, who was struggling back to his feet, unarmed and unprotected, standing in the no-man’s-land between the survivors and the Death Eaters. “But you are a pureblood, aren’t you, my brave boy?” Voldemort asked Neville, who stood facing him, his empty hands curled in fists.
“So what if I am?” said Neville loudly.
“You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom.”
“I’ll join you when hell freezes over,” said Neville. “Dumbledore’s Army!” he shouted, and there was an answering cheer from the crowd, whom Voldemort’s Silencing Charms seemed unable to hold.
“Very well,” said Voldemort, and Harry heard more danger in the silkiness of his voice than in the most powerful curse. “If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head,” he said quietly, “be it.”
Still watching through his lashes, Harry saw Voldemort wave his wand. Seconds later, out of one of the castle’s shattered windows, something that looked like a misshapen bird flew through the half light and landed in Voldemort’s hand. He shook the mildewed object by its pointed end and it dangled, empty and ragged: the Sorting Hat.
“There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School,” said Voldemort. “There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield and colors of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slythering, will suffice everyone. Won’t they, Neville Longbottom?”
He pointed his wand at Neville, who grew rigid and still, then forced the hat onto Neville’s head, so that it slipped down below his eyes. There were movements from the watching crowd in front of the castle, and as one, the Death Eaters raised their wands, holding the fighters of Hogwarts at bay.
“Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me,” said Voldemort, and with a flick of his wand, he caused the Sorting Hat to burst into flames.
Screams split the dawn, and Neville was a flame, rooted to the spot, unable to move, and Harry could not bear it: He must act - And then many things happened at the same moment.
They heard uproar from the distant boundary of the school as what sounded like hundreds of people came swarming over the out-of-sight walls and pelted toward the castle, uttering loud war cries. At the same time, Grawp came lumbering around the side of the castle and yelled, “HAGGER!” His cry was answered by roars from Voldemort’s giants: They ran at Grawp like bull elephants making the earth quake. Then came hooves and the twangs of bows, and arrows were suddenly falling amongst the Death Eaters, who broke ranks, shouting their surprise. Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak from inside his robes, swung it over himself, and sprang to his feet, as Neville moved too.
In one swift, fluid motion, Neville broke free of the Body-Bind Curse upon him; the flaming hat fell off him and he drew from its depths something silver, with a glittering, rubied handle - The slash of the silver blade could not be heard over the roar of the oncoming crowd or the sounds of the clashing giants or of the stampeding centaurs, and yet, it seemed to draw every eye. With a single stroke Neville sliced off the great snake’s head, which spun high into the air, gleaming in the light flooding from the entrance hall, and Voldemort’s mouth was open in a scream of fury that nobody could hear, and the snake’s body thudded to the ground at his feet. – 
Hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, Harry cast a Shield Charm between Neville and Voldemort before the latter could raise his stamps of the battling giants, Hagrid’s yell came loudest of all.
“HARRY!” Hagrid shouted. “HARRY – WHERE’S HARRY?” Chaos reigned. The charging centaurs were scattering the Death Eaters, everyone was feeling the giants’ stamping feet, and nearer and nearer thundered the reinforcements that had come from who knew where; Harry saw great winged creatures soaring the heads of Voldemort’s giants, thestrals and Buckbeak the hippogriff scratching at their eyes while Grawp punched and pummeled them and now the wizards, defenders of Hogwarts and Death Eaters alike were being forced back into the castle. Harry was shooting jinxes and curses at any Death Eater he could see, and they crumpled, not knowing what or who had hit them, and their bodies were trampled by the retreating crowd. Still hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, Harry was buffered into the entrance hall: He was searching for Voldemort and saw him across the room, firing spells from his wand as he backed into the Great Hall, still screaming instructions to his followers as he sent curses flying left and right; Harry cast more Shield Charms, and Voldemort’s would-be victims. Seamus Finnigan and Hannah Abbott, darted past him into the Great Hall, where they joined the fight already flourishing inside it.
And now there were more, even more people storming up the front steps, and Harry saw Charlie Weasley overtaking Horace Slughorn, who was still wearing his emerald pajamas. They seemed to have returned at the head of what looked like the families and friends of every Hogwarts student who had remained to fight along with the shopkeeps and homeowners of Hogsmeade. The centaurs Bane, Ronan and Magorian burst into the hall with a great clatter of hooves, as behind Harry the door that led to the kitchens was blasted off its hinges.
The house-elves of Hogwarts swarmed into the entrance hall, screaming and waving carving knives and cleaver, and at their head, the locker of Regulus Black bouncing on his chest, was Kreacher, his bullfrog’s voice audible even above this din: “Fight! Fight! Fight for my Master, defender of house-elves! Fight the Dark Lord, in the name of brave Regulus! Fight!”
They were hacking and stabbing at the ankles and shim of Death Eaters their tiny faces alive with malice, and everywhere Harry looked Death Eaters were folding under sheer weight of numbers, overcome by spells, dragging arrows from wounds, stabbed in the leg by elves, or else simply attempting to escape, but swallowed by the oncoming horde.
But it was not over yet: Harry sped between duelers, past a struggling prisoners, and into he Great Hall.
Voldemort was in the center of the battle, and he was striking and smiting al within reach. Harry could not get a clear shot, but fought his way nearer, still invisible, and the Great Hall became more and more crowded as everyone who could walk forced their way inside.
Harry saw Yaxley slammed to the floor by George and Lee Jordan, saw Dolohov fall with a scream at Flitwick’s hands, saw Walden Macnair thrown across the room by Hagrid, hit the stone wall opposite, and slide unconscious to the ground. He saw Ron and Neville bringing down Fenrir Greyback. Aberforth Stunning Rookwood, Arthur and Percy flooting Thicknesse, and Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy running through the crowd, not even attempting to fight, screaming for their son.
Voldemort was now dueling McGonagall, Slughorn, Kingsley all at once, and there was a cold hatred in his face as they wove and ducked around him, unable to finish him - Bellatrix was still fighting too, fifty yards away from Voldemort, and like her master she dueled three at once: Hermione, Ginny and Luna, all battling their hardest, but Bellatrix was equal to them, and Harry’s attention was diverted as a Killing Curse shot so close to Ginny that she missed death by an inch -
He changed course, running at Bellatrix rather than Voldemort, but before he had gone a few steps he was knocked sideways.
“NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!”
Mrs. Weasley threw off her cloak as she ran, freeing her arms, Bellatrix spun on the spot, roaring with laughter at the sight of the new challenger.
“OUT OF MY WAY!” shouted Mrs. Weasley to the three girls, and with a simple swipe of her wand she began to duel. Harry watched with terror and elation as Molly Weasley’s wand slashed and twisted, and Bellatrix Lestrange’s smile faltered and became a snarl. Jets of light flew from both wands, the floor around the witches’ feet became hot and cracked; both woman were fighting to kill.
“No!” Mrs. Weasley cried as a few students ran forward, trying to come to her aid. “Get back! Get back! She is mine!”
Hundreds of people now lined the walls, watching the two fights, Voldemort and his three opponents, Bellatrix and Molly, and Harry stood, invisible, torn between both, wanting to attack and yet to protect, unable to be sure that he would not hit the innocent.
“What will happen to your children when I’ve killed you?” taunted Bellatrix, as mad as her master, capering as Molly’s curses danced around her. “When Mummy’s gone the same way as Freddie?”
“You – will – never – touch – our – children – again!” screamed Mrs. Weasley.
Bellatrix laughed the same exhilarated laugh her cousin Sirius had given as he toppled backward through the veil, and suddenly Harry knew what was going to happen before it did.
Molly’s curse soared beneath Bellatrix’s constricted arm and hit her squarely in the chest, directly over her heart.
Bellatrix’s gloating smile froze, her eyes seemed to bulge: For the tiniest space of time she knew what had happened, and then she toppled, and the watching crowd roared, and Voldemord screamed.
Harry felt as though he turned into slow motion: he saw McGonagall, Kingsley and Slughorn blasted backward, flailing and writhing through the air, as Voldemort’s fury at the fall of his last, best lieutenant exploded with the force of a bomb, Voldemort raised his wand and directed it at Molly Weasley.
“Protego!” roared Harry, and the Shield Charm expanded in the middle of the Hall, and Voldemort stared around for the source as Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak at last.
The yell of shock, the cheers, the screams on every side of: “Harry!”
“HE’S ALIVE!” were stifled at once. The crowd was afraid, and silence fell abruptly and completely as Voldemort and Harry looked at each other, and began, at the same moment, to circle each other.
“I don’t want anyone else to help,” Harry said loudly, and in the total silence his voice carried like a trumpet call. “It’s got to be like this. It’s got to be me.”
Voldemort hissed.
“Potter doesn’t mean that,” he said, his red eyes wide. “This isn’t how he works, is it? Who are you going to use as a shield today, Potter?”
“Nobody,” said Harry simply. “There are no more Horcruxes. It’s just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good….”
“One of us?” jeered Voldemort, and his whole body was taut and his red eyes stared, a snake that was about to strike. “You think it will be you, do you, the boy who has survived by accident, and because Dumbledore was pulling the strings?”
“Accident, was it, when my mother died to save me?” asked Harry. They were still moving sideways, both of them, in that perfect circle, maintaining the same distance from each other, and for Harry no face existed but Voldemort’s. “Accident, when I decided to fight in that graveyard? Accident, that I didn’t defend myself tonight, and still survived, and returned to fight again?”
“Accidents!” screamed Voldemort, but still he did not strike, and the watching crowd was frozen as if Petrified, and of the hundreds in the Hall, nobody seemed to breathe but they two. “Accident and chance and the fact that you crouched and sniveled behind the skirts of greater men and women, and permitted me to kill them for you!”
“You won’t be killing anyone else tonight,” said Harry as they circled, and stared into each other’s eyes, green into red. “You won’t be able to kill any of them ever again. Don’t you get it? I was ready to die to stop you from hurting these people – ”
“But you did not!”
“ – I meant to, and that’s what did it. I’ve done what my mother did. They’re protected from you. Haven’t you noticed how none of the spells you put on them are binding? You can’t torture them. You can’t touch them. You don’t learn from your mistakes, Riddle, do you?”
“You dare – ”
“Yes, I dare,” said Harry. “I know things you don’t know, Tom Riddle. I know lots of important things that you don’t. Want to hear some, before you make another big mistake?”
Voldemort did not speak, but prowled in a circle, and Harry knew that he kept him temporarily mesmerized at bay, held back by the faintest possibility that Harry might indeed know a final secret….
“Is it love again?” said Voldemort, his snake’s face jeering. “Dumbledore favorite solution, love, which he claimed conquered death, though love did not stop him falling from the tower and breaking like and old waxwork? Love, which did not prevent me stamping out your Muddblood mother like a cockroach, Potter – and nobody seems to love you enough to run forward this time and take my curse. So what will stop you dying now when I strike?”
“Just one thing,” said Harry, and still they circled each other, wrapped in each other, held apart by nothing but the last secret.
“If it is not love that will save you this time,” said Voldemort, “you must believe that you have magic that I do not, or else a weapon more powerful than mine?”
“I believe both,” said Harry, and he saw shock flit across the snakelike face, though it was instantly dispelled; Voldemort began to laugh, and the sound was more frightening than his screams; humorless and insane, it echoed around the silent Hall.
“You think you know more magic than I do?” he said. “Than I, than Lord Voldemort, who has performed magic that Dumbledore himself never dreamed of?”
“Oh he dreamed of it,” said Harry, “but he knew more than you, knew enough not to do what you’ve done.”
“You mean he was weak!” screamed Voldemort. “Too weak to dare, too weak to take what might have been his, what will be mine!”
“No, he was cleverer than you,” said Harry, “a better wizard, a better man.”
“I brought about the death of Albus Dumbledore!”
“You thought you did,” said Harry, “but you were wrong.”
For the first time, the watching crowd stirred as the hundreds of people around the walls drew breath as one.
“Dumbledore is dead!” Voldemort hurled the words at Harry as in the marble tomb in the grounds of this castle, “I have seen it, Potter, and he will not return!”
“Yes, Dumbledore is dead,” said Harry calmly, “but you didn’t have him killed. He chose his own manner of dying, chose it months before he died, arranged the whole thing with the man you thought was your servant.”
“What childish dream is this?” said Voldemort, but still he did not strike, and his red eyes did not waver from Harry’s.
“Severus Snape wasn’t yours,” said Harry. “Snape was Dumbledore’s. Dumbledore’s from the moment you starting hunting down my mother. And you never realized it, because of the thing you can’t understand. You never saw Snape cast a Patronus, did you, Riddle?”
Voldemort did not answer. They continued to circle each other like wolves about to tear each other apart.
“Snape’s Patronus was a doe,” said Harry, “the same as my mother’s, because he loved her for nearly all of his life, from the time when they were children. You should have realized,” he said as he saw Voldemort’s nostrils flare, “he asked you to spare her life, didn’t he?”
“He desired her, that was all,” sneered Voldemort, “but when she had gone, he agreed that there were other women, and of purer blood, worthier of him – ”
“Of course he told you that,” said Harry, “but he was Dumbledore’s spy from the moment you threatened her, and he’s been working against you ever since! Dumbledore was already dying when Snape finished him!”
“It matters not!” shrieked Voldemort, who had followed every word with rapt attention, but now let out a cackle of mad laughter. “It matters not whether Snape was mine or Dumbledore’s, or what petty obstacles they tried to put in my path! I crushed them as I crushed your mother, Snape’s supposed great love! Oh, but it all makes sense, Potter, and in ways that you do not understand!”
“Dumbledore was trying to keep the Elder Wand from me! He intended that Snape should be the true master of the wand! But I got there ahead of you, little boy – I reached the wand before you could get your hands on it, I understood the truth before you caught up. I killed Severus Snape three hours ago, and the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny is truly mine! Dumbledore’s last plan went wrong, Harry Potter!”
“Yeah, it did.” said Harry. “You’re right. But before you try to kill me, I’d advise you think what you’ve done…. Think, and try for some remorse, Riddle….”
“What is this?”
Of all the things that Harry had said to him, beyond any revelation or taunt, nothing had socked Voldemort like this. Harry saw is pupils contract to thin slits, saw the skin around his eyes whiten.
“It’s your one last chance,” said Harry, “it’s all you’ve got left…. I’ve seen what you’ll be otherwise…. Be a man… try… 
Try for some remorse….“
“You dare –?” said Voldemort again.
“Yes, I dare,” said Harry, “because Dumbledore’s last plan hasn’t backfired on me at all. It’s backfired on you, Riddle.”
Voldemort’s hand was trembling on the Elder Wand, and Harry gripped Draco’s very tightly. The moment, he knew, was seconds away.
“That wand still isn’t working properly for you because you murdered the wrong person. Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated Dumbledore.”
“He killed – ”
“Aren’t you listening? Snape never beat Dumbledore! Dumbledore’s death was planned between them! Dumbledore intended to die, undefeated, the wand’s last true master! If all had gone as planned, the wand’s power would have died with him, because it had never been won from him!”
“But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand!” Voldemort’s voice shook with malicious pleasure. “I stole the wand from its last master’s tomb! I removed it against the last master’s wishes! Its power is mine!”
“You still don’t get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn’t enough! Holding it, using it, doesn’t make it really yours. Didn’t you listen to Ollivander? The wand chooses the wizard… The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world’s most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance…”
Voldemort’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and Harry could feel the curse coming, feel it building inside the wand pointed at his face.
“The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy.”
Blank shock showed in Voldemort’s face for a moment, but then it was gone.
“But what does it matter?” he said softly. “Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: We duel on skill alone… and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy…”
“But you’re too late,” said Harry. “You’ve missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took his wand from him.”
Harry twitched the hawthorn wand, and he felt the eyes of everyone in the Hall upon it.
“So it all comes down to this, doesn’t it?” whispered Harry. “Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does… I am the true master of the Elder Wand.”
A red-glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort’s was suddenly a flaming blur. Harry heard the high voice shriek as he too yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco’s wand:
“Avada Kedavra!“
“Expelliarmus!“
The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort’s green jet meet his own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air toward the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last. And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy’s shell.
One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended: and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air. The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered toward him, and the first to reach him were Ron and Hermione, and it was their arms that were wrapped around him, their incomprehensible shouts that deafened him. Then Ginny, Neville, and Luna were there, and then all the Weasleys and Hagrid, and Kingsley and McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout, and Harry could not hear a word that anyone was shouting, not tell whose hands were seizing him, pulling him, trying to hug some part of him, hundreds of them pressing in, all of them determined to touch the Boy Who Lived, the reason it was over at last – The sun rose steadily over Hogwarts, and the Great Hall blazed with life and light. Harry was an indispensable part of the mingled outpourings of jubilation and mourning, of grief and celebration. They wanted him there with them, their leader and symbol, their savior and their guide, and that he had not slept, that he craved the company of only a few of them, seemed to occur to no one. He must speak to the bereaved, clasp their hands, witness their tears, receive their thanks, hear the news now creeping in from every quarter as the morning drew on; that the Imperiused up and down the country had come back to themselves, that Death Eaters were fleeing or else being captured, that the innocent of Azkaban were being released at that very moment, and that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been named temporary Minister of Magic.
They moved Voldemort’s body and laid it in a chamber off the Hall, away form the bodies of Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Colin Creevey, and fifty others who had died fighting him. McGonagall had replaced the House tables, but nobody was sitting according to House anymore: All were jumbled together, teachers and pupils, ghosts and parents, centaurs and house-elves, and Firenze lay recovering in the corner, and Grawp peered in through a smashed window, and people were throwing food into his laughing mouth. After a while, exhausted and drained, Harry found himself sitting on a bench beside Luna.
“I’d want some peace and quiet, if it were me,” she said.
“I’d love some,” he replied.
“I’ll distract them all,” she said. “Use your cloak.”
And before he could say a word, she had cried, “Oooh, look, a Blibbering Humdinger!” and pointed out the window. Everyone who heard looked around, and Harry slid the Cloak up over himself, and got to his feet.
Now he could move through the Hall without interference. He spotted Ginny two tables away; she was sitting with her head on her mother’s shoulder: There would be time to talk later, hours and days and maybe years in which to talk. He saw Neville, the sword of Gryffindor lying beside his plate as he ate, surrounded by a knot of fervent admirers. Along the aisle between the tables he walked, and he spotted the three Malfoys, huddled together as though unsure whether or not they were supposed to be there, but nobody was paying them any attention. Everywhere he looked, he saw families reunited, and finally, he saw the two whose company he craved most.
“It’s me,” he muttered, crouching down between them. “Will you come with me?”
They stood up at once, and together he, Ron and Hermione left the Great Hall. Great chunks were missing from the marble staircase, part of the balustrade gone, and rubble and bloodstains occurred ever few steps as their climbed.
Somewhere in the distance they could hear Peeves zooming through the corridors singing a victory song of his own composition:
 
We did it, we bashed them, wee Potter’s the one, 
And Voldy’s gone moldy, so now let’s have fun!
 
“Really gives a feeling for the scope and tragedy of the thing, doesn’t it?“ said Ron, pushing open a door to let Harry and Hermione through.
Happiness would come, Harry though, but at the moment it was muffled by exhaustion, and the pain of losing Fred and Lupin and Tonks pierced him like a physical wound every few steps. Most of all he felt the most stupendous relief, and a longing to sleep. But first he owed an explanation to Ron and Hermione, who had stuck with him for so long, and who deserved the truth. 
Painstakingly he recounted what he had seem in the Pensieve and what had happened in the forest, and they had not even begun to express all their shock and amazement, when at last they arrived at the place to which they had been walking, though none of them had mentioned their destination.
Since he had last seen it, the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the headmaster’s study had been knocked aside; it stood lopsided, looking a little punch-drunk, and Harry wondered whether it would be able to distinguish passwords anymore.
“Can we go up?” he asked the gargoyle.
“Feel free,” groaned the statue.
They clambered over him and onto the spiral stone staircase that moved slowly upward like an escalator. Harry pushed open the door at the top.
He had one, brief glimpse of the stone Pensieve on the desk where he had left it, and then an earsplitting noise made him cry out, thinking of curses and returning Death Eaters and the rebirth of Voldemort –
But it was applause. All around the walls, the headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts were giving him a standing ovation; they waved their hats and in some cases their wigs, they reached through their frames to grip each other’s hands; they danced up and down on their chairs in which they have been painted: Dilys Derwent sobbed unashamedly; Dexter Fortescue was waving his ear-trumpet; and Phineas Niggelus called, in his high, reedy voice, “And let it be noted that Slytherin House played its part! Let our contribution not be forgotten!”
But Harry had eyes only for the man who stood in the largest portrait directly behind the headmaster’s chair. Tears were sliding down from behind the half-moon spectacles into the long silver beard, and the pride and the gratitude emanating from him filled Harry with the same balm as phoenix song.
At last, Harry held up his hands, and the portraits fell respectfully silent, beaming and mopping their eyes and waiting eagerly for him to speak. He directed his words at Dumbledore, however, and chose them with enormous care. Exhausted and bleary-eyed though he was, he must make one last effort, seeking one last piece of advice.
“The thing that was hidden in the Snitch,” he began, “I dropped it in the forest. I don’t know exactly where, but I’m not going to go looking for it again. Do you agree?”
“My dear boy, I do,” said Dumbledore, while his fellow pictures looked confused and curious. “A wise and courageous decision, but no less than I would have expected of you. Does anyone know else know where it fell?”
“No one,” said Harry, and Dumbledore nodded his satisfaction.
“I’m going to keep Ignotus’s present, though,” said Harry, and Dumbledore beamed.
“But of course, Harry, it is yours forever, until you pass it on!”
“And then there’s this.”
Harry held up the Elder Wand, and Ron and Hermione looked at it with a reverence that, even in his befuddled and sleep-deprived state, Harry did not like to see.
“I don’t want it.” said Harry.
“What?” said Ron loudly. “Are you mental?”
“I know it’s powerful,” said Harry wearily. “But I was happier with mine. So…”
He rummaged in the pouch hung around his neck, and pulled out the two halves of holly still just connected by the finest threat of phoenix feather. Hermione had said that they could not be repaired, that the damage was too severe. All he knew was that if this did not work, nothing would.
He laid the broken wand upon the headmaster’s desk, touched it with the very tip of the Elder Wand, and said, “Reparo.”
As his wand resealed, red sparks flew out of its end. Harry knew that he had succeeded. He picked up the holly and phoenix wand and felt a sudden warmth in his fingers, as though wand and hand were rejoicing at their reunion.
“I’m putting the Elder Wand,” he told Dumbledore, who was watching him with enormous affection and admiration, “back where it came from. It can stay there. If I die a natural death like Ignotus, its power will be broken, won’t it? The previous master will never have been defeated. That’ll be the end of it.”
Dumbledore nodded. They smiled at each other.
“Are you sure?” said Ron. There was the faintest trace of longing in his voice as he looked at the Elder Wand.
“I think Harry’s right,” said Hermione quietly.
“That wand’s more trouble than it’s worth.” said Harry. “And quite honestly,” he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the four-poster bed lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower, and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there, “I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.”
哈利再一次感到自己面朝下地倒在了地上，森林的气味充斥鼻间，他感觉到面颊贴在寒冷坚硬的地面上，眼镜腿也在他摔倒的时候被撞歪了，卡在太阳穴上。他身体上每一寸肌肤都在疼，那个被死咒击中的部位就像被利器刺中了一样剧痛。但他一动也没动地呆在原地，左臂古怪地扭曲着，嘴巴大张。 
　　他本以为能听到庆祝他死亡的欢呼声，但空气中却充斥着匆忙的脚步声、耳语声和热切的低语声。 
　　“主人……我的主人……” 
　　那是贝拉特里克斯的声音，她像是在对自己的爱人说话一般。哈利不敢睁开眼睛，但他还是在用其它感官去探知自己的险境。他知道魔杖还在他的袍子里，因为他能感觉到魔杖就抵在地面和前胸之间。在他倒下时，腹部的轻微缓冲让他知道了隐形衣也塞在别人看不到的地方。 
　　“主人……” 
　　“够了。”伏地魔说。 
　　周围响起了很多脚步声，一些人从同一处向后退开，哈利把眼睛睁开一条缝，急切地想知道是怎么了。 
　　伏地魔似乎站了起来，食死徒们都匆忙地离开他回到空地的人堆里，只有贝拉特里克斯还留在那里，跪在伏地魔的身边。 
　　哈利再次闭上眼睛，思考着刚才看到的那一幕。伏地魔摔倒在地上，食死徒们围在他身边。在他用死咒攻击哈利的时候出了点状况。伏地魔被击倒了吗？看起来似乎是的。刚才他们两个都不省人事地倒下了，而现在他们都清醒了过来。 
　　“主人，让我来……” 
　　“我不需要帮助，”伏地魔冷冷地说。尽管哈利看不见他，但他脑袋里还是浮现出了贝拉特里克斯伸出一只手想要帮他的样子。 
　　“那个男孩……死了吗？” 
　　周围一片死寂，没有人接近哈利，但他可以感觉到周围注视的目光好像把他压进地面一样。他生怕哪根手指或是哪边眼皮会突然动弹一下。 
　　“你，”伏地魔说，哈利听到一声巨响和因疼痛发出的抽泣声，“检查一下，然后告诉我他死没死。” 
　　哈利不知道被派过来核实的人是谁，他只能躺在那里等着，而他的心脏此时却不听使唤地狂跳着，但是同时他心中有些许欣慰： 伏地魔不敢接近他，伏地魔怀疑计划并没有那么顺利…… 
　　一双比想象中柔软的手碰了碰哈利的脸，又摸了摸他的心脏，他感觉到那个女人急促的呼吸着，感觉到她那贴着他肋骨的心跳声。 
　　“德拉科还活着吗？他在城堡里吗？” 
　　这句耳语几不可闻，她的嘴唇几乎贴着哈利的耳朵，头倾得很低，长长的头发挡住了哈利，因而其他人都看不到他的脸。 
　　“是的，”他轻声回答。 
　　他感到胸前的那只手攥紧了，指甲戳到了他。然后她收回手，坐直了身子。 
　　“他死了！”纳西莎?马尔福对旁观者们说。 
　　现在，他们终于开始呼喊，他们兴奋地大声叫喊，手舞足蹈。透过眼皮，哈利看见了红色和银色的庆祝火焰射向天空。 
　　他仍然躺在地上装死，他明白，唯一能让纳西莎进入霍格沃茨去找儿子的方法就是跟着胜利的大军一块儿进去，她已经不在乎伏地魔的胜负了。 
　　“看见了吗？”伏地魔在喧闹中尖叫着，“我亲手杀死了哈利?波特，现在任何活着的人都不是我的对手了！看着吧！钻心剜骨！” 
　　哈利早就知道会这样了，他知道他的身体不会这样一直静静地躺在森林的地面上，为了证明自己的胜利，伏地魔一定会去践踏、侮辱他的遗体。他被抛到空中，竭尽全力保持身体的柔软，但是疼痛并没有降临。他被抛向空中一次，两次，三次……眼镜被甩掉了，袍子下的魔杖也稍稍滑动了一下，他尽力的让自己软绵绵的像个死人，最后一次摔到地上的时候，周围回响起一阵嘲笑和讥讽的叫声。 
　　“现在，”伏地魔说，“我们去城堡，让他们看看他们英雄的下场。谁过来拖尸首？不——等等……” 
　　他突然出发出一阵刺耳的笑声，顷刻，哈利感觉到身下的地面抖动起来。 
　　“你来抬他，”伏地魔说，“他在你的手臂里会显得更瘦小，更显眼，不是吗？拾起你的小朋友，海格。还有眼镜——戴上眼镜，他必须要很容易被辨认出来。” 
　　有人不怀好意的狠狠地把眼镜扣在了哈利的脸上，但是，把哈利举起来的那双巨大的手却非常温柔。哈利能感觉到海格呜咽着颤抖着把自己抱在怀里，大滴大滴的眼泪溅落到他身上。但哈利既不敢动弹，也不敢通过语言来告诉海格这一切还没有结束。 
　　“快走，”伏地魔说。海格踉踉跄跄的往前走了几步，被迫穿过茂密的树丛，由禁林向霍格沃茨走去。 
　　树枝刮住了哈利的头发和袍子，但他还是静静地躺着，嘴巴自然地张开，双眼紧闭。一片黑暗中，食死徒们在他的周围说着话，而海格在不顾一切地哭着，没人会费心去摸摸哈利脖子上的青筋是否在跳动。 
　　两个巨人在食死徒身后轰隆隆的拖着脚步。哈利能听见他们走过森林时，树木吱吱作响然后倒掉的声音。他们弄出的声音太大了，鸟儿被吓得尖叫着飞向天空，甚至连食死徒尖锐的笑声也模糊了。胜利的大军慢慢接近了开阔的场地，过了一会儿，黑暗中有光芒穿透了哈利的眼帘，树木也变得稀少了。 
　　“贝恩！” 
　　海格突然一吼，差点让哈利睁开了眼睛。“现在高兴了吧，是吧，你们根本没去战斗，你们这群懦弱的老驽马，哈利死……死了你们很高兴吧……” 
　　海格没法继续说下去了，他又痛哭了起来。哈利不知道身后有多少马人在看着大军前进，因为他不敢睁开眼睛。队伍继续前进，把马人甩在了后面，一些食死徒嘴里说着侮辱马人的话。没过多久，哈利感觉到前面的空气变得清新了，他们已经到了森林的边缘。 
　　“停下。” 
　　哈利知道海格一定是被迫服从伏地魔的命令的，因为他踉跄了一下。一时间，寒冷笼罩了他们，哈利听到了在树丛间巡视的摄魂怪的呼吸声。他们现在影响不了他，活着的这个事实在哈利心中燃烧起来，这个信念帮助哈利抵抗着摄魂怪，就好像他父亲的牡鹿在他心中保护他一样。 
　　有人紧贴着哈利走过去了，哈利知道到那是伏地魔本人，因为马上他开始说话了，他那被魔法放大的声音冲进了场地，敲击着哈利的耳膜。 
　　“哈利?波特已经死了，他在逃跑的时候被杀了，在你们用生命保护他的时候，他想的却是保全自己的命。为了让你们确信你们的英雄已经死了，我们把他的尸体也带来了。” 
　　“我们已经赢了战斗。而你们失去了一半的战士，我的食死徒人数比你们多，大难不死的男孩已经完蛋了，不需要再有任何战争了。任何要继续抵抗的人和他们的家人，无论是男是女还是小孩，都会被处死。从城堡里出来吧，在我的面前下跪吧，你们会被宽恕的，你们的家人、孩子、兄弟姐妹都会被宽恕。你们会加入我，我们会共同建设一个崭新的世界。” 
　　城堡那边的场地上一片寂静。哈利现在不敢睁眼看看当前的状况，因为伏地魔离他太近了。 
　　“过来。”伏地魔说。哈利听见他正往前走，海格也被迫跟了过去。这时哈利微微睁开了眼，看到伏地魔正大步地走在他们前面，那条大蛇纳吉尼在他的肩头缠绕着，现在那个魔法变出的笼子已经不见了。但是在微微闪烁的黑暗中，食死徒们缓缓跟随着他们，哈利无法在不被发现的情况下从袍子底下抽出魔杖。 
　　“哈利，”海格抽泣着“噢，哈利……哈利……” 
　　哈利又紧紧的闭上了眼睛，他知道他们正在接近城堡。他竖起了耳朵，在食死徒愉快的谈话声和脚步声中，仔细地分辨着霍格沃茨里面的生命迹象。 
　　“停。” 
　　食死徒们停下了脚步，哈利听到了他们面对城堡散成一排的声音。尽管哈利闭着眼睛，他也可以感觉到门厅的灯光洒向了他。他等待着。他用生命保卫着的人们瞬间就可能看到他躺在海格的怀中，已经死去了。 
　　“不！” 
　　那尖叫声比他想象的更糟糕，他从没想过到麦格教授会发出那种声音。他听见了贝拉特里克斯得意地看着绝望的麦格教授时发出的笑声。他又睁了一下眼睛，看到了门口站满了战斗中的幸存者，他们从里面冲出来面对着攻击他们的人，而且看到了哈利已经死了。他还看到了伏地魔在他前面不远处站着，用一只苍白的手指抚摸着纳吉尼的脑袋。哈利又闭上了眼睛。 
　　“不！” 
　　“不！” 
　　“哈利！哈利！” 
　　罗恩、赫敏、金妮的声音听起来比麦格的更加痛苦。哭声爆发出来，震耳欲聋。虽然他想赶快起来，可还是强迫自己安静的躺着。人们看到眼前的景象，哭喊尖叫着怒骂食死徒，直到—— 
　　“安静！”伏地魔喊了一声，同时发出了一束带着巨响的光：“结束了！把他放下来，海格，放到我脚边，这才是属于他的位置。” 
　　哈利感觉到自己被放到了草坪上。 
　　“你们看到了吧？”伏地魔说，哈利感到他大步地在他躺着的地方来回踱着，“哈利?波特死了！你们现在明白了吧，被迷惑的人们，他死了，那个靠别人的牺牲而保全自己的男孩不存在了！” 
　　“他打败过你！”罗恩哭喊着，平静被打破了，霍格沃茨的保卫者们同时开始哭喊和尖叫，一个更响的爆炸声再一次熄灭了他们的声音。 
　　“当他在城堡周围打算逃跑时被我杀了，“伏地魔说，意味深长地扯着谎，“在他打算保全自己的时候被杀死——” 
　　但是伏地魔被打断了，哈利听到了一阵骚乱，然后是另一声巨响、一束亮光和痛苦的呻吟。他把眼睛睁开了一个小缝看了看周围。有个人冲出了人群袭击了伏地魔，哈利看到那个人倒在地上，被解除了武器，伏地魔把挑战者的魔杖扔在一边大笑着。 
　　“这又是谁啊？”他用蛇一般的柔软的声音说着：“是谁想证明失败者企图延续斗争会得到的结果啊？ 
　　贝拉特里克斯愉快地笑了一声：“他是纳威?隆巴顿，主人！就是这个男孩曾经给卡罗兄妹制造了不少麻烦！他是傲罗的儿子，记得吗？” 
　　“哦，是的，我记得，”伏地魔低头看了看纳威说，纳威正挣扎着从他的脚下站了起来，徒手站在幸存者和食死徒之间的空地上。“但是你是纯血统的，对吗？我勇敢的孩子？”伏地魔问道，纳威站在他的面前，空空的手掌握成了拳头。 
　　“是又怎么样？”纳威大声问道。 
　　“你表现出了你的精神和勇气，你出身高贵，你可以成为一个非常有价值的食死徒。我们需要你的帮忙，纳威?隆巴顿。“ 
　　“我永远也不会加入你们的。”纳威说，“邓布利多军！”他喊道，人群中传出一阵应答声，即使是伏地魔的声音抑制咒也不能完全控制住。 
　　“很好，”伏地魔说，哈利知道，那柔软如丝的声音中所包含的危险，比大多数咒语还要可怕得多。“如果这就是你的选择，那么隆巴顿，我们还是回到最初的计划上来，把头伸过来。” 
　　哈利依然眯着眼睛，看到伏地魔挥舞着魔杖。几秒钟之后，一个奇怪的像鸟一样的东西从城堡的一扇破碎的窗户里飞出来，落在了伏地魔的手掌中。他摇晃着那个已经有点发霉的，粗糙的、空瘪的东西：分院帽。 
　　“霍格沃茨再也不需要分院了。”伏地魔说，“那里再也没有什么其他的学院了，每一个人，都将使用我高贵的祖先萨拉查?斯莱特林的标志、徽章和颜色，是不是呢，纳威?隆巴顿？” 
　　纳威坚毅平静地站在那里，伏地魔伸出魔杖指着他，分院帽被扣在了纳威的头上，滑到了眼睛下面。城堡前面的旁观者们开始骚动。在另一边，食死徒们也举起了他们的魔杖，防备着霍格沃茨可能爆发的战斗。 
　　“纳威将示范给你们看，如果一个人始终愚蠢的反对我会怎么样。”伏地魔一边说，一边挥动着他的魔杖，分院帽着起了火。尖叫声打破了沉寂，纳威毅然决然的站在那里，一动也不动。哈利再也不能忍受了，他必须行动起来—— 
　　然而就在那一刹那，好几件事情同时发生了： 
　　他们听到学校边界处的骚动声，就好像成千上万的人翻过了那道看不见的围墙进入了城堡，发出战争的宣言。同时，格洛普从城堡的另一边跑了过来喊着“海格！”他的哭喊声得到了伏地魔的巨人们的回应了，他们跑向了格洛普，好像野牛与象群一样弄得地动山摇。一阵拉弓放箭的声音响起，弓箭射到了已经乱了阵型惊恐尖叫着的食死徒中间。哈利从他的斗篷里拿出隐身衣披上，跳了起来，纳威这时也跑开了。 
　　纳威敏捷地破解了施在他身上的束缚咒，燃烧着的帽子掉了下来，从它中间露出了一个银色的东西，柄上的红宝石熠熠生辉—— 
　　在这人群嘈杂，巨人混战以及马人的马蹄声中，银剑重重的落地声没有任何人能听得到，但这一刻它还是吸引住了所有的目光。纳威干净利落地砍下了伸到空中的巨蛇的脑袋，它旋转着飞上高空，在门廊划过一道微光。伏地魔狂怒的张大嘴巴尖叫，但谁也听不见他的声音。蛇的尸体掉下来，砸在他的脚边。 
　　哈利藏在隐身衣下面，赶在伏地魔把正在作战的巨人们召唤过来之前，在纳威和伏地魔之间施了一个盔甲护身咒，这时海格的吼声盖过了所有声音。 
　　“哈利！”海格叫喊着。“哈利——哈利在哪儿？” 
　　混战仍在继续。马人们不断地向食死徒射箭，每个人都能感觉到巨人走动时大地的震颤，增援大军振聋发聩的声音越来越近。哈利看到许多有着巨大翅膀的生物盘旋在伏地魔的巨人军队头顶上，那是许多夜骐——还有那头鹰头马身有翼兽巴克比克，它们在格洛普挣扎的时候猛抓其他巨人的眼睛。守卫霍格沃茨的巫师们和食死徒们都退回到城堡中，哈利对每一个他看到的食死徒发射着咒语，他们还不知道被谁攻击了就倒下了，任凭撤退的人群从他们身上踩过。 
　　哈利躲在隐形衣下面走进了大门，他寻找着伏地魔，看见他从屋子里穿过，一边用魔杖不断地到处发射咒语，一边退到礼堂里不断吼叫地命令着他的随从们。哈利向可能被伏地魔攻击到的人发射了更多的盔甲护身咒，比如西莫、斐尼甘和汉娜。艾博在他后面追进大礼堂，加入了愈演愈烈的战斗。 
　　入口台阶那里，越来越多的人涌了进来，哈利看到查理?韦斯莱赶上了穿着祖母绿睡裤的霍拉斯?斯拉格霍恩。每一个在霍格沃茨的人都成了家人和朋友，甚至包括霍格沃德村的店主和居民们都赶来一同战斗。马人贝恩、罗南和玛格瑞伴着马蹄的巨响也闯进了大厅，与此同时，哈利身后通往厨房的那道门也奇迹般地打开了。 
　　霍格沃茨的家养小精灵们挥舞着刀叉尖叫着冲进大厅，在他们最前面，是胸前挂着雷古勒斯?布莱克的挂坠盒的克利
　　切，他那牛蛙一般的声音在一片喧嚣声中清晰可见：“战斗战斗！为了我那保卫家养小精灵的主人而战！打倒黑魔头，以勇敢的雷古勒斯的名义！战斗！” 
　　他们在食死徒的脚上和胫骨上砍着刺着，小脸上布满了憎恶的表情。哈利看到四下的食死徒逐渐寡不敌众，有的被咒语打倒，有的正忍痛把箭从伤口里拔出来，有的腿被家养小精灵刺伤了，其他的干脆逃跑了，却又被赶来的支援大军所吞没。 
　　战斗还没有结束。哈利避开决斗的人们，穿过拥挤的人群，跑进了礼堂。 
　　伏地魔处在战斗的中心，他向每一个接近他的人发射咒语。哈利不会被咒语击中，他穿着隐身衣，离伏地魔更近了一步。这个时候，涌入礼堂的人越来越多，好像每个能走路的人都被挤了进来。 
　　哈利看到亚克斯利被乔治和李乔丹击中倒地，看到多洛霍夫尖叫着被弗立维教授打倒，看到沃尔顿?麦克尼尔被海格穿过大厅扔到对面，撞到石墙上后不省人事地滑到了地面。他看到罗恩和纳威放倒了芬里尔?格雷伯克，阿不福思击晕了卢克伍德， 亚瑟和珀西在围攻底克尼斯，卢修斯和纳西莎?马尔福无心恋战，他们穿过人群大声呼唤着他们的儿子。 
　　伏地魔正在同时对付麦格，斯拉格霍恩和金斯莱，他们在他周围迂回躲闪，脸上充满了冷冷的憎恶，却始终结果不了他—— 
　　贝拉特里克斯在伏地魔五十码外战斗着，同她的主人一样，她也同时迎战三人：赫敏、金妮和卢娜。她们三人都在竭力抵抗，但贝拉特里克斯和她们法力相当。当一道死咒几乎击中金妮时，哈利禁不住吓了一跳，死神里她就差那么一英寸…… 
　　他决定改变策略，从伏地魔那里转向贝拉特里克斯，但是还没走几步就被撞到了一边。 
　　“别碰我女儿，你这个贱人！”
　　韦斯莱夫人脱掉了穿在身上的斗篷，腾开双臂，贝拉特里克斯停下了战斗，盯着她的新挑战者大笑起来。 
　　“闪一边去！”韦斯莱夫人冲三个女孩喊着，她挥动魔杖开始了战斗。哈利紧张又高兴地看到莫丽?韦斯莱用魔杖灵活地发动着攻击，而贝拉特里克斯的笑容则僵了下来化做一阵咆哮。光束不断从两人的魔杖中喷射出来，周围的地板变得滚烫开裂，两个女人都在以死相搏。 
　　当有几个学生跑过来打算帮她时，韦斯莱夫人大喊着：“不！回去！回去！她是我的！” 
　　现在上百人围成了人墙，关注着这两场的战役，伏地魔和他的三个挑战者，以及贝拉特里克斯和莫丽。哈利站在隐身衣里，想去进攻但又不想伤及无辜，充满矛盾的站在两场决斗中间。 
　　“如果你被我杀了，你那群孩子可怎么办呢？”贝拉特里克斯一边跳跃着躲避莫丽的咒语，一边用她主人那般嘲讽的声音说道，“如果妈妈和弗雷德一样惨死了呢？” 
　　“你——别想——再碰——我们的－孩子！”韦斯莱夫人尖叫道。 
　　贝拉特里克斯笑着，就像她把自己的堂兄弟小天狼星推到帷幕后面时一样愉快地狂笑着，哈利突然知道接下来会发生什么了。 
　　莫丽的咒语穿过贝拉特里克斯张开的双臂，击中了她的胸膛，直指她的心脏。 
　　贝拉特里克斯的笑容凝固了，眼睛凸了出来，瞬间，她意识到发生了什么，而后倒在了地上，伏地魔嚎叫了起来。 
　　哈利觉得眼前的画面就好像慢镜头一样，他看到麦格、金斯莱和斯拉格霍恩被一股强大的魔力撞了回来，他们被抛向空中时翻腾挣扎着，伏地魔看到自己最得力的助手被杀死后，他的狂怒像炸弹爆发了，他挥动着魔杖直指莫丽?韦斯莱。 
　　“盔甲护身！”哈利怒吼着，金甲护身咒在礼堂中间扩散开来，伏地魔四下寻找声音的来源，哈利一把揭掉了隐身衣。 
　　惊呼声、欢庆声和尖叫声从四面八方涌来：“哈利！”“他还活着！”但片刻之后，就停住了。人群突然陷入了恐慌和死一般的寂静，伏地魔和哈利看着对方，开始缓慢的移动着脚步，他们始终保持着距离，似乎走在圆形轨道上。 
　　“我不想要其他任何人的帮助，”哈利大声地说，在寂静中，他的声音亮如洪钟，“这是注定的，注定了是我来和他决斗。” 
　　伏地魔嘘了一声。 
　　“波特不是这个意思，”他说道，睁大了红色的眼睛，“那不是他的作风，是不是？你今天又要利用谁来作你的挡箭牌呢？波特？” 
　　“没有任何人，”哈利简单地说，“魂器
Epilogue  Nineteen Years Later
Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first of September was crisp as an apple, and as the little family bobbed across the rumbling road toward the great sooty station, the fumes of car exhausts and the breath of pedestrians sparkled like cobwebs in the cold air. Two large cages tattled on top of the laden trolleys the parents were pushing; the owls inside them hooted indignantly, and the redheaded girl trailed fearfully behind here brothers, clutching her father’s arm.
“It won’t be long, and you’ll be going too,” Harry told her.
“Two years,” sniffed Lily. “I want to go now!”
The commuters stared curiously at the owls as the family wove its way toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten, Albus’s voice drifted back to Harry over the surrounding clamor; his sons had resumed the argument they had started in the car.
“I won’t! I won’t be a Slytherin!”
“James, give it a rest!” said Ginny.
“I only said he might be,” said James, grinning at his younger brother. “There’s nothing wrong with that. He might be in Slytherin”
But James caught his mother’s eye and fell silent. The five Potters approached the barrier. With a slightly cocky look over his shoulder at his younger brother, James took the trolley from his mother and broke into a run. A moment later, he had vanished.
“You’ll write to me, won’t you?” Albus asked his parents immediately, capitalizing on the momentary absence of his brother.
“Every day, if you want us to,” said Ginny.
“Not every day,” said Albus quickly, “James says most people only get letters from home about once a month.”
“We wrote to James three times a week last year,” said Ginny.
“And you don’t want to believe everything he tells you about Hogwarts,” Harry put in. “He likes a laugh, your brother.”
Side by side, they pushed the second trolley forward, gathering speed. As they reached the barrier, Albus winced, but no collision came. Instead, the family emerged onto platform nine and three-quarters, which was obscured by thick white steam that was pouring from the scarlet Hogwarts Express. Indistinct figures were swarming through the mist, into which James had already disappeared.
“Where are they?” asked Albus anxiously, peering at the hazy forms they passed as they made their way down the platform.
“We’ll find them,” said Ginny reassuringly.
But the vapor was dense, and it was difficult to make out anybody’s faces. Detached from their owners, voices sounded unnaturally loud, Harry thought he head Percy discoursing loudly on broomstick regulations, and was quite glad of the excuse not to stop and say hello….
“I think that’s them, Al,” said Ginny suddenly.
A group of four people emerged from the mist, standing alongside the very last carriage. Their faces only came into focus when Harry, Ginny, Lily, and Albus had drawn right up to them.
“Hi,” said Albus, sounding immensely relieved.
Rose, who was already wearing her brand-new Hogwarts robes, beamed at him.
“Parked all right, then?” Ron asked Harry. “I did. Hermione didn’t believe I could pass a Muggle driving test, did you? She thought I’d have to Confound the examiner.”
“No, I didn’t,” said Hermione, “I had complete faith in you.”
“As a matter of fact, I did Confund him,” Ron whispered to Harry, as together they lifted Albus’s trunk and owl onto the train. “I only forgot to look in the wing mirror, and let’s face it, I can use a Supersensory Charm for that.”
Back on the platform, they found Lily and Hugo, Rose’s younger brother, having an animated discussion about which House they would be sorted into when they finally went to Hogwarts.
“If you’re not in Gryffindor, we’ll disinherit you,” said Ron, “but no pressure.”
“Ron!”
Lily and Hugo laughed, but Albus and Rose looked solemn.
“He doesn’t mean it,” said Hermione and Ginny, but Ron was no longer paying attention. Catching Harry’s eye, he nodded covertly to a point some fifty yards away. The steam had thinned for a moment, and three people stood in sharp relief against the shifting mist.
“Look who it is.”
Draco Malfoy was standing there with his wife and son, a dark coat buttoned up to his throat. His hair was receding somewhat, which emphasized the pointed chin. The new boy resembled Draco as much as Albus resembled Harry. Draco caught sight of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny staring at him, nodded curtly, and turned away again.
“So that’s little Scorpius,” said Ron under his breath. “Make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie. Thank God you inherited your mother’s brains.”
“Ron, for heaven’s sake,” said Hermione, half stern, half amused. “Don’t try to turn them against each other before they’ve even started school!”
“You’re right, sorry,” said Ron, but unable to help himself, he added, “Don’t get too friendly with him, though, Rosie. Granddad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pureblood.”
“Hey!”
James had reappeared; he had divested himself of his trunk, owl, and trolley, and was evidently bursting with news.
“Teddy’s back there,” he said breathlessly, pointing back over his shoulder into the billowing clouds of steam. “Just seen him! And guess what he’s doing? Snogging Victoire!”
He gazed up at the adults, evidently disappointed by the lack of reaction.
“Our Teddy! Teddy Lupin! Snogging our Victoire! Our cousin! And I asked teddy what he was doing –”
“You interrupted them?” said Ginny. “You are so like Ron –”
“– and he said he’d come to see her off! And then he told me to go away. He’s snogging her!” James added as though worried he had not made himself clear.
“Oh, it would be lovely if they got married!” whispered Lily ecstatically. “Teddy would really be part of the family then!”
“He already comes round for dinner about four times a week,” said Harry “Why don’t we just invite him to live with us and have done with it?”
“Yeah!” said James enthusiastically. “I don’t mind sharing with Al – Teddy could have my room!”
“No,” said Harry firmly, “you and Al will share a room only when I want the house demolished.”
He checked the battered old watch that had once been Fabian Prewett’s.
“It’s nearly eleven, you’d better get on board.”
“Don’t forget to give Neville our love!” Ginny told James as she hugged him.
“Mum! I can’t give a professor love!”
“But you know Neville–”
James rolled his eyes.
“Outside, yeah, but at school he’s Professor Longbottom, isn’t he? I can’t walk into Herbology and give him love….”
Shaking his head at his mother’s foolishness, he vented his feelings by aiming a kick at Albus.
“See you later, Al. Watch out for the thestrals.”
“I thought they were invisible? You said they were invisible!” but James merely laughed, permitted his mother to kiss him, gave his father a fleeting hug, then leapt onto the rapidly filling train. They saw him wave, then sprint away up the corridor to find his friends.
“Thestrals are nothing to worry about,” Harry told Albus. “They’re gentle things, there’s nothing scare about them. Anyway, you won’t be going up to school in the carriages, you’ll be going in the boats.”
Ginny kissed Albus good-bye.
“See you at Christmas.”
“Bye, Al,” said Harry as his son hugged him. “Don’t forget Hagrid’s invited you to tea next Friday. Don’t mess with Peeves. Don’t duel anyone till you’re learned how. And don’t let James wind you up.”
“What if I’m in Slytherin?”
The whisper was for his father alone, and Harry knew that only the moment of departure could have forced Albus to reveal how great and sincere that fear was.
Harry crouched down so that Albus’s face was slightly above his own. Alone of Harry’s three children, Albus had inherited Lily’s eyes.
“Albus Severus,” Harry said quietly, so that nobody but Ginny could hear, and she was tactful enough to pretend to be waving to Rose, who was now on the train, “you were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew.”
“But just say–”
“–then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student, won’t it? It doesn’t matter to us, Al. But if it matter to you, you’ll be able to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account.”
“Really?”
“It did for me,” said Harry.
He had never told any of his children that before, and he saw the wonder in Albus’s face when he said it. But how the doors were slamming all along the scarlet train, and the blurred outlines of parents swarming forward for final kisses, last-minute reminders, Albus jumped into the carriage and Ginny closed the door behind him. Students were hanging from the windows nearest them. A great number of faces, both on the train and off, seemed to be turned toward Harry.
“Why are they all staring?” demanded Albus as he and Rose craned around to look at the other students.
“Don’t let it worry you,” said Ron. “It’s me, I’m extremely famous.”
Albus, Rose, Hugo, and Lily laughed. The train began to more, and Harry walked alongside it, watching his son’s thin face, already ablaze with excitement. Harry kept smiling and waving, even though it was like a little bereavement, watching his son glide away from him….
The last trace of steam evaporated in the autumn air. The train rounded a corner. Harry’s hand was still raised in farewell.
“He’ll be alright,” murmured Ginny.
As Harry looked at her, he lowered his hand absentmindedly and touched the lightning scar on his forehead.
“I know he will.”
The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well.
秋天好像来得很突然。九月的第一个早晨如同苹果般清新。在清凉的空气中，汽车的尾气和人们的呼吸就像蜘蛛吐丝一样。一家子人正穿过熙熙攘攘的街道向那烟雾缭绕的车站走去。父母二人推着两辆载满了沉重行李的小车，最顶上有两个大笼子，里面的猫头鹰愤怒的叫着，一个红头发的女孩在她的两个哥哥后面拖拖沓沓地走着，抓着她父亲的胳膊。 
　　“要不了多久，你也会去哪儿的。”哈利对她说。 
　　“还要两年呢，”莉莉不满地说，“我现在就要去！” 
　　路人好奇地盯着猫头鹰，看到这一家子人正在第九和第十站台之间徘徊。阿不思又开始再哈利身后嚷嚷着，他的儿子们仍在继续着从一上车就开始的那个话题。 
　　“我不会的！我不会被分到斯莱特林！“ 
　　“詹姆，行了！”金妮说。 
　　“我只不过是说他有可能，”詹姆冲着他的弟弟笑了一下，“那也没啥不好的。他有可能会进斯莱特林。” 
　　但詹姆一看到他妈妈的眼睛就立刻闭嘴了。波特一家五个人走到了栏杆旁，詹姆带着点骄傲地看了看他兄弟，然后从妈妈手中接过了手推车，跑了起来。片刻之后，他消失了。 
　　“你们会写信给我的，对吗？”阿不思抓紧了哥哥不在的这一点时间，问他的父母。 
　　“每天都写，如果你想要的话。”金妮说。 
　　“才不要每天，”阿不思快速的说，“詹姆说大部分人大概一个月才收到一封家里的信。” 
　　“去年我们每周给他写三次信呢。”金妮说。 
　　“你不能相信他说的关于霍格沃茨的每件事，”哈利赶紧插话，“你哥哥他喜欢开玩笑。” 
　　他们并排推着手推车向前冲去，速度越来越快。当他们马上撞那堵墙的时候，阿不思有点想要退缩，但是他什么都没撞到，相反的，九又四分之三站台出现在他们一家人的面前，薄雾中的熙熙攘攘的人群有点模糊不清，而詹姆早就消失其中。 
　　“他们在哪？”阿不思焦虑地说，沿着月台摸索着路，凝视着那些模糊不清的人影。 
　　“我们会找到他们的。”金妮安慰道。 
　　哈利似乎听见了珀西用不大自然的声音大声讲述扫帚使用的规则，但是雾太大了，很难看清别人的脸。这真是个不用停下来打招呼的好借口。 
　　“我想他们在那里，阿尔，”金妮突然说。 
　　四个人从薄雾中出现，站在最后一节车厢旁边。当哈利、金妮、莉莉和阿不思走到跟前才真的看清了他们的脸。 
　　“嘿！”阿不思说，听起来他这下总算放心了。 
　　露丝已经穿上了崭新的霍格沃茨校袍，笑逐颜开的看着他。 
　　“车停好了？“罗恩问哈利，“我做到了，赫敏怎么也不相信我能通过麻瓜的驾驶考试，对吧？她认为我对考试官施了混淆咒。” 
　　“不，我没有。”赫敏说，“我对你完全有信心。” 
　　“事实上，我的确对他施了咒。”当他们正把阿不思的行李和猫头鹰抬到车厢上的时候，罗恩小声对哈利说。“我只不过忘了看观后镜，不过确实，我对他用了混淆咒。” 
　　当他们回到月台，发现了莉莉和雨果－－露丝的弟弟，正在起劲地议论着，将来等他们到了霍格沃茨会被分到什么学院。 
　　“如果你不在格兰芬多，我们会剥夺你的继承权。”罗恩说，“但是别给自己太大压力。“ 
　　“罗恩！” 
　　莉莉和雨果大笑了起来，但是阿不思和露丝看起来都很紧张。 
　　“他不是那个意思。”赫敏和金妮说道。但是罗恩不再注意他们了，他看到了哈利的目光，注意他正默默的看着在他们大约五十码开外的地方。雾气比刚才淡了一些，有三个身影在里面隐现。 
　　“看，是谁呀。” 
　　德拉科?马尔福站在妻子和儿子旁边，黑色的外套一直扣到咽喉。他稍微有点谢顶了，更显得下巴尖尖。那个小男孩可真像德拉科呀，就像阿不思像哈利一样。德拉科看到了哈利、罗恩、赫敏和金妮正看着他，稍稍点了一下头，就转过了身。 
　　“那就是那个小斯科普斯吧”罗恩屏住呼吸说，“你可要保证每次考试都打败他，露丝。感谢上帝，你继承了你妈妈的脑子。” 
　　“罗恩，看在老天的份上。”赫敏半嗔半笑地说道，“别让他们还没进学校就成了对头。” 
　　“哦，你说得对，对不起。“罗恩说，但是还是不由自主的又加了一句，“尽管如此也别和他走的太近了，露丝，如果你嫁给一个纯血种的，韦斯莱祖先们不会原谅你的。” 
　　“嗨！” 
　　詹姆又回来了，他已经放下了他的箱子、猫头鹰和手推车，看起来似乎带来了什么爆炸新闻。 
　　“泰迪也来到这儿了。”他气喘吁吁的说着，指了指身后的水蒸气。“我刚看到他了！你们猜他在干嘛？他在和维多利亚亲嘴！” 
　　“我们的泰迪！泰迪?卢平！和我们的维多利亚亲嘴！我们的表姐！然后我问泰迪他在干什么——” 
　　“你打断了他们？”金妮说，“你可真像罗恩……” 
　　“他跟我说他就是来送送她！然后让我闪开。他在和她亲嘴呀！”詹姆又加上了一句，好像担心自己说得不够清楚。 
　　“哦，如果他们能结婚那真是太好了！”莉莉心醉地低声说，“那样泰迪就真的成了我们家的一员了！“ 
　　“他已经一周来我们家吃四次晚饭了。”哈利说“我们为什么不邀请他和我们一起住呢？” 
　　“耶！”詹姆兴奋地说，“我不介意和阿尔一起住，泰迪可以住我的房间！” 
　　“不。”哈利坚定的说，“除非我想把房子毁了，我才会让你和阿尔住在一起。” 
　　他低头看了看那曾经属于费比安?普威特的已经有点歪了的旧手表。 
　　“马上就11点了，你们最好赶快上火车。” 
　　“别忘了替我们给纳威问好！”当金妮拥抱詹姆的时候叮嘱他。 
　　“老妈，我可不能跟一个教授太亲近了！” 
　　“但是你是认识纳威的——” 
　　詹姆翻了翻眼睛。 
　　“那是在外面，对呀，但是在学校他是隆巴顿教授，不是吗？我可不能到了霍格沃茨还跟一个教授腻腻歪歪的……” 
　　他摇摇头，为了妈妈的不开窍，然后对准阿不思踢了一脚，发泄自己的不满。 
　　“回头见，阿尔，留神夜骐。” 
　　“我想它们是隐形的？你说它们隐形！” 
　　但是詹姆只是笑了笑，让他妈妈吻了他，给了他爸爸一个短暂的拥抱，就急匆匆的跑上了车。他们看到他挥挥手，就跑向了走廊里他的朋友们了。 
　　“夜骐一点也用不着担心。”哈利告诉阿不思，“它们是很温顺的东西，没什么好害怕的。而且，你不是坐马车去学校，而是乘船。” 
　　金妮吻别了阿不思。 
　　“圣诞节见。” 
　　“再见，阿尔。”哈利拥抱儿子时对他说，“别忘了海格邀请你们下周五去喝茶。别和皮皮鬼打架。在你学会了如何做之前不要和任何人决斗。别总让詹姆把你搞得紧张兮兮的。” 
　　“如果我被分到了斯莱特林怎么办？” 
　　他贴在父亲身边耳语着，哈利知道只有在离别的瞬间阿不思才真正地把害怕表现了出来。 
　　哈利蹲了下来，这样阿不思可以直视他。在哈利的三个孩子中间，只有阿不思继承了莉莉的眼睛。 
　　“阿不思?西弗勒斯。”哈利用除了金妮别人都听不到的声音说，但是金妮装作正在给刚刚上了火车的露丝招手。“我们用了霍格沃茨的两任校长的名字给你起了名字。他们中的一个就是一个斯莱特林，而他大概是我这辈子见过的最勇敢的人。” 
　　“但如果——” 
　　“那么斯莱特林会得到一个非常优秀的学生，不是吗？那没什么关系的。但是如果你真的很介意，你可以自己选择斯莱特林或者格兰芬多。分院帽会考虑你的选择的。” 
　　“真的？” 
　　“它对我就是这么做的”哈利说。 
　　他以前从来没有把这个告诉他的孩子，当阿不思听到时，脸上充满了开心的表情。但这时猩红色的火车就要关门了，家长们涌向前面给孩子们最后一吻，同时做着最后的叮嘱，阿不思跳上车厢，金妮把他身后的门关上了。学生们涌向了离他们最近的车厢，无数张脸，车里的车外的，看起来都转向了哈利。 
　　“为什么他们都这么盯着？”当阿不思和露丝看到四周的情况时疑惑的问道。 
　　“别担心。”罗恩说，“那是因为我，我实在太出名了。” 
　　阿不思、露丝、雨果和莉莉笑了。火车开动了，哈利退到了一边，看到他儿子瘦瘦的小脸正兴奋得发光。哈利一直微笑着挥着手，注视着儿子离开，尽管这看起来有那么点伤感…… 
　　最后一缕蒸汽的痕迹消失在秋天的空气中，火车转弯了，哈利的手仍然举在空中挥动着。 
　　“他会没事的！”金妮低声说。 
　　哈利看着她，茫然地低下头，摸了摸额头上闪电形的伤疤。 
　　“我知道他会的。” 
　　十九年来，哈利的伤疤再也没有疼过。一切都很好。 
Chapter 10 Kreacher’s Tale
Harry woke early next morning, wrapped in a sleeping bag on the drawing room floor. A chink of sky was visible between the heavy curtains. It was the cool, clear blue of watered ink, somewhere between night and dawn, and everything was quiet except for Ron and Hermione’s slow, deep breathing. Harry glanced over at the dark shapes they made on the floor beside him. Ron had had a fit of gallantry and insisted that Hermione sleep on the cushions from the sofa, so that her silhouette was raised above his. Her arm curved to the floor, her fingers inches from Ron’s. Harry wondered whether they had fallen asleep holding hands. The idea made him feel strangely lonely.
He looked up at the shadowy ceiling, the cobwebbed chandelier. Less than twenty-four house ago, he had been standing in the sunlight at the entrance to the marquee, waiting to show in wedding guests. It seemed a lifetime away. What was going to happen now? He lay on the floor and he thought of the Horcruxes, of the daunting complex mission Dumbledore had left him… Dumbledore…
The grief that had possessed him since Dumbledore’s death felt different now. The accusations he had heard from Muriel at the wedding seemed to have nested in his brain like diseased things, infecting his memories of the wizard he had idolized. Could Dumbledore have let such things happen? Had he been like Dudley, content to watch neglect and abuse as long as it did not affect him? Could he have turned his back on a sister who was being imprisoned and hidden?
Harry thought of Godric’s Hollow, of graves Dumbledore had never mentioned there; he thought of mysterious objects left without explanation in Dumbledore’s will, and resentment swelled in the darkness. Why hadn’t Dumbledore told him? Why hadn’t he explained? Had Dumbledore actually cared about Harry at all? Or had Harry been nothing more than a tool to be polished and honed, but not trusted, never confided in?
Harry could not stand lying there with nothing but bitter thoughts for company. Desperate for something to do, for distraction, he slipped out of his sleeping bad, picked up his wand, and crept out of the room. On the landing he whispered, “Lumos,” and started to climb the stairs by wandlight.
On the second landing was the bedroom in which he and Ron had slept last time they had been here; he glanced into it. The wardrobe doors stood open and the bedclothes had been ripped back. Harry remembered the overturned troll leg downstairs. Somebody had searched the house since the Order had left. Snape? Or perhaps Mundungus, who had pilfered plenty from this house both before and after Sirius died? Harry’s gaze wandered to the portrait that sometimes contained Phineas Nigellus Black, Sirius’s great-great grandfather, but it was empty, showing nothing but a stretch of muddy backdrop. Phineas Nigellus was evidently spending the night in the headmaster’s study at Hogwarts.
Harry continued up the stairs until he reached the topmost landing where there were only two doors. The one facing him bore a nameplate reading Sirius. Harry had never entered his godfather’s bedroom before. He pushed open the door, holding his wand high to cast light as widely as possible. The room was spacious and must once have been handsome. There was a large bed with a carved wooden headboard, a tall window obscured by long velvet curtains and a chandelier thickly coated in dust with candle scrubs still resting in its sockets, solid wax banging in frostlike drips. A fine film of dust covered the pictures on the walls and the bed’s headboard; a spiders web stretched between the chandelier and the top of the large wooden wardrobe, and as Harry moved deeper into the room, he head a scurrying of disturbed mice.
The teenage Sirius had plastered the walls with so many posters and pictures that little of the wall’s silvery-gray silk was visible. Harry could only assume that Sirius’s parents had been unable to remove the Permanent Sticking Charm that kept them on the wall because he was sure they would not have appreciated their eldest son’s taste in decoration. Sirius seemed to have long gone out of his way to annoy his parents. There were several large Gryffindor banners, faded scarlet and gold just to underline his difference from all the rest of the Slytherin family. There were many pictures of Muggle motorcycles, and also (Harry had to admire Sirius’s nerve) several posters of bikini-clad Muggle girls. Harry could tell that they were Muggles because they remained quite stationary within their pictures, faded smiles and glazed eyes frozen on the paper. This was in contrast the only Wizarding photograph on the walls which was a picture of four Hogwarts students standing arm in arm, laughing at the camera.
With a leap of pleasure, Harry recognized his father, his untidy black hair stuck up at the back like Harry’s, and he too wore glasses. Beside him was Sirius, carelessly handsome, his slightly arrogant face so much younger and happier than Harry had ever seen it alive. To Sirius’s right stood Pettigrew, more than a head shorter, plump and watery-eyed, flushed with pleasure at his inclusion in this coolest of gangs, with the much-admired rebels that James and Sirius had been. On James’s left was Lupin, even then a little shabby-looking, but he had the same air of delighted surprise at finding himself liked and included or was it simply because Harry knew how it had been, that he saw these things in the picture? He tried to take it from the wall; it was his now, after all, Sirius had left him everything, but it would not budge. Sirius had taken no chances in preventing his parents from redecorating his room.
Harry looked around at the floor. The sky outside was growing brightest. A shaft of light revealed bits of paper, books, and small objects scattered over the carpet. Evidently Sirius’s bedroom had been reached too, although its contents seemed to have been judged mostly, if not entirely, worthless. A few of the books had been shaken roughly enough to part company with the covers and sundry pages littered the floor.
Harry bent down, picked up a few of the pieces of paper, and examined them. He recognized one as a part of an old edition of A History of Magic, by Bathilda Bagshot, and another as belonging to a motorcycle maintenance manual. The third was handwritten and crumpled. He smoothed it out.
 

Dear Padfoot,
Thank you, thank you, for Harry’s birthday present! It was his favorite by far. One year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick, he looked so pleased with himself. I’m enclosing a picture so you can see. You know it only rises about two feet off the ground but he nearly killed the cat and he smashed a horrible vase Petunia sent me for Christmas (no complaints there). Of course James thought it was so funny, says he’s going to be a great Quidditch player but we’ve had to pack away all the ornaments and make sure we don’t take our eyes off him when he gets going.
We had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda who has always been sweet to us and who dotes on Harry. We were so sorry you couldn’t come, but the Order’s got to come first, and Harry’s not old enough to know it’s his birthday anyway! James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell - also Dumbledore’s still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions. If you could visit, it would cheer him up so much. Wormy was here last weekend. I thought he seemed down, but that was probably the next about the McKinnons; I cried all evening when I heard.
Bathilda drops in most days, she’s a fascinating old thing with the most amazing stories about Dumbledore. I’m not sure he’d be pleased if he knew! I don’t know how much to believe, actually because it seems incredible that Dumbledore 
Harry’s extremities seemed to have gone numb. He stood quite still, holding the miraculous paper in his nerveless fingers while inside him a kind of quiet eruptions sent joy and grief thundering its equal measure through his veins. Lurching to the bed, he sat down.
He read the letter again, but could not take in any more meaning than he had done the first time, and was reduced to staring at the handwriting itself. She had made her “g”s the same way he did. He searched through the letter for every one of them, and each felt like a friendly little wave glimpsed from behind a veil. The letter was an incredible treasure, proof that Lily Potter had lived, really lived, that her warm hand had once moved across this parchment, tracing ink into these letters, these words, words about him, Harry, her son.
Impatiently brushing away the wetness in his eyes, he reread the letter, this time concentrating on the meaning. It was like listening to a half-remembered voice.
They had a cat… perhaps it had perished, like his parents at Godric’s Hollow… or else fled when there was nobody left to feed it… Sirius had bought him his first broomstick… His parents had known Bathilda Bagshot; had Dumbledore introduced them? Dumbledore’s still got his Invisibility Cloak… there was something funny there…
Harry paused, pondering his mother’s words. Why had Dumbledore taken James’s Invisibility Cloak? Harry distinctly remembered his headmaster telling him years before, “I don’t need a cloak to become invisible” Perhaps some less gifted Order member had needed its assistance, and Dumbledore had acted as a carrier? Harry passed on…
Wormy was here… Pettigrew, the traitor, had seemed “down” had he? Was he aware that he was seeing James and Lily alive for the last time?
And finally Bathilda again, who told incredible stories about Dumbledore. It seems incredible that Dumbledore -
That Dumbledore what? But there were any number of things that would seem incredible about Dumbledore; that he had once received bottom marks in a Transfiguration test, for instance or had taken up goat charming like Aberforth…
Harry got to his feet and scanned the floor: Perhaps the rest of the letter was here somewhere. He seized papers, treating them in his eagerness, with as little consideration as the original searcher, he pulled open drawers, shook out books, stood on a chair to run his hand over the top of the wardrobe, and crawled under the bed and armchair.
At last, lying facedown on the floor, he spotted what looked like a torn piece of paper under the chest of drawers. When he pulled it out, it proved to be most of the photograph that Lily had described in her letter. A black-haired baby was zooming in and out of the picture on a tiny broom, roaring with laughter, and a pair of legs that must have belonged to James was chasing after him. Harry tucked the photograph into his pocket with Lily’s letter and continued to look for the second sheet.
After another quarter of an hour, however he was forced to conclude that the rest of his mother’s letter was gone. Had it simply been lost in the sixteen years that had elapsed since it had been written, or had it been taken by whoever had searched the room? Harry read the first sheet again, this time looking for clues as to what might have made the second sheet valuable. His toy broomstick could hardly be considered interesting to the Death Eaters… The only potentially useful thing he could see her was possible information on Dumbledore. It seems incredible that Dumbledore - what?
“Harry? Harry? Harry!”
“I’m here!” he called, “What’s happened?”
There was a clatter of footsteps outside the door, and Hermione burst inside.
“We woke up and didn’t know where you were!” she said breathlessly. She turned and shouted over her shoulder, “Ron! I’ve found him”
Ron’s annoyed voice echoed distantly from several floors below.
“Good! Tell him from me he’s a git!”
“Harry don’t just disappear, please, we were terrified! Why did you come up here anyway?” She gazed around the ransacked room. “What have you been doing?”
“Look what I’ve just found”
He held out his mother’s letter. Hermione took it out and read it while Harry watched her. When she reached the end of the page she looked up at him.
“Oh Harry…”
“And there’s this too”
He handed her the torn photograph, and Hermione smiled at the baby zooming in and out of sight on the toy broom.
“I’ve been looking for the rest of the letter,” Harry said, “but it’s not here.”
Hermione glanced around.
“Did you make all this mess, or was some of it done when you got here?”
“Someone had searched before me,” said Harry.
“I thought so. Every room I looked into on the way up had been disturbed. What were they after, do you think?”
“Information on the Order, if it was Snape.”
“But you’d think he’d already have all he needed. I mean was in the Order, wasn’t he?”
“Well then,” said Harry, keen to discuss his theory, “what about information on Dumbledore? The second page of the letter, for instance. You know this Bathilda my mum mentions, you know who she is?”
“Who?”
“Bathilda Bagshot, the author of - ”
“A History of Magic,” said Hermione, looking interested. “So your parents knew her? She was an incredible magic historian.”
“And she’s still alive,” said Harry, “and she lives in Godric’s Hollow. Ron’s Auntie Muriel was talking about her at the wedding. She knew Dumbledore’s family too. Be pretty interesting to talk to, wouldn’t she?” There was a little too much understanding in the smile Hermione gave him for Harry’s liking. He took back the letter and the photograph and tucked them inside the pouch around his neck, so as not to have to look at her and give himself away. “I understand why you’d love to talk to her about your mum and dad, and Dumbledore too,” said Hermione. “But that wouldn’t really help us in our search for the Horcruxes, would it?” Harry did not answer, and she rushed on, “Harry, I know you really want to go to Godric’s Hollow, but I’m scared. I’m scared at how easily those Death Eaters found us yesterday. It just makes me feel more than ever that we ought to avoid the place where your parents are buried, I’m sure they’d be expecting you to visit it.”
“It’s not just that,” Harry said, still avoiding looking at her, “Muriel said stuff about Dumbledore at the wedding. I want to know the truth…”
He told Hermione everything that Muriel had told him. When he had finished, Hermione said, “Of course, I can see why that’s upset you, Harry - ”
“I’m not upset,” he lied, “I’d just like to know whether or not it’s true or - ”
“Harry do you really think you’ll get the truth from a malicious old woman like Muriel, or from Rita Skeeter? How can you believe them? You knew Dumbledore!”
“I thought I did,” he muttered.
“But you know how much truth there was in everything Rita wrote about you! Doge is right, how can you let these people tarnish your memories of Dumbledore?”
He looked away, trying not to betray the resentment he felt. There it was again: Choose what to believe. He wanted the truth. Why was everybody so determined that he should not get it?
“Shall we go down to the kitchen?” Hermione suggested after a little pause. “Find something for breakfast?”
Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black
Excitement trickled through Harry, but he was not immediately sure why. He read the sign again. Hermione was already a flight of stairs below him.
“Hermione,” he said, and he was surprised that his voice was so calm. “Come back up here.”
“What’s the matter?”
“R.A.B. I think I’ve found him.”
There was a gasp, and then Hermione ran back up the stairs.
“In your mum’s letter? But I didn’t see - ”
Harry shook his head, pointing at Regulus’s sign. She read it, then clutched Harry’s arm so tightly that he winced.
“Sirius’s brother?” she whispered.
“He was a Death Eater,” said Harry. “Sirius told me about him, he joined up when he was really young and then got cold feet and tried to leave - so they killed him.”
“That fits!” gasped Hermione. “If he was a Death Eater he had access to Voldemort, and if he became disenchanted, then he would have wanted to bring Voldemort down!”
She released Harry, leaned over the banister, and screamed, “Ron! RON! Get up here, quick!”
Ron appeared, panting, a minute later, his wand ready in his hand.
“What’s up? If it’s massive spiders again I want breakfast before I - ”
He frowned at the sign on Regulus’s door, in which Hermione was silently pointing.
“What? That was Sirius’s brother, wasn’t it? Regulus Arcturus … Regulus … R.A.B.! The locket - you don’t reckon -?”
“Let’s find out,” said Harry. He pushed the door: It was locked. Hermione pointed her wand at the handle and said, “Alohamora.” There was a click, and the door swung open.
They moved over the threshold together, gazing around. Regulus’s bedroom was slightly smaller than Sirius’s, though it had the same sense of former grandeur. Whereas Sirius had sought to advertise his diffidence from the rest of the family, Regulus had striven to emphasize the opposite. The Slytherin colors of emerald and silver were everywhere, draping the bed, the walls, and the windows. The Black family crest was painstakingly painted over the bed, along with its motto, TOUJOURS PUR. Beneath this was a collection of yellow newspaper cuttings, all stuck together to make a ragged collage. Hermione crossed the room to examine them.
“They’re all about Voldemort,” she said. “Regulus seems to have been a fan for a few years before he joined the Death Eaters …”
A little puff of dust rose from the bedcovers as she sat down to read the clippings. Harry, meanwhile, had noticed another photograph: a Hogwarts Quidditch team was smiling and waving out of the frame. He moved closer and saw the snakes emblazoned on their chests: Slytherins. Regulus was instantly recognizable as the boy sitting in the middle of the front row: He had the same dark hair and slightly haughty look of his brother, though he was smaller, slighter, and rather less handsome than Sirius had been.
“He played Seeker,” said Harry.
“What?” said Hermione vaguely; she was still immersed in Voldemort’s press clippings.
“He’s sitting in the middle of the front row, that’s where the Seeker … Never mind,” said Harry, realizing that nobody was listening. Ron was on his hands and knees, searching under the wardrobe. Harry looked around the room for likely hiding places and approached the desk. Yet again, somebody had searched before them. The drawers’ contents had been turned over recently, the dust disturbed, but there was nothing of value there: old quills, out-of-date textbooks that bore evidence of being roughly handled, a recently smashed ink bottle, its sticky residue covering the contents of the drawer.
“There’s an easier way,” said Hermione, as Harry wiped his inky fingers on his jeans. She raised her wand and said, “Accio Locket!”
Nothing happened. Ron, who had been searching the folds of the faded curtains, looked disappointed.
“Is that it, then? It’s not here?”
“Oh, it could still be here, but under counter-enchantments,” said Hermione. “Charms to prevent it from being summoned magically, you know.”
“Like Voldemort put on the stone basin in the cave,” said Harry, remembering how he had been unable to Summon the fake locket.
“How are we supposed to find it then?” asked Ron.
“We search manually,” said Hermione.
“That’s a good idea,” said Ron, rolling his eyes, and he resumed his examination of the curtains.
They combed every inch of the room for more than an hour, but were forced, finally, to conclude that the locket was not there.
The sun had risen now; its light dazzled them even through the grimy landing windows.
“It could be somewhere else in the house, though,” said Hermione in a rallying tone as they walked back downstairs. As Harry and Ron had become more discouraged, she seemed to have become more determined. “Whether he’d manage to destroy it or not, he’d want to keep it hidden from Voldemort, wouldn’t he? Remember all those awful things we had to get rid of when we were here last time? That clock that shot bolts at everyone and those old robes that tried to strangle Ron; Regulus might have put them there to protect the locket’s hiding place, even though we didn’t realize it at … at …”
Harry and Ron looked at her. She was standing with one foot in midair, with the dumbstruck look of one who had just been Obliviated: her eyes had even drifted out of focus.
“… at the time,” she finished in a whisper.
“Something wrong?” asked Ron.
“There was a locket.”
“What?” said Harry and Ron together.
“In the cabinet in the drawing room. Nobody could open it. And we … we …”
Harry felt as though a brick had slid down through his chest into his stomach. He remembered. He had even handled the thing as they passed it around, each trying in turn to pry it open. It had been tossed into a sack of rubbish, along with the snuffbox of Wartcap powder and the music box that had made everyone sleepy …
“Kreacher nicked loads of things back from us,” said Harry. It was the only chance, the only slender hope left to them, and he was going to cling to it until forced to let go. “He had a whole stash of stuff in his cupboard in the kitchen. C’mon.”
He ran down the stairs taking two steps at a time, the other two thundering along in his wake. They made so much noise that they woke the portrait of Sirius’s mother as they passed through the hall.
“Filth! Mudbloods! Scum!” she screamed after them as they dashed down into the basement kitchen and slammed the door behind them. Harry ran the length of the room, skidded to a halt at the door of Kreacher’s cupboard, and wrenched it open. There was the nest of dirty old blankets in which the house-elf had once slept, but they were not longer glittering with the trinkets Kreacher had salvaged. The only thing there was an old copy of Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. Refusing to believe his eyes, Harry snatched up the blankets and shook them. A dead mouse fell out and rolled dismally across the floor. Ron groaned as he threw himself into a kitchen chair; Hermione closed her eyes.
“It’s not over yet,” said Harry, and he raised his voice and called, “Kreacher!”
There was a loud crack and the house elf that Harry had so reluctantly inherited from Sirius appeared out of nowhere in front of the cold and empty fireplace: tiny, half human-sized, his pale skin hanging off him in folds, white hair sprouting copiously from his batlike ears. He was still wearing the filthy rag in which they had first met him, and the contemptuous look he bent upon Harry showed that his attitude to his change of ownership had altered no more than his outfit.
“Master,” croaked Kreacher in his bullfrog’s voice, and he bowed low; muttering to his knees, “back in my Mistress’s old house with the blood-traitor Weasley and the Mudblood - ”
“I forbid you to call anyone ‘blood traitor’ or ‘Mudblood,’” growled Harry. He would have found Kreacher, with his snoutlike nose and bloodshot eyes, a distinctively unlovable object even if the elf had not betrayed Sirius to Voldemort.
“I’ve got a question for you,” said Harry, his heart beating rather fast as he looked down at the elf, “and I order you to answer it truthfully. Understand?”
“Yes, Master,” said Kreacher, bowing low again. Harry saw his lips moving soundlessly, undoubtedly framing the insults he was now forbidden to utter.
“Two years ago,” said Harry, his heart now hammering against his ribs, “there was a big gold locket in the drawing room upstairs. We threw it out. Did you steal it back?”
There was a moment’s silence, during which Kreacher straightened up to look Harry full in the face. Then he said, “Yes.”
“Where is it now?” asked Harry jubilantly as Ron and Hermione looked gleeful.
Kreacher closed his eyes as though he could not bear to see their reactions to his next word.
“Gone.”
“Gone?” echoed Harry, elation floating out of him, “What do you mean, it’s gone?”
The elf shivered. He swayed.
“Kreacher,” said Harry fiercely, “I order you - ”
“Mundungus Fletcher,” croaked the elf, his eyes still tight shut. “Mundungus Fletcher stole it all; Miss Bella’s and Miss Cissy’s pictures, my Mistress’s gloves, the Order of Merlin, First Class, the goblets with the family crest, and - and - ”
Kreacher was gulping for air: His hollow chest was rising and falling rapidly, then his eyes flew open and he uttered a bloodcurdling scream.
“ - and the locket, Master Regulus’s locket. Kreacher did wrong, Kreacher failed in his orders!”
Harry reacted instinctively: As Kreacher lunged for the poker standing in the grate, he launched himself upon the elf, flattening him. Hermione’s scream mingled with Kreacher’s but Harry bellowed louder than both of them: “Kreacher, I order you to stay still!”
He felt the elf freeze and released him. Kreacher lay flat on the cold stone floor, tears gushing from his sagging eyes.
“Harry, let him up!” Hermione whispered.
“So he can beat himself up with the poker?” snorted Harry, kneeling beside the elf. “I don’t think so. Right. Kreacher, I want the truth: How do you know Mundungus Fletcher stole the locket?”
“Kreacher saw him!” gasped the elf as tears poured over his snout and into his mouth full of graying teeth. “Kreacher saw him coming out of Kreacher’s cupboard with his hands full of Kreacher’s treasures. Kreacher told the sneak thief to stop, but Mundungus Fletcher laughed and r-ran …”
“You called the locket ‘Master Regulus’s,’” said Harry. “Why? Where did it come from? What did Regulus have to do with it? Kreacher, sit up and tell me everything you know about that locket, and everything Regulus had to do with it!”
The elf sat up, curled into a ball, placed his wet face between his knees, and began to rock backward and forward. When he spoke, his voice was muffled but quite distinct in the silent, echoing kitchen.
“Master Sirius ran away, good riddance, for he was a bad boy and broke my Mistress’s heart with his lawless ways. But Master Regulus had proper order; he knew what was due to the name of Black and the dignity of his pure blood. For years he talked of the Dark Lord, who was going to bring the wizards out of hiding to rule the Muggles and the Muggle-borns … and when he was sixteen years old, Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord. So proud, so proud, so happy to serve …
And one day, a year after he joined, Master Regulus came down to the kitchen to see Kreacher. Master Regulus always liked Kreacher. And Master Regulus said … he said …“
The old elf rocked faster than ever.
“… he said that the Dark Lord required an elf.”
“Voldemort needed an elf?” Harry repeated, looking around at Ron and Hermione, who looked just as puzzled as he did.
“Oh yes,” moaned Kreacher. “And Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher. It was an honor, said Master Regulus, an honor for him and for Kreacher, who must be sure to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do … and then to c-come home.”
Kreacher rocked still faster, his breath coming in sobs.
“So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord did not tell Kreacher what they were to do, but took Kreacher with him to a cave beside the sea. And beyond the cave was a cavern, and in the cavern was a great black lake …”
The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood up. Kreacher’s croaking voice seemed to come to him from across the dark water. He saw what had happened as clearly as though he had been present.
“… There was a boat …”
Of course there had been a boat; Harry knew the boat, ghostly green and tiny, bewitched so as to carry one wizard and one victim toward the island in the center. This, then, was how Voldemort had tested the defenses surrounding the Horcrux, by borrowing a disposable creature, a house-elf…
“There was a b-basin full of potion on the island. The D-Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it …”
The elf quaked from head to foot.
“Kreacher drank, and as he drank he saw terrible thing … Kreacher’s insides burned … Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, he cried for his Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord only laughed … He made Kreacher drink all the potion … He dropped a locket into the empty basin … He filled it with more potion.”
“And then the Dark Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher on the island …”
Harry could see it happening. He watched Voldemort’s white, snakelike face vanishing into darkness, those red eyes fixed pitilessly on the thrashing elf whose death would occur within minutes, whenever he succumbed to the desperate thirst that the burning poison caused its victim … But here, Harry’s imagination could go no further, for he could not see how Kreacher had escaped.
“Kreacher needed water, he crawled to the island’s edge and he drank from the black lake … and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface …”
“How did you get away?” Harry asked, and he was not surprised to hear himself whispering.
Kreacher raised his ugly head and looked Harry with his great, bloodshot eyes.
“Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back,” he said.
“I know - but how did you escape the Inferi?”
Kreacher did not seem to understand.
“Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back,” he repeated.
“I know, but - ”
“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it, Harry?” said Ron. “He Disapparated!”
“But … you couldn’t Apparate in and out of that cave,” said Harry, “otherwise Dumbledore - ”
“Elf magic isn’t like wizard’s magic, is it?” said Ron, “I mean, they can Apparate and Disapparate in and out of Hogwarts when we can’t.”
There was a silence as Harry digested this. How could Voldemort have made such a mistake? But even as he thought this, Hermione spoke, and her voice was icy.
“Of course, Voldemort would have considered the ways of house-elves far beneath his notice … It would never have occurred to him that they might have magic that he didn’t.”
“The house-elf’s highest law is his Master’s bidding,” intoned Kreacher. “Kreacher was told to come home, so Kreacher came home …”
“Well, then, you did what you were told, didn’t you?” said Hermione kindly. “You didn’t disobey orders at all!”
Kreacher shook his head, rocking as fast as ever.
“So what happened when you got back?” Harry asked. “What did Regulus say when you told him what happened?”
“Master Regulus was very worried, very worried,” croaked Kreacher. “Master Regulus told Kreacher to stay hidden and not to leave the house. And then … it was a little while later … Master Regulus came to find Kreacher in his cupboard one night, and Master Regulus was strange, not as he usually was, disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could tell … and he asked Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord …”
And so they had set off. Harry could visualize them quite clearly, the frightened old elf and the thin, dark Seeker who had so resembled Sirius … Kreacher knew how to open the concealed entrance to the underground cavern, knew how to raise the tiny boat: this time it was his beloved Regulus who sailed with him to the island with its basin of poison …
“And he made you drink the poison?” said Harry, disgusted.
But Kreacher shook his head and wept. Hermione’s hands leapt to her mouth: She seemed to have understood something.
“M-Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket like the one the Dark Lord had,” said Kreacher, tears pouring down either side of his snoutlike nose. “And he told Kreacher to take it and, when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets …”
Kreacher’s sobs came in great rasps now; Harry had to concentrate hard to understand him.
“And he order - Kreacher to leave - without him. And he told Kreacher - to go home - and never to tell my Mistress - what he had done - but to destroy - the first locket. And he drank - all the potion - and Kreacher swapped the lockets - and watched … as Master Regulus … was dragged beneath the water … and …”
“Oh, Kreacher!” wailed Hermione, who was crying. She dropped to her knees beside the elf and tried to hug him. At once he was on his feet, cringing away from her, quite obviously repulsed.
“The Mudblood touched Kreacher, he will not allow it, what would his Mistress say?”
“I told you not to call her ‘Mudblood’!” snarled Harry, but the elf was already punishing himself. He fell to the ground and banged his forehead on the floor.
“Stop him - stop him!” Hermione cried. “Oh, don’t you see now how sick it is, the way they’ve got to obey?”
“Kreacher - stop, stop!” shouted Harry.
The elf lay on the floor, panting and shivering, green mucus glistening around his snot, a bruise already blooming on his pallid forehead where he had struck himself, his eyes swollen and bloodshot and swimming in tears. Harry had never seen anything so pitiful.
“So you brought the locket home,” he said relentlessly, for he was determined to know the full story. “And you tried to destroy it?”
“Nothing Kreacher did made any mark upon it,” moaned the elf. “Kreacher tried everything, everything he knew, but nothing, nothing would work … So many powerful spells upon the casing, Kreacher was sure the way to destroy it was to get inside it, but it would not open … Kreacher punished himself, he tried again, he punished himself, he tried again. Kreacher failed to obey orders, Kreacher could not destroy the locket! And his mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared and Kreacher could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-f-forbidden him to tell any of the f-f-family what happened in the c-cave …”
Kreacher began to sob so hard that there were no more coherent words. Tears flowed down Hermione’s cheeks as she watched Kreacher, but she did not dare touch him again. Even Ron, who was no fan of Kreacher’s, looked troubled. Harry sat back on his heels and shook his head, trying to clear it.
“I don’t understand you, Kreacher,” he said finally. “Voldemort tried to kill you, Regulus died to bring Voldemort down, but you were still happy to betray Sirius to Voldemort? You were happy to go to Narcissa and Bellatrix, and pass information to Voldemort through them …”
“Harry, Kreacher doesn’t think like that,” said Hermione, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. “He’s a slave; house-elves are used to bad, even brutal treatment; what Voldemort did to Kreacher wasn’t that far out of the common way. What do wizard wars mean to an elf like Kreacher? He’s loyal to people who are kind to him, and Mrs. Black must have been, and Regulus certainly was, so he served them willingly and parroted their beliefs. I know what you’re going to say,” she went on as Harry began to protest, “that Regulus changed his mind … but he doesn’t seem to have explained that to Kreacher, does he? And I think I know why. Kreacher and Regulus’s family were all safest if they kept to the old pure-blood line. Regulus was trying to protect them all.”
“Sirius - ”
“Sirius was horrible to Kreacher, Harry, and it’s no good looking like that, you know it’s true. Kreacher had been alone for such a long time when Sirius came to live here, and he was probably starving for a bit of affection. I’m sure ‘Miss Cissy’ and ‘Miss Bella’ were perfectly lovely to Kreacher when he turned up, so he did them a favor and told them everything they wanted to know. I’ve said all along that wizards would pay for how they treat house-elves. Well, Voldemort did … and so did Sirius.”
Harry had no retort. As he watched Kreacher sobbing on the floor, he remembered what Dumbledore had said to him, mere hours after Sirius’s death: I do not think Sirius ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human’s …
“Kreacher,” said Harry after a while, “when you feel up to it, er … please sit up.”
It was several minutes before Kreacher hiccupped himself into silence. Then he pushed himself into a sitting position again, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes like a small child.
“Kreacher, I am going to ask you to do something,” said Harry. He glanced at Hermione for assistance. He wanted to give the order kindly, but at the same time, he could not pretend that it was not an order. However, the change in his tone seemed to have gained her approval: She smiled encouragingly.
“Kreacher, I want you, please, to go and find Mundungus Fletcher. We need to find out where the locket - where Master Regulus’s locket it. It’s really important. We want to finish the work Master Regulus started, we want to - er - ensure that he didn’t die in vain.”
Kreacher dropped his fists and looked up at Harry.
“Find Mundungus Fletcher?” he croaked.
“And bring him here, to Grimmauld Place,” said Harry. “Do you think you could do that for us?”
As Kreacher nodded and got to his feet, Harry had a sudden inspiration. He pulled out Hagrid’s purse and took out the fake Horcrux, the substitute locket in which Regulus had placed the note to Voldemort.
“Kreacher, I’d, er, like you to have this,” he said, pressing the locket into the elf’s hand. “This belonged to Regulus and I’m sure he’d want you to have it as a token of gratitude for what you - ”
“Overkill, mate,” said Ron as the elf took one look at the locket, let out a howl of shock and misery, and threw himself back onto the ground.
It took them nearly half an hour to calm down Kreacher, who was so overcome to be presented with a Black family heirloom for his very own that he was too weak at the knees to stand properly. When finally he was able to totter a few steps they all accompanied him to his cupboard, watched him tuck up the locket safely in his dirty blankets, and assured him that they would make its protection their first priority while he was away. He then made two low bows to Harry and Ron, and even gave a funny little spasm in Hermione’s direction that might have been an attempt at a respectful salute, before Disapparating with the usual loud crack.
　第二天一大早，哈利就从客厅地板上的睡袋里醒过来了。从厚实的窗帘露出的缝隙里隐约可以看到外面的天空，黎明前的天空呈现出淡淡的水蓝色波纹，伴随着阵阵凉意，一切都是那么安静，只听到罗恩和赫敏缓慢深沉的呼吸。哈利看着他们在他身边的地板上投下的阴影。罗恩逞英雄地坚持要赫敏睡在沙发垫上，她的身影在他之上。赫敏的胳膊伸向地板，手指离罗恩的很近。哈利想知道他们是不是手牵手睡的，这个念头让他觉得格外孤单。
　　他看着阴暗的天花板，看着布满蛛网的支形吊灯。不到24小时前，他在阳光中，站在大帐篷的入口处，准备为婚礼的来宾引路，那些似乎都是上辈子的事了。现在又会怎样呢？他躺在地板上，想着魂器，那是邓布利多留给他的复杂而艰巨的使命……邓布利多……
　　校长去世给他带来的悲痛似乎和以往相比有了些变化，穆丽尔在婚礼上的谴责似乎像恶疾一样进入了他的头脑，感染了他心中对校长那崇敬的心情。邓布利多会让那种事发生吗？难道他曾经也和达力一样，只要事不关己，就坐视不理？他真的不理会他那被监禁和藏匿的妹妹吗？
　　哈利想到了高锥克山谷，想到了那些邓布利多从未提起过的坟墓，他还想起了在邓布利多在遗嘱里没有对那些神秘的物件给出任何解释，怨恨之情在黑暗中逐渐膨胀起来。为什么邓布利多不告诉他？为什么他不解释清楚？邓布利多到底有没有关心过哈利？还是哈利对他来说仅仅是一个需要打磨光滑的工具，从不会去相信他，从不会去信任他？
　　哈利再也无法忍受只能怀着痛苦的心情躺在那里，他现在迫切的需要找点什么事，好分散一下注意力．于是他从睡袋里爬了出来，拾起魔杖，蹑手蹑脚地走出房间。在楼梯口他低声道:“荧光闪烁，”借着魔杖发出的微弱光亮，他沿着楼梯走上去。
　　三楼是他和罗恩上次睡觉的地方，他朝里扫了一眼，衣橱的门开着，被套也被撕开了，哈利又想起了楼下那个倒在地上的巨怪腿。有人在凤凰社离开搜查过这间房子！是斯内普吗？还是蒙顿格斯，那个在小天狼星生前和死后都从这屋子里偷走大量东西的小偷？哈利的目光徘徊在菲尼亚斯•奈杰勒斯的肖像框上----他是小天狼星的曾曾祖父。但是现在像框里什么都没有，只有一个泥泞的背景幕。很明显，菲尼亚斯•奈杰勒斯到霍格沃茨的校长办公室过夜去了。
　　哈利继续顺着楼梯向上，一直走到了顶楼，那只有两扇门。正对着他的那扇门上挂着一个牌子，上面写着：“小天狼星”。哈利以前从未到过他教父的房间，他推开门，高举魔杖，好让荧光照到的范围更大一些。
　　房间很大，而且这里以前一定相当气派。房间里有张大床，木质的床头版上镂刻着花纹；高高的窗户被长天鹅绒窗帘遮着；支形吊灯上覆盖着厚厚的一层灰，蜡烛还插在烛架上，周围凝结着一滴滴的烛泪。墙上的图片和床头板上也是灰蒙蒙的，蜘蛛网从吊灯一直延伸到大木衣橱上。当哈利往里走时，他还听到了受到惊吓的老鼠的脚步声。
　　年轻的小天狼星用海报和图片把银灰色的墙遮得只露几条缝隙，哈利猜想小天狼星的父母没有办法对付那个永久粘贴咒，因为他可以肯定他们是绝对不会赞同大儿子在装饰方面的欣赏品位的。小天狼星似乎是在故意惹怒他的双亲。房间里有好几面巨大的格兰芬多旗帜，褪色的猩红色和金色标志着他不同于其他斯莱特林的家庭。一些麻瓜摩托车的图片也贴在墙上，还有（哈利确实很佩服小天狼星的勇气）几个穿着比基尼的麻瓜女孩的海报。哈利认出那些是麻瓜，是因为她们都固定在画上，褪色的微笑和明亮的双眸一动不动。与这些图片形成鲜明对比的是墙上唯一的一张巫师相片，四个霍格沃茨学生手挽着手，对着镜头大笑。
　　哈利轻快的跑过去，他认出了他的父亲，那乱糟糟的黑发竖在后脑勺上，就和哈利一样，而且他也带着眼镜。站在他父亲边上的是小天狼星，带着几分不经意的帅气，他那流露出些许傲慢的脸庞，比哈利以往任何时候见到的都要年轻和开心。小矮星在小天狼星右边，比他矮了一个头，圆鼓鼓、水汪汪的小眼睛里闪烁着因为与这么酷的一群人为伴而产生的兴奋光芒。詹姆的左边是卢平，虽然相较之下显得有点寒酸，但是同样喜气洋洋----他们喜爱他接纳了他，不过也许这只是因为他们看到哈利看到了这张相片呢？他想把它从墙上揭下来；现在这是他的了，毕竟，小天狼星把一切都留给了他，但是哈利取不下来。看来小天狼星作了所有的预防工作以阻止他父母把这房子重新装饰。
　　哈利细细打量着四周。外面的天空开始明亮起来，一缕光柱照在了散落一地的零碎纸片，书籍，以及一些小物件。很明显，小天狼星的房间被搜查过了，地上的那些基本上被当做没有价值的东西了。有些书被粗鲁的翻动过，封面与书本被分开，一页页纸把地板弄得凌乱不堪。
　　哈利弯下腰捡起一些纸片，仔细辨认着。他认出其中一张是从老版本的《魔法史》（巴希达•巴沙特著）上撕下来的，另一张曾属于某本摩托车养护手册。第三张是手写的，而且皱巴巴的。他把它展平，读了起来。
　　亲爱的大脚板：
　　谢谢你送给哈利的生日礼物！这是他目前最喜欢的一件了。刚刚一岁大的他就开始坐着玩具扫帚飞速上升，他看起来很为这个高兴呢。你可以看看我随信寄来的照片。虽然只能离地两英尺，但是他差点弄死了一只猫，而且打碎了佩妮在圣诞节送给我们一只可怕的花瓶（这可没什么大不了的）。詹姆觉得这很有趣，还说他将来会是个很棒的魁地奇队员，但是我们不得不把所有的装饰品都收起来，并且在他飞的时候时时刻刻的盯着他。
　　我们过了一个相当平静的生日茶会，只有我们和老巴希达，她总是对我们好得不得了，而且她很溺爱哈利。你没来真是太遗憾了，但是凤凰社是应该摆在第一位的，而且哈利太小，还根本意识不到这是他的生日！与外界隔绝让詹姆有点失落，虽然他努力掩饰，但是我看得出来。邓布利多还拿走了他的隐形衣，这让他完全没有可能去郊游了。要是你能过来拜访一下，他肯定会振奋得多。虫尾巴上个周末过来了一趟。我觉得他看起来也有点无精打采的样子，可能是因为那些关于麦克米拉根的消息，知道那消息后，我哭了一整晚。
　　巴希达几乎每天都来，常常讲些非常有趣的关于邓布利多的旧事。我不确定邓布利多知道以后会开心！不知道有多少是可以相信的，事实上，那些事放在邓布利多身上显得太难以置信了……
　　哈利的四肢似乎失去了知觉。他定定地站着，紧张得有点痉挛的手指死死抓着这张看起来不可思议的纸片，火山爆发一样的兴奋在他心里翻滚，相伴而来的悲痛流遍了他的全身，他跌坐在了小天狼星的大床上。
　　他把这封信又看了一遍，但是并没有看到更多的内容。于是他开始琢磨起写信的字体来。她写的“g”和他的一模一样。哈利一个字一个字地看着，一遍又一遍，每看一遍都感觉是轻柔地透过面纱捕捉他们的影像，他们的气息。这封信真是个不可思议的宝贝，这让他切实地感受到，莉莉•波特曾在这个世界上存在过，真实地生活过，她温暖的手曾在这张羊皮纸上移动，让墨水在纸上流淌，这些文字，这些关于他的文字，哈利，她的孩子。
　　哈利匆匆擦去眼睛里的泪水，他把这封信再次读了一遍，这次他的注意力集中在信的意思上。感觉就是像在听着一个似曾相识的声音在讲话。
　　他们曾经有过一只猫•……也许已经像他在高锥克山谷的父母一样化为了尘土……也许跑掉了，因为没有人来喂它•……小天狼星送给了他第一把飞天扫帚……他的爸爸妈妈认识巴希达•巴沙特，是邓布利多介绍给他们的吗？邓布利多一直保存着他的隐形斗篷……这听起来似乎很有趣……
　　哈利顿住了，思考起他母亲说的话。邓布利多为什么要拿詹姆的隐形衣？哈利清清楚楚地记得校长几年前曾告诉过他“我可不是非要隐形衣才能隐形”。也许是凤凰社里不那么厉害的成员需要这个的帮助的吧，难道邓布利多还充当过跑腿的角色吗？哈利继续揣测着……
　　虫尾巴曾经在这待过……小矮星，那个叛徒，曾经“无精打采”？那时的他意识到这是他最后一次见到詹姆和莉莉了吗？
　　最后又提到了巴希达，这个女人曾经说过一些关于邓布利多的难以置信的小故事……她说邓布利多----
　　她说邓布利多怎么了？关于邓布利多的，可能让人感觉到难以置信的事太多了。比如在变形考试上拿了个低得可怜的分数，或者是像阿不福思一样给山羊施了个魔法……
　　哈里站起身，仔细检查着地板；也许信的其余几页就在这附近也说不定呢。他急切地搜寻着一张张的纸片，如同先前那个搜查者一样粗暴，他拉开抽屉，使劲摇晃着书，站在凳子上用手去够衣橱顶，在床下和扶手椅下爬行。
　　最后，他趴在地板上，在五斗橱下面发现了一张被撕破的纸片。他把那张纸片掏出来，认出这正是莉莉描述过的那张相片。一个黑头发的男孩正坐着一个小扫帚在照片内外冲进冲出，开心地大笑着，一双应该是属于詹姆的大脚紧跟其后。他把相片和莉莉的信卷起放进了口袋，继续去寻找下一张纸片。
　　又一刻钟过去了，他不得不承认母亲那封信的其余部分确实是不见了。它是在那十六年间就被弄丢了，还是被那个搜查过房间的人拿去了呢？哈利又看了一遍信的第一页，这次是为了寻找可能对第二页的内容有价值的线索。食死徒当然不会对他的玩具扫帚感兴趣……他唯一猜到的，可能是那些关于邓布利多的事有什么重大意义。她说邓布利多--她说了什么呢？
　　“哈利？哈利？”
　　“我在这呢！”他叫到，“怎么了”？
　　门外传来一阵急促的脚步声，赫敏几乎是破门而入。
　　“我们一醒来就找不到你了！”她气喘吁吁地说完，过身大喊道：“罗恩！我找到他了！”
　　罗恩恼火的声音伴着回声从几层楼下传了上来。
　　“真不错！替我告诉他他就是个混球！”
　　“哈利，请不要玩失踪可以吗，我们担心死了！你为什么到楼上来？”她环视着房间。“你到这来干什么？”
　　“看看我都找到了什么！”
　　他把他妈妈的信举起来，赫敏接了过去，看完之后她抬起头看着他：
　　“噢，哈利……”
　　“还有这个。”
　　他把那张有点破烂的相片给她看，赫敏看着相片上骑着玩具扫帚横冲直撞的小男孩笑了起来。
　　“我正在找信的其余部分，”哈利说，“但是它们不在这。”
　　赫敏四下看了看。
　　“是你把这弄成这样的吗？还是你一来这里就是这样？”
　　“有人在我之前就已经搜查过这里了，”哈利说。
　　“我也这么认为。我一路上来，看到每间房都被搜过一遍。你觉得他们在找什么？”
　　“关于凤凰社的信息，如果这是斯内普干的。”
　　“但是你想啊，他应该早已经拿到了他想要的东西了，我的意思是，他曾是凤凰社的一员啊，不是吗？”
　　“那么，”哈利热心地想把他的理论推销出去，“那么那些关于邓布利多的信息？信的第二页就该是这个了。你看我妈妈提到的这个巴希达，你知道她是谁吗？”
　　“谁？”
　　“巴希达•巴沙特，就是她写的……”
　　“就是她写的《魔法史》，”赫敏回答道，看起来很兴奋，“这么说你的父母认识她？她是个不可思议的历史学家。”
　　“而且她现在还活着，”哈利说，“她就住在高锥克山谷。罗恩的穆丽尔姨妈曾在婚礼上说起过她。她了解邓布利多的家庭。她还对这个话题很感兴趣呢，不是吗？”
　　赫敏看着哈利的样子，了然的微笑着。哈利不想和她对视，不想在她面前过多的流露出自己的心情，他拿回信和照片，塞进脖子上的小袋子里。
　　“我理解为什么你想和她谈论一下你爸妈还有邓布利多的事，”赫敏说，“但是这样做对我们找魂器一点帮助都没有，不是吗？”哈利没有回答。赫敏继续说道：“哈利，我知道你非常想去高锥克山谷，但是我很害怕，昨天食死徒那么容易就能找到我们，这真的让我很害怕。而且这更加让我觉得我们不应该去你父母埋葬的地方了，我敢肯定他们正等着这你去那呢！”
　　“不仅仅是那样，”哈利说，还是不肯看她，“穆丽尔在婚礼上说了一些关于邓布利多的事，我想知道事实是怎样的。”
　　他把穆丽尔告诉他的所有事情都告诉了赫敏。当他说完以后，赫敏说，“当然，我明白是什么让你这么心烦意乱了，哈利……”
　　“我没有心烦意乱，”他撒谎道，“我只是想知道那到底是真的还是……”
　　“哈利，难道你真的认为从穆丽尔那种恶毒的老女人，或者丽塔斯基特那里能够得到真相吗？你怎么能相信他们？你了解邓布利多的！”
　　“以前我确实以为我了解，”他咕哝道。
　　“但是你知道丽塔写的关于你的那些报道有几句是真的！多戈是对的，你怎么能让那种人来玷污你记忆中的邓布利多!”
　　他把目光移开了，努力不让自己的怨恨之情流露出来。现在他又面临了这样一个选择：到底应该相信什么。他想知道真相，但是为什么每个人都认为他不该知道这个？
　　“我们去厨房怎么样？”一阵短暂的沉默后赫敏这样建议。“吃点东西吧？”
　　他答应了，不过答应得很勉强，哈利跟着赫敏走到了楼梯平台，经过刚才遗漏的第二扇门。一开始在黑暗中他没有注意到门口小牌子的油漆上上深深的划痕。这次走到楼梯口的时候他仔细辨认着，这是块小小的，华而不实的牌子，工整的手写字体写着的内容也许能让珀西韦斯莱很愿意地在他门上也粘一个：　

　　若没有雷古勒斯(R)?阿塔洛斯(A)?布莱克(B)的特批
　　请勿打扰　

　　一股兴奋之情在哈利身上蔓延，但是他也没有马上明白这是什么原因。他把那块牌子又读了一遍，赫敏已经在他前面走下楼梯了。
　　“赫敏，”他惊讶于自己的声音居然可以这么冷静。“回到这儿来。”
　　“怎么了？”
　　“R•A•B……我想我找到他了！”
　　赫敏倒吸了一口凉气，急忙跑回了楼梯平台。
　　“在你妈妈的信里吗？我怎么没看……”
　　哈利摇了摇头，指着雷古勒斯的牌子。她看了看，突然紧紧地抓住了哈利的胳膊。
　　“小天狼星的弟弟？”她轻声说。
　　“他是个食死徒，”哈利说。“小天狼星告诉过我，他弟弟很小的时候就加入了那个队伍，但是后来又畏缩起来，并且打算离开……于是他们就把他给杀了。”
　　“那就对了！”赫敏喘着粗气说，“如果他是一个食死徒他就有机会接近伏地魔，如果他觉悟过来，他就会想办法对付伏地魔！”
　　她松开了哈利，靠着楼梯扶手尖声道：“罗恩！罗恩！上来！快点！”
　　一分钟后，罗恩出现了，气喘吁吁的，手里还紧握着魔杖。
　　“怎么回事？如果这次又是一个大型蜘蛛那我可得先把早饭给吃了然后再来--”
　　他皱起眉头顺着赫敏指着方向看了看雷古勒斯门上的牌子。
　　“这是什么？不就是小天狼星的弟弟吗？雷古勒斯•阿塔洛斯……雷古勒斯……R•A•B！那个挂坠盒！你们想起来没？”
　　“我们去看看，”哈利说。他推了推门，门是锁的 。赫敏拿出魔杖对准门把手念到：“阿拉霍洞开。”随着喀哒一声响，门开了。
　　他们一起走了进去，环视四周。雷古勒斯的卧室比小天狼星的稍微小一点，不过同样华丽宏伟。和努力把自己标榜得与家族不一样的小天狼星不同，雷古勒斯尽力保持着一致。床上，墙上，还有窗户上，遍布斯莱特林的翠绿和银色。布莱克家庭的徽章和座右铭“纯种”被煞费苦心地刷在床上。在这下面是一些泛黄的剪报，凑在一起，就像一幅粗糙的拼贴画。赫敏走过房间仔细查看着这些报纸。
　　“全是关于伏地魔的，”她说。“雷古勒斯似乎在加入食死徒之前就对他着迷已久……”
　　她坐在床上，好读起来方便一点，一股灰尘从被套上腾起。哈利注意到了另一张相片：一支霍格沃茨魁地奇球队笑着，挥舞着手。他靠近查看，发现他们胸膛上的徽章上刻着一条蛇，是斯莱特林。很容易就能认出坐在第一排正中间的是雷古勒斯：他和他的哥哥有着同样的黑发和同样带着些许傲慢的表情。不过他显得更瘦小一些，也没有小天狼星那样帅气。
　　“他是找球手。”哈利说。
　　“什么？”赫敏含糊的问。她仍然沉浸在关于伏地魔的剪报中。
　　“他坐在第一排中间，这是找球手的位置……没什么。”哈利意识到没人在听他讲话。罗恩正趴在衣柜下搜查。哈利扫视着整个房间，寻找可能藏有东西的地方，他靠近书桌，不出意料，有人已经在他们之前搜过了。抽屉最近刚被人翻动过，灰尘也被擦乱了。这里没有什么有价值的东西：旧羽毛笔，明显曾被粗心大意使用过的旧课本，一个不久前才被打碎的墨水瓶，还有残留的墨汁覆盖着抽屉的底板。
　　“有一个更简单的方法，”当哈利在牛仔裤上擦拭他沾着墨水的手指头时，赫敏说。她举起魔杖念道：“金挂坠盒飞来！”
　　什么都没有发生。罗恩刚刚检查完那些褪色窗帘的褶皱，一脸失望。
　　“就这样吗？它不在这儿？”
　　“噢，它可能仍然在这里，不过被施了反咒，让人不能用咒语召唤它。”赫敏说。
　　“就像伏地魔对山洞里的石盆所做的一样，”哈利说，记起在山洞中他不能召唤假盒子的事情。
　　“那我们怎么才能找到它？”罗恩问道。
　　“用手一点一点找。”赫敏回答。
　　“真是个好主意。”罗恩转了转眼珠子，继续检查那些窗帘。
　　他们花了一个多小时，仔细搜遍了房间的每一英寸，最后还是不得不承认盒子并不在这里。
　　太阳已经升起来了，耀眼的阳光从肮脏的落地窗照进来。
　　“但它可能在房子的其他某一个角落里。”下楼时赫敏语调高昂。尽管哈利和罗恩变得更加沮丧，她却仿佛更有信心了。“不管他是否已经设法毁掉了它，他都想把它在伏地魔眼皮子底下藏起来，不是吗？还记得上次我们来这里时不得不清理的那些恶心的东西吗？朝每个人发射螺钉的老爷钟和想勒死罗恩的旧长袍；雷古勒斯可能把它们放在那儿来掩护那个盒子，尽管我们当时没有意识到……”
　　哈利和罗恩看着她，她一只脚停在半空中，目瞪口呆，脸上是一副被施过遗忘咒的表情，目光游移，没有焦点。
　　“……这些，”她低声结束了这句话。
Chapter 15 The Goblin’s Revenge
Early next morning, before the other two were awake, Harry left the tent to search the woods around them for the oldest, most gnarled, and resilient-looking tree he could find. There in its shadows he buried Mad-Eye Moody’s eye and marked the spot by gouging a small cross in the bark with his wand. It was not much, but Harry felt that Mad-Eye would have much preferred this to being stuck on Dolores Umbridge’s door. Then he returned to the tent to wait for the others to wake, and discuss what they were going to do next.
Harry and Hermione felt that it was best not to stay anywhere too long, and Ron agreed, with the sole proviso that their next move took them within reach of a bacon sandwich. Hermione therefore removed the enchantments she had placed around the clearing, while Harry and Ron obliterated all the marks and impressions on the ground that might show they had camped there. Then they Disapparated to the outskirts of a small market town.
Once they had pitched the tent in the shelter of a small copse of trees and surrounded it with freshly cast defensive enchantments. Harry ventured out under the Invisibility Cloak to find sustenance. This, however, did not go as planned. He had barely entered the town when an unnatural chill, a descending mist, and a sudden darkening of the skies made him freeze where he stood.
“But you can make a brilliant Patronus!” protested Ron, when Harry arrived back at the tent empty handed, out of breath, and mouthing the single word, dementors.
“I couldn’t… make one.” he panted, clutching the stitch in his side. “Wouldn’t… come.”
Their expressions of consternation and disappointment made Harry feel ashamed. It had been a nightmarish experience, seeing the dementors gliding out of the must in the distance and realizing, as the paralyzing cold choked his lungs and a distant screaming filled his ears, that he was not going to be able to protect himself. It had taken all Harry’s willpower to uproot himself from the spot and run, leaving the eyeless dementors to glide amongst the Muggles who might not be able to see them, but would assuredly feel the despair they cast wherever they went.
“So we still haven’t got any food.”
“Shut up, Ron,” snapped Hermione. “Harry, what happened? Why do you think you couldn’t make your Patronus? You managed perfectly yesterday!”
“I don’t know.”
He sat low in one of Perkins’s old armchairs, feeling more humiliated by the moment. He was afraid that something had gone wrong inside him. Yesterday seemed a long time ago: Today me might have been thirteen years old again, the only one who collapsed on the Hogwarts Express.
Ron kicked a chair leg.
“What?” he snarled at Hermione. “I’m starving! All I’ve had since I bled half to death is a couple of toadstools!”
“You go and fight your way through the dementors, then,” said Harry, stung.
“I would, but my arm’s in a sling, in case you hadn’t noticed!”
“That’s convenient.”
“And what’s that supposed to -?”
“Of course!” cried Hermione, clapping a hand to her forehead and startling both of them into silence. “Harry, give me the locket! Come on,” she said impatiently, clicking her fingers at him when he did not react, “the Horcrux, Harry, you’re still wearing it!”
She held out her hands, and Harry lifted the golden chain over his head. The moment it parted contact with Harry’s skin he felt oddly light. He had not even realized that he was clammy or that there was a heavy weight pressing on his stomach until both sensations lifted.
“Better?” asked Hermione.
“Yeah, loads better!”
“Harry,” she said, crouching down in front of him and using the kind of voice he associated with visiting the very sick, “you don’t think you’ve been possessed, do you?”
“What? No!” he said defensively, “I remember everything we’ve done while I’ve bee wearing it. I wouldn’t know what I’d done if I’d been possessed, would I? Ginny told me there were times when she couldn’t remember anything.”
“Hmm,” said Hermione, looking down at the heavy locket. “Well, maybe we ought not to wear it. We can just keep it in the tent.”
“We are not leaving that Horcrux lying around,” Harry stated firmly. “If we lose it, if it gets stolen - ”
“Oh, all right, all right,” said Hermione, and she placed it around her own neck and tucked it out of sight down the front of her shirt. “But we’ll take turns wearing it, so nobody keeps it on too long.”
“Great,” said Ron irritably, “and now we’ve sorted that out, can we please get some food?”
“Fine, but we’ll go somewhere else to find it,” said Hermione with half a glance at Harry. “There’s no point staying where we know dementors are swooping around.”
In the end they settled down for the night in a far flung field belonging to a lonely farm, from which they had managed to obtain eggs and bread.
“It’s not stealing, is it?” asked Hermione in a troubled voice, as they devoured scrambled eggs on toast. “Not if I left some money under the chicken coo?”
Ron rolled his eyes and said, with his cheeks bulging, “Er-my-nee, ‘oo worry ‘oo much. ‘Elax!”
And, indeed, it was much easier to relax when they were comfortably well fed. The argument about the dementors was forgotten in laughter that night, and Harry felt cheerful, even hopeful, as he took the first of the three night watches.
This was their first encounter with the fact that a full stomach meant good spirits, an empty one, bickering and gloom. Harry was least surprised by this, because be had suffered periods of near starvation at the Dursleys’. Hermione bore up reasonably well on those nights when they managed to scavenge nothing but berries or stale biscuits, her temper perhaps a little shorter than usual and her silences dour. Ron, however, had always been used to three delicious meals a day, courtesy of his mother or of the Hogwarts house-elves, and hunger made him both unreasonable and irascible. Whenever lack of food coincided with Ron’s turn to wear the Horcrux, he became downright unpleasant.
“So where next?” was his constant refrain. He did not seem to have any ideas himself, but expected Harry and Hermione to come up with plans while he sat and brooded over the low food supplies. Accordingly Harry and Hermione spent fruitless hours trying to decide where they might find the other Horcruxes, and how to destroy the one they already got, their conversations becoming increasingly repetitive as they got no new information.
As Dumbledore had told Harry that he believed Voldemort had hidden the Horcruxes in places important to him, they kept reciting, in a sort of dreary litany, those locations they knew that Voldemort had lived or visited. The orphanage where he had been born and raised: Hogwarts, where he had been educated; Borgin and Burks, where he had worked after completing school; then Albania, where he had spent his years of exile: These formed the basis of their speculations.
“Yeah, let’s go to Albania. Shouldn’t take more than an afternoon to search an entire country,” said Ron sarcastically.
“There can’t be anything there. He’d already made five of his Horcruxes before he went into exile, and Dumbledore was certain the snake is the sixth,” said Hermione. “We know the snake’s not in Albania, it’s usually with Vol - ”
“Didn’t I ask you to stop say that?”
“Fine! The snake is usually with You-Know-Who - happy?”
“Not particularly.”
“I can’t see him hiding anything at Borgin and Burkes.” said Harry, who had made this point many times before, but said it again simply to break the nasty silence. “Borgin and Burke were experts at Dark objects, they would’ve recognized a Horcrux straightaway.”
Ron yawned pointedly. Repressing a strong urge to throw something at him, Harry plowed on, “I still reckon he might have hidden something at Hogwarts.”
Hermione sighed.
“But Dumbledore would have found it, Harry!”
Harry repeated the argument he kept bringing out in favor of this theory.
“Dumbledore said in front of me that he never assumed he knew all of Hogwart’s secrets. I’m telling you, if there was one place Vol - ”
“Oi!”
“YOU-KNOW-WHO, then!” Harry shouted, goaded past endurance. “If there was one place that was really important to You-Know-Who, it was Hogwarts!”
“Oh, come on,” scoffed Ron. “His school?”
“Yeah, his school! It was his first real home, the place that meant he was special: it meant everything to him, and even after he left - ”
“This is You-Know-Who we’re talking about, right? Not you?” inquired Ron. He was tugging at the chain of the Horcrux around his neck; Harry was visited by a desire to seize it and throttle him.
“You told us that You-Know-Who asked Dumbledore to give him a job after he left,” said Hermione.
“That’s right,” said Harry.
“And Dumbledore thought he only wanted to come back to try and find something, probably another founder’s object, to make into another Horcrux?”
“Yeah,” said Harry.
“But he didn’t get the job, did he?” said Hermione. “So he never got the chance to find a founder’s object there and hide it in the school!”
“Okay, then,” said Harry, defeated. “Forget Hogwarts.”
 

Without any other leads, they traveled into London and, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, searching for the orphanage in which Voldemort had been raised. Hermione stole into a library and discovered from their records that the place had been demolished many years before. They visited its site and found a tower block of offices.
“We could try digging in to foundations?” Hermione suggested halfheartedly.
“He wouldn’t have hidden a Horcrux here,” Harry said. He had known it all along. The orphanage had been the place Voldemort had been determined to escape; he would never have hidden a part of his soul there. Dumbledore had shown Harry that Voldemort sought grandeur or mystique in his hiding places; this dismal gray corner of London was as far removed as you could imagine from Hogwarts of the Ministry or a building like Gringotts, the Wizarding banks, with its gilded doors and marble floors.
Even without any new idea, they continued to move through the countryside, pitching the tent in a different place each night for security. Every morning they made sure that they had removed all clues to their presence, then set off to find another lonely and secluded spot, traveling by Apparition to more woods, to the shadowy crevices of cliffs, to purple moors, gorse-covered mountainsides, and once a sheltered and pebbly cove. Every twelve hours or so they passed the Horcrux between them as though they were playing some perverse, slow-motion game of pass-the-parcel, where they dreaded the music stopping because the reward was twelve hours of increased fear and anxiety.
Harry’s scar kept prickling. It happened most often, he noticed, when he was wearing the Horcrux. Sometimes he could not stop himself reacting to the pain.
“What? What did you see?” demanded Ron, whenever he noticed Harry wince.
“A face,” muttered Harry, every time. “The same face. The thief who stole from Gregorovitch.”
And Ron would turn away, making no effort to hide his disappointment. Harry knew that Ron was hoping to bear news of his family or the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, but after all, he, Harry, was not a television aerial; he could only see what Voldemort was thinking at the time, not tune in to whatever took his fancy. Apparently Voldemort was dwelling endlessly on the unknown youth with the gleeful face, whose name and whereabouts, Harry felt sure, Voldemort knew no better than he did. As Harry’s scar continued to burn and the merry, blond-haired boy swam tantalizingly in his memory, he learned to suppress any sign of pain or discomfort, for the other two showed nothing but impatience at the mention of the thief. He could not entirely blame them, when they were so desperate for a lead on the Horcruxes.
As the days stretched into weeks, Harry began to suspect that Ron and Hermione were having conversations without, and about, him. Several times they stopped talking abruptly when Harry entered the tent, and twice he came accidentally upon them, huddled a little distance away, heads together and talking fast; both times they fell silent when they realized he was approaching them and hastened to appear busy collecting wood or water.
Harry could not help wondering whether they had only agreed to come on what now felt like a pointless and rambling journey because they thought he had some secret plan that they would learn in due course. Ron was making no effort to hide his bad mood, and Harry was starting to fear that Hermione too was disappointed by his poor leadership. In desperation he tried to think of further Horcrux locations, but the only one that continued to occur to him was Hogwarts, and as neither of the others thought this at all likely, he stopped suggesting it.
Autumn rolled over the countryside as they moved through it. They were now pitching the tent on mulches of fallen leaves. Natural mists joined those cast by the dementors; wind and rain added to their troubles. The fact that Hermione was getting better at identifying edible fungi could not altogether compensate for their continuing isolation, the lack of other people’s company, or their total ignorance of what was going on in the war against Voldemort.
“My mother,” said Ron on night, as they sat in the tent on a riverbank in Wales, “can make good food appear out of thin air.”
He prodded moodily at the lumps of charred gray fish on his plate. Harry glanced automatically at Ron’s neck and saw, as he has expected, the golden chain of the Horcrux glinting there. He managed to fight down the impulse to swear at Ron, whose attitude would, he knew, improve slightly when the time came to take off the locket.
“Your mother can’t produce food out of thin air,” said Hermione. “no one can. Food is the first of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfigura - ”
“Oh, speak English, can’t you?” Ron said, prying a fish out from between his teeth.
“It’s impossible to make good food out of nothing! You can Summon it if you know where it is, you can transform it, you can increase the quantity if you’ve already got some - ”
“Well, don’t bother increasing this, it’s disgusting,” said Ron.
“Harry caught the fish and I did my best with it! I notice I’m always the one who ends up sorting out the food, because I’m a girl, I suppose!”
“No, it’s because you’re supposed to be the best at magic!” shot back Ron.
Hermione jumped up and bits of roast pike slid off her tin plate onto the floor.
“You can do the cooking tomorrow, Ron, you can find the ingredients and try and charm them into something worth eating, and I’ll sit here and pull faces and moan and you can see you - ”
“Shut up!,” said Harry, leaping to his feet and holding up both hands. “Shut up now!”
Hermione looked outraged.
“How can you side with him, he hardly ever does the cook - ”
“Hermione, be quiet, I can hear someone!”
He was listening hard, his hands still raised, warning them not to talk. Then, over the rush and gush of the dark river beside them, he heard voices again. He looked around at the Sneakoscope. It was not moving.
“You cast the Muffliato charm over us, right?” he whispered to Hermione.
“I did everything,” she whispered back, “Muffliato, Muggle-Repelling and Disillusionment Charms, all of it. They shouldn’t be able to hear of see us, whoever they are.”
Heavy scuffing and scraping noises, plus the sound of dislodged stones and twigs, told them that several people were clambering down the steep, wooded slope that descended to the narrow bank where they had pitched the tent. They drew their wands, waiting. The enchantments they had cast around themselves ought to be sufficient, in the near total darkness, to shield them from the notice of Muggles and normal witches and wizards. If these were Death Eaters, then perhaps their defenses were about to be tested by Dark Magic for the first time.
The voices became louder but no more intelligible as the group of men reached the bank. Harry estimated that their owners were fewer than twenty feet away, but the cascading river made it impossible to tell for sure. Hermione snatched up the beaded bag and started to rummage; after a moment she drew out three Extendible Ears and threw one each to Harry and Ron, who hastily inserted the ends of the flesh-colored strings into their ears and fed the other ends out of the tent entrance.
Within seconds Harry heard a weary male voice.
“There ought to be a few salmon in here, or d’you reckon it’s too early in the season? Accio Salmon!”
There were several distinct splashes and then the slapping sounds of fish against flesh. Somebody grunted appreciatively. Harry pressed the Extendable ear deeper into his own: Over the murmur of the river he could make out more voices, but they were not speaking English or any human language he had ever heard. It was a rough and unmelodious tongue, a string of rattling, guttural noises, and there seemed to be two speakers, one with a slightly lower, slower voice than the other.
A fire danced into life on the other side of the canvas, large shadows passed between tent and flames. The delicious smell of baking salmon wafted tantalizingly in their direction. Then came the clinking of cutlery on plates, and the first man spoke again.
“Here, Griphook, Gornuk.”
Goblins! Hermione mouthed at Harry, who nodded.
“Thank you,” said the goblins together in English.
“So, you three have been on the run how long?” asked a new, mellow, and pleasant voice; it was vaguely familiar to Harry, who pictured a round-bellied, cheerful-faced man.
“Six weeks… Seven… I forget,” said the tired man. “Met up with Griphook in the first couple of days and joined forces with Gornuk not long after. Nice to have a but of company.” There was a pause, while knives scraped plates and tin mugs were picked up and replaced on the ground. “What made you leave, Ted?” continued the man.
“Knew they were coming for me,” replied mellow-voiced Ted, and Harry suddenly knew who he was: Tonks’s father. “Heard Death Eaters were in the area last week and decided I’d better run for it. Refused to register as a Muggle-born on principle, see, so I knew it was a matter of time, knew I’d have to leave in the end. My wife should be okay, she’s pure-blood. And then I met Dean here, what, a few days ago, son?”
“Yeah,” said another voice, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared at each other, silent but besides themselves with excitement, sure they recognized the voice of Dean Thomas, their fellow Gryffindor.
“Muggle-born, eh?” asked the first man.
“Not sure ,” said Dean. “My dad left my mum when I was a kid. I’ve got no proof he was a wizard, though.”
There was silence for a while, except for the sounds of munching; then Ted spoke again.
“I’ve got to say, Dirk, I’m surprised to run into you. Pleased, but surprised. Word was that you’d been caught.”
“I was,” said Dirk. “I was halfway to Azkaban when I made a break for it. Stunned Dawlish, and nicked his broom. It was easier than you’d think; I don’t reckon he’s quite right at the moment. Might be Confunded. If so, I’d like to shake the hand of the witch or wizard who did it, probably saved my life.”
There was another pause in which the fire crackled and the river rushed on. The Ted said, “And where do you two fit in? I, er, had the impression the goblins were for You-Know-Who, on the whole.”
“You had a false impression,” said the higher-voiced of the goblins. “We take no sides. This is a wizards’ war.”
“How come you’re in hiding, then?”
“I deemed in prudent,” said the deeper-voiced goblin. “Having refused what I considered an impertinent request, I could see that my person safety was in jeopardy.”
“What did they ask you to do?” asked Ted.
“Duties ill-befitting the dignity of my race,” replied the goblin, his voice rougher and less human as he said it. “I am not a house-elf.”
“What about you, Griphook?”
“Similar reasons,” said the higher voiced goblin. “Gringotts is no longer under the sole control of my race. I recognize no Wizarding master.”
He added something under his breath in Gobbledegook, and Gornuk laughed.
“What’s the joke?” asked Dean.
“He said,” replied Dirk, “that there are things wizards don’t recognize, either.”
There was a short pause.
“I don’t get it,” said Dean.
“I had my small revenge before I left,” said Griphook in English.
“Good man - goblin, I should say,” amended Ted hastily. “Didn’t manage to lock a Death Eater up in one of the old high-security vaults, I suppose?”
“If I had, the sword would not have helped him break out,” replied Griphook. Gornuk laughed again and even Dirk gave a dry chuckle.
“Dean and I are still missing something here,” said Ted.
“So is Severus Snape, though he does not know it,” said Griphook, and the two goblins roared with malicious laughter. Inside the tent Harry’s breathing was shallow with excitement: He and Hermione stared at each other, listening as hard as they could.
“Didn’t you hear about that, Ted?” asked Dirk. “About the kids who tried to steal Gryffindor’s sword out of Snape’s office at Hogwarts?”
An electric current seemed to course through Harry, jangling his every nerve as he stood rooted to the spot.
“Never heard a word,” said Ted, “Not in the Prophet, was it?”
“Hardly,” chortled Dirk. “Griphook here told me, he heard about it from Bill Weasley who works for the bank. One of the kids who tried to take the sword was Bill’s younger sister.”
Harry glanced toward Hermione and Ron, both of whom were clutching the Extendable Ears as tightly as lifelines.
“She and a couple of friends got into Snape’s office and smashed open the glass case where he was apparently keeping the sword. Snape caught them as they were trying to smuggle it down the staircase.”
“Ah, God bless ‘em,” said Ted. “What did they think, that they’d be able to use the sword on You-Know-Who? Or on Snape himself?”
“Well, whatever they thought they were going to do with it, Snape decided the sword wasn’t safe where it was,” said Dirk. “Couple of days later, once he’d got the say-so from You-Know-Who, I imagine, he sent it down to London to be kept in Gringotts instead.”
The goblins started to laugh again.
“I’m still not seeing the joke,” said Ted.
“It’s a fake,” rasped Griphook.
“The sword of Gryffindor!”
“Oh yes. It is a copy - an excellent copy, it is true - but it was Wizard-made. The original was forged centuries ago by goblins and had certain properties only goblin-made armor possesses. Wherever the genuine sword of Gryffindor is, it is not in a vault at Gringotts bank.”
“I see,” said Ted. “And I take it you didn’t bother telling the Death Eaters this.”
“I saw no reason to trouble them with the information,” said Griphook smugly, and now Ted and Dean joined in Gornuk and Dirk’s laughter.
Inside the tent, Harry closed his eyes, willing someone to ask the question he needed answered, and after a minute that seemed ten, Dean obliged: he was (Harry remembered with a jolt) an ex-boyfriend of Ginny’s too.
“What happened to Ginny and all the others? The ones who tried to steal it?”
“Oh, they were punished, and cruelly,” said Griphook indifferently.
“They’re okay, though?” asked Ted quickly, “I mean, the Weasleys don’t need any more of their kids injured, do they?”
“They suffered no serious injury, as far as I am aware,” said Griphook.
“Lucky for them,” said Ted. “With Snape’s track record I suppose we should just be glad they’re still alive.”
“You believe that story, then, do you, Ted?” asked Dirk. “You believe Snape killed Dumbledore?
“Course I do,” said Ted. “You’re not going to sit there and tell me you think Potter had anything to do with it?”
“Hard to know what to believe these days,” muttered Dirk.
“I know Harry Potter,” said Dean. “And I reckon he’s the real thing - the Chosen One, or whatever you want to call it.”
“Yeah, there’s a lot would like to believe he’s that, son,” said Dirk, “me included. But where is he? Run for it, by the looks of things. You’d think if he knew anything we don’t, or had anything special going for him, he’d be out there now fighting, rallying resistance, instead of hiding. And you know, the Prophet made a pretty good case against him - ”
“The Prophet?” scoffed Ted. “You deserve to be lied to if you’re still reading that much, Dirk. You want the facts, try the Quibbler.”
There was a sudden explosion of choking and retching, plus a good deal of thumping, by the sound of it. Dirk had swallowed a fish bone. At last he sputtered, “The Quibbler? That lunatic rag of Xeno Lovegood’s?”
“It’s not so lunatic these days,” said Ted. “You want to give it a look, Xeno is printing all the stuff the Prophet’s ignoring, not a single mention of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in the last issue. How long they’ll let him get with it, mind, I don’t know. But Xeno says, front page of every issue, that any wizard who’s against You-Know-Who ought to make helping Harry Potter their number-one priority.”
“Hard to help a boy who’s vanished off the face of the earth,” said Dirk.
“Listen, the fact that they haven’t caught him yet’s one hell of an achievement,” said Ted. “I’d take tips from him gladly; it’s what we’re trying to do, stay free, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, well, you’ve got a point there,” said Dirk heavily. “With the whole of the Ministry and all their informers looking for him, I’d have expected him to be caught by now. Mind, who’s to say they haven’t already caught and killed him without publicizing it?”
“Ah, don’t say that, Dirk,” murmured Ted.
There was a long pause filled with more clattering of knives and forks. When they spoke again it was to discuss whether they ought to sleep on the back or retreat back up the wooded slope. Deciding the trees would give better cover, they extinguished their fire, then clambered back up the incline, their voices fading away.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione reeled in the Extendable Ears. Harry, who had found the need to remain silent increasingly difficult the longer they eavesdropped, now found himself unable to say more then, “Ginny - the sword - ”
“I know!” said Hermione.
She lunged for the tiny beaded bag, this time sinking her arm in it right up to the armpit.
“Here… we… are…” she said between gritted teeth, and she pulled at something that was evidently in the depths of the bag. Slowly the edge of an ornate picture frame came into sight. Harry hurried to help her. As they lifted the empty portrait of Phineas Nigellus free of Hermione’s bag, she kept her wand pointing at it, ready to cast a spell at any moment.
“If somebody swapped the real sword for the face while it was in Dumbledore’s office,” she panted, as they propped the painting against the side of the tent, “Phineas Nigellus would have seen it happen, he hangs right beside the case!”
“Unless he was asleep,” said Harry, but he still held his breath as Hermione knelt down in front of the empty canvas, her wand directed at its center, cleared her throat, then said:
“Er - Phineas? Phineas Nigellus?“
Nothing happened.
“Phineas Nigellus?” said Hermione again. “Professor Black? Please could we talk to you? Please?”
“‘Please’ always helps,” said a cold, snide voice, and Phineas Nigellus slid into his portrait. At one, Hermione cried:
“Obscura!”
A black blindfold appeared over Phineas Nigellus’s clever, dark eyes, causing him to bump into the frame and shriek with pain.
“What - how dare - what are you -?”
“I’m very sorry, Professor Black,” said Hermione, “but it’s a necessary precaution!”
“Remove this foul addition at once! Remove it, I say! You are ruining a great work of art! Where am I? What is going on?“
“Never mind where we are,” said Harry, and Phineas Nigellus froze, abandoning his attempts to peel off the painted blindfold.
“Can that possible be the voice of the elusive Mr. Potter?”
“Maybe,” said Harry, knowing that this would keep Phineas Nigellus’s interest. “We’ve got a couple of questions to ask you - about the sword of Gryffindor.”
“Ah,” said Phineas Nigellus, now turning his head this way and that in an effort to catch sight of Harry, “Yes. That silly girl acted most unwisely there - ”
“Shut up about my sister,” said Ron roughly, Phineas Nigellus raised supercilious eyebrows.
“Who else is here?” he asked, turning his head from side to side. “Your tone displeases me! The girl and her friends were foolhardily in the extreme. Thieving from the headmaster.”
“They weren’t thieving,” said Harry. “That sword isn’t Snape’s.”
“It belongs to Professor Snape’s school,“ said Phineas Nigellus. ”Exactly what claim did the Weasley girl have upon it? She deserved her punishment, as did the idiot Longbottom and the Lovegood oddity!“
“Neville is not an idiot and Luna is not an oddity!” said Hermione.
“Where am I?” repeated Phineas Nigellus, starting to wrestle with the blindfold again. “Where have you brought me? Why have you removed me from the house of my forebears?”
“Never mind that! How did Snape punish Ginny, Neville, and Luna?” asked Harry urgently.
“Professor Snape sent them into the Forbidden Forest, to do some work for the oaf, Hagrid.”
“Hagrid’s not an oaf!” said Hermione shrilly.
“And Snape might’ve though that was a punishment,” said Harry, “but Ginny, Neville, and Luna probably had a good laugh with Hagrid. The Forbidden Forest… they’ve faced plenty worse than the Forbidden Forest, big deal!”
He felt relieved; he had been imagining horrors, the Cruciatus Curse at the very least.
“What we really wanted to know, Professor Black, is whether anyone else has, um, taken out the sword at all? Maybe it’s been taken away for cleaning - or something!”
Phineas Nigellus paused again in his struggles to free his eyes and sniggered.
“Muggle-born,” he said, “Goblin-made armor does not require cleaning, simple girl. Goblin’s silver repels mundane dirt, imbibing only that which strengthens it.”
“Don’t call Hermione simple,” said Harry.
“I grow weary of contradiction,” said Phineas Nigellus. “perhaps it is time for me to return to the headmaster’s office.?”
Still blindfolded, he began groping the side of his frame, trying to feel his way out of his picture and back into the one at Hogwarts. Harry had a sudden inspiration.
“Dumbledore! Can’t you bring us Dumbledore?”
“I beg your pardon?” asked Phineas Nigellus.
“Professor Dumbledore’s portrait - couldn’t you bring him along, here, into yours?”
Phineas Nigellus turned his face in the direction of Harry’s voice.
“Evidently it is not only Muggle-borns who are ignorant, Potter. The portraits of Hogwarts may commune with each other, but they cannot travel outside of the castle except to visit a painting of themselves elsewhere. Dumbledore cannot come here with me, and after the treatment I have received at your hands, I can assure you that I will not be making a return visit!“
Slightly crestfallen, Harry watched Phineas redouble his attempts to leave his frame.
“Professor Black,” said Hermione, “couldn’t you just tell us, please, when was the last time the sword was taken out of its case? Before Ginny took it out, I mean?”
Phineas snorted impatiently.
“I believe that the last time I saw the sword of Gryffindor leave its case was when Professor Dumbledore used it to break open a ring.”
Hermione whipped around to look at Harry. Neither of them dared say more in front of Phineas Nigellus, who had at least managed to locate the exit.
“Well, good night to you,“ he said a little waspishly, and he began to move out of sight again. Only the edge of his hat brim remained in view when Harry gave a sudden shout.
“Wait! Have you told Snape you saw this?”
Phineas Nigellus stuck his blindfolded head back into the picture.
“Professor Snape has more important things on his mind that the many eccentricities of Albus Dumbledore. Good-bye, Potter!”
And with that, he vanished completely, leaving behind him nothing but his murky backdrop.
“Harry!” Hermione cried.
“I know!” Harry shouted. Unable to contain himself, he punched the air; it was more than he had dared to hope for. He strode up and down the tent, feeling that he could have run a mile; he did not even feel hungry anymore. Hermione was squashing Phineas Nigellus’s back into the beaded bag; when she had fastened the clasp she threw the bag aside and raised a shining face to Harry.
“The sword can destroy Horcruxes! Goblin-made blades imbibe only that which strengthens them - Harry, that sword’s impregnated with basilisk venom!”
“And Dumbledore didn’t give it to me because he still needed it, he wanted to use it on the locket - ”
“ - and he must have realized they wouldn’t let you have it if he put it in his will - ”
“ - so he made a copy - ”
“ - and put a fake in the glass case - ”
“ - and he left the real one - where?”
They gazed at east other Harry felt that the answer was dangling invisibly in the air above them, tantalizingly close. Why hadn’t Dumbledore told him? Or had he, in fact, told Harry, but Harry had not realized it at the time?
“Think!” whispered Hermione. “Think! Where would he have left it?”
“Not at Hogwarts,” said Harry, resuming his pacing.
“Somewhere in Hogsmeade?” suggested Hermione.
“The Shrieking Shack?” said Harry. “Nobody ever goes in there.”
“But Snape knows how to get in, wouldn’t that be a bit risky?”
“Dumbledore trusted Snape,” Harry reminded her.
“Not enough to tell him that he had swapped the swords,” said Hermione.
“Yeah, you’re right!” said Harry, and he felt even more cheered at the thought that Dumbledore had had some reservations, however faint, about Snape’s trustworthiness. “So, would he have hidden the sword well away from Hogsmeade, then? What d’you reckon, Ron? Ron?”
Harry looked around. For one bewildered moment he thought that Ron had left the tent, then realized that Ron was lying in the shadow of a bunk, looking stony.
“Oh, remembered me, have you?” he said.
“What?”
Ron snorted as he stared up at the underside of the upper bunk.
“You two carry on. Don’t let me spoil your fun.”
Perplexed, Harry looked to Hermione for help, but she shook her head, apparently as nonplussed as he was.
“What’s the problem?” asked Harry.
“Problem? There’s no problem,” said Ron, still refusing to look at Harry. “Not according to you, anyways.”
There were several plunks on the canvas over their heads. It had started to rain.
“Well, you’ve obviously got a problem,” said Harry. “Spit it out, will you?”
Ron swung his long legs off the bed and sat up. He looked mean, unlike himself.
“All right, I’ll spit it out. Don’t expect me to skip up and down the tent because there’s some other damn thing we’ve got to find. Just add it to the list of stuff you don’t know.”
“I don’t know?” repeated Harry. “I don’t know?”
Plunk, plunk, plunk. The rain was falling harder and heavier; it pattered on the leaf-strewn bank all around them and into the river chattering through the dark. Dread doused Harry’s jubilation; Ron was saying exactly what he had suspected and feared him to be thinking.
“It’s not like I’m not having the time of my life here,” said Ron, “you know, with my arm mangled and nothing to eat and freezing my backside off every night. I just hoped, you know, after we’d been running round a few weeks, we’d have achieved something.”
“Ron,” Hermione said, but in such a quiet voice that Ron could pretend not to have heard it over the loud tattoo the rain was beating on the tent.
“I thought you knew what you’d signed up for.” said Harry.
“Yeah, I thought I did too.”
“So what part of it isn’t living up to your expectations?” asked Harry. Anger was coming to his defense now. “Did you think we’d be staying in five-star hotels? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you’d be back to Mummy by Christmas?”
“We thought you knew what you were doing!” shouted Ron, standing up, and his words Harry like scalding knives. “We thought Dumbledore had told you what to do, we thought you had a real plan!”
“Ron!” said Hermione, this time clearly audible over the rain thundering on the tent roof, but again, he ignored her.
“Well, sorry to let you down,” said Harry, his voice quite calm even though he felt hollow, inadequate. “I’ve been straight with you from the start. I told you everything Dumbledore told me. And in the case you haven’t noticed, we’ve found one Horcrux - ”
“Yeah, and we’re about as near getting rid of it as we are to finding the rest of them - nowhere effing near in other words.“
“Take off the locket, Ron,” Hermione said, her voice unusually high. “Please take it off. You wouldn’t be talking like this if you hadn’t been wearing it all day.”
“Yeah, he would,” said Harry, who did not want excuses made for Ron. “D’you think I haven’t noticed the two of you whispering behind my back? D’you think I didn’t guess you were thinking this stuff?”
“Harry, we weren’t - ”
“Don’t lie!” Ron hurled at her. “You said it too, you said you were disappointed, you said you’d thought he had a bit more to go on than - ”
“I didn’t say it like that - Harry, I didn’t!” she cried.
The rain was pounding the tent, tears were pouring down Hermione’s face, and the excitement of a few minutes before had vanished as if it had never been, a short-lived firework that had flared and died, leaving everything dark, wet, and cold. The sword of Gryffindor was hidden they knew not where, and their were three teenagers in a tent whose only achievement was not, yet, to be dead.
“So why are you still here?” Harry asked Ron.
“Search me,” said Ron.
“Go home then,” said Harry.
“Yeah, maybe I will!” shouted Ron, and he took several steps toward Harry, who did not back away. “Didn’t you hear what they said about my sister? But you don’t give a rat’s fart, do you, it’s only the Forbidden Forest, Harry I’ve-Faced-Worse Potter doesn’t care what happened to her in there - well, I do, all right, giant spiders and mental stuff - ”
“I was only saying - she was with the others, they were with Hagrid - ”
“Yeah, I get it, you don’t care! And what about the rest of my family, ‘the Weasleys don’t need another kid injured,’ did you hear that?”
“Yeah, I - ”
“Not bothered what it meant, though?”
“Ron!” said Hermione, forcing her way between them. “I don’t think it means anything new has happened, anything we don’t know about; think, Ron, Bill’s already scared, plenty of people must have seen that George has lost an ear by now, and you’re supposed to be on your deathbed with spattergroit, I’m sure that’s all he meant - ”
“Oh, you’re sure, are you? Right then, well, I won’t bother myself about them. It’s all right for you, isn’t it, with your parents safely out of the way - “
“My parents are dead!” Harry bellowed.
“And mine could be going the same way!” yelled Ron.
“Then GO!” roared Harry. “Go back to them, pretend you’re got over your spattergroit and Mummy’ll be able to feed you up and - ”
Ron made a sudden movement: Harry reacted, but before either wand was clear of its owner’s pocket, Hermione had raised her own.
“Prestego!” she cried, and an invisible shield expanded between her and Harry on the one side and Ron on the other; all of them were forced backward a few steps by the strength of the spell, and Harry and Ron glared from either side of the transparent barrier as though they were seeing each other clearly for the first time. Harry felt a corrosive hatred toward Ron: Something had broken between them.
“Leave the Horcrux,” Harry said.
Ron wrenched the chain from over his head and cast the locket into a nearby chair. He turned to Hermione.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you staying, or what?”
“I…” She looked anguished. “Yes - yes, I’m staying. Ron, we said we’d go with Harry, we said we’d help - ”
“I get it. You choose him.”
“Ron, no - please - come back, come back!”
She was impeded by her own Shield Charm; by the time she had removed it he had already stormed into the night. Harry stood quite still and silent, listening to her sobbing and calling Ron’s name amongst the trees.
After a few minutes she returned, her sopping hair plastered to her face.
“He’s g-g-gone! Disapparated!”
She threw herself into a chair, curled up, and started to cry.
Harry felt dazed. He stooped, picked up the Horcrux, and placed it around his own neck. He dragged blankets off Ron’s bunk and threw them over Hermione. Then he climbed onto his own bed and stared up at the dark canvas roof, listening to the pounding of the rain.
　　第二天一清早，在其他两人醒来之前，哈利离开了帐篷，在森林里找到一棵枝节最多,看起来挺有弹性的古树。他将疯眼汉穆迪的那只魔眼埋在了它的树荫下。他在树皮上用魔杖划了个十字作为标记。它并不是很大，但是哈利觉得疯眼汉会更喜欢这样而不是绑在乌姆里奇的门上。然后他转身走回帐篷，等着其他两个人醒来，一起讨论他们下一步该做什么。
　　哈利和赫敏一致觉得最好不要在一个地方停留太长时间，罗恩也这样想，但他唯一的要求就是去的地方最好能有咸牛肉三明治。于是赫敏清除了她在附近用魔法变出来的所有东西，哈利和罗恩同时也清理了所有的可以显示出他们曾在这里露营过的魔法标记和痕迹。然后他们一起幻影显形到一个小镇的郊区。他们一到达那里，就在小灌木丛的隐蔽处搭起了帐篷并在周围施了防御魔法。哈利冒险藏在隐形衣下出去寻找食物，然而事情发展往往并不像计划的那样。在他刚刚进入小镇时，一阵不自然的寒风袭来，薄雾凝结，头顶的天空突然变暗使他更加寒冷。
　　“你可以召唤守护神的！”罗恩反驳道，这时哈利向后走到帐篷并腾出一只手，上气不接下气，用口型说着一个词：摄魂怪。“我没办法……召唤……”他喘息着说，抓住帐篷的边缘，“不能……召唤来……”
　　他们惊愕和失望的表情使哈利感到惭愧，那是个不愉快的经历，看到摄魂怪在一段距离以外就准确地向自己这里滑行，那种令人窒息的寒冷麻痹了他的整个身体，遥远的尖叫敲击着他的耳膜，这使他无力再保护自己。哈利用尽全部的意志力让自己拔腿就跑，留下摄魂怪在麻瓜中盲目的滑行。麻瓜看不到摄魂怪，但是可以感受到摄魂怪所到之处那种绝望的气息。
　　“所以我们仍然没有找到任何食物。”
　　“闭嘴，罗恩。”赫敏打断他说，“哈利，发生了什么？你为什么觉得你无法召唤守护神了？在昨天你还可以完美地召唤守护神的！”
　　“我不知道。”他安静地坐在老珀金斯的一把旧扶手椅上，觉得比那时更丢脸。他觉得自己心里有些问题。昨天看起来像是在很久之前了：今天我又回到了那个十三岁的我，在霍格沃茨特快列车上唯一一个面对摄魂怪崩溃的人。
　　罗恩踢断了一只椅子腿。
　　“什么！”他朝赫敏大吼：“我要饿死了！从上次我流血流得半死到现在吃的所有东西不过是几个蘑菇！”
　　“不过你可以走过去，直接从摄魂怪中间穿过。”像被刺了一下,哈利激烈地说。
　　“我会的，但是我的胳膊上还挂着绷带，除非你没有注意到。”
　　“那很容易就注意到•”
　　“那么就是说——”
　　“当然！”赫敏叫道，用手拍着她的前额，吓得那两人一时无语。“哈利，给我那个小盒子。来！”她不耐烦地说，用手指着还没有反应过来的哈利，“魂器，哈利，你还戴着它！”
　　赫敏伸出她的手，哈利也将那条金链子从头上取下来。就在它与哈利的皮肤分开的那一刹那，他感到一阵古怪的轻松。他甚至才感觉到他身上又湿又冷和肚子里沉甸甸的压力消失了。
　　“好点了么？”赫敏问。
　　“是的，好的多了！”
　　“哈利，”她说道，在他前面蹲下，用那种使哈利感到像是探访病人的声音说：“你不认为自己被附身了吗？”
　　“什么？当然不！”他防备地说：“我记得我戴着它的时候我们做的所有的事情，如果我被附身我就不会记得那些事情，不是吗？金妮告诉我她有几个小时都不知道自己干了些什么。”
　　“唔，”赫敏说，低头看着那个沉甸甸的盒子：“嗯，也许我们不应该随身带着它。我们可以把它留在帐篷里。”
　　“我们不能把魂器留在这，”哈利坚定地说，“如果我们把它弄丢了，如果它被偷了……”
　　“噢，好吧，好吧，”赫敏说着把它挂到自己的脖子上，把它向下塞进衬衫里看不见的地方。“但是我们应该轮流带着它，没有人能够长时间的忍受它。”
　　“很好，”罗恩暴躁地说，“现在我们已经选出人来了，我们现在可以去找食物了吗？”
　　“好的，但是我们还是去别的地方找食物吧。”赫敏说着，偷偷的看了哈利一眼，“我们不能总停留在摄魂怪四处游走的地方。”
　　最后他们在一个偏僻遥远的农场里的田地里过的夜，从那里他们弄到了鸡蛋和面包。
　　“这不算偷窃，对吧？”当他们狼吞虎咽炒鸡蛋烤面包的时候，赫敏怯怯的问。“如果我在鸡肚子下面放了些钱，就不算对吧？”罗恩翻着眼睛说，两颊胀的鼓鼓的，“赫……赫敏，别担心那么多事。放松！”
　　并且——的确是这样——在他们舒服的大吃一顿后，放松变得非常简单。在这个夜晚，关于摄魂怪的争论也在笑声中被遗忘了。哈利非常快乐，也充满了希望，他担当了在三轮夜班中第一个值班的人。
　　这是他们第一次意识到这个事实：吃饱了精神好，而空空如也的肚子代表着争论和忧伤。哈利对此并不惊讶，因为他有过一段在德思礼家里几乎被饿死的经历。赫敏相当出色地熬过了那些晚上，他们除了浆果和过期的饼干外没有在寻找中获得任何食物。她的脾气可能比平常好了一点，而且她经常沉默。然而，罗恩习惯于他那和善的母亲或是霍格沃茨的家养小精灵提供的一天美味的三餐，饥饿使他变得不可理喻而且暴躁易怒。经常性的食物短缺，再加上轮到罗恩佩戴那个魂器，这使他彻彻底底的变成惹人讨厌的家伙。
　　“我们接下来去哪里？”他一直重复着这句话，看上去他没有任何主意，仅仅是希望哈利或者赫敏提出一个计划，而他就坐在那想着食物的短缺。因此，哈利和赫敏白白花费了许多时间讨论他们能在哪里会发现另一个魂器，或是如何摧毁他们已经到手的这个魂器。他们的谈话的重复内容越来越多，因为他们没有得到任何新的信息。
　　就像邓布利多告诉哈利的那样，他们坚信伏地魔会把他的魂器藏在一个对他来说非常重要的地方。他们一直在列举，沉闷枯燥的一遍又一遍的，那些他们所知道的伏地魔居住过或拜访过的地方。孤儿院那个他出生和成长的地方；霍格沃茨，是他念书的地方；博金-博克，是他在毕业后工作的地方；然后是阿尔巴尼亚，他在那里度过了它被放逐的那几年：这些形成了他们推测的基础。
　　“来，让我们去阿尔巴尼亚。就算在整个国家里面搜寻也用不了一个下午的时间。”罗恩讽刺地说。
　　“那里肯定什么都没有。在他流落之前他已经做了五个魂器，而且邓布利多已经确定第六个魂器就是那条大蛇了。”赫敏说，“我们都知道那条蛇不可能在阿尔巴尼亚，它通常是跟在伏地……”
　　“我不是和你说过不要叫他的名字吗？”
　　“好吧！那条蛇一般是跟着神秘人的——这样你就高兴了？”
　　“差不多吧。”
　　“我不认为他会在博金-博克藏任何东西。”哈利说，他说过这句话好多遍了，但是重复再说一遍只是为了打破这难堪的沉默，“博金和博克是黑魔法物品的专家，他们会一下子就认出这个魂器的。”
　　罗恩很明显的打了个呵欠。哈利抑制住强烈的向他扔东西的冲动，继续说，“我估计他把东西藏在了霍格沃茨。”
　　赫敏叹了口气。
　　“但是邓布利多会发现的，哈利！”
　　哈利重复着他的观点并寻找有利于他的观点的理由。
　　“邓布利多在我面前说过他从来不敢确定他知道霍格沃茨的所有秘密。我告诉你，如果那里有一个地方是伏地……”
　　“哦！”
　　“神秘人！然后！”哈利吼道，强迫自己忍耐下去，“如果有一个地方对伏地魔真的十分重要，那就是霍格沃茨！”
　　“哦，算了吧，”罗恩嘲弄地说，“他的学校？”
　　“是的，他的学校！那是他第一个真正的家，是对他而言意义非比寻常的地方；那代表着他的一切，就算在他离开之后……”
　　“我们在讨论的是神秘人，对吧？不是你？”罗恩问。他在用力的拉扯那条挂在他的脖子上的魂器的链子。哈利有种欲望想要一把抓过那条链子然后勒死罗恩。
　　“你告诉我们神秘人请求邓布利多在他毕业后给他一份工作。”赫敏说。
　　“是的。”哈利回答说。
　　“而且邓布利多认为他只是想要回来试图寻找什么东西，可能是其他哪个学院创始人的东西，来制造魂器？”
　　“是的。”哈利回答。
　　“但是他没有得到那份工作，不是吗？”赫敏说，“所以他绝不会有机会去那里寻找学院创始人的东西并把它藏在学校！”
　　“那么，好吧。”哈利被说服了。“忘记霍格沃茨吧。”
　　没有什么其他的线索了。他们只好来到伦敦，藏在隐形衣下，寻找伏地魔长大的孤儿院。
　　赫敏偷偷进入了一个图书馆，从他们的记录发现了这个地方在好多年前已经被重建了。他们来到了它的位置，发现了现在是一个政府机关的塔式大楼。
　　“我们可以试着挖地基？”赫敏玩弄地说。
　　“他不可能把魂器藏在这里，”哈利说。他自始至终都知道这一点。孤儿院曾是伏地魔尽力摆脱的地方，他不可能把自己灵魂的一部分藏在这里。邓布利多向哈利展示过伏地魔藏魂器的地方之壮观和神秘。这个伦敦的阴暗灰色的角落是你能够想象得出的最不着边的地方，尤其是和霍格沃茨或是古灵阁——巫师的银行——那样的有着镀金的门、大理石地板的建筑物相比较。
　　还是没有任何新主意，他们继续穿梭在乡间。为了安全起见，每个夜晚他们都换不同的地方支起帐篷，每个早晨他们都确保将所有他们来过这里的所有痕迹清除，然后出发寻找另一个偏僻隐蔽的地点。幻影显形时到过许多森林，狭窄的山涧，紫色的荒野，金雀花覆盖着的山岭，还经过受保护的有许多卵石的小海湾。每12个小时他们轮换着佩戴魂器，就好像他们在玩一种慢动作的击鼓传花一样。他们害怕音乐的停止，因为那是12个小时的恐惧和焦虑。
　　哈利的伤疤一直刺痛，他注意到，它发作的越来越频繁，尤其是当他佩戴魂器的时候。有时候他无法阻止他自己对疼痛做出的反映。
　　“怎么了？你看到什么了？”罗恩每当他注意到哈利的退避时就会探问。
　　“一张脸,”哈利每一次都是这样咕哝，“相同的一张脸。从格里戈维奇偷东西的那个小偷。
　　这时罗恩会转过脸去，毫不掩饰他的失望。哈利知道罗恩希望得到关于他家里的消息或是其他凤凰社的人的消息，但是，毕竟哈利不是一架电视天线，他只能知道伏地魔在那时的想法，而不能选择自己想要知道的内容。显然，伏地魔在不断的思索着那个兴高采烈却不知名的少年，包括他们的名字和下落。哈利可以确定，伏地魔所知道的不比他多多少。在哈利伤疤继续灼烧的同时，那个快乐的金发男孩也在他的脑海里时隐时显。他不得不试图掩盖住任何不适或疼痛的表情，因为其他两个人在他提到那个小偷时，除了不耐烦没有任何反应。他不能完全怪他们，尤其是在他们绝望时戴着魂器的时候。
　　几个星期过去之后，哈利开始怀疑罗恩和赫敏在背地里议论他。有好几次哈利进入帐篷时，他们突然就打断了话头，有两次哈利不经意地遇到他们，在不远处凑在一起，头靠在一起快速的谈论着什么，每一次他们一旦意识到哈利在靠近他们并且催促他们寻找木头和食物时，他们就都不说话了。
　　哈利忍不住怀疑他们是不是一致认为这次行动是白费力气，因为他们认为哈利有一些秘密的计划只有到适当的时候他们才能知道的。这些事对他隐藏自己糟糕的心情一点作用都没有，而且哈利也担心赫敏会对他差劲的领导能力失望。在沮丧中，哈利尝试向更广的范围内思考魂器的位置，可是唯一一个在他的脑海中出现的地方就是霍格沃茨。但是其他两个人完全不拿这个想法当回事，所以他也就没有再提出他的意见。
　　秋天卷着落叶扫过他们路过的那个村庄。因此他们支起的帐篷也有了落叶作掩护。大自然制造的雾气似乎也加入了摄魂怪的浓雾行列，风和雨也来找他们的麻烦。事实上赫敏虽然可以更好的辨认出可食用的菌类了，却也无法弥补与世隔绝的孤独感，脱离团体，还有他们在对抗伏地魔的战斗中的一无所知的感觉。
　　“我妈妈，”罗恩在一个晚上说，那时他们坐在威尔士河岸的帐篷里，“可以从稀薄的空气里变出来美味的食物。”
　　在他看见他的碟子里那许多烧焦的灰色鱼时他变得更加暴躁易怒。哈利不自觉地向罗恩脖子里瞥了一眼，就像他料到的那样，那条魂器的金链子在那里闪闪发光。他努力克制住诅咒罗恩的冲动。他知道，罗恩的态度会在摘下那个盒子的时候稍微改善一些。
　　“你妈妈不可能从空气里变出食物来,”赫敏说，“没有人可以。食物是大洋法律五个最主要的例外中第一个组成部分……”
　　“哦，说简单点儿，不行吗？”罗恩说，牙缝里露出了正在咀嚼的鱼。
　　“凭空变出食物是不可能的！你可以你事先知道的地方把它召唤来，你可以改变它，如果你已经有了一些，你还可以增加它的数量——”
　　“好吧，反正我是不想增加这种东西的数量，真恶心。”罗恩说。
　　“哈利抓到的鱼，我尽最大的力气去做了！我注意到我总是那个快吃完时才挑选食物的那个人。我想那只是因为我是个女的！”
　　“不，那是因为你被认为魔法是最出色的！”罗恩喊道。
　　赫敏跳了起来，一部分烤鱼从她的盘子滑到了地板上。
　　“明天你可以来做饭，罗恩，你可以找出一些食物然后试着用魔法将它们变成可以吃的东西，我会坐在那里拉着长脸一直抱怨，然后你就会知道你——”
　　“别吵了！”哈利说，跳起来挥摆着两只手，“安静！”
　　赫敏看起来更愤怒了。
　　“你怎么能这么偏向他！他几乎就没做过饭——”
　　“赫敏，安静，我听到有人！”他仔细地听，仍然举着双手警告他们不要说话。然后，他匆忙冲出去，黑色的河流在他们身后翻滚着，他又听到了那个声音。他在魔杖的光芒中四处张望。没有什么正在动的东西。
　　“你在这里施了闭耳塞听咒，是吗？”他低声问赫敏。
　　“能做的我都做了。”她低声回答，“闭耳塞听咒、麻瓜驱逐咒和白日梦咒,这类魔咒都有。他们不可能听到或看见我们，无论他们是谁。”
　　沉重的脚步声，还有一些石块树枝滑落的声音，明白无误地告诉他们有一些人正从悬崖上爬下来，到树木茂密的斜坡，到他们扎营的狭窄的河岸。他们拔出了自己的魔杖，等待着。
Chapter 16 Godric’s Hollow
When Harry woke the following day it was several seconds before he remembered what had happened. Then he hoped childishly, that it had been a dream, that Ron was still there and had never left. Yet by turning his head on his pillow he could see Ron’s deserted bunk. It was like a dead body in the way it seems to draw his eyes. Harry jumped down from his own bed, keeping his eyes averted from Ron’s. Hermione, who was already busy in the kitchen, did not wish Harry good morning, but turned her face away quickly as he went by. He’s gone, Harry told himself. He’s gone. He had to keep thinking it as he washed and dressed as though repetition would dull the shock of it. He’s gone and he’s not coming back. And that was the simple truth of it, Harry knew, because their protective enchantments meant that it would be impossible, once they vacated this spot, for Ron to find them again. He and Hermione ate breakfast in silence. Hermione’s eyes were puffy and red; she looked as if she had not slept. They packed up their things, Hermione dawdling. Harry knew why she wanted to spin out their time on the riverbank; several times he saw her look up eagerly, and he was sure she had deluded herself into thinking that she heard footsteps through the heavy rain, but no red-haired figure appeared between the trees. Every time Harry imitated her, looked around ( for he could not help hoping a little, himself) and saw nothing but rain-swept woods, another little parcel of fury exploded inside him. He could hear Ron saying, “We thought you knew what you were doing!”, and he resumed packing with a hard knot in the pit of his stomach.
The muddy river beside them was rising rapidly and would soon spill over onto their bank. They had lingered a good hour after they would usually have departed their campsite. Finally having entirely repacked the beaded bag three times, Hermione seemed unable to find any more reasons to delay: She and Harry grasped hands and Disapparated, reappearing on a windswept heather-covered hillside. The instant they arrived, Hermione dropped Harry’s hand and walked away from him, finally sitting down on a large rock, her face on her knees, shaking with what he knew were sobs. He watched her, supposing that he ought to go and comfort her, but something kept him rooted to the spot. Everything inside him felt cold and tight: Again he saw the contemptuous expression on Ron’s face. Harry strode off through the heather, walking in a large circle with the distraught Hermione at its center, casting the spell she usually performed to ensure their protection.
They did not discuss Ron at all over the next few days. Harry was determined never to mention his name again and Hermione seemed to know that it was no use forcing the issue, although sometimes at night when she thought he was sleeping, he would hear her crying. Meanwhile Harry had started bringing out the Marauder’s map and examining it by wandlight. He was waiting for the moment when Ron’s labeled dot would reappear in the corridors of Hogwarts, proving that he had returned to the comfortable castle, protected by his status of pureblood. However, Ron did not appear on the map and after a while Harry found himself taking it out simply to stare at Ginny’s name in the girl’s dormitory, wondering whether the intensity with which he gazed at it might break into her sleep, that she would somehow know he was thinking about her, hoping that she was all right.
By day, they devoted themselves to trying to determine the possible locations of Gryffindor’s sword, but the more they talked about the places in which Dumbledore might have hidden it, the more desperate and far-fetched their speculation became. Cudgel his brains though he might, Harry could not remember Dumbledore ever mentioning a place in which he might hide something. There were moments when he did not know whether he was angrier with Ron or with Dumbledore. We thought you knew what you were doing…We thought Dumbledore had told you what to do… We thought you had a real plan!
He could not hide it from himself: Ron had been right. Dumbledore had left him with virtually nothing. They had discovered one Horcrux, but they had no means of destroying it: The others were as unattainable as they had ever been. Hopelessness threatened to engulf him. He was staggered now to think of his own presumption in accepting his friends’ offers to accompany him on this meandering, pointless journey. he knew nothing, he had no ideas, and he was constantly, painfully on the alert for any indications that Hermione too was about to tell him that she had had enough. That she was leaving.
They were spending many evenings in near silence and Hermione took to bringing out Phineas Nigellus’s portrait and propping it up in a chair, as though he might fill part of the gaping hole left by Ron’s departure. Despite his previous assertion that he would never visit them again, Phineas Nigellus did not seem able to resist the chance to find out more about what Harry was up to and consented to reappear, blindfolded, every few days of so. Harry was even glad to see him, because he was company, albeit of a snide and taunting kind. They relished any news about what was happening at Hogwarts, though Phineas Nigellus was not an ideal informer. He venerated Snape, the first Slytherin headmaster since he himself had controlled the school, and they had to be careful not to criticize or ask impertinent questions about Snape, or Phineas Nigellus would instantly leave his painting.
However, he did let drop certain snippets. Snape seemed to be facing a constant, low level of mutiny from a hard core of students. Ginny had been banned from going into Hogsmeade. Snape had reinstated Umbridge’s old decree forbidding gatherings of three or more students or any unofficial student societies. From all of these things, Harry deduced that Ginny, and probably Neville and Luna along with her, had been doing their best to continue Dumbledore’s Army. This scant news made Harry want to see Ginny so badly it felt like a stomachache; but it also made him think of Ron again, and of Dumbledore, and of Hogwarts itself, which he missed nearly as much as his ex-girlfriend. Indeed, as Phineas Niggellus talked about Snape’s crackdown, Harry experienced a split second of madness when he imagined simply going back to school to join the destabilization of Snape’s regime: Being fed and having a soft bad, and other people being in charge, seemed the most wonderful prospect in the world at this moment. But then he remembered that he was Undesirable Number One, that there was a ten-thousand Galleon price on his head, and that to walk into Hogwarts these days was just as dangerous as walking into the Ministry of Magic. Indeed, Phineas Nigellus inadvertently emphasized this fact by slipping in leading questions about Harry and Hermione’s whereabouts. Hermione shoved him back inside the beaded bag every time he did this, and Phineas Nigellus invariably refused to reappear for several days after these unceremonious good-byes.
The weather grew colder and colder. They did not dare remain in any area too long, so rather than staying in the south of England, where a hard ground frost was the worst of their worries, they continued to meander up and down the country, braving a mountainside, where sleet pounded the tent; a wide, flat marsh, where the tent was flooded with chill water; and a tiny island in the middle of a Scottish loch, where snow half buried the tent in the night. They had already spotted Christmas Trees twinkling from several sitting room windows before there came an evening when Harry resolved to suggest again, what seemed to him the only unexplored avenue left to them. They had just eaten an unusually good meal: Hermione had been to a supermarket under the Invisibility Cloak (scrupulously dropping the money into an open till as she left), and Harry thought that she might be more persuadable than usual on a stomach full of spaghetti Bolognese and tinned pears.
He had also had the foresight to suggest that they take a few hours’ break from wearing the Horcrux, which was hanging over the end of the bunk beside him.
“Hermione?”
“Hmm?“ She was curled up in one of the sagging armchairs with The Tales of Beedle the Bard. He could not imagine how much more she could get out of the book, which was not, after all, very long, but evidently she was still deciphering something in it, because Spellman’s Syllabary lay open on the arm of the chair.
Harry cleared his throat. He felt exactly as he had done on the occasion, several years previously, when he had asked Professor McGonagall whether he could go into Hogsmeade, despite the fact that he had not persuaded the Dursleys to sign his permission slip.
“Hermione, I’ve been thinking, and - ”
“Harry, could you help me with something?”
Apparently she had not been listening to him. She leaned forward and held out The Tales of Beedle the Bard.
“Look at that symbol,” she said, pointing to the top of a page. Above what Harry assumed was the title of the story (being unable to read runes, he could not be sure), there was a picture of what looked like a triangular eye, its pupil crossed with a vertical line.
“I never took Ancient Runes, Hermione.”
“I know that; but it isn’t a rune and it’s not in the syllabary, either. All along I thought it was a picture of an eye, but I don’t think it is! It’s been inked in, look, somebody’s drawn it there, it isn’t really part of the book. Think, have you ever seen it before?“
“No… No, wait a moment.” Harry looked closer. “Isn’t it the same symbol Luna’s dad was wearing round his neck?”
“Well, that’s what I thought too!”
“Then it’s Grindelwald’s mark.“
She stared at him, openmouthed.
“What?“
“Krum told me…”
He recounted the story that Viktor Krum had told him at the wedding. Hermione looked astonished.
“Grindelwald’s mark?“
She looked from Harry to the weird symbol and back again. “I’ve never heard that Grindelwald had a mark. There’s no mention of it in anything I’ve ever read about him.”
“Well, like I say, Krum reckoned that symbol was carved on a wall at Durmstrang, and Grindelwald put it there.”
She fell back into the old armchair, frowning.
“That’s very odd. If it’s a symbol of Dark Magic, what’s it doing in a book of children’s stories?”
“Yeah, it is weird,” said Harry. “And you’d think Scrimgeour would have recognized it. He was Minister, he ought to have been expert on Dark stuff.”
“I know…. Perhaps he thought it was an eye, just like I did. All the other stories have little pictures over the titles.”
She did not speak, but continued to pore over the strange mark. Harry tried again.
“Hermione?”
“Hmm?”
“I’ve been thinking. I - I want to go to Godric’s Hollow.”
She looked up at him, but her eyes were unfocused, and he was sure she was still thinking about the mysterious mark on the book.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’ve been wondering that too. I really think we’ll have to.”
“Did you hear me right?” he asked.
“Of course I did. You want to go to Godric’s Hollow. I agree. I think we should. I mean, I can’t think of anywhere else it could be either. It’ll be dangerous, but the more I think about it, the more likely it seems it’s there.”
“Er - what’s there?“ asked Harry.
At that, she looked just as bewildered as he felt.
“Well, the sword, Harry! Dumbledore must have known you’d want to go back there, and I mean, Godric’s Hollow is Godric Gryffindor’s birthplace - “
“Really? Gryffindor came from Godric’s Hollow?”
“Harry, did you ever even open A History of Magic?“
“Erm,” he said, smiling for what felt like the first time in months: The muscles in his face felt oddly stiff. “I might’ve opened it, you know, when I bought it… just the once….”
“Well, as the village is named after him I’d have thought you might have made the connection,“ said Hermione. She sounded much more like her old self than she had done of late; Harry half expected her to announce that she was off to the library. ”There’s a bit about the village in A History of Magic, wait…“
She opened the beaded bag and rummaged for a while, finally extracting her copy of their old school textbook, A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot, which she thumbed through until finding the page she wanted.
 

“‘Upon the signature of the International Statute of Secrecy in 1689, wizards went into hiding for good. It was natural, perhaps, that they formed their own small communities within a community. Many small villages and hamlets attracted several magical families, who banded together for mutual support and protection. The villages of Tinworsh in Cornwall, Upper Flagley in Yorkshire, and Ottery St. Catchpole on the south coast of England were notable homes to knots of Wizarding families who lived alongside tolerant and sometimes Confunded Muggles. Most celebrated of these half-magical dwelling places is, perhaps, Godric’s Hollow, the West Country village where the great wizard Godric Gryffindor was born, and where Bowman Wright, Wizarding smith, forged the first Golden Snitch. The graveyard is full of the names of ancient magical families, and this accounts, no doubt, for the stories of hauntings that have dogged the little church beside it for many centuries.’“
 

“You and your parents aren’t mentioned.“ Hermione said, closing the book, ”because Professor Bagshot doesn’t cover anything later than the end of the nineteenth century. But you see? Godric’s Hollow, Godric Gryffindor, Gryffindor’s sword; don’t you think Dumbledore would have expected you to make the connection?“
“Oh yeah…”
Harry did not want to admit that he had not been thinking about the sword at all when he suggested they go to Godric’s Hollow. For him, the lore of the village lay in his parents’ graves, the house where he had narrowly escaped death, and in the person of Bathilda Bagshot.
“Remember what Muriel said?” he asked eventually.
“Who?”
“You know,” he hesitated. He did not want to say Ron’s name. “Ginny’s great-aunt. At the wedding. The one who said you had skinny ankles.”
“Oh,” said Hermione. It was a sticky moment: Harry knew that she had sensed Ron’s name in the offing. He rushed on:
“She said Bathilda Bagshot still lived in Godric’s Hollow.”
“Bathilda Bagshot,” murmured Hermione, running her index finger over Bathilda’s embossed name on the front cover of A History of Magic. “Well, I suppose - ”
She gasped so dramatically that Harry’s insides turned over; he drew his wand, looking around at the entrance, half expecting to see a hand forcing its way through the entrance flap, but there was nothing there.
“What?” he said, half angry, half relieved. “What did you do that for? I thought you’d seen a Death Eater unzipping the tent, at least - ”
“Harry, what if Bathilda’s got the sword? What if Dumbledore entrusted it to her?”
Harry considered this possibility. Bathilda would be an extremely old woman by now, and according to Muriel, she was “gaga.” Was it likely that Dumbledore would have hidden the sword of Gryffindor with her? If so, Harry felt that Dumbledore had left a great deal to chance: Dumbledore had never revealed that he had replaced the sword with a fake, nor had he so much as mentioned a friendship with Bathilda. Now, however, was not the moment to cast doubt on Hermione’s theory, not when she was so surprisingly willing to fall in with Harry’s dearest wish.
“Yeah, he might have done! So, are we going to go to Godric’s Hollow?”
“Yes, but we’ll have to think it through carefully, Harry.” She was sitting up now, and Harry could tell that the prospect of having a plan again had lifted her mood as much as his. “We’ll need to practice Disapparating together under the Invisibility Cloak for a start, and perhaps Disillusionment Charms would be sensible too, unless you think we should go the whole hog and use Polyjuice Potion? In that case we’ll need to collect hair from somebody. I actually think we’d better do that, Harry, the thicker our disguises the better….”
Harry let her talk, nodding and agreeing whenever there was a pause, but his mind had left the conversation. For the first time since he had discovered that the sword in Gringotts was a fake, he felt excited.
He was about to go home, about to return to the place where he had had a family. It was in Godric’s Hollow that, but for Voldemort, he would have grown up and spent every school holiday. He could have invited friends to his house…. He might even have had brothers and sisters…. It would have been his mother who had made his seventeenth birthday cake. The life he had lost had hardly ever seemed so real to him as at this moment, when he knew he was about to see the place where it had been taken from him. After Hermione had gone to bed that night, Harry quietly extracted his rucksack from Hermione’s beaded bag, and from inside it, the photograph album Hagrid had given him so long ago. For the first time in months, he perused the old pictures of his parents, smiling and waving up at him from the images, which were all he had left of them now.
Harry would gladly have set out for Godric’s Hollow the following day, but Hermione had other ideas. Convinced as she was that Voldemort would expect Harry to return to the scene of his parents’ deaths, she was determined that they would set off only after they had ensured that they had the best disguises possible. It was therefore a full week later - once they had surreptitiously obtained hairs from innocent Muggles who were Christmas shopping, and had practiced Apparating and Disapparating while underneath the Invisibility Cloak together - that Hermione agreed to make the journey.
They were to Apparate to the village under cover of darkness, so it was late afternoon when they finally swallowed Polyjuice Potion, Harry transforming into a balding, middle-aged Muggle man, Hermione into his small and rather mousy wife. The beaded bag containing all of their possessions (apart from the Horcrux, which Harry was wearing around his neck) was tucked into an inside pocket of Hermione’s buttoned-up coat. Harry lowered the Invisibility Cloak over them, then they turned into the suffocating darkness once again.
Heart beating in his throat, Harry opened his eyes. They were standing hand in hand in a snowy lane under a dark blue sky, in which the night’s first stars were already glimmering feebly. Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road, Christmas decorations twinkling in their windows. A short way ahead of them, a glow of golden streetlights indicated the center of the village.
“All this snow!” Hermione whispered beneath the cloak. “Why didn’t we think of snow? After all our precautions, we’ll leave prints! We’ll just have to get rid of them - you go in front, I’ll do it - ”
Harry did not want to enter the village like a pantomime horse, trying to keep themselves concealed while magically covering their traces.
“Let’s take off the Cloak,” said Harry, and when she looked frightened, “Oh, come on, we don’t look like us and there’s no one around.”
He stowed the Cloak under his jacket and they made their way forward unhampered, the icy air stinging their faces as they passed more cottages. Any one of them might have been the one in which James and Lily had once lived or where Bathilda lived now. Harry gazed at the front doors, their snow-burdened roofs, and their front porches, wondering whether he remembered any of them, knowing deep inside that it was impossible, that he had been little more than a year old when he had left this place forever. He was not even sure whether he would be able to see the cottage at all; he did not know what happened when the subjects of a Fidelius Charm died. Then the little lane along which they were walking curved to the left and the heart of the village, a small square, was revealed to them.
Strung all around with colored lights, there was what looked like a war memorial in the middle, partly obscured by a windblown Christmas tree. There were several shops, a post office, a pub, and a little church whose stained-glass windows were glowing jewel-bright across the square.
The snow here had become impacted: It was hard and slippery where people had trodden on it all day. Villagers were crisscrossing in front of them, their figures briefly illuminated by streetlamps. They heard a snatch of laughter and pop music as the pub door opened and closed; then they heard a carol start up inside the little church.
“Harry, I think it’s Christmas Eve!” said Hermione.
“Is it?”
He had lost track of the date; they had not seen a newspaper for weeks.
“I’m sure it is,” said Hermione, her eyes upon the church. “They… they’ll be in there, won’t they? Your mum and dad? I can see the graveyard behind it.”
Harry felt a thrill of something that was beyond excitement, more like fear. Now that he was so near, he wondered whether he wanted to see after all. Perhaps Hermione knew how he was feeling, because she reached for his hand and took the lead for the first time, pulling him forward. Halfway across the square, however, she stopped dead.
“Harry, look!”
She was pointing at the war memorial. As they had passed it, it had transformed. Instead of an obelisk covered in names, there was a statue of three people: a man with untidy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair and a kind, pretty face, and a baby boy sitting in his mother’s arms. Snow lay upon all their heads, like fluffy white caps.
Harry drew closer, gazing up into his parents’ faces. He had never imagined that there would be a statue…. How strange it was to see himself represented in stone, a happy baby without a scar on his forehead….
“C’mon,” said Harry, when he had looked his fill, and they turned again toward the church. As they crossed the road, he glanced over his shoulder; the statue had turned back into the war memorial.
The singing grew louder as they approached the church. It made Harry’s throat constrict, it reminded him so forcefully of Hogwarts, of Peeves bellowing rude versions of carols from inside suits of armor, of the Great Hall’s twelve Christmas trees, of Dumbledore wearing a bonnet he had won in a cracker, of Ron in a hand-knitted sweater….
There was a kissing gate at the entrance to the graveyard. Hermione pushed it open as quietly as possible and they edged through it. On either side of the slippery path to the church doors, the snow lay deep and untouched. They moved off through the snow, carving deep trenches behind them as they walked around the building, keeping to the shadows beneath the brilliant windows.
Behind the church, row upon row of snowy tombstones protruded from a blanket of pale blue that was flecked with dazzling red, gold, and green wherever the reflections from the stained glass hit the snow. Keeping his hand closed tightly on the wand in his jacket pocket, Harry moved toward the nearest grave.
“Look at this, it’s an Abbott, could be some long-lost relation of Hannah’s!”
“Keep your voice down,” Hermione begged him.
They waded deeper and deeper into the graveyard, gouging dark tracks into the snow behind them, stooping to peer at the words on old headstones, every now and then squinting into the surrounding darkness to make absolutely sure that they were unaccompanied.
“Harry, here!”
Hermione was two rows of tombstones away; he had to wade back to her, his heart positively banging in his chest.
“Is it -?”
“No, but look!”
She pointed to the dark stone. Harry stooped down and saw, upon the frozen, lichen-spotted granite, the words Kendra Dumbledore and, a short way down her dates of birth and death, and Her Daughter Ariana. There was also a quotation:
Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.
So Rita Skeeter and Muriel had got some of their facts right. The Dumbledore family had indeed lived here, and part of it had died here.
Seeing the grave was worse than hearing about it. Harry could not help thinking that he and Dumbledore both had deep roots in this graveyard, and that Dumbledore ought to have told him so, yet he had never thought to share the connection. They could have visited the place together; for a moment Harry imagined coming here with Dumbledore, of what a bond that would have been, of how much it would have meant to him. But it seemed that to Dumbledore, the fact that their families lay side by side in the same graveyard had been an unimportant coincidence, irrelevant, perhaps, to the job he wanted Harry to do.
Hermione was looking at Harry, and he was glad that his face was hidden in shadow. He read the words on the tombstone again. Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. He did not understand what these words meant. Surely Dumbledore had chosen them, as the eldest member of the family once his mother had died.
“Are you sure he never mentioned -?” Hermione began.
“No,” said Harry curtly, then, “let’s keep looking,” and he turned away, wishing he had not seen the stone: He did not want his excited trepidation tainted with resentment.
“Here!” cried Hermione again a few moments later from out of the darkness. “Oh no, sorry! I thought it said Potter.”
She was rubbing at a crumbling, mossy stone, gazing down at it, a little frown on her face.
“Harry, come back a moment.”
He did not want to be sidetracked again, and only grudgingly made his way back through the snow toward her.
“What?”
“Look at this!”
The grave was extremely old, weathered so that Harry could hardly make out the name. Hermione showed him the symbol beneath it.
“Harry, that’s the mark in the book!”
He peered at the place she indicated: The stone was so worn that it was hard to make out what was engraved there, though there did seem to be a triangular mark beneath the nearly illegible name.
“Yeah… it could be….”
Hermione lit her wand and pointed it at the name on the headstone.
“It says Ig - Ignotus, I think….”
“I’m going to keep looking for my parents, all right?” Harry told her, a slight edge to his voice, and he set off again, leaving her crouched beside the old grave.
Every now and then he recognized a surname that, like Abbott, he had met at Hogwarts. Sometimes there were several generations of the same Wizarding family represented in the graveyard: Harry could tell from the dates that it had either died out, or the current members had moved away from Godric’s Hollow. Deeper and deeper amongst the graves he went, and every time he reached a new headstone he felt a little lurch of apprehension and anticipation.
The darkness and the silence seemed to become, all of a sudden, much deeper. Harry looked around, worried, thinking of dementors, then realized that the carols had finished, that the chatter and flurry of churchgoers were fading away as they made their way back into the square. Somebody inside the church had just turned off the lights.
Then Hermione’s voice came out of the blackness for the third time, sharp and clear from a few yards away.
“Harry, they’re here… right here.”
And he knew by her tone that it was his mother and father this time: He moved toward her, feeling as if something heavy were pressing on his chest, the same sensation he had had right after Dumbledore had died, a grief that had actually weighed on his heart and lungs.
The headstone was only two rows behind Kendra and Ariana’s. It was made of white marble, just like Dumbledore’s tomb, and this made it easy to read, as it seemed to shine in the dark. Harry did not need to kneel or even approach very close to it to make out the words engraved upon it.
 

JAMES POTTER LILY POTTER 
BORN 27 MARCH 1960 BORN 30 JANUARY 1960 
DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981 DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
Harry read the words slowly, as though he would have only one chance to take in their meaning, and he read the last of them aloud.
“‘The last enemy that shall be defeated is death’…” A horrible thought came to him, and with a kind of panic. “Isn’t that a Death Eater idea? Why is that there?”
“It doesn’t mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, Harry,” said Hermione, her voice gentle. “It means… you know… living beyond death. Living after death.”
But they were not living, thought Harry. They were gone. The empty words could not disguise the fact that his parents’ moldering remains lay beneath snow and stone, indifferent, unknowing. And tears came before he could stop them, boiling hot then instantly freezing on his face, and what was the point in wiping them off or pretending? He let them fall, his lips pressed hard together, looking down at the thick snow hiding from his eyes the place where the last of Lily and James lay, bones now, surely, or dust, not knowing or caring that their living son stood so near, his heart still beating, alive because of their sacrifice and close to wishing, at this moment, that he was sleeping under the snow with them.
Hermione had taken his hand again and was gripping it tightly. He could not look at her, but returned the pressure, now taking deep, sharp gulps of the night air, trying to steady himself, trying to regain control. He should have brought something o give them, and he had not thought of it, and every plant in the graveyard was leafless and frozen. But Hermione raised her wand, moved it in a circle through the air, and a wreath of Christmas roses blossomed before them. Harry caught it and laid it on his parents’ grave.
As soon as he stood up he wanted to leave: He did not think he could stand another moment there. He put his arm around Hermione’s shoulders, and she put hers around his waist, and they turned in silence and walked away through the snow, past Dumbledore’s mother and sister, back toward the dark church and the out-of-sight kissing gate.
　　当哈利第二天醒来的时候用了好几秒钟才回想起来发生了什么。他天真地希望只是做了一场梦，他希望罗恩还在那里，他没有离开。然而当他在枕头上转过头去时，能看到罗恩废弃的床铺，它就像个路上的死尸似的在牵动着他的视线。哈利从自己的床上跳下，尽量不去看罗恩的床。赫敏在厨房里忙碌着，哈利走过去的时候，她没有祝哈利早安，而是很快地别过脸。他已经走了，哈利对自己说，他已经走了！当哈利洗漱穿戴的时候，他禁不住一再地这样想着，似乎重复这样做可以减少这件事对他的打击。罗恩已经走了，没有回来。这就是简单的真相，哈利知道，因为他们一旦离开这个罗恩能够再次找到他们的地点，他们的保护魔法就会失效。他和赫敏在沉默中吃完了早餐。赫敏的眼睛又红又肿：她看起来好像没有睡过。他们整理着自己的东西，赫敏显得心不在焉。哈利知道为什么她在河岸上拖延时间；有好几次他发现她在急切的寻找，而且他很清楚她在用虚幻的希望欺骗自己仿佛听到大雨中有脚步声。但是，那个红色头发的身影并没有在树林间出现。每一次哈利都像她一样，到处寻找（因为他自己也禁不住抱着这渺小的希望），但是除了被雨水冲刷的树木外什么也看不到；另一团小小的愤怒在他心里炸开，他能听见罗恩在说：“我们还以为你知道自己做了些什么！”带着这个重重的心结，他重新开始收拾东西。
　　他们旁边泥泞的河流水位在迅速地上涨，并且马上就要越过他们所在的河堤。他们比平时去营地的时间多逗留了好几个小时。最后重新给珠绣包完整地打了三次包以后，赫敏再也找不到理由去耽搁了。她和哈利手拉着手幻影显形，出现在一个风吹雨打的长满了石南花的山坡上。他们一到那儿，赫敏就放开了哈利的手，坐在一块大石头上，她的脸贴在膝盖上，不停地颤抖，哈利知道她在哭泣。他看着她，认为应该去安慰她，但是似乎有什么迫使他站在原地。他整个人都觉得寒冷和紧张：他又看到了罗恩脸上那轻蔑的表情。哈利在石南花丛中大步走着，绕着心痛的赫敏转圈，念着她经常用来保证他们安全的魔咒。
　　在之后的几天里他们没有讨论罗恩。哈利决定再也不提他的名字，而且赫敏看起来也知道再费劲去争论也没什么用。然而，晚上有时候，当她觉得他睡着的时候，他还是会听到她在哭。那几天里，哈利开始拿出活点地图并借着魔杖的光亮查找着。他等待着那代表罗恩的圆点出现在霍格沃茨走廊上的那一刻，以证明他已经回到舒适的城堡，受到他纯血身份的保护。然而罗恩没有出现在地图上，不久之后，哈利突然醒悟过来，发现自己一直盯着在女生宿舍里金妮的名字，他担心自己执着的注视会不会打扰她的睡眠，这样的话她也许会感觉到他在想着她，希望她一切都好。
　　白天的时候，他们不遗余力地尝试确定格兰芬多之剑可能存在的地点，但是他们越讨论邓布利多可能藏匿它的位置，他们就越感觉绝望和牵强。哈利绞尽脑汁也想不起来邓布利多曾经提到过的他可能藏东西的地方。有些时候他不知道自己在生罗恩的气还是邓布利多的。我们还以为你知道自己做了些什么……我们认为邓布利多跟你说过该做什么……我们认为你有一个真正的计划！
　　他不能否认：罗恩是对的。邓布利多事实上什么都没留给他。他们已经发现了一个魂器，但是他们没有办法去销毁它：其他的几个也难以找到。绝望笼罩了他。他现在开始动摇了，他假想着考虑接受朋友们的建议，让他们陪伴着自己去进行这次曲折的无意义的旅程。他什么都不知道，他没有主意，并且经常都要痛苦地警惕着赫敏打算告诉他她受够了的迹象，那表示她要走了。
　　他们近乎沉默地度过了许多个晚上。赫敏把菲尼亚斯•尼哥拉斯的画像拿了出来，靠在一把椅子上，就好像这能填补罗恩离开所留下的空洞。尽管他早先断言他不会再次去拜访他们，菲尼亚斯•尼哥拉斯好像没有能力抵抗这种能够让他更多地了解哈利打算做什么的机会；他允许自己隐身出现，并且这些天都是这样。哈利甚至高兴见到他，因为有人来跟他做伴,虽然这个伴儿是个骗子并且不断对他冷嘲热讽。他们需要了解霍格沃茨正在发生的事情，虽然菲尼亚斯•尼哥拉斯不是一个理想的消息来源。自从斯内普成为第一个控制学校的斯莱特林院长以来，他一直崇拜着他。于是，他们不得不小心地注意不去批评或者提到与斯内普相干的问题，否则菲尼亚斯•尼哥拉斯会立即离开他的油画。
　　尽管如此，他还是留下了一个可信的细节：斯内普似乎正被迫面对核心学生发起持续的低层次叛变，金妮被禁止去霍格莫德。斯内普恢复了乌姆里奇的那些可怕的旧法令，禁止三个或三个以上学生聚集在一起，禁止了非正式的学生社团。从所有这些事情中，哈利推断出金妮，大概还有纳威和卢娜，在尽全力继续邓布利多军的活动。这个不充分的消息使他急切的想见金妮，这种感觉使得他不断感到自己的胃在抽搐。但是这也使得他再一次想到罗恩和邓布利多以及霍格沃茨本身，几乎就像怀念他曾经的女朋友一样。事实上，当菲尼亚斯•尼哥拉斯谈起斯内普的压迫时，哈利想像着能回到学校加入到扰乱斯内普政权的行动中，这使他兴奋起来：有吃有喝，柔软的床铺，其他人都在看管之下。此刻，这些看起来都是世界上最令人惊奇的预想。然而，他随之想起他是最不受欢迎的人，他的脑袋值一万加隆，而且现在进入霍格沃茨和进入魔法部一样危险。的确，菲尼亚斯•尼哥拉斯常常不经意地强调着。事实上，他慢慢地懒于知道关于哈利和赫敏的行踪的问题。每当他这么做时，赫敏就把他推回到珠绣包里，在这种随便的告别方式实施后的几天里，菲尼亚斯•尼哥拉斯就拒绝再次出现。
　　天气变得越来越冷。他们没敢在任何地方呆太久，甚至严霜覆盖的英国南部也成了最让他们忧虑的地方。他们继续在国家里来来往往，他们勇敢地面对高山，在那里帐篷被冰雪覆盖；他们勇敢地面对无边的沼泽，在那里帐篷被寒冷的洪水湮没；在苏格兰湖中的一个小岛上，暴雪在夜晚盖过大半个帐篷。在透过许多房子的窗户里都能看到闪闪发光的圣诞树的那个夜晚，哈利下决心再一次提出建议：他觉得他们只剩下一条未调查过的路了。他们刚吃完异常丰盛的晚饭：赫敏穿着隐形衣去了趟超市（她走的时候小心翼翼的把钱扔进了商店里一个开着的钱罐），哈利认为在他们的胃装满意大利番茄牛肉面和罐头梨的时候，她更容易被说服些。
　　哈利已经就这个建议进行过深谋远虑，他认为他们应该摘下魂器几个小时，它现在正挂在哈利旁边的铺位边上。
　　“赫敏？”
　　“嗯?”她捧着《游吟诗人比德的故事》蜷缩在一张松垂了的扶手椅上。他无法想像她能离开这本书中多长时间，必竟这本书不是很长，但是她显然在试图解释一些东西，因为魔法字音表正摊在椅子的扶手上。
　　哈利清了清嗓子。这使他感觉回到了几年前，那是他在询问麦格教授没有德思礼家的签名能不能去霍格莫德时的场景。
　　“赫敏，我在想……”
　　“哈利，你能帮我做点事吗？”很显然她没有听他说话。她探身拿出《游吟诗人比德的故事》。
　　“看这个符号。”她说，指着这一页的前面。在哈利认为是那是故事的题目（他不会读古代魔文，因此他并不能确定），这是一张看起来像三角形眼睛的图片，瞳孔处有一道垂线。
　　“我从来没学过古代魔文，赫敏。”
　　“我知道，但是它不是魔文，而且也不在发音表里。一直以来我认为这是一个眼睛的图片，但我想它不是！这是墨水画的，看，有人画在这的，不是这本书原有的。想想吧，你以前见过它吗？”“不……不，等等。”哈利靠近了看“它不是卢娜的爸爸戴在脖子上的吗？”
　　“嗯，这也是我所想的！”
　　“这是格林德沃的标记。”
　　她盯着他，惊讶的张大嘴。
　　“什么？”
　　“克鲁姆告诉我的……”他叙述了一遍维克多尔克鲁姆在婚礼上跟他说的事，赫敏看起来很惊讶。
　　“格林德沃的标志？”
　　她的目光离开哈利转到奇怪的标记上之后又转回来。
　　“我从来没听说过格林德沃有标记。我所读的关于它的东西里都没有提到过。”
　　“嗯，就像我说的，克鲁姆说这个标记刻在德姆斯特朗的一面墙上，是格林德沃留在那儿的。”她回到了旧扶手椅上，皱着眉头。
　　“这太奇怪了。如果这是个黑魔法标记，怎么会在一本儿童读物里？”
　　“是的，它很奇怪。”哈利说。“斯克林杰已经检测过它了。他是魔法部长，应该是个黑魔法物品鉴定的专家。”
　　“我知道……或许他认为只是个眼睛，就像我以前想的一样。其他所有的故事题目上都有个小图片。”她不说话了，只是凝视这这个奇怪的标记。哈利又一次尝试。
　　“赫敏？”
　　“嗯？”
　　“我在想，我……我应该去高锥克山谷。”
　　她看着他，但是她的眼睛没有神采，他认为她还在想那本书上的神秘标记。
　　“是的，”她说“是的，我也觉得是。我真的认为我们应该去那。”
　　“你听清楚我说什么了吗？”他问。
　　“当然，你想去高锥克山谷。我同意，我想我们应该，我的意思是，我想不出除那之外的别的地方。虽然那会很危险，但是我越是想它就越觉得它在那。”
　　“呃……什么在那？”哈利问。
　　这是……她看起来和他一样地迷惑不解。
　　“好吧，那把剑，哈利！邓布利多一定知道你要回那去，我的意思是，高锥克山谷是戈德里克•格兰芬多的出生地……”
　　“真的吗？格兰芬多来自戈德里克峡谷？”“哈利，你究竟有没有翻开过魔法史教材？”
　　“呃，”他说，这是他在几个月内第一次感觉到美好的事情，这突然到来的感觉使他觉得脸部僵硬，“我打开过，你知道，在我买它的时候……只是一次……”
　　“好吧，自从这个村庄以他的名字命名后，我还以为你可以把这两者联系起来。”赫敏说。和最近一段时间相比，她的声音更像她以前的了，哈利几乎可以感觉她会宣布她要离开去趟图书馆。“魔法史里面有一点关于这个村庄的记载，等一下……”
　　她打开珠绣包然后翻了一阵，最后翻出了他们在学校里时的一本老教材，巴希达•巴沙特所著的魔法史，她用拇指快速地翻动着直到找到她想要的那页。
　　“1689年国际秘密法令的记录表明。巫师永远的隐居了。也许这很自然。但是，他们在社会中建立了一个自己的小团体。许多小村庄和小部落的魔法家庭被吸引，聚集起来互相支持和保护。康沃尔的锡沃斯村，约克郡弗莱格林北部的地区，还有英格兰南部海岸的奥特里•圣卡奇波尔是形成巫师家族的值得注意的几个地点，他们住在麻瓜旁边有时候还宽容地资助这些麻瓜。在这些半魔法的住地中，最有名的也许就是英国西南部的村庄高锥克山谷，伟大巫师戈德里克•格兰芬多的出生地；在那里魔法工匠布朗姆•莱特铸造了第一只金色飞贼。墓地里满是古代魔法家族的名字，毫无疑问，这些闹鬼故事的记录已经在旁边的小教堂流传了许多个世纪。”
　　“你和你的父母没有被提到。”赫敏说，合上书，“因为巴沙特教授对于晚于19世纪末的事件没有任何记载。但是你看到了吗？高锥克山谷，戈德里克格兰芬多，格兰芬多之剑；你不认为邓布利多希望你把他们联系在一起吗？”
　　“哦，是的……”
　　哈利不想承认他提议去戈德里克峡谷的时候根本没有想到格兰芬多之剑。就他而言，他关于这个村庄的认识只来源于他父母的墓地，勉强让他不死的房子和巴希达•巴沙特。
　　“记得穆莉尔说过吗?”他最后问。
　　“谁？”
　　“你知道。”他犹豫道。他不想提到罗恩的名字，“金妮的姨妈，在婚礼上，说你皮包骨头的那个人。”
　　“哦”，赫敏说，这是一个难捱的片刻：哈利知道她眼看着就已经感觉到了罗恩的名字。他匆忙说：“她说巴希达•巴沙特仍然住在高锥克山谷。”
　　“巴希达•巴沙特，”赫敏喃喃道，用食指抚摸着被浮雕花纹装饰的魔法史封面巴希达•巴沙特的名字。“嗯，我推测……”
　　她气喘虚虚的样子使哈利的内心翻了个个。她挥动他的魔杖，看着门口，似乎希望看到有一只手拉开门口的拉链，但是那儿什么也没有。
　　“什么？”他半生气半放心的问道，“你这是在做什么？我还以为你看到一个食死徒拉开了帐篷的拉链,至少……”
　　“哈利，巴希达要是把剑拿走了怎么办？要是邓布利多把剑委托给她的话怎么办？”
　　哈利考虑过这种可能性。巴希达现在是一个很老的女人，并且如穆里尔所说，她很“狂热”。邓布利多有可能让她去藏格兰芬多之剑吗？如果如此，哈利觉得邓布利多留下大量的变数：邓布利多从来没表现出他会在原处放一把假剑，更没有提到过与巴希达的友谊。无论如何，现在不是怀疑赫敏的说法的时候；也是不询问她的想法是何时令人惊奇地与自己相一致的时候。
　　“是的，他可能会！那么，我们是准备要去高锥克山谷了吗？”
　　“是的，但是我们必须从头到尾认真想一想，哈利。”她端坐起来，哈利可以肯定，新的计划重新激起了她的热情，正如同他自己一样。“我们需要一起练习在隐形衣里使用幻影显形——作为一个开始。而且幻身咒也可能也同样有意义，除非你认为我们将要彻底使用复方汤剂？如果那样的话我们需要收集某个人的头发。事实上我想我们最好不这样做，哈利，伪装得越多越好……”
　　哈利让她继续说着，在每一个停顿处点头同意，但他的注意力早已离开了对话。这是他在发现剑在古灵阁是一个假象后，第一次感到兴奋。
　　要不是伏地魔，他本会在高锥克山谷成长，并度过每一个假期。他本可以邀请他的朋友们去做客……甚至可能会有弟弟或者妹妹……他的十七岁生日蛋糕会由妈妈亲手为他制作。当他发现他要回到那个原本属于他的地方时，他所失去的生活从未有过的如此真实的呈现在他面前。那天晚上在赫敏入睡后，哈利悄悄地从赫敏的珍珠袋中拿出自己的帆布包，最里面是海格很久以前送的影集。几个月来他第一次认真的看父母的旧照片，他们微笑着向他招手，那些已经是他不能再拥有的过去。
　　如果第二天早上就出发去高锥克山谷，哈利会很高兴。但是赫敏另有想法，她确信伏地魔一定期待着哈利回到他父母的墓地，于是坚持只有在他们伪装得无懈可击后才能启程。因此他们晚了整整一个星期——他们从正在进行圣诞购物的无辜麻瓜身上获取头发，然后一起在隐性衣下练习幻影移形——一切赫敏所坚持的训练。
　　他们必须在夜幕笼罩了村子之后才能显形，所以他们在黄昏的时候才吞下复方汤剂。哈利变成一个秃头的中年男性麻瓜，赫敏则变成他瘦小的、老鼠似的妻子。赫敏把装着他们全部财产（除了那个魂器，哈利把它戴在脖子上）的珠绣包塞在外套的内口袋里。哈利把隐行衣盖在两个人身上，他们再一次进入令人窒息的黑暗中。
　　哈利再次睁开眼睛，心脏在嗓子眼里怦怦乱跳。他们正手牵手站在白雪覆盖的乡间小路上，星星在暗蓝的天幕上闪烁着微弱的光芒。村舍分布在窄道两旁，圣诞节饰品在窗口闪烁，前面不远处，金黄色的街灯指向村庄的中心。
　　“到处都是雪！”赫敏在隐行衣下低声说，“我们为什么没有考虑到雪？采取了那么多防范措施，我们还是会留下脚印！我们必须除掉它们--你先走，我来——”
　　哈利可不想像表演哑剧的马匹一样进入村庄，他试图在脚印魔法般的消失时隐蔽好他们两个。
　　“脱下隐形衣吧，”哈利说，看到赫敏惊恐的表情，“噢，脱了吧，我们看起来并不像自己真正的样子，况且这附近也没什么人。”
　　他把隐形衣收进夹克，开始再没有任何阻碍地前行。冰冷的空气刺痛了他们的脸。他们路过更多的村舍，每一所都可能是詹姆和莉莉曾经住过，或者巴沙特现在居住的地方。哈利盯着这些前门，积雪覆盖的屋顶以及前廊，想着自己是不是能记起一点什么，但内心深处却意识到这不可能，因为他在一岁多一点的时候就永远离开了这里。他甚至不敢肯定自己是否还能看到那座房子，他不知道如果被隐藏起来的整个物件都消失会对赤胆忠心咒有什么影响。这时他们的小路已经弯向左边，在村子中心，一个小型广场呈现在他们眼前。
　　广场中央看上去像是有一个战争纪念碑，四周装饰着彩灯，一部分隐没在被风吹斜的圣诞树的阴影里。附近有几家商店，一间邮局，一个酒馆和一座小教堂，教堂的彩色玻璃窗发出宝石般灿烂的光芒，照亮了广场。
　　这里的雪开始变得结实：在人们走了一天后变得坚硬而光滑。村民们在胸前划着十字，他们的轮廓在街灯中显得简单而清晰。哈利和赫敏听到了一阵笑声、流行音乐声以及酒馆大门开关的声音，然后教堂传出了颂歌。
　　“哈利，我想这是圣诞夜！”赫敏说。
　　“是吗？”
　　他已经失去了时间概念，他们已经连续几个星期没有看过一份报纸了。
　　“我能确定，”赫敏说。她的视线越过教堂，“他们……他们会在那里，不是吗？你的妈妈和爸爸？我能看到教堂后面的墓地。”
　　哈利一阵颤栗，感觉超越了兴奋，更像是恐惧。现在已是如此接近，他怀疑自己究竟是不是真的想看到。也许赫敏能够理解他的感受，因为她正牵起他的手，拉着他前进，这还是第一次。然而经过广场时，她突然停住了。
　　“哈利，看！”
　　赫敏指着那块战争纪念碑。当他们经过时，纪念碑消失了，原来刻满人名的方尖石塔被一组三人雕像所代替：一个男人，头发乱蓬蓬的，带着眼镜；一个长发女人，友好和蔼，美丽优雅；还有一个男婴，坐在她的怀中。他们头上盖满了雪花，像是戴了白色的绒帽。
　　哈利靠的更近些，凝视着父母的脸。他从来没有想象过这里会有一组雕像……看到自己石质的面容是多么奇怪的一件事——一个额头上没有疤痕的快乐的婴儿。
　　“走吧，”当他觉得已经得到满足时，哈利说道，然后他们继续走向教堂。当他们穿过大路时，他回头看了看，那组雕像又一次变成了战争纪念碑。
　　随着他们接近教堂，歌声更加响亮。哈利的喉咙发紧，这歌声让他越发想念霍格沃茨，想念躲在盔甲里皮皮鬼唱的粗鲁的颂歌，想念礼堂里的十二棵圣诞树，想念戴着从彩包爆竹得来的无边女帽的邓布利多，想念穿着手织毛衣的罗恩……
　　墓地入口处有一个窄门。赫敏尽可能轻地推开它，然后他们侧身穿了过去。两旁通往教堂大门的小路上积雪厚实，从没有人踏上去过。他们穿过雪地，绕着房屋走着，躲在明亮窗户下的阴影里，一路留下深深的脚印。
　　教堂后面，是一排又一排覆雪的墓碑，透过彩色玻璃，红色金色绿色的光斑打在淡蓝色的雪地上，哈利抓紧上衣口袋里的魔杖，走向最近的一座坟墓。
　　“看这里，是艾博家族的，可能与汉娜家有些渊源！”
　　“拜托你小点声。”赫敏低声乞求道。
　　他们逐渐向墓地深处跋涉，身后留下深暗的足迹，时而停下来看看墓碑上的文字，并不时从眼角瞟一眼周围黑暗的景物，确保没有人跟踪。
　　“哈利，这里！”
　　赫敏与他隔着两排墓碑。哈利费力的走向她，心脏在胸腔中激烈的跳动。
　　“那就是……？”
　　“不是，但是看这里！”
　　她指着一块黑色的石头。哈利低下头，看着这块冰冷的、布满青苔的花岗岩，上面刻着她的出生和死亡日期，往下一点是“凯德拉•邓布利多”和“她的女儿阿瑞娜”的字样。还有一行祭文：　

　　你的宝藏在哪里，你的心就在哪里　

　　这么说丽塔•斯基特和穆丽尔确实搞到了一些实事。邓布利多家族确实曾经住在这里，而且一部分家族成员也葬在这里。
　　亲眼见到这座坟墓比仅仅听说更加糟糕，哈利禁不住想，他和邓布利多的根都同样在这座墓园中，邓布利多本应该告诉他的，虽然他从没想过这层联系。他们本可以一起拜访这里的。有那么一瞬间哈利想象着与邓布利多一起来到这里，这将是怎样一种结合，这对他将有多么大的意义。但是或许对于邓布利多，他们的家族在墓地里并肩而列似乎只是不重要的巧合，也许，跟他交给哈利的任务是毫不相关的。
　　赫敏看着哈利，而哈利则庆幸自己的脸隐藏在阴影中。他又读了一遍墓碑上的话：　

　　你的宝藏在哪里，你的心就在哪里　

　　他并不理解这些词的意思。但可以肯定，是作为母亲死去后家里最年长成员的邓布利多选择了它作为墓志铭。
　　“你确定他从来没有提到过－?”赫敏开始说话了。
　　“我确定。”哈利简略的回答，“我们继续找吧。”然后他转身走开，真心希望自己从来没有看过这块石头：他不想让怨恨来影响自己兴奋的心情。
　　“这里！”片刻后赫敏再一次在黑暗中尖叫起来。“噢，不，对不起。我以为它指的是波特。”
　　她在一块长满苔藓的破碎的墓碑上擦拭着，皱着眉头低头研究了一会儿。
　　“哈利，再回来一下。”
　　哈利不愿再被牵着鼻子走了，只是勉强穿过雪地向她走去。
　　“什么东西？”
　　“看这个！”
　　这块墓碑实在是很旧了，风化的哈利都认不清上面的名字。赫敏指出下面的符号。
　　“哈利，这是那本书上的符号！”
　　哈利凝视着她手指的地方：墓碑太破旧了，旧到让人难以认清那里曾经刻了些什么，尽管在模糊的名字下面，看起来确实有一个三角形标记。
　　“是的……可能是……”
　　赫敏点亮魔杖指着墓石上的字。
　　“那是伊格•伊格诺思，我想是的……”
　　“我要去找我的父母了，好吧？”哈利有点尖刻地对她说，然后再一次出发，留下赫敏一个人蹲在旧墓碑旁。
　　他时不时地会找到一些认识的姓氏，比如艾博，曾在霍格沃茨见到过。有时墓园里会同时出现几代巫师家族人员的名字：哈利可以通过日期来辨别这个家族是否已经灭绝，或者当前成员是否已经从高锥克山谷移居到其他地方。他走的越来越远，并且每次他到达一块新墓石时，他总会感到一点忧惧和期盼。
　　黑暗和寂静似乎是突然之间降临的。哈利担心的向四周看看，怀疑是摄魂怪的侵袭。然后意识到圣诞颂歌已经结束，喋喋不休的谈话者与做礼拜者正渐渐远去，教堂里刚刚熄灭了灯火。
　　接着赫敏的声音第三次从黑暗中传来，在几码外尖利而清晰。
　　“哈利，他们在这儿……就在这儿。”
　　哈利从她的音调里判断出这一次是他的父母：他向她走去，觉得有什么沉重的东西正在挤压着他的胸膛，就像邓布利多刚死去时一样，悲痛真实地重压在心肺上。
　　这块墓碑仅在凯德拉和阿瑞娜的墓碑两排之后，由白色大理石制成，如同邓布利多的坟墓，这使得墓碑更容易看得清楚，而且它似乎在黑暗中闪闪发亮。　

　　詹姆•波特
　　生于１９６０．３．２７
　　卒于１９８１．１０．３１
　　莉莉•波特
　　生于１９６０．１．３０
　　死于１９８１．１０．３１
　　最后将要被击败的敌人就是死亡　

　　哈利缓慢的读着，好像他只有一次机会理解这些词的意思。然后他大声读出了最后一句话。
　　“最后将要被击败的敌人就是死亡……”一个可怕的念头突然闪过脑海，带着一丝惊恐，“这会不会是一个食死徒的主意？为什么它们在这儿？”
　　“这并不是食死徒所谓的战胜死亡，哈利。”赫敏温和的说道。“它的意思是……你知道……生命是可以超越死亡的。有的人，虽死犹生。”
　　但是他们已经失去了生命，哈利想。他们已经走了。这些空洞的话语并不能掩饰他父母的尸骨正在大雪和石块下渐渐腐烂的事实，这是无关紧要，无需觉察的。还没来得及控制，他滚烫的泪水就已经夺眶而出，立即冻在脸上。擦去或者掩饰又有什么意义呢？他任泪水流下，嘴唇紧抿，看着厚厚的积雪掩盖埋有莉莉和詹姆最后遗骸的地方，那或许只剩骨头，也可能已是尘埃。他们没有理会、也不关心自己活着的儿子就在如此近距离得站着。因为他们的牺牲，哈利的心依然在跳动，他依然活着，但此时此刻，他却希望自己正与他们一起长眠于大雪中。
　　赫敏已经拿出了魔杖，紧紧握住。哈利没有看她，但也有了紧迫感。他大口大口地吞咽着夜晚的空气，试图镇定下来，控制住自己的情绪。他本应该带些什么给父母，可他从没有想过，而且墓园里的所有植物都凋零冻僵了。然而赫敏举起了魔杖，在空气里划了一个圈，然后一圈圣诞玫瑰在他们面前开放。哈利拿住它，放在父母的坟上。
　　一旦站起来，他就想离开了：他不认为自己能在那里继续站下去。他把手臂放在赫敏肩头，赫敏搂住他的腰，然后他们一起安静的转身，走过雪地，走过邓布利多的母亲和妹妹的坟墓，返回黑暗的教堂和那扇已经看不见了的窄门。　
Chapter 17 Bathilda’s Secret
Harry, stop.“
“What’s wrong?”
They had only just reached the grave of the unknown Abbott.
“There’s someone there. Someone watching us. I can tell. There, over by the bushes.”
They stood quite still, holding on to each other, gazing at the dense black boundary of the graveyard. Harry could not see anything.
“Are you sure?”
“I saw something move. I could have sworn I did…”
She broke from him to free her wand arm.
“We look like Muggles,” Harry pointed out.
“Muggles who’ve just been laying flowers on your parents’ grave? Harry, I’m sure there’s someone over there!”
Harry thought of A History of Magic; the graveyard was supposed to be haunted; what if -? But then he heard a rustle and saw a little eddy of dislodged snow in the bush to which Hermione had pointed. Ghosts could not move snow.
“It’s a cat,” said Harry, after a second or two, “or a bird. If it was a Death Eater we’d be dead by now. But let’s get out of here, and we can put the Cloak back on.”
They glanced back repeatedly as they made their way out of the graveyard. Harry, who did not feel as sanguine as he had pretended when reassuring Hermione, was glad to reach the gate and the slippery pavement. They pulled the Invisibility Cloak back over themselves. The pub was fuller than before. Many voices inside it were now singing the carol that they had heard as they approached the church. For a moment, Harry considered suggesting they take refuge inside it, but before he could say anything Hermione murmured, “Let’s go this way,” and pulled him down the dark street leading out of the village in the opposite direction from which they had entered. Harry could make out the point where the cottages ended and the lane turned into open country again. They walked as quickly as they dared, past more windows sparkling with multicolored lights, the outlines of Christmas trees dark through the curtains.
“How are we going to find Bathilda’s house?” asked Hermione, who was shivering a little and kept glancing back over her shoulder. “Harry? What do you think? Harry?”
She tugged at this arm, but Harry was not paying attention. He was looking toward the dark mass that stood at the very end of this row of houses. Next moment he sped up, dragging Hermione along with him, she slipped a little on the ice.
“Harry -”
“Look… Look at it, Hermione…”
“I don’t… oh!”
He could see it; the Fidelius Charm must have died with James and Lily. The hedge had grown wild in the sixteen years since Hagrid had taken Harry from the rubble that lay scattered amongst the waist-high grass. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in the dark ivy and snow, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart; that, Harry was sure, was where the curse had backfired. He and Hermione stood at the gate, gazing up at the wreck of what must once have been a cottage just like those that flanked it.
“I wonder why nobody’s ever rebuilt it?” whispered Hermione.
“Maybe you can’t rebuild it?” Harry replied. “Maybe it’s like the injuries from Dark Magic and you can’t repair the damage?”
He slipped a hand from beneath the Cloak and grasped the snowy and thickly rusted gate, not wishing to open it, but simply so he’d some part of the house.
“You’re not going to go inside? It looks unsafe, it might - oh, Harry, look!”
His touch on the gate seemed to have done it. A sign had risen out of the ground in front of them, up thorough the tangles of nettles and weeds, like some bizarre, fast-growing flower, and in golden letters upon the wood it said:
On this spot, on this night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the Killing Curse. This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family.
And all around these neatly lettered words, scribbles had been added by other witches and wizards who had come to see the place where the Boy Who Lived had escaped. Some had merely signed their names in Everlasting Ink; others had carved their initials into the wood, still others had left messages. The most recent of these, shining brightly over sixteen years’ worth of magical graffiti, all said similar things.
Good luck, Harry, wherever you are.
If you read this, Harry, we’re all behind you!
Long live Harry Potter.
“They shouldn’t have written on the sign!“ said Hermione, indignant.
But Harry beamed at her.
“It’s brilliant. I’m glad they did. I…”
He broke off. A heavily muffled figure was hobbling up the lane toward them, silhouetted by the bright lights in the distant square. Harry thought, though it was hard to judge, that the figure was a woman. She was moving slowly, possibly frightened of slipping on the snowy ground. Her stoop, her stoutness, her shuffling gait all gave an impression of extreme age. They watched in silence as she drew nearer. Harry was waiting to see whether she would turn into any of the cottages she was passing, but he knew instinctively that she would not. At last she came to a halt a few yards from them and simply stood there in the middle of the frozen road, facing them.
He did not need Hermione’s pinch to his arm. There was next to no chance that this woman was a Muggle: She was standing there gazing at a house that ought to have been completely invisible to her, if she was not a witch. Even assuming that she was a witch, however, it was odd behavior to come out on a night this cold, simply to look at an old ruin. By all the rules of normal magic, meanwhile, she ought not to be able to see Hermione and him at all. Nevertheless, Harry had the strangest feeling that she knew that they were there, and also who they were. Just as he had reached this uneasy conclusion, she raised a gloved hand and beckoned.
Hermione moved closer to him under the Cloak, her arm pressed against his.
“How does she know?”
He shook his head. The woman beckoned again, more vigorously. Harry could think of many reasons not to obey the summons, and yet his suspicions about her identity were growing stronger every moment that they stood facing each other in the deserted street.
Was it possible that she had been waiting for them all these long months? That Dumbledore had told her to wait, and that Harry would come in the end? Was it not likely that it was she who had moved in the shadows in the graveyard and had followed them to this spot? Even her ability to sense them suggested some Dumbledore-ish power that he had never encountered before.
Finally Harry spoke, causing Hermione to gasp and jump.
“Are you Bathilda?”
The muffled figure nodded and beckoned again.
Beneath the Cloak Harry and Hermione looked at each other. Harry raised his eyebrows; Hermione gave a tiny, nervous nod.
They stepped toward the woman and , at once, she turned and hobbled off back the way they had come. Leading them past several houses, she turned in at a gate. They followed her up the front path through a garden nearly as overgrown as the one they had just left. She fumbled for a moment with a key at the front door, then opened it and stepped back to let them pass.
She smelled bad, or perhaps it was her house; Harry wrinkled his nose as they sidled past her and pulled off the Cloak. Now that he was beside her, he realized how tiny she was; bowed down with age, she came barely level with his chest. She closed the door behind them, her knuckles blue and mottled against the peeling paint, then turned and peered into Harry’s face. Her eyes were thick with cataracts and sunken into folds of transparent skin, and her whole face was dotted with broken veins and liver spots. He wondered whether she could make him out at all; even if she could, it was the balding Muggle whose identity he had stolen that she would see.
The odor of old age, of dust, of unwashed clothes and stale food intensified as the unwound a moth-eaten black shawl, revealing a head of scant white hair through which the scalp showed clearly.
“Bathilda?” Harry repeated.
She nodded again. Harry became aware of the locket against his skin; the thing inside it that sometimes ticked or beat had woken; he could feel it pulsing through the cold gold. Did it know, could it sense, that the thing that would destroy it was near?
Bathilda shuffled past them, pushing Hermione aside as though she had not seen her, and vanished into what seemed to be a sitting room.
“Harry, I’m not sure about this,” breathed Hermione.
“Look at the size of her, I think we could overpower her if we had to,” said Harry. “Listen, I should have told you, I knew she wasn’t all there. Muriel called her ‘gaga.’”
“Come!” called Bathilda from the next room.
Hermione jumped and clutched Harry’s arm.
“It’s okay,” said Harry reassuringly, and he led the way into the sitting room.
Bathilda was tottering around the place lighting candles, but it was still very dark, not to mention extremely dirty. Thick dust crunched beneath their feet, and Harry’s nose detected, underneath the dank and mildewed smell, something worse, like meat gone bad. He wondered when was the last time anyone had been inside Bathilda’s house to check whether she was coping. She seemed to have forgotten that she could do magic, too, for she lit the candles clumsily by hand, her trailing lace cuff in constant danger of catching fire.
“Let me do that,” offered Harry, and he took the matches from her. She stood watching him as he finished lighting the candle stubs that stood on saucers around the room, perched precariously on stacks of books and on side tables crammed with cracked and moldy cups.
The last surface on which Harry spotted a candle was a bow-fronted chest of drawers on which there stood a large number of photographs. When the flame danced into life, its reflection wavered on their dusty glass and silver. He saw a few tiny movements from the pictures. As Bathilda fumbled with logs for the fire, he muttered “Tergeo”: The dust vanished from the photographs, and he saw at once that half a dozen were missing from the largest and most ornate frames. He wondered whether Bathilda or somebody else had removed them. Then the sight of a photograph near the back of the collection caught his eye, and he snatched it up.
It was the golden-haired, merry-faced thief, the young man who had perched on Gregorovitch’s windowsill, smiling lazily up at Harry out of the silver frame. And it came to Harry instantly where he had seen the boy before: in The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, arm in arm with the teenage Dumbledore, and that must be where all the missing photographs were: in Rita’s book.
“Mrs. - Miss - Bagshot?” he said, and his voice shook slightly. “Who is this?”
Bathilda was standing in the middle of the room watching Hermione light the fire for her.
“Miss Bagshot?“ Harry repeated, and he advanced with the picture in his hands as the flames burst into life in the fireplace. Bathilda looked up at his voice, and the Horcrux beat faster upon his chest.
“Who is this person?“ Harry asked her, pushing the picture forward.
She peered at it solemnly, then up at Harry.
“Do you know who this is?” he repeated in a much slower and louder voice than usual. “This man? Do you know him? What’s he called?”
Bathilda merely looked vague. Harry felt an awful frustration. How had Rita Skeeter unlocked Bathilda’s memories?
“Who is this man?” he repeated loudly.
“Harry, what area you doing?” asked Hermione.
“This picture. Hermione, it’s the thief, the thief who stole from Gregorovitch! Please!” he said to Bathilda. “Who is this?”
But she only stared at him.
“Why did you ask us to come with you, Mrs. - Miss - Bagshot?” asked Hermione, raising her own voice. “Was there something you wanted to tell us?”
Giving no sign that she had heard Hermione, Bathilda now shuffled a few steps closer to Harry. With a little jerk of her head she looked back into the hall.
“You want us to leave?” he asked.
She repeated the gesture, this time pointing firstly at him, then at herself, then at the ceiling.
“Oh, right… Hermione, I think she wants me to go upstairs with her.”
“All right,” said Hermione, “let’s go.”
But when Hermione moved, Bathilda shook her head with surprising vigor, once more pointing first at Harry, then to herself.
“She wants me to go with her, alone.”
“Why?” asked Hermione, and her voice rang out sharp and clear in the candlelit room, the old lady shook her head a little at the loud noise.
“Maybe Dumbledore told her to give the sword to me, and only to me?”
“Do you really think she knows who you are?”
“Yes,” said Harry, looking down into the milky eyes fixed upon his own. “I think she does.”
“Well, okay then, but be quick, Harry.”
“Lead the way,” Harry told Bathilda.
She seemed to understand, because she shuffled around him toward the door. Harry glanced back at Hermione with a reassuring smile, but he was not sure she had seen it; she stood hugging herself in the midst of the candlelit squalor, looking toward the bookcase. As Harry walked out of the room, unseen by both Hermione and Bathilda, he slipped the silver-framed photograph of the unknown thief inside his jacket.
The stairs were steep and narrow; Harry was half tempted to place his hands on stout Bathilda’s backside to ensure that she did not topple over backward on top of him, which seemed only too likely. Slowly, wheezing a little, she climbed to the upper landing, turned immediately right, and led him into a low-ceilinged bedroom.
It was pitch-black and smelled horrible: Harry had just made out a chamber pot protruding from under the bed before Bathilda closed the door and even that was swallowed by the darkness.
“Lumos,” said Harry, and his wand ignited. He gave a start: Bathilda had moved close to him in those few seconds of darkness, and he had not heard her approach.
“You are Potter?” she whispered.
“Yes, I am.”
She nodded slowly, solemnly. Harry felt the Horcrux beating fast, faster than his own heart; It was an unpleasant, agitating sensation.
“Have you got anything for me?” Harry asked, but she seemed distracted by his lit wand-tip.
“Have you got anything for me?” he repeated.
Then she closed her eyes and several things happened at once: Harry’s scar prickled painfully; the Horcrux twitched so that the front of his sweater actually moved; the dark, fetid room dissolved momentarily. He felt a leap of joy and spoke in a high, cold voice: Hold him!
Harry swayed where he stood: The dark, foul-smelling room seemed to close around him again; he did not know what had just happened.
“Have you got anything for me?” he asked for a third time, much louder.
“Over here,” she whispered, pointing to the corner. Harry raised his wand and saw the outline of a cluttered dressing table beneath the curtained window.
This time she did not lead him. Harry edged between her and the unmade bed, his wand raised. He did not want to look away from her.
“What is it?” he asked as he reached the dressing table, which was heaped high with what looked and smelled like dirty laundry.
“There,” she said, pointing at the shapeless mass.
And in the instant that he looked away, his eyes taking the tangled mess for a sword hilt, a ruby, she moved weirdly: He saw it out of the corner of his eye; panic made him turn and horror paralyzed him as he saw the old body collapsing and the great snake pouring from the place where her neck had been.
The snake struck as he raised his wand: The force of the bite to his forearm sent the wand spinning up toward the ceiling; its light swung dizzyingly around the room and was extinguished; Then a powerful blow from the tail to his midriff knocked the breath out of him: He fell backward onto the dressing table, into the mound of filthy clothing -
He rolled sideways, narrowly avoiding the snake’s tail, which thrashed down upon the table where he had been a second earlier. Fragments of the glass surface rained upon him as he hit the floor. From below he heard Hermione call, “Harry?”
He could not get enough breath into his lungs to call back: Then a heavy smooth mass smashed him to the floor and he felt it slide over him, powerful, muscular -
“No!” he gasped, pinned to the floor.
“Yes,” whispered the voice. “Yesss… hold you… hold you…”
“Accio… Accio Wand…”
But nothing happened and he needed his hands to try to force the snake from him as it coiled itself around his torso, squeezing the air from him, pressing the Horcrux hard into his chest, a circle of ice that throbbed with life, inches from his own frantic heart, and his brain was flooding with cold, white light, all thought obliterated, his own breath drowned, distant footsteps, everything going…
A metal heart was banging outside his chest, and now he was flying, flying with triumph in his heart, without need of broomstick or thestral…
He was abruptly awake in the sour-smelling darkness; Nagini had released him. He scrambled up and saw the snake outlined against the landing light: It struck, and Hermione dived aside with a shriek; her deflected curse hit the curtained window, which shattered. Frozen air filled the room as Harry ducked to avoid another shower of broken glass and his foot slipped on a pencil-like something - his wand -
He bent and snatched it up, but now the room was full of the snake, its tail thrashing; Hermione was nowhere to be seen and for a moment Harry thought the worst, but then there was a loud bang and a flash of red light, and the snake flew into the air, smacking Harry hard in the face as it went, coil after heavy coil rising up to the ceiling. Harry raised his wand, but as he did so, his scar seared more painfully, more powerfully than it had done in years.
“He’s coming! Hermione, he’s coming!”
As he yelled the snake fell, hissing wildly. Everything was chaos: It smashed shelves from the wall, and splintered china flew everywhere as Harry jumped over the bed and seized the dark shape he knew to be Hermione -
She shrieked with pain as he pulled her back across the bed: The snake reared again, but Harry knew that worse than the snake was coming, was perhaps already at the gate, his head was going to split open with the pain from his scar -
The snake lunged as he took a running leap, dragging Hermione with him; as it struck, Hermione screamed, “Confringo!” and her spell flew around the room, exploding the wardrobe mirror and ricocheting back at them, bouncing from floor to ceiling; Harry felt the heat of it sear the back of his hand. Glass cut his cheek as, pulling Hermione with him, he leapt from bed to broken dressing table and then straight out of the smashed window into nothingness, her scream reverberating through the night as they twisted in midair…
And then his scar burst open and he was Voldemort and he was running across the fetid bedroom, his long white hands clutching at the windowsill as he glimpsed the bald man and the little woman twist and vanish, and he screamed with rage, a scream that mingled with the girl’s, that echoed across the dark gardens over the church bells ringing in Christmas Day…
And his scream was Harry’s scream, his pain was Harry’s pain… that it could happen here, where it had happened before… here, within sight of that house where he had come so close to knowing what it was to die… to die… the pain was so terrible… ripped from his body… But if he had no body, why did his head hurt so badly; if he was dead, how cold he feel so unbearably, didn’t pain cease with death, didn’t it go…
The night wet and windy, two children dressed as pumpkins waddling across the square and the shop windows covered in paper spiders, all the tawdry Muggle trappings of a world in which they did not believe… And he was gliding along, that sense of purpose and power and rightness in him that he always knew on these occasions… Not anger… that was for weaker souls than he… but triumph, yes… He had waited for this, he had hoped for it…
“Nice costume, mister!”
He saw the small boy’s smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his pained face: Then the child turned and ran away… Beneath the robe he fingered the handle of his wand… One simple movement and the child would never reach his mother… but unnecessary, quite unnecessary…
And along a new and darker street he moved, and now his destination was in sight at last, the Fidelius Charm broken, though they did not know it yet… And he made less noise than the dead leaves slithering along the pavement as he drew level with the dark hedge, and steered over it…
They had not drawn the curtains; he saw them quite clearly in their little sitting room, the tall black-haired man in his glasses, making puffs of colored smoke erupt from his wand for the amusement of the small black-haired boy in his blue pajamas. The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke, to grab it in his small fist…
A door opened and the mother entered, saying words he cold not hear, her long dark-red hair falling over her face. Now the father scooped up the son and handed him to the mother. He threw his wand down upon the sofa and stretched, yawning…
The gate creaked a little as he pushed it open, but James Potter did not hear. His white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open…
He was over the threshold as James came sprinting into the hall. It was easy, too easy, he had not even picked up his wand…
“Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!”
Hold him off, without a wand in his hand!… He laughed before casting the curse…
“Avada Kedavra!”
The green light filled the cramped hallway, it lit the pram pushed against the wall, it made the banisters glow like lighting rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut…
He could hear her screaming from the upper floor, trapped, but as long as she was sensible, she, at least, had nothing to fear… He climbed the steps, listening with faint amusement to her attempts to barricade herself in… She had no wand upon her either… How stupid they were, and how trusting, thinking that their safety lay in friends, that weapons could be discarded even for moments…
He forced the door open, cast aside the chair and boxes hastily piled against it with one lazy wave of his wand… and there she stood, the child in her arms. At the sight of him, she dropped her son into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, as if this would help, as if in shielding him from sight she hoped to be chosen instead…
“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”
“Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside, now.”
“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead -”
“This is my last warning -”
“Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy… Not Harry! Not Harry! Please - I’ll do anything…”
“Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!”
He could have forced her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all…
The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. The child had not cried all this time. He could stand, clutching the bars of his crib, and he looked up into the intruder’s face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing -
He pointed the wand very carefully into the boy’s face: He wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. The child began to cry: It had seen that he was not James. He did not like it crying, he had never been able to stomach the small ones whining in the orphanage -
“Avada Kedavra!”
And then he broke. He was nothing, nothing but pain and terror, and he must hide himself, not here in the rubble of the ruined house, where the child was trapped screaming, but far away… far away…
“No,” he moaned.
The snake rustled on the filthy, cluttered floor, and he had killed the boy, and yet he was the boy…
“No…”
And now he stood at the broken window of Bathilda’s house, immersed in memories of his greatest loss, and at his feet the great snake slithered over broken china and glass… He looked down and saw something… something incredible…
“No…”
“Harry, it’s all right, you’re all right!”
He stooped down and picked up the smashed photograph. There he was, the unknown thief, the thief he was seeking…
“No… I dropped it… I dropped it…”
“Harry, it’s okay, wake up, wake up!”
He was Harry… Harry, not Voldemort… and the thing that was rustling was not a snake… He opened his eyes.
“Harry,” Hermione whispered. “Do you feel all - all right?”
“Yes,” he lied.
He was in the tent, lying on one of the lower bunks beneath a heap of blankets. He could tell that it was almost dawn by the stillness and quality of the cold, flat light beyond the canvas ceiling. He was drenched in sweat; he could feel it on the sheets and blankets.
“We got away.”
“Yes,” said Hermione. “I had to use a Hover Charm to get you into your bunk. I couldn’t lift you. You’ve been… Well, you haven’t been quite…”
There were purple shadows under her brown eyes and he noticed a small sponge in her hand: She had been wiping his face.
“You’ve been ill,” she finished. “Quite ill.”
“How long ago did we leave?”
“Hours ago. It’s nearly morning.”
“And I’ve been… what, unconscious?”
“Not exactly,“ said Hermione uncomfortably. ”You’ve been shouting and moaning and… things,“ she added in a tone that made Harry feel uneasy. What had he done? Screamed curses like Voldemort, cried like the baby in the crib?
“I couldn’t get the Horcrux off you,” Hermione said, and he knew she wanted to change the subject. “It was stuck, stuck to your chest. You’ve got a mark; I’m sorry, I had to use a Severing Charm to get it away. The snake hit you too, but I’ve cleaned the wound and put some dittany on it…”
He pulled the sweaty T-shirt he was wearing away from himself and looked down. There was a scarlet oval over his heart where the locket had burned him. He could also see the half healed puncture marks to his forearm.
“Where’ve you put the Horcrux?”
“In my bag. I think we should keep it off for a while.”
He lay back on his pillows and looked into her pinched gray face.
“We shouldn’t have gone to Godric’s Hollow. It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. Hermione, I’m sorry.“
“It’s not you fault. I wanted to go too; I really thought Dumbledore might have left the sword there for you.“
“Yeah, well… we got that wrong, didn’t we?”
“What happened, Harry? What happened when she took you upstairs? Was the snake hiding somewhere? Did it just come out and kill her and attack you?“
“No.” he said. “She was the snake… or the snake was her… all along.”
“W-what?”
He closed his eyes. He could still smell Bathilda’s house on him; it made the whole thing horribly vivid.
“Bathilda must’ve been dead a while. The snake was… was inside her. You-Know-Who put it there in Godric’s Hollow, to wait. You were right. He knew I’d go back.“
“The snake was inside her?”
He opened his eyes again. Hermione looked revolted, nauseated.
“Lupin said there would be magic we’d never imagined.“ Harry said. ”She didn’t want to talk in front of you, because it was Parseltongue, all Parseltongue, and I didn’t realize, but of course I could understand her. Once we were up in the room, the snake sent a message to You-Know-Who, I heard it happen inside my head, I felt him get excited, he said to keep me there… and then…“
He remembered the snake coming out of Bathilda’s neck: Hermione did not need to know the details.
“…she changed, changed into the snake, and attacked.”
He looked down at the puncture marks.
“It wasn’t supposed to kill me, just keep me there till You-Know-Who came.”
If he had only managed to kill the snake, it would have been worth it, all of it… Sick at heart, he sat up and threw back the covers.
“Harry, no, I’m sure you ought to rest!”
“You’re the one who needs sleep. No offense, but you look terrible. I’m fine. I’ll keep watch for a while. Where’s my wand?“
She did not answer, she merely looked at him.
“Where’s my wand, Hermione?”
She was biting her lip, and tears swam in her eyes.
“Harry…”
“Where’s my wand?”
She reached down beside the bed and held it out to him.
The holly and phoenix wand was nearly severed in two. One fragile strand of phoenix feather kept both pieces hanging together. The wood had splintered apart completely. Harry took it into his hands as though it was a living thing that had suffered a terrible injury. He could not think properly: Everything was a blur of panic and fear. Then he held out the want to Hermione.
“Mend it. Please.”
“Harry, I don’t think, when it’s broken like this -”
“Please, Hermione, try!”
“R-Reparo.”
The dangling half of the wand resealed itself. Harry held it up.
“Lumos!”
The wand sparked feebly, then went out. Harry pointed it at Hermione.
“Expelliarmus!”
Hermione’s wand gave a little jerk, but did not leave her hand. The feeble attempt at magic was too much for Harry’s wand, which split into two again. He stared at it, aghast, unable to take in what he was seeing… the wand that had survived so much…
“Harry.” Hermione whispered so quietly he could hardly hear her. “I’m so, so sorry. I think it was me. As we were leaving, you know, the snake was coming for us, and so I cast a Blasting Curse, and it rebounded everywhere, and it must have - must have hit -”
“It was an accident.” said Harry mechanically. He felt empty, stunned. “We’ll - we’ll find a way to repair it.”
“Harry, I don’t think we’re going to be able to,” said Hermione, the ears trickling down her face. “Remember… remember Ron? When he broke his wand, crashing the car? It was never the same again, he had to get a new one.”
Harry thought of Ollivander, kidnapped and held hostage by Voldemort; of Gregorovitch, who was dead. How was he supposed to find himself a new wand?
“Well,” he said, in a falsely matter-of-fact voice, “well, I’ll just borrow yours for now, then. While I keep watch.”
Her face glazed with tears, Hermione handed over her wand, and he left her sitting beside his bed, desiring nothing more than to get away from her.
　　当他们刚刚走到陌生人艾博的坟墓旁边时，赫敏突然说：“哈利，停下。”
　　“怎么了？”
　　“那边有人在监视我们，我能肯定，就在灌木丛后面。”
　　他们静静地站在原地，紧握彼此的手，凝视着浓黑的墓地边界，哈利什么都没看见。
　　“你确定吗？”
　　“我看见了什么东西在动。我发誓我看到了……”
　　她把拿着魔杖的手从哈利的手中挣开。
　　“我们现在看起来像是麻瓜，”哈利说。
　　“麻瓜会在你父母的坟墓前献花？哈利，我确定那边有人！”
　　哈利想起了《魔法史》里说，墓地时常会闹鬼，如果真是那样……但是接着他听到了一阵灌木丛的沙沙声，看到赫敏指的那片灌木丛几片雪花旋转着飘落。鬼魂是没法移动雪花的。
　　“是只猫。”哈利说，过了一两秒，又说，“或者是只鸟。如果那是个食死徒，我们刚才就已经死了。还是离开这里吧，我们可以再把隐形衣穿上。”
　　他们离开墓地时还是不时地回头扫几眼。哈利觉得自己没有劝赫敏放心时那么乐观，他很高兴走到了门口，回到湿滑的人行道上。他们把隐形衣脱了下来。
　　小酒馆比以往热闹的多，里面有许多人唱着他们在教堂里听过的颂歌。哈利考虑了一下是否提出建议在酒馆里躲避一下，他还没说出口，赫敏就低声说道：“我们走这条路。”然后拉着哈利朝着来时相反的方向，走向了通往村子外面的那条阴沉沉的街道。哈利看到身边的房屋逐渐稀少，狭窄的小路重新开阔起来。他们飞快的向前行走，经过一扇扇闪耀着彩色光芒的，透出圣诞树轮廓的窗户。
　　“我们要怎样才能找到巴希达的房子？”，赫敏问道，她有点打哆嗦，不时地朝身后看去。“哈利？你是怎么想的？哈利？”
　　她拽了拽他的胳膊，但是哈利没有理会她，他看着小路尽头的那一大片废墟，突然，他拉起赫敏飞快的向那里跑去，赫敏在冰上差点摔倒。
　　“哈利……”
　　“看，快看，赫敏……”
　　“我没有……噢！”
　　他看到了，赤胆忠心魔咒一定是随着詹姆和莉莉的死亡一起失效了。自从16年前海格把哈利从齐腰深的草从中的碎石堆里救出来到现在，篱笆由于无人照管，已经长得很野了。房屋的大部分还完好，虽然都被阴暗的常春藤和雪完全覆盖了，顶层的右侧被炸毁了，那里，哈利肯定，就是魔咒爆炸的地方。他和赫敏站在大门前，盯着那幢原本应该像刚才他们经过的房屋一样的建筑，现在它只剩下了残骸。
　　“我想知道为什么没有人把这里重修一下。”赫敏低声说。
　　“也许是不能够重修，”哈利回答。“就像黑魔法带来的伤害一样，没有办法弥补？”
　　他在隐形衣下伸出手，抓住被雪覆盖的锈迹斑斑的大门，他并不想打开，只是希望自己能变成房子的一部分。
　　“不要进去吧？它看起来不安全，它可能……噢，哈利，看！”
　　他与大门的接触似乎带来了一些变化。一个木制的标志牌，从他们面前那乱蓬蓬的荨麻和野草中冒了出来，上面用金色的字母写着：　

　　就在这里，在1981年10月31日的晚上
　　莉莉和詹姆•波特失去生命
　　他们的儿子，哈利， 成为唯一的
　　逃脱了死咒的巫师
　　这所麻瓜看不见的房子
　　就保持了废墟的样子
　　作为波特夫妇的纪念碑
　　和一个对于拆散他们家庭的暴力的警钟　

　　在这些整洁的文字周围，来见证大难不死的男孩的巫师们潦草地写下了他们的话。一些人用永不褪色墨水简单地写下了自己的名字，一些人把自己姓名的首字母刻进了木头，还有一些人写了简短的留言。不管是看上去几天前留下的字迹，还是十六年前暗淡的笔墨，所有的人说的话都是一个意思：　

　　祝你好运，哈利，无论你在哪。
　　当你读到这个，哈利，我们都在你身后！
　　哈利波特万岁。　

　　“他们不应该在标志上写字！”赫敏义愤填膺地说。
　　但是哈利朝她笑了笑：“这棒极了。我很高兴他们这样做了。我……”
　　他突然顿住了。一个穿得很厚重的人慢慢地从小街向他们走来，远处广场上明亮的灯光让人看不清他那黑黑的轮廓。尽管很困难，但哈利看出那是个女人。她走得很慢，或许是怕在雪上滑到。她那佝偻的背，坚毅的样子，她拖着脚走路的疲态
　　，让人感觉到她年纪非常老
　　。他们沉默着看她走近。哈利想看看她是否会走进某间房屋，但是他心里很清楚地知道她不会走进任何一间房子。终于，她在他们前面几米处停下，站在冰冻的马路中间，看着他们。
　　他不需要赫敏掐他的手臂也能明白过来，这个女人不可能是麻瓜。她正站在那里看着一所麻瓜根本看不见的房子。而且，有一点更确认了她是个女巫，因为在这样一个寒冷的夜晚出来，仅仅为了看一幢古老的、已成为废墟的房子，这实在是太古怪了。而且，按照魔法规则，她应该看不见赫敏和哈利。然而哈利有种特别奇怪的感觉，他觉得她知道他们在那里，也知道他们是谁。正当哈利得出了这个令人不安的结论时，那个女人举起了一只带手套的手，打了个手势。
　　赫敏在隐形衣下向哈利靠近了一些，她紧握住哈利的手臂：“她是怎么知道的？”
　　他摇了摇头。那个女人又更加用力地挥着手。哈利可以想到一大堆不理会她的理由，他和她在这样的无人街道上对视，对她身份的怀疑也随着时间一分一秒地增长。
　　她会不会在这长长的几个月里一直在等待他们？邓布利多会不会让她等着他们，告诉她哈利最终会来？她是不是在暗处从墓地一直跟踪他们到了这里？她看的到他们，这让哈利感觉到了他从没遇到的邓布利多式的能量。
　　最后哈利突然说话了，把赫敏吓了一跳。
　　“你是巴希达吗？”
　　这个穿着厚重的人点了一下头，又挥了挥手。
　　哈利和赫敏在隐型衣下对视了一眼，哈利扬起眉毛，赫敏紧张地微微点了点头。
　　他们朝那个女人走去，她马上蹒跚地沿着来的路往回走，带领他们走过几幢房屋，进入了一扇大门。他们跟着她顺着前面的小路，穿过一个和刚才的废墟差不多的枝枝蔓蔓的花园。她站在门前摸索了一会，掏出房门钥匙，开了门，向旁边退了一步让他们进去。
　　她身上的气味很难闻，不过也许是这房子里的气味。哈利经过她身边时皱了皱鼻子，然后脱下了隐形衣。他站到她的旁边时才知道她是多么的矮小。由于年老驼背，她几乎只到哈利胸膛那么高。她关上身后的门，她的指节是蓝色的，皮肤上斑斑点点，像是剥落的油漆，然后她眯起眼睛看着哈利的脸。那双眼睛由于白内障而十分混浊，深深地陷入了满是皱纹的几乎透明的皮肤里，她的整张脸都透出了皮肤下面的静脉和黄褐色的老年斑。哈利怀疑她根本认不出自己；即使她能，看到的也是哈利伪装成的那个秃头的麻瓜。
　　她把虫蛀的披肩解下来，露出了白发稀疏的头顶，年老的气味、灰尘的气味、脏衣服的气味、还有变质食物的气味变得更剧烈了。
　　“巴希达？”哈利再次问道。
　　她又点了点头。哈利感觉到贴在他皮肤上的挂坠盒。那里面的时而发出滴答声时而发出敲打声的东西已经被唤醒，他可以感觉的到它透过冰冷的黄金在振动。难道它知道，难道它可以感觉的到，附近存在什么可以毁灭它的东西？
　　巴希达拖着脚步穿过他们俩，像是没看到赫敏似的把她推到一边，走进一间貌似起居室的房间里去了。
　　“哈利，我不太确定现在的状况是怎样。”赫敏轻声说着。
　　“看她那副样子，万一有什么事情，我想我们也可以击败她。”哈利说着。“我告诉你，她不该是这个样子的，穆里尔说她很狂热，……”。
　　“过来!”巴希达在隔壁的房间里大叫。
　　赫敏跳了起来，一把抓住哈利的胳膊。
　　“没事的，”哈利安慰她，他带着她走进休息室。
　　巴希达在烛光闪烁的房间里蹒跚着，光线依旧很暗，屋子里肮脏至极。厚重的灰尘在他们脚下嘎嘎作响，在这潮湿发霉的气味下面，哈利闻到了一些更为糟糕的味道，像是腐烂变质的肉所散发出来的。他不知道已经多久没人来过巴希达的家，看她是不是还在这儿了。她似乎已经忘记她也能够施展魔法。因为她用手笨拙的点着蜡烛，袖口的带子随时会被不小心点着。
　　“让我来吧。”哈利说道，然后他从她手中取下火柴。巴希达看着哈利点燃了放置在房间各个浅盘里的蜡烛根儿，这些蜡烛放在摇摇晃晃的放在成堆的书上和一个摆满了破碎发霉的杯子的桌子的边上。
　　在哈利点到最后一根蜡烛的时候，他看到那根蜡烛处在一个弧形表面的盒子上面，里面存有许多照片。当烛光闪烁的时候，它的光芒摇曳的照在那些布满灰尘的玻璃和银器上。哈利看到了那些照片里面的场景在晃动。在巴希达借着火光摸索前进的时候，哈利小声念了一句"旋风扫净"，那些照片上的灰尘立刻消失了，他看到了其中六个最大最华丽的框架中的照片已经不在了，不知道是巴希达还是别的什么人拿走了它们。这堆照片的最底下的一张吸引了哈利的目光，他拿起来看了看：
　　是那个当初坐在格里戈维奇的窗台上，金色头发，神态愉悦的小偷，他从银质的框架里懒洋洋的看着哈利，哈利立刻想起曾经见过这个男孩——在丽塔的《阿不思•邓布利多的一生与谎言》那本书中夹着的照片上！他就是那个与邓布利多挽着手的年轻人！
　　“巴沙特……夫人……小姐？”他说，他的声音轻微的颤抖，“这是谁？”
　　巴希达正站在房间的中间看着赫敏为她点燃火把。
　　“巴沙特小姐？”哈利又喊了一遍，他拿着照片走到巴希达的身边，壁炉里的火焰燃烧起来了，巴希达听到他的声音抬起头来，魂器在哈利的胸前更加剧烈的敲击着。
　　“这人是谁？”哈利举着照片问她。
　　她庄重地凝视着照片，然后再凝视着哈利。
　　“你知不知道这人是谁？”他用比平常更慢更响的声音又重复了一遍。“就是这个人，你知道他是谁吗？他叫什么名字？”
　　巴希达看起来很茫然，哈利觉得很沮丧。丽塔•斯基特是怎么打开巴希达的记忆的？
　　“这人是谁？” 他大声说。
　　“哈利，你在干什么？”赫敏问道。
　　“赫敏，这张照片，就是那个偷了格里戈维奇东西的贼！求求你了，”他又对巴希达说，“他到底是谁？”
　　但巴希达只是瞪着眼睛看着他。
　　“为什么让我们跟你到这儿来，巴沙特夫人……小姐？”赫敏提高声音问道，“你想告诉我们什么事情吗？”
　　可巴希达似乎根本没有听见赫敏讲的话，她拖着脚步走近哈利，然后猛一转头向大厅回望过去。
　　“你希望我们离开？”他问道。
　　她把动作重复了一遍，但这次是先指着哈利，再指着自己，最后指着天花板。
　　“好吧……赫敏，我想她希望我们跟她上楼。”
　　“好，”赫敏回答，“我们走。”
　　但是赫敏刚迈开脚步，巴希达就拼命地摇着头，再次指着哈利，然后指着自己。
　　“她希望我单独跟她去。”
　　“为什么？”赫敏大声问道，她的声音在烛光闪耀的房间内显得尖锐而清晰，巴希达轻轻摇头。
　　“也许邓布利多让她把剑给我，而且只给我？”
　　“你认为她真的知道你是谁？”
　　“是的，”哈利说，与巴希达那双混浊的眼睛对视着。
　　“那好，但是快一点，哈利。”
　　“带路吧，”哈利对巴希达说。
　　她看起来听懂了，因为她颤巍巍地带着哈利向门走去。哈利回头对赫敏笑了笑，让她放心，但他不知道她有没有看见。赫敏抱着手臂站在烛光下脏兮兮的房间中，看着书橱。哈利走出房间，趁赫敏和巴希达都没注意的时候，把那个小偷的银框相片放进了口袋。
　　狭窄的楼梯坡度很陡，哈利向前半伸着手，以防巴希达从他上面跌倒，那看起来确实很有可能。她有些气喘，慢慢走到了楼上，左拐，带哈利进入一个天花板很低的房间。
　　房间黑黑的，气味也糟透了。哈利刚看出床下伸出来是一只夜壶，巴希达就关上门，他们陷入一片黑暗。
　　“荧光闪烁。”哈里说道，他的魔杖发出光亮的瞬间，哈利被面前的巴希达吓了一跳，就在那黑暗的几秒钟里，巴希达走到了他身旁，而哈利并没听见她走过来。
　　“你是波特？”她低声问。
　　“对，我是。”
　　她缓慢地点了点头，显得很庄重。哈利感到魂器敲击得更快了，比他的心脏还要快，感觉像一阵令人不快的骚动。
　　“你有什么东西要给我吗？”哈利问道，但她好像被哈利发光的魔杖分散了注意力。
　　“你有什么东西要给我吗？”哈利又问了一遍。
　　巴希达闭上眼睛，就在那个时刻，几件事情同时发生了：哈利的伤疤如针扎般的疼了起来；魂器猛烈地跳动着，使得哈利的胸前的毛衣跟着起伏；黑暗发臭的房间突然从眼前消失。他感到强烈的兴奋，用很高的音调冷酷的声音说道：抓住他！
　　哈利摇晃着站在原地，黑暗发臭的房间又一次出现在他的身边，他不知道刚才发生了什么事情。
　　“你有什么要给我吗？”哈利第三次问道，声音提高了许多。
　　“就在那边，”她轻声说，手指着拐角。哈利举起他的魔杖，看见拉着窗帘的窗户下面有张乱糟糟地堆满衣服的桌子。
　　这次她没再带他过去。哈利举着魔杖，侧身从巴希达和床之间走过去。他不希望巴希达离开自己的视线。
　　“在哪里？”他摸着那张桌子问道，桌子上堆满了像是脏衣服一样的东西。
　　“那里，”她指着那堆乱七八糟的破烂说道。
　　就在他转过头，想要在那堆破烂里面找到一把镶了红宝石的剑的时候，哈利的余光看到巴希达怪异的发生了变化，他惊慌地转过身，恐惧几乎让他瘫痪：他看见那个年老的身体瘫在地上，一条巨大的蛇在刚才她脖子的地方晃动着。
　　他刚扬起魔杖就被蛇一口咬住，这前臂上强有力的一咬使他的魔杖脱手飞向了天花板。旋转的魔杖发出光芒照得房间让人头晕目眩，然后光熄灭了。蛇尾猛地扫过他的腹部，几乎让他无法呼吸。他向后跌倒在堆满衣服的桌子上，一头栽在肮脏的衣服里面……
　　哈利在桌上向旁边一滚，勉强地躲过了再次刷过来的蛇尾，当他着地时，玻璃碎片像下雨一样劈头盖脸地落下。他听到楼下的赫敏大叫道：“哈利？”
　　没时间吸入足够的空气去回答赫敏的喊声了，一条又重又滑的东西把他撞到地板上，从他的身体上有力地滑过……“不！”他喘着气说，感觉自己被固定在了地板上。
　　“很好，”那个声音小声地说，“很好……抓住你……抓住你……”
　　“魔杖……魔杖飞来……”
　　但是什么事情也没有发生，他只能用手来努力阻止那条蛇在他身体上越捆越紧，肺部的空气都快被挤出来了，魂器深深地陷入了他的胸膛，一条冰冷的、蠕动的东西离他的心脏只有几英寸远，他脑子里满是寒冷的白光，所有的意识都湮灭了，他的呼吸渐渐微弱下来，只听见远处的脚步声，一切都在离他远去……
　　金属的心脏在他胸膛外面砰砰作响，他觉得内心中一阵狂喜，他在飞翔，不需要飞天扫帚或者夜骐……
　　他突然醒了，周围仍旧是一片黑暗，不过闻起来酸酸的。纳吉尼已经松开了他。他挣扎着爬起，凭借楼下的微光看到蛇正要袭击赫敏。赫敏一声尖叫猛跳到一旁，她的粉碎咒击中了拉着窗帘的窗子，窗子立刻被击成碎片，外面寒冷的空气马上充斥着屋内。哈利赶紧矮身躲避这又一阵玻璃渣的袭来，他的脚下一滑，像是踩到了铅笔一样的东西……是他的魔杖……
　　他弯腰捡起魔杖，那条蛇正在用尾巴抽打着房间的各个地方。看不到赫敏在哪里，哈利不由得想到了最坏的结果。然而突然随着一声巨响，一道红光闪过，蛇飞了起来，剧烈的击中了哈利的脸，然后一圈圈盘绕着向天花板飞去。哈利举起魔杖，就在那时，他的伤疤开始剧烈疼痛，比以前这么多年的任何一次都要疼痛。
　　“他来了！赫敏，他来了！”
　　他大叫叫喊的时候，那条蛇落了下来，一边发出疯狂的咝咝声，一边撞倒了靠墙的架子，碎瓷片飞得到处都是，一切都乱成一团。哈利跳到床上，紧紧抓住那团黑色的阴影，他知道那是赫敏。
　　哈利把赫敏从床上拽过来，赫敏疼痛的尖叫着，而那条蛇又一次直起身子，哈利知道，比蛇更可怕的东西就要来了，也许已经到了门外，他的头疼的快要从伤疤处炸开了。
　　哈利拖着赫敏连跑带跳地躲开，蛇发出响亮的声音，又要袭击他们。赫敏尖叫道：“障碍重重！”她的咒语飞过房间，把大衣橱的试衣镜炸开了花，碎片在他们身后飞舞着。哈利感觉热浪烤焦了他的手背，碎片割伤了他的脸颊，他拉着赫敏从床上跳到了那张坏了的桌子上，然后直接跳出了没玻璃的窗子。他们在半空中时，还能听见赫敏的尖叫在夜色中回响……
　　然后他的伤疤几欲炸开，他就是伏地魔，他跑过那个发臭的房间，他用修长白皙的手紧抓着窗台，他看到那个秃顶的男人和那个瘦小的女人扭曲着身体然后在他眼前消失，他狂怒地尖叫，声音和女孩的尖叫声混杂在一起，划过黑暗的花园，盖过圣诞节教堂的钟声……
　　他的尖叫声就是哈利的尖叫声，他的疼痛就是哈利的疼痛……就在这里，就在以前发生过那件事情的地方……在这里，眼前的那所房子，就是在这里他差一点就知道了死亡是什么样子……死亡……疼得太厉害了……撕开了他的身体……但是如果他没有身体，为什么他的头会这样要命地疼？如果他死了，他怎么还能感到难以忍受的疼痛，难道这痛苦并不随着死亡离去，不会离去……
　　夜晚潮湿又多风，两个装扮成南瓜的孩子摇摇晃晃地穿过广场，商店的窗户装饰着纸做的蜘蛛，俗艳的麻瓜饰品……
　　他慢慢地向前走着，感到一个历史性的时刻即将到来--一个与未来、权利、欲望息息相关的伟大时刻。没有愤怒，因愤怒是为弱者而生；他只有抑制不住的狂喜……是的……他已经等得太久，盼得太久了……
　　“先生，你的衣服真漂亮！”
　　一个小男孩跑到他身边，当他看见兜帽下那张被恐惧和疼痛笼罩的脸时，小男孩的笑容消失了，他飞快转身跑走了。……他的手指在袍子下面抚摸着魔杖……一个简单的动作便能让那个孩子再也见不到他的母亲……但是没必要，十分没必要……
　　他走到另一条更阴暗的街上，看见了他的目的地，赤胆忠心咒已经失效了，而他们还不知道呢……他的动作比落叶在人行道上滑动的声音还要轻，他走向黑黑的篱笆,然后跨了过去……
　　窗帘没有拉上，他清楚地看到他们在小客厅里，那个高个子的黑发男人戴着眼镜，手中的魔杖顶端冒出一团团彩色的烟雾，穿着蓝色睡衣的黑发小男孩被逗乐了，那孩子笑着想要用自己的小拳头抓住烟雾……
　　房门开了，男孩的母亲走了进来，他听不到她说了什么，她深红色的长发披在脸上，父亲把孩子抱给母亲，然后把魔杖扔到沙发上，一边伸个懒腰一边打个哈欠。
　　他把大门推开了一道缝，但是詹姆•波特没听到，他苍白的手在斗篷下取出魔杖，直指着门，门猛地开了……
　　他踏过门槛，詹姆急速冲到大厅。这很简单，太简单了，他甚至连魔杖都没拿……
　　“莉莉，带上哈利快逃！他来了！逃！快跑！我来拖住他！”
　　拖住他？手里连魔杖都没有还想拖住他！……
　　他笑了，然后说道：“阿瓦达索命！”
　　绿光照亮了狭窄的大厅走廊，照亮了婴儿车，把它推到了墙边，楼梯栏杆在绿光映照下像被点燃的木杖一样闪亮，詹姆•波特如同断线的木偶般倒下去……
　　他听见楼下女人的尖叫，已经被困住了,但是只要她还清醒，她就无所畏惧……他走上台阶，看戏一般的看着她试图保护自己……她手中也没有魔杖……多蠢啊，多信赖别人啊，觉得自己的安全十分保险地放在朋友那里，安全到魔杖都可以扔在一边……
　　他强行打开门，懒散地挥了一下魔杖，堆在门口的椅子和箱子都被清理掉了……她就抱着孩子站在那边。一看到他，她就把儿子放在身后的婴儿小床里，伸出双手拦在前面，好像这样就能管用似的，好像她挡在前面就可以代替哈利……
　　“别动哈利，别动哈利，请别动哈利！”
　　“一边儿去，你这愚蠢的女人……一边儿去，现在。”
　　“别动哈利，请不要，杀了我，杀了我代替他——”
　　“这是我最后一次警告——”
　　“别动哈利！求求你……发发慈悲……发发慈悲……别动哈利！别动哈利！求你了……我可以做任何事情……”
　　“站一边去！站一边去，你这女人！”
　　他本可以让她从婴儿床前面滚开，但是看起来一起惩罚他们似乎更方便……
　　房间里绿光闪耀，她像她丈夫一样倒下了。孩子一直都没有哭，他站了起来，紧紧抓着婴儿床的围栏，很有兴趣地看着入侵者的脸。也许他以为斗篷下面的是他爸爸，正准备给他弄点更漂亮的灯光，而他的妈妈随时都可能笑着出现……
　　他非常小心地把魔杖对准小男孩的脸。他想要亲眼看事情的发生，想要看到这个难以解释的危险人物的毁灭。孩子开始大哭起来，他看清了这人不是詹姆。他不喜欢那孩子哭，他在孤儿院时从来都不能容忍那些小东西们的哭哭啼啼……
　　“阿瓦达索命！”
　　然后他完全崩溃了。他变得什么也不是，只剩下剧痛和恐惧，他必须要把自己藏起来，不能待在这个有小孩子拼命啼哭的破房子里，要远一点……很远很远的地方……
　　“不，”他呻吟道。
　　蛇在脏乱不堪的地板上沙沙爬行，他杀了这个男孩，然而他自己就是这个男孩……
　　“不……”
　　现在他站在巴希达家的破窗子旁，沉浸在他极为挫败的记忆中。在他脚边，大蛇沙沙地爬过瓷器碎片和玻璃碎片……他朝下方看去，看见了难以致信的东西……
　　“不……”
　　“哈利，都没事了，你没事了！”
　　他俯身拾起摔坏的相框，就是这个！那个小偷！他一直在找的那个人……
　　“不……我把它掉在地上了……我把它掉在地上了……”
　　“哈利，没事了，醒醒，快醒醒！”
　　他是哈利……哈利，不是伏地魔……在他脚边沙沙响的也不是蛇……
　　他睁开了眼睛。
　　“哈利，”赫敏轻声说。“你感觉……还好吗？”
　　“是的，”他撒谎道。
　　他在帐篷里，躺在下铺上，盖着一堆毯子。他从周围的静谧中，以及帆布帐篷顶部透出的光线中判断出现在已经几乎是黎明了。他全身都是汗，连床单和毯子上也有汗。
　　“我们逃出来了。”
　　“是的，”赫敏说。“我用了悬停魔咒来把你放到床铺上。我没法抱起你，因为你刚才……嗯，你刚才非常……”
　　她棕色的眼睛下面有了紫色的阴影，而且他注意到她手里拿着一块海绵，原来她刚才一直在替他擦脸。
　　“你刚才病了，”她把话说完。“病得很厉害。”
　　“我们什么时候离开那里的？”
　　“几个小时之前，现在快到早上了。”
　　“我刚才是不是……神志不清？”
　　“不完全是，”赫敏困难地说，“你一直在大喊大叫或者呻吟或者……”她说话的口吻让哈利觉得十分不安。他刚才做了什么？像伏地魔一样尖声喊出咒语，还是像婴儿车里的婴儿一样嚎哭？
　　“我没法把魂器从你身上解下来，”赫敏说道。哈利知道她想换个话题。“它紧紧粘在你的胸前，因此我只好用切割咒把它切下来了，你身上留下了一块印记，对不起。蛇也咬了你，不过我已经清理了伤口并且涂了一些苦牛至（草药名）……”
　　他脱下了汗湿透的T恤衫，然后低头看了看。挂坠盒灼烧的地方留下了一块猩红色的卵形印记。哈利也看到了前臂上蛇的牙齿刺穿的伤口好了些了。
　　“你把魂器放在哪里了？”
　　“在我包里。我想我们这一段时间别再碰它了。”
　　他躺回到枕头上看着赫敏痛苦灰暗的脸。
　　“我们不该去高锥克山谷的，是我的错，全是我的错。赫敏，对不起。”
　　“不是你的错。我也想去的。我真的以为邓布利多已经把剑放在那儿给你了。
　　“是啊，嗯……我们理解错了，是不是？“
　　“哈利，发生了什么事？她把你带上楼梯后发生了什么事？蛇是不是藏在什么地方？它是不是马上出来咬死了她然后袭击你？”
　　“不。”哈利回答。“她就是那条蛇……或者说蛇就是她……都一样。”
　　“什……什么？”
　　他闭上了眼睛。他仍然可以在自己身上闻到巴希达的房子的气味，这让整个事情清晰得恐怖。
　　“巴希达一定是
Chapter 33 The Prince’s Tale
Harry remained kneeling at Snape’s side, simply staring down at him, until quite suddenly a high, cold voice spoke so close to them that Harry jumped on his feet, the flask gripped tightly in his hands, thinking that Voldemort had reentered the room.
Voldemort’s voice reverberated from the walls and floor, and Harry realized that he was talking to Hogwarts and to all the surrounding area, that the residents of Hogsmeade and all those still fighting in the castle would hear him as clearly as if he stood beside them, his breath on the back of their necks, a deathblow away.
“You have fought,” said the high, cold voice, “valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery.”
“Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste.”
“Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately.”
“You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.”
“I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.”
Both Ron and Hermione shook their heads frantically, looking at Harry.
“Don’t listen to him,” said Ron.
“It’ll be all right,” said Hermione wildly. “Let’s - let’s get back to the castle, if he’s gone to the forest we’ll need to think of a new plan - ”
She glanced at Snape’s body, then hurried back to the tunnel entrance. Ron followed her. Harry gathered up the Invisibility Cloak, then looked down at Snape. He did not know what to feel, except shock at the way Snape had been killed, and the reason for which it had been done…
They crawled back through the tunnel, none of them talking, and Harry wondered whether Ron and Hermione could still hear Voldemort ringing in their heads as he could.
You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest…One hour…
Small bundles seemed to litter the lawn at the front of the castle. It could only be an hour or so from dawn, yet it was pitch-black. The three of them hurried toward the stone steps. A lone dog, the size of a small boat, lay abandoned in front of them. There was no other sign of Grawp or of his attacker.
The castle was unnaturally silent. There were no flashes of light now, no bangs or screams or shouts. The flagstones of the deserted entrance hall were stained with blood. Emeralds were still scattered all over the floor, along with pieces of marble and splintered wood. Part of the banisters had been blown away.
“Where is everyone?” whispered Hermione.
Ron led the way to the Great Hall. Harry stopped in the doorway.
The House tables were gone and the room was crowded. The survivors stood in groups, their arms around each other’s necks. The injured were being treated upon the raised platform by Madam Pomfrey and a group of helpers. Firenze was amongst the injured; his flank poured blood and he shook where he lay, unable to stand.
The dead lay in a row in the middle of the Hall. Harry could not see Fred’s body, because his family surrounded him. George was kneeling at his head; Mrs. Weasley was lying across Fred’s chest, her body shaking. Mr. Weasley stroking her hair while tears cascaded down his cheeks.
Without a word to Harry, Ron and Hermione walked away. Harry saw Hermione approach Ginny, whose face was swollen and blotchy, and hug her. Ron joined Bill, Fleur, and Percy, who flung an arm around Ron’s shoulders. As Ginny and Hermione moved closer to the rest of the family, Harry had a clear view of the bodies lying next to Fred. Remus and Tonks, pale and still and peaceful-looking, apparently asleep beneath the dark, enchanted ceiling.
The Great Hall seemed to fly away, become smaller, shrink, as Harry reeled backward from the doorway. He could not draw breath. He could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see who else had died for him. He could not bear to join the Weasleys, could not look into their eyes, when if he had given himself up in the first place, Fred might never have died…
He turned away and ran up the marble staircase. Lupin, Tonks… He yearned not to feel… He wished he could rip out his heart, his innards, everything that was screaming inside him…
The castle was completely empty; even the ghosts seemed to have joined the mass mourning in the Great Hall. Harry ran without stopping, clutching the crystal flask of Snape’s last thoughts, and he did not slow down until he reached the stone gargoyle guarding the headmaster’s office.
“Password?”
“Dumbledore!” said Harry without thinking, because it was he whom he yearned to see, and to his surprise the gargoyle slid aside revealing the spiral staircase behind.
But when Harry burst into the circular office he found a change. The portraits that hung all around the walls were empty. Not a single headmaster or headmistress remained to see him; all, it seemed, had flitted away, charging through the paintings that lined the castle so that they could have a clear view of what was going on.
Harry glanced hopelessly at Dumbledore’s deserted frame, which hung directly behind the headmaster’s chair, then turned his back on it. The stone Pensieve lay in the cabinet where it had always been. Harry heaved it onto the desk and poured Snape’s memories into the wide basin with its runic markings around the edge. To escape into someone else’s head would be a blessed relief… Nothing that even Snape had left him could be worse than his own thoughts. The memories swirled, silver white and strange, and without hesitating, with a feeling of reckless abandonment, as though this would assuage his torturing grief, Harry dived.
He fell headlong into sunlight, and his feet found warm ground. When he straightened up, he saw that he was in a nearly deserted playground. A single huge chimney dominated the distant skyline. Two girls were swinging backward and forward, and a skinny boy was watching them from behind a clump of bushes. His black hair was overlong and his clothes were so mismatched that it looked deliberate: too short jeans, a shabby, overlarge coat that might have belonged to a grown man, an odd smocklike shirt.
Harry moved closer to the boy. Snape looked no more than nine or ten years old, sallow, small, stringy. There was undisguised greed in his thin face as he watched the younger of the two girls swinging higher and higher than her sister.
“Lily, don’t do it!” shrieked the elder of the two.
But the girl had let go of the swing at the very height of its arc and flown into the air, quite literally flown, launched herself skyward with a great shout of laughter, and instead of crumpling on the playground asphalt, she soared like a trapeze artist through the air, staying up far too long, landing far too lightly.
“Mummy told you not to!”
Petunia stopped her swing by dragging the heels of her sandals on the ground, making a crunching, grinding sound, then leapt up, hands on hips.
“Mummy said you weren’t allowed, Lily!”
“But I’m fine,” said Lily, still giggling. “Tuney, look at this. Watch what I can do.”
Petunia glanced around. The playground was deserted apart from themselves and, though the girls did not know it, Snape. Lily had picked up a fallen flower from the bush behind which Snape lurked. Petunia advanced, evidently torn between curiosity and disapproval. Lily waited until Petunia was near enough to have a clear view, then held out her palm. The flower sat there, opening and closing its petals, like some bizarre, many-lipped oyster.
“Stop it!” shrieked Petunia.
“It’s not hurting you,” said Lily, but she closed her hand on the blossom and threw it back to the ground.
“It’s not right,” said Petunia, but her eyes had followed the flower’s flight to the ground and lingered upon it. “How do you do it?” she added, and there was definite longing in her voice.
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Snape could no longer contain himself, but had jumped out from behind the bushes. Petunia shrieked and ran backward toward the swings, but Lily, though clearly startled, remained where she was. Snape seemed to regret his appearance. A dull flush of color mounted the sallow cheeks as he looked at Lily.
“What’s obvious?” asked Lily.
Snape had an air of nervous excitement. With a glance at the distant Petunia, now hovering beside the swings, he lowered his voice and said, “I know what you are.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re…you’re a witch,” whispered Snape.
She looked affronted.
“That’s not a very nice thing to say to somebody!”
She turned, nose in the air, and marched off toward her sister.
“No!” said Snape. He was highly colored now, and Harry wondered why he did not take off the ridiculously large coat, unless it was because he did not want to reveal the smock beneath it. He flapped after the girls, looking ludicrously batlike, like his older self.
The sisters considered him, united in disapproval, both holding on to one of the swing poles, as though it was the safe place in tag.
“You are,” said Snape to Lily. “You are a witch. I’ve been watching you for a while. But there’s nothing wrong with that. My mum’s one, and I’m a wizard.”
Petunia’s laugh was like cold water.
“Wizard!” she shrieked, her courage returned now that she had recovered from the shock of his unexpected appearance. “I know who you are. You’re that Snape boy! They live down Spinner’s End by the river,” she told Lily, and it was evident from her tone that she considered the address a poor recommendation. “Why have you been spying on us?”
“Haven’t been spying,” said Snape, hot and uncomfortable and dirty-haired in the bright sunlight. “Wouldn’t spy on you, anyway,” he added spitefully, “you’re a Muggle.”
Though Petunia evidently did not understand the word, she could hardly mistake the tone.
“Lily, come on, we’re leaving!” she said shrilly. Lily obeyed her sister at once, glaring at Snape as she left. He stood watching them as they marched through the playground gate, and Harry, the only one left to observe him, recognized Snape’s bitter disappointment, and understood that Snape had been planning this moment for a while, and that it had all gone wrong…
The scene dissolved, and before Harry knew it, re-formed around him. He was now in a small thicket of trees. He could see a sunlit river glittering through their trunks. The shadows cast by the trees made a basin of cool green shade. Two children sat facing each other, cross-legged on the ground. Snape had removed his coat now; his odd smock looked less peculiar in the half light.
“…and the Ministry can punish you if you do magic outside school, you get letters.”
“But I have done magic outside school!”
“We’re all right. We haven’t got wands yet. They let you off when you’re a kid and you can’t help it. But once you’re eleven,” he nodded importantly, “and they start training you, then you’ve got to go careful.”
There was a little silence. Lily had picked up a fallen twig and twirled it in the air, and Harry knew that she was imagining sparks trailing from it. Then she dropped the twig, leaned in toward the boy, and said, “It is real, isn’t it? It’s not a joke? Petunia says you’re lying to me. Petunia says there isn’t a Hogwarts. It is real, isn’t it?”
“It’s real for us,” said Snape. “Not for her. But we’ll get the letter, you and me.”
“Really?” whispered Lily.
“Definitely,” said Snape, and even with his poorly cut hair and his odd clothes, he struck an oddly impressive figure sprawled in front of her, brimful of confidence in his destiny.
“And will it really come by owl?” Lily whispered.
“Normally,” said Snape. “But you’re Muggle-born, so someone from the school will have to come and explain to your parents.”
“Does it make a difference, being Muggle-born?”
Snape hesitated. His black eyes, eager in the greenish gloom, moved over the pale face, the dark red hair.
“No,” he said. “It doesn’t make any difference.”
“Good,” said Lily, relaxing. It was clear that she had been worrying.
“You’ve got loads of magic,” said Snape. “I saw that. All the time I was watching you…”
His voice trailed away; she was not listening, but had stretched out on the leafy ground and was looking up at the canopy of leaves overhead. He watched her as greedily as he had watched her in the playground.
“How are things at your house?” Lily asked.
A little crease appeared between his eyes.
“Fine,” he said.
“They’re not arguing anymore?”
“Oh yes, they’re arguing,” said Snape. He picked up a fistful of leaves and began tearing them apart, apparently unaware of what he was doing. “But it won’t be that long and I’ll be gone.”
“Doesn’t your dad like magic?”
“He doesn’t like anything, much,” said Snape.
“Severus?”
A little smile twisted Snape’s mouth when she said his name.
“Yeah?”
“Tell me about the dementors again.”
“What d’you want to know about them for?”
“If I use magic outside school - ”
“They wouldn’t give you to the dementors for that! Dementors are for people who do really bad stuff. They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban. You’re not going to end up in Azkaban, you’re too - ”
He turned red again and shredded more leaves. Then a small rustling noise behind Harry made him turn: Petunia, hiding behind a tree, had lost her footing.
“Tuney!” said Lily, surprise and welcome in her voice, but Snape had jumped to his feet.
“Who’s spying now?” he shouted. “What d’you want?”
Petunia was breathless, alarmed at being caught. Harry could see her struggling for something hurtful to say.
“What is that you’re wearing, anyway?” she said, pointing at Snape’s chest. “Your mum’s blouse?”
There was a crack. A branch over Petunia’s head had fallen. Lily screamed. The branch caught Petunia on the shoulder, and she staggered backward and burst into tears.
“Tuney!”
But Petunia was running away. Lily rounded on Snape.
“Did you make that happen?”
“No.” He looked both defiant and scared.
“You did!” She was backing away from him. “You did! You hurt her!”
“No - no, I didn’t!”
But the lie did not convince Lily. After one last burning look, she ran from the little thicket, off after her sister, and Snape looked miserable and confused…
And the scene re-formed. Harry looked around. He was on platform nine and three quarters, and Snape stood beside him, slightly hunched, next to a thin, sallow-faced, sour-looking woman who greatly resembled him. Snape was staring at a family of four a short distance away. The two girls stood a little apart from their parents. Lily seemed to be pleading with her sister. Harry moved closer to listen.
“…I’m sorry, Tuney, I’m sorry! Listen - ” She caught her sister’s hand and held tight to it, even though Petunia tried to pull it away. “Maybe once I’m there - no, listen, Tuney! Maybe once I’m there, I’ll be able to go to Professor Dumbledore and persuade him to change his mind!”
“I don’t - want - to - go!” said Petunia, and she dragged her hand back out of her sister’s grasp. “You think I want to go to some stupid castle and learn to be a - a…”
Her pale eyes roved over the platform, over the cats mewling in their owners’ arms, over the owls, fluttering and hooting at each other in cages, over the students, some already in their long black robes, loading trunks onto the scarlet steam engine or else greeting one another with glad cries after a summer apart.
“ - you think I want to be a - a freak?”
Lily’s eyes filled with tears as Petunia succeeded in tugging her hand away.
“I’m not a freak,” said Lily. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
“That’s where you’re going,” said Petunia with relish. “A special school for freaks. You and that Snape boy…weirdos, that’s what you two are. It’s good you’re being separated from normal people. It’s for our safety.”
Lily glanced toward her parents, who were looking around the platform with an air of wholehearted enjoyment, drinking in the scene. Then she looked back at her sister, and her voice was low and fierce.
“You didn’t think it was such a freak’s school when you wrote to the headmaster and begged him to take you.”
Petunia turned scarlet.
“Beg? I didn’t beg!”
“I saw his reply. It was very kind.”
“You shouldn’t have read - ” whispered Petunia, “that was my private - how could you -?”
Lily gave herself away by half-glancing toward where Snape stood nearby. Petunia gasped.
“That boy found it! You and that boy have been sneaking in my room!”
“No - not sneaking - “ Now Lily was on the defensive. ”Severus saw the envelope, and he couldn’t believe a Muggle could have contacted Hogwarts, that’s all! He says there must be wizards working undercover in the postal service who take care of - “
“Apparently wizards poke their noses in everywhere!“ said Petunia, now as pale as she had been flushed. ”Freak!“ she spat at her sister, and she flounced off to where her parents stood…
The scene dissolved again. Snape was hurrying along the corridor of the Hogwarts Express as it clattered through the countryside. He had already changed into his school robes, had perhaps taken the first opportunity to take off his dreadful Muggle clothes. At last he stopped, outside a compartment in which a group of rowdy boys were talking. Hunched in a corner seat beside the window was Lily, her face pressed against the windowpane.
Snape slid open the compartment door and sat down opposite Lily. She glanced at him and then looked back out of the window. She had been crying.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said in a constricted voice.
“Why not?”
“Tuney h-hates me. Because we saw that letter from Dumbledore.“
“So what?”
She threw him a look of deep dislike.
“So she’s my sister!”
“She’s only a - “ He caught himself quickly; Lily, too busy trying to wipe her eyes without being noticed, did not hear him.
“But we’re going!” he said, unable to suppress the exhilaration in his voice. “This is it! We’re off to Hogwarts!”
She nodded, mopping her eyes, but in spite of herself, she half smiled.
“You’d better be in Slytherin,” said Snape, encouraged that she had brightened a little.
“Slytherin?”
One of the boys sharing the compartment, who had shown no interest at all in Lily or Snape until that point, looked around at the word, and Harry, whose attention had been focused entirely on the two beside the window, saw his father: slight, black-haired like Snape, but with that indefinable air of having been well-cared-for, even adored, that Snape so conspicuously lacked.
“Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?” James asked the boy lounging on the seats opposite him, and with a jolt, Harry realized that it was Sirius. Sirius did not smile.
“My whole family have been in Slytherin,” he said.
“Blimey,” said James, “and I thought you seemed all right!”
Sirius grinned.
“Maybe I’ll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you’ve got the choice?”
James lifted an invisible sword.
“‘Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!’ Like my dad.”
Snape made a small, disparaging noise. James turned on him.
“Got a problem with that?”
“No,” said Snape, though his slight sneer said otherwise. “If you’d rather be brawny than brainy - ”
“Where’re you hoping to go, seeing as you’re neither?“ interjected Sirius.
James roared with laughter. Lily sat up, rather flushed, and looked from James to Sirius in dislike.
“Come on, Severus, let’s find another compartment.”
“Oooooo…”
James and Sirius imitated her lofty voice; James tried to trip Snape as he passed.
“See ya, Snivellus!” a voice called, as the compartment door slammed…
And the scene dissolved once more…
Harry was standing right behind Snape as they faced the candlelit House tables, lined with rapt faces. Then Professor McGonagall said, “Evans, Lily!”
He watched his mother walk forward on trembling legs and sit down upon the rickety stool. Professor McGonagall dropped the Sorting Hat onto her head, and barely a second after it had touched the dark red hair, the hat cried, “Gryffindor!”
Harry heard Snape let out a tiny groan. Lily took off the hat, handed it back to Professor McGonagall, then hurried toward the cheering Gryffindors, but as she went she glanced back at Snape, and there was a sad little smile on her face. Harry saw Sirius move up the bench to make room for her. She took one look at him, seemed to recognize him from the train, folded her arms, and firmly turned her back on him.
The roll call continued. Harry watched Lupin, Pettigrew, and his father join Lily and Sirius at the Gryffindor table. At last, when only a dozen students remained to be sorted, Professor McGonagall called Snape.
Harry walked with him to the stool, watched him place the hat upon his head. “Slytherin!” cried the Sorting Hat.
And Severus Snape moved off to the other side of the Hall, away from Lily, to where the Slytherins were cheering him, to where Lucius Malfoy, a prefect badge gleaming upon his chest, patted Snape on the back as he sat down beside him…
And the scene changed…
Lily and Snape were walking across the castle courtyard, evidently arguing. Harry hurried to catch up with them, to listen in. As he reached them, he realized how much taller they both were. A few years seemed to have passed since their Sorting.
“…thought we were supposed to be friends?” Snape was saying, “Best friends?”
“We are, Sev, but I don’t like some of the people you’re hanging round with! I’m sorry, but I detest Avery and Mulciber! Mulciber! What do you see in him, Sev, he’s creepy! D’you know what he tried to do to Mary Macdonald the other day?“
Lily had reached a pillar and leaned against it, looking up into the thin, sallow face.
“That was nothing,” said Snape. “It was a laugh, that’s all - ”
“It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny - ”
“What about the stuff Potter and his mates get up to?” demanded Snape. His color rose again as he said it, unable, it seemed, to hold in his resentment.
“What’s Potter got to do with anything?” said Lily.
“They sneak out at night. There’s something weird about that Lupin. Where does he keep going?”
“He’s ill,” said Lily. “They say he’s ill - ”
“Every month at the full moon?” said Snape.
“I know your theory,” said Lily, and she sounded cold. “Why are you so obsessed with them anyway? Why do you care what they’re doing at night?”
“I’m just trying to show you they’re not as wonderful as everyone seems to think they are.“
The intensity of his gaze made her blush.
“They don’t use Dark Magic, though.“ She dropped her voice. ”And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow, and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there - “
Snape’s whole face contorted and he spluttered, “Saved? Saved? You think he was playing the hero? He was saving his neck and his friends’ too! You’re not going to - I won’t let you - ”
“Let me? Let me?“
Lily’s bright green eyes were slits. Snape backtracked at once.
“I didn’t mean - I just don’t want to see you made a fool of - He fancies you, James Potter fancies you!” The words seemed wrenched from him against his will. “And he’s not…everyone thinks…big Quidditch hero - ” Snape’s bitterness and dislike were rendering him incoherent, and Lily’s eyebrows were traveling farther and farther up her forehead.
“I know James Potter’s an arrogant toerag,“ she said, cutting across Snape. ”I don’t need you to tell me that. But Mulciber’s and Avery’s idea of humor is just evil. Evil, Sev. I don’t understand how you can be friends with them.“
Harry doubted that Snape had even heard her strictures on Mulciber and Avery. The moment she had insulted James Potter, his whole body had relaxed, and as they walked away there was a new spring in Snape’s step…
And the scene dissolved…
Harry watched again as Snape left the Great Hall after sitting his O.W.L. in Defense Against the Dark Arts, watched as he wandered away from the castle and strayed inadvertently close to the place beneath the beech tree where James, Sirius, Lupin, and Pettigrew sat together. But Harry kept his distance this time, because he knew what happened after James had hoisted Severus into the air and taunted him; he knew what had been done and said, and it gave him no pleasure to hear it again… He watched as Lily joined the group and went to Snape’s defense. Distantly he heard Snape shout at her in his humiliation and his fury, the unforgivable word: “Mudblood.”
The scene changed…
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not interested.”
“I’m sorry!”
“Save your breath”
It was nighttime. Lily, who was wearing a dressing gown, stood with her arms folded in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.
“I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here.”
“I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you Mudblood, it just - ”
“Slipped out?“ There was no pity in Lily’s voice. ”It’s too late. I’ve made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends - you see, you don’t even deny it! You don’t even deny that’s what you’re all aiming to be! You can’t wait to join You-Know-Who, can you?“
He opened his mouth, but closed it without speaking.
“I can’t pretend anymore. You’ve chosen your way, I’ve chosen mine.”
“No - listen, I didn’t mean - ”
“ - to call me Mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?”
He struggled on the verge of speech, but with a contemptuous look she turned and climbed back through the portrait hole…
The corridor dissolved, and the scene took a little longer to reform: Harry seemed to fly through shifting shapes and colors until his surroundings solidified again and he stood on a hilltop, forlorn and cold in the darkness, the wind whistling through the branches of a few leafless trees. The adult Snape was panting, turning on the spot, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, waiting for something or for someone… His fear infected Harry too, even though he knew that he could not be harmed, and he looked over his shoulder, wondering what it was that Snape was waiting for - Then a blinding, jagged jet of white light flew through the air. Harry thought of lightning, but Snape had dropped to his knees and his wand had flown out of his hand.
“Don’t kill me!”
“That was not my intention.”
Any sound of Dumbledore Apparating had been drowned by the sound of the wind in the branches. He stood before Snape with his robes whipping around him, and his face was illuminated from below in the light cast by his wand.
“Well, Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?”
“No - no message - I’m here on my own account!”
Snape was wringing his hands. He looked a little mad, with his straggling black hair flying around him.
“I - I come with a warning - no, a request - please - ”
Dumbledore flicked his wand. Though leaves and branches still flew through the night air around them, silence fell on the spot where he and Snape faced each other.
“What request could a Death Eater make of me?”
“The - the prophecy…the prediction…Trelawney…”
“Ah, yes,” said Dumbledore. “How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?”
“Everything - everything I heard!” said Snape. “That is why - it is for that reason - he thinks it means Lily Evans!”
“The prophecy did not refer to a woman,” said Dumbledore. “It spoke of a boy born at the end of July - ”
“You know what I mean! He thinks it means her son, he is going to hunt her down - kill them all - ”
“If she means so much to you,” said Dumbledore, “surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?”
“I have - I have asked him - ”
“You disgust me,” said Dumbledore, and Harry had never heard so much contempt in his voice. Snape seemed to shrink a little, “You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?”
Snape said nothing, but merely looked up at Dumbledore.
“Hide them all, then,” he croaked. “Keep her - them - safe. Please.”
“And what will you give me in return, Severus?”
“In - in return?“ Snape gaped at Dumbledore, and Harry expected him to protest, but after a long moment he said, ”Anything.“
The hilltop faded, and Harry stood in Dumbledore’s office, and something was making a terrible sound, like a wounded animal. Snape was slumped forward in a chair and Dumbledore was standing over him, looking grim. After a moment or two, Snape raised his face, and he looked like a man who had lived a hundred years of misery since leaving the wild hilltop.
“I thought…you were going…to keep her…safe…”
“She and James put their faith in the wrong person,“ said Dumbledore. ”Rather like you, Severus. Weren’t you hoping that Lord Voldemort would spare her?“
Snape’s breathing was shallow.
“Her boy survives,” said Dumbledore.
With a tiny jerk of the head, Snape seemed to flick off an irksome fly.
“Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans’s eyes, I am sure?“
“DON’T!” bellowed Snape. “Gone…dead…”
“Is this remorse, Severus?”
“I wish…I wish I were dead…“
“And what use would that be to anyone?” said Dumbledore coldly. “If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear.”
Snape seemed to peer through a haze of pain, and Dumbledore’s words appeared to take a long time to reach him.
“What - what do you mean?”
“You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily’s son.”
“He does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone - ”
“The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does.”
There was a long pause, and slowly Snape regained control of himself, mastered his own breathing. At last he said, “Very well. Very well. But never - never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear…especially Potter’s son…I want your word!”
“My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?” Dumbledore sighed, looking down into Snape’s ferocious, anguished face. “If you insist…”
The office dissolved but re-formed instantly. Snape was pacing up and down in front of Dumbledore.
“ - mediocre, arrogant as his father, a determined rule-breaker, delighted to find himself famous, attention-seeking and impertinent - ”
“You see what you expect to see, Severus,“ said Dumbledore, without raising his eyes from a copy of Transfiguration Today. ”Other teachers report that the boy is modest, likable, and reasonably talented. Personally, I find him an engaging child.“
Dumbledore turned a page, and said, without looking up, “Keep an eye on Quirrell, won’t you?”
A whirl of color, and now everything darkened, and Snape and Dumbledore stood a little apart in the entrance hall, while the last stragglers from the Yule Ball passed them on their way to bed.
“Well?” murmured Dumbledore.
“Karkaroff’s Mark is becoming darker too. He is panicking, he fears retribution; you know how much help he gave the Ministry after the Dark Lord fell.” Snape looked sideways at Dumbledore’s crooked-nosed profile. “Karkaroff intends to flee if the Mark burns.”
“Does he?” said Dumbledore softly, as Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies came giggling in from the grounds. “And are you tempted to join him?”
“No,“ said Snape, his black eyes on Fleur’s and Roger’s retreating figures. “I am not such a coward.”
“No,” agreed Dumbledore. “You are a braver man by far than Igor Karkaroff. You know, I sometimes think we Sort too soon…”
He walked away, leaving Snape looking stricken…
And now Harry stood in the headmaster’s office yet again. It was nighttime, and Dumbledore sagged sideways in the thronelike chair behind the desk, apparently semiconscious. His right hand dangled over the side, blackened and burned. Snape was muttering incantations, pointing his wand at the wrist of the hand, while with his left hand he tipped a goblet full of thick golden potion down Dumbledore’s throat. After a moment or two, Dumbledore’s eyelids fluttered and opened.
“Why,“ said Snape, without preamble, “why did you put on that ring? It carries a curse, surely you realized that. Why even touch it?”
Marvolo Gaunt’s ring lay on the desk before Dumbledore. It was cracked; the sword of Gryffindor lay beside it.
Dumbledore grimaced.
“I…was a fool. Sorely tempted…”
“Tempted by what?”
Dumbledore did not answer.
“It is a miracle you managed to return here!“ Snape sounded furious. ”That ring carried a curse of extraordinary power, to contain it is all we can hope for; I have trapped the curse in one hand for the time being - “
Dumbledore raised his blackened, useless hand, and examined it with the expression of one being shown an interesting curio.
“You have done very well, Severus. How long do you think I have?”
Dumbledore’s tone was conversational; he might have been asking for a weather forecast. Snape hesitated, and then said, “I cannot tell. Maybe a year. There is no halting such a spell forever. It will spread eventually, it is the sort of curse that strengthens over time.”
Dumbledore smiled. The news that he had less than a year to live seemed a matter of little or no concern to him.
“I am fortunate, extremely fortunate, that I have you, Severus.”
“If you had only summoned me a little earlier, I might have been able to do more, buy you more time!” said Snape furiously. He looked down at the broken ring and the sword. “Did you think that breaking the ring would break the curse?”
“Something like that…I was delirious, no doubt…“ said Dumbledore. With an effort he straightened himself in his chair. ”Well, really, this makes matters much more straightforward.“
Snape looked utterly perplexed. Dumbledore smiled.
“I refer to the plan Lord Voldemort is revolving around me. His plan to have the poor Malfoy boy murder me.”
Snape sat down in the chair Harry had so often occupied, across the desk from Dumbledore. Harry could tell that he wanted to say more on the subject of Dumbledore’s cursed hand, but the other held it up in polite refusal to discuss the matter further. Scowling, Snape said, “The Dark Lord does not expect Draco to succeed. This is merely punishment for Lucius’s recent failures. Slow torture for Draco’s parents, while they watch him fail and pay the price.”
“In short, the boy has had a death sentence pronounced upon him as surely as I have,” said Dumbledore. “Now, I should have thought the natural successor to the job, once Draco fails, is yourself?”
There was a short pause.
“That, I think, is the Dark Lord’s plan.”
“Lord Voldemort foresees a moment in the near future when he will not need a spy at Hogwarts?”
“He believes the school will soon be in his grasp, yes.”
“And if it does fall into his grasp,” said Dumbledore, almost, it seemed, as an aside, “I have your word that you will do all in your power to protect the students at Hogwarts?”
Snape gave a stiff nod.
“Good. Now then. Your first priority will be to discover what Draco is up to. A frightened teenage boy is a danger to others as well as to himself. Offer him help and guidance, he ought to accept, he likes you - ”
“ - much less since his father has lost favor. Draco blames me, he thinks I have usurped Lucius’s position.”
“All the same, try. I am concerned less for myself than for accidental victims of whatever schemes might occur to the boy. Ultimately, of course, there is only one thing to be done if we are to save him from Lord Voldemort’s wrath.“
Snape raised his eyebrows and his tone was sardonic as he asked, “Are you intending to let him kill you?”
“Certainly not. You must kill me.“
There was a long silence, broken only by an odd clicking noise. Fawkes the phoenix was gnawing a bit of cuttlebone.
“Would you like me to do it now?“ asked Snape, his voice heavy with irony. ”Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?“
“Oh, not quite yet,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “I daresay the moment will present itself in due course. Given what has happened tonight,” he indicated his withered hand, “we can be sure that it will happen within a year.”
“If you don’t mind dying,” said Snape roughly, “why not let Draco do it?”
“That boy’s soul is not yet so damaged,” said Dumbledore. “I would not have it ripped apart on my account.”
“And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?”
“You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation,” said Dumbledore. “I ask this one great favor of you, Severus, because death is coming for me as surely as the Chudley Cannons will finish bottom of this year’s league. I confess I should prefer a quick, painless exit to the protracted and messy affair it will be if, for instance, Greyback is involved - I hear Voldemort has recruited him? Or dear Bellatrix, who likes to play with her food before she eats it.”
His tone was light, but his blue eyes pierced Snape as they had frequently pierced Harry, as though the soul they discussed was visible to him. At last Snape gave another curt nod.
Dumbledore seemed satisfied.
“Thank you, Severus…”
The office disappeared, and now Snape and Dumbledore were strolling together in the deserted castle grounds by twilight.
“What are you doing with Potter, all these evenings you are closeted together?“ Snape asked abruptly.
Dumbledore looked weary.
“Why? You aren’t trying to give him more detentions, Severus? The boy will soon have spent more time in detention than out.“
“He is his father over again - ”
“In looks, perhaps, but his deepest nature is much more like his mother’s. I spend time with Harry because I have things to discuss with him, information I must give him before it is too late.”
“Information,” repeated Snape. “You trust him…you do not trust me.”
“It is not a question of trust. I have, as we both know, limited time. It is essential that I give the boy enough information for him to do what he needs to do.”
“And why may I not have the same information?”
“I prefer not to put all of my secrets in one basket, particularly not a basket that spends so much time dangling on the arm of Lord Voldemort.”
“Which I do on your orders!”
“And you do it extremely well. Do not think that I underestimate the constant danger in which you place yourself, Severus. To give Voldemort what appears to be valuable information while withholding the essentials is a job I would entrust to nobody but you.“
“Yet you confide much more in a boy who is incapable of Occlumency, whose magic is mediocre, and who has a direct connection into the Dark Lord’s mind!“
“Voldemort fears that connection,” said Dumbledore. “Not so long ago he had one small taste of what truly sharing Harry’s mind means to him. It was pain such as he has never experienced. He will not try to possess Harry again, I am sure of it. Not in that way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Lord Voldemort’s soul, maimed as it is, cannot bear close contact with a soul like Harry’s. Like a tongue on frozen steel, like flesh in flame - “
“Souls? We were talking of minds!”
“In the case of Harry and Lord Voldemort, to speak of one is to speak of the other.”
Dumbledore glanced around to make sure that they were alone. They were close by the Forbidden Forest now, but there was no sign of anyone near them.
“After you have killed me, Severus - ”
“You refuse to tell me everything, yet you expect that small service of me!“ snarled Snape, and real anger flared in the thin face now. ”You take a great deal for granted, Dumbledore! Perhaps I have changed my mind!“
“You gave me your word, Severus. And while we are talking about services you owe me, I thought you agreed to keep a close eye on our young Slytherin friend?”
Snape looked angry, mutinous. Dumbledore sighed.
“Come to my office tonight, Severus, at eleven, and you shall not complain that I have no confidence in you…”
They were back in Dumbledore’s office, the windows dark, and Fawkes sat silent as Snape sat quite still, as Dumbledore walked around him, talking.
“Harry must not know, not until the last moment, not until it is necessary, otherwise how could he have the strength to do what must be done?”
“But what must he do?”
“That is between Harry and me. Now listen closely, Severus. There will come a time - after my death - do not argue, do not interrupt! There will come a time when Lord Voldemort will seem to fear for the life of his snake.“
“For Nagini?” Snape looked astonished.
“Precisely. If there comes a time when Lord Voldemort stops sending that snake forth to do his bidding, but keeps it safe beside him under magical protection, then, I think, it will be safe to tell Harry.”
“Tell him what?”
Dumbledore took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
“Tell him that on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort’s soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself onto the only living soul left in that collapsed building. Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with Lord Voldemort’s mind that he has never understood. And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die.“
Harry seemed to be watching the two men from one end of a long tunnel, they were so far away from him, their voices echoing strangely in his ears.
“So the boy…the boy must die?” asked Snape quite calmly.
“And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential.”
Another long silence. Then Snape said, “I thought…all those years…that we were protecting him for her. For Lily.”
“We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength,” said Dumbledore, his eyes still tight shut. “Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth. Sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will truly mean the end of Voldemort.”
Dumbledore opened his eyes. Snape looked horrified.
“You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?“
“Don’t be shocked, Severus. How many men and women have you watched die?”
“Lately, only those whom I could not save,” said Snape. He stood up. “You have used me.”
“Meaning?”
“I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter’s son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter - “
“But this is touching, Severus,” said Dumbledore seriously. “Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?”
“For him?“ shouted Snape. ”Expecto Patronum!“
From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe. She landed on the office floor, bounded once across the office, and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears.
“After all this time?”
“Always,” said Snape.
And the scene shifted. Now, Harry saw Snape talking to the portrait of Dumbledore behind his desk.
“You will have to give Voldemort the correct date of Harry’s departure from his aunt and uncle’s,“ said Dumbledore. ”Not to do so will raise suspicion, when Voldemort believes you so well informed. However, you must plant the idea of decoys; that, I think, ought to ensure Harry’s safety. Try Confunding Mundungus Fletcher. And Severus, if you are forced to take part in the chase, be sure to act your part convincingly…I am counting upon you to remain in Lord Voldemort’s good books as long as possible, or Hogwarts will be left to the mercy of the Carrows…“
Now Snape was head to head with Mundungus in an unfamiliar tavern, Mundungus’s face looking curiously blank, Snape frowning in concentration.
“You will suggest to the Order of the Phoenix,“ Snape murmured, ”that they use decoys. Polyjuice Potion. Identical Potters. It’s the only thing that might work. You will forget that I have suggested this. You will present it as your own idea. You understand?“
“I understand,” murmured Mundungus, his eyes unfocused…
Now Harry was flying alongside Snape on a broomstick through a clear dark night: He was accompanied by other hodded Death Eaters, and ahead were Lupin and a Harry who was really George… A Death Eater moved ahead of Snape and raised his wand, pointing it directly at Lupin’s back.
“Sectumsempra!“ shouted Snape.
But the spell, intended for the Death Eater’s wand hand, missed and hit George instead -
And next, Snape was kneeling in Sirius’s old bedroom. Tears were dripping from the end of his hooked nose as he read the old letter from Lily. The second page carried only a few words: could ever have been friends with Gellert Grindelwald. I think her mind’s going, personally!
Lots of love, Lily
Snape took the page bearing Lily’s signature, and her love, and tucked it inside his robes. Then he ripped in two the photograph he was also holding, so that he kept the part from which Lily laughed, throwing the portion showing James and Harry back onto the floor, under the chest of drawers…
And now Snape stood again in the headmaster’s study as Phineas Nigellus came hurrying into his portrait.
“Headmaster! They are camping in the Forest of Dean! The Mudblood - ”
“Do not use that word!”
“ - the Granger girl, then, mentioned the place as she opened her bag and I heard her!”
“Good. Very good!” cried the portrait of Dumbledore behind the headmaster’s chair. “Now, Severus, the sword! Do not forget that it must be taken under conditions of need and valor - and he must not know that you give it! If Voldemort should read Harry’s mind and see you acting for him - ”
“I know,” said Snape curtly. He approached the portrait of Dumbledore and pulled at its side. It swung forward, revealing a hidden cavity behind it from which he took the sword of Gryffindor.
“And you still aren’t going to tell me why it’s so important to give Potter the sword?” said Snape as he swung a traveling cloak over his robes.
“No, I don’t think so,” said Dumbledore’s portrait. “He will know what to do with it. And Severus, be very careful, they may not take kindly to your appearance after George Weasley’s mishap - ”
Snape turned at the door.
“Don’t worry, Dumbledore,” he said coolly. “I have a plan…”
And Snape left the room. Harry rose up out of the Pensieve, and moments later he lay on the carpeted floor in exactly the same rooms Snape might just have closed the door.
　　哈利仍旧跪在斯内普旁边，直直盯着他，直到有个高高在上的冷酷声音突然在他耳边说起话来。哈利跳起来，把那只小瓶紧紧攥在手里，他以为伏地魔又回到房间来了。
　　伏地魔的声音在墙壁和地板之间回荡着，哈利这才意识到他是在对着霍格沃茨及其周边所有地区说话，这样一来霍格莫德的人和仍旧在城堡中激战的人们也能听得一清二楚，他的呼吸声如同在他们脖子后面一样。
　　那个高高冷酷的声音说：“你们战斗得很英勇，伏地魔大人知道如何褒奖勇士。”
　　“但是你们也遭受了惨重的损失，如果继续抵抗我，那你们一个个都要死。我不希望发生这种事情，巫师的血白流一滴出来都是一种浪费和损失。”
　　“伏地魔大人非常仁慈，我将下令我的部队立刻撤退。”
　　“给你们一个小时的时间，安置尸体，处理伤员。”
　　“现在我特别要跟哈利•波特说句话。你总让你的朋友去送死而不肯亲自面对我。我会在禁林中等一个小时，如果时间到了你还没有来见我，还不来投降，那时我就亲自出手了，哈利•波特，我会找到你，我会惩罚每一个试图把你藏起来的男人女人或孩子。你只有一个小时！”
　　罗恩和赫敏朝哈利拼命摇头。
　　“别听他的！”罗恩说道。
　　“没事的！”赫敏粗暴地说，“我们……我们回城堡去，如果他去禁林了拿我们就得想个新对策——”
　　她瞥了一眼斯内普的尸体，然后匆忙回到入口处。罗恩跟在她后面，哈利捡起隐身衣，朝下看着斯内普。除了被斯内普的死状和死因惊吓到以外，他什么也感觉不到。
　　他们顺着通道爬了回来，谁也没说话，哈利不知道罗恩和赫敏是否也和自己一样，脑海里还存留着伏地魔刚才的话的回声。
　　“你总让你的朋友去送死也不肯亲自面对我，我会在禁林等你一个小时……只有一个小时！”
　　城堡前面的草坪上一片狼藉，距离天亮大概还有一小时，四周却仍一片漆黑。他们三个人奋力跑向石阶。只有一只小船那么大小的狗被丢弃在他们面前，丝毫没有格洛普或他对手的影子。
　　城堡中一片不同寻常的死寂。现在闪光、爆炸声、惨叫和吼声都平息下来了。废弃的大厅入口处的石板上血迹斑斑。地上仍旧洒满了绿宝石，还有大理石和木头碎片。一部分楼梯栏杆也被摧毁了。
　　“大家都到哪儿去了？”赫敏小声说。
　　罗恩带路朝大会堂走去。哈利在门口停住了。
　　所有学院的长桌都被搬走了，屋子里挤满了人。活着的人扎堆站着，用手臂互相搂着脖子。庞弗雷夫人和助手们把伤员们抬到平台上救治。费伦泽也在伤员之中，他腰部一侧的伤口中不停地流着血，他躺在那里抽搐着，再也站不起来了。
　　牺牲的人被排成一排放在大厅中间。哈利看不见费雷德的尸体，因为他全家人把他团团围住了。乔治跪在他的前面，韦斯利太太趴在费雷德胸前，浑身颤抖着。韦斯利先生轻抚着她的头发，泪如泉涌。
　　罗恩和赫敏没跟哈利打招呼就走开了。哈利看见赫敏走到满脸肿胀血污的金妮身边拥抱她。罗恩和比尔、芙蓉、帕西在一起，他们搂着他的肩膀。金妮和赫敏朝家里人走过去时，哈利认出了费雷德身边的尸体。莱姆斯和唐克斯面色惨白的躺在那儿，安静得像是睡着了一般，他们头顶是黑沉沉的被施了魔法的天花板。
　　当哈利跌跌撞撞的从门口走回来时，原来那个大会堂忽然不见了，它变得狭小，好像萎缩了一样。他感到呼吸困难。他不敢再去看别的尸体，不敢再去看究竟还有谁为他而死。他也不敢去和韦斯利一家说话，不敢去看他们的眼睛，如果他一开始就站出来的话，弗雷德也许就不会死了……
　　他转身跑上了大理石楼梯。卢平、唐克斯……他不能再想了……他几乎想要把心拽出来，把所有内脏都拽出来，他身体内一直有什么在尖叫着……
　　城堡里空无一人了，甚至连鬼魂们也在大会堂里跟着一起哀悼死者。哈利一口气跑到校长办公室门口的滴水兽石像前才停下来，手里攥着装有斯内普记忆的瓶子。
　　“密码？”
　　“邓布利多！”哈利想也没想就这么喊道，因为他现在唯一能想到的就是邓布利多了。而令他吃惊的是，滴水兽竟然真的滑向了一边，露出身后的螺旋状楼梯。
　　但是当哈利冲进那间圆形的办公室他发现里面有一点变化。墙上挂了一圈的肖像全都空了。一个校长都没剩，可能是他们去拜访城堡其他地方的画像打听消息了。
　　哈利绝望的看了一眼挂在校长座椅后面那幅邓布利多肖像的空荡荡的画框，然后转过身。冥想盆还在柜子里的老地方。哈利把冥想盆端到桌子上，将斯内普的记忆倒进边上刻着古文字的盆里。躲进别人的大脑是件解脱……即便是斯内普的记忆也比他自己的那些强些。闪动着奇异的银白色光芒的记忆在盆里打旋转动着，哈里带着一种不管不顾毫不犹豫地把头浸入盆中，好像这样就可以暂时减轻痛苦。
　　他头朝前掉进一片阳光中，脚下是一片温暖的土地。等他站直身子，发现自己置身一个几乎废弃的操场上。遥远的天际只能看到一只巨大的烟囱。两个女孩正在来回荡秋千，一个瘦骨嶙峋的男孩躲在灌木丛后面看着她们。他的黑头发太长了，衣服很不合体，牛仔裤太短，衬衫像样式奇怪的罩衫，破烂的外衣显然是成年人穿的。
　　哈利靠近那男孩。那个时候的斯内普看上去决超不过九岁或十岁，面有菜色，矮小瘦弱。当他看着其中那个比较小的女孩荡得比姐姐越来越高时，瘦削的脸上有种难掩的渴望。
　　“莉莉，别那样！”年长一点的女孩叫道。
　　但是莉莉在秋千荡到最高点时，飞了起来，冲向天空时还发出大笑，然后她并没有掉到地上摔惨，而是像个秋千大师般在空中滑过，停留了那么久，落地时又那么轻。
　　“妈妈告诉过你别那样！”
　　佩尼用凉鞋的鞋跟触地停下了秋千，发出嘎嘎的摩擦声，然后跳起来，把手放在屁股上。
　　“妈妈说不许你那样，莉莉！”
　　“但是我没出事啊。”莉莉还是咯咯笑，“佩尼，看，看我能做这个！”
　　佩尼四下扫视了一圈，操场上除了她们还有她们并不知道的斯内普。莉莉从斯内普藏身德灌木丛中捡起一朵凋谢的花。佩尼向前走了两步，带着好奇和审视的态度。莉莉等她靠近能看清楚后，张开了手掌，那朵花在她的掌心一开一合，像是只有许多开口的奇怪牡蛎。
　　“快停下！”佩尼高叫。
　　“这也没伤到你呀。”莉莉合上手掌把花扔回地上。
　　“这是不对的！”佩尼说道，但是她的视线却跟着那朵掉落到地上的花，始终没有移开。“你怎么能做到的？”她追问道，声音里显然有一种向往。
　　“很明显，不是吗？”斯内普忍不住从灌木丛后面跳了出来。佩尼叫了一声，跑回到秋千那儿去了。但是莉莉虽然也被吓了一跳，却没有动。斯内普看起来对自己的出现感到有些抱歉，他看着莉莉，菜色的脸上渐渐涌起一阵红潮。
　　“什么很明显？”莉莉问道。
　　斯内普显得激动又紧张。他看了一眼在秋千处徘徊的佩尼，放低了声音说：“我知道你是什么人。”
　　“你什么意思？”
　　“你是……你是一个女巫。”斯内普小声说。
　　她看上去像是被冒犯了。
　　“那可不是一个好词！”
　　她转过身，昂起头，大步走回到姐姐的身边。
　　“不！”斯内普说道，他的脸红极了。哈利不明白他为什么不脱掉外面那件滑稽的外衣，除非是由于他不想把里面那件罩衫暴露出来。他追上去，宽大的外套像蝙蝠般上下扇动着，就像后来成年的他一样。
　　那对姐妹想了想，一致表示不相信他，她们抱着支撑秋千的一根柱子不放，好像那里是个安全之所。
　　“你是！”斯内普对莉莉说。“你是一个女巫！我看了你好一会儿了，但是那并没什么，我妈妈就是个女巫，而我也是一个巫师！”
　　“巫师！”她叫道。现在她从他意外出现带来的震惊中恢复过来了，“我知道你是谁了！你是那个斯内普家的孩子！他们住在河边的蜘蛛尾巷子头上！”她告诉莉莉。那种语调表示她觉得那个地址就是着恶劣的象征。“你为什么监视我们？”
　　“我没有监视！
Chapter 35 King’s Cross
He lay facedown, listening to the silence. He was perfectly alone. Nobody was watching. Nobody else was there. He was not perfectly sure that he was there himself.
A long time later, or maybe no time at all, it came to him that he must exist, must be more than disembodied thought, because he was lying, definitely lying, on some surface. Therefore he had a sense of touch, and the thing against which he lay existed too.
Almost as soon as he had reached this conclusion, Harry became conscious that he was naked. Convinced as he was of his total solitude, this did not concern him, but it did intrigue him slightly. He wondered whether, as he could feel, he would be able to see. In opening them, he discovered that he had eyes.
He lay in a bright mist, though it was not like mist he had ever experienced before. His surroundings were not hidden by cloudy vapor; rather the cloudy vapor had not yet formed into surroundings. The floor on which he lay seemed to be white, neither warm nor cold, but simply there, a flat, blank something on which to be.
He sat up. His body appeared unscathed. He touched his face. He was not wearing glasses anymore.
Then a noise reached him through the unformed nothingness that surrounded him: the small soft thumpings of something that flapped, flailed, and struggled. It was a pitiful noise, yet also slightly indecent. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was eavesdropping on something furtive, shameful.
For the first time, he wished he were clothed.
Barely had the wish formed in his head than robes appeared a short distance away. He took them and pulled them on. They were soft, clean, and warm. It was extraordinary how they had appeared just like that, the moment he had wanted them….
He stood up, looking around. Was he in some great Room of Requirement? The longer he looked, the more there was to see. A great domed glass roof glittered high above him in sunlight. Perhaps it was a palace. All was hushed and still, except for those odd thumping and whimpering noises coming from somewhere close by in the mist….
Harry turned slowly on the spot, and his surroundings seemed to invent themselves before his eyes. A wide-open space, bright and clean, a hall larger by far than the Great Hall, with that clear domed glass ceiling. It was quite empty. He was the only person there, except for - He recoiled. He had spotted the thing that was making the noises. It had the form of a small, naked child, curled on the ground, its skin raw and rough, flayed-looking, and it lay shuddering under a seat where it had been left, unwanted, stuffed out of sight, struggling for breath.
He was afraid of it. Small and fragile and wounded though it was, he did not want to approach it. Nevertheless he drew slowly nearer, ready to jump back at any moment. Soon he stood near enough to touch it, yet he could not bring himself to do it. He felt like a coward. He ought to comfort it, but it repulsed him.
“You cannot help.”
He spun around. Albus Dumbledore was walking toward him, sprightly and upright, wearing sweeping robes of midnight blue.
“Harry.” He spread his arms wide, and his hands were both whole and white and undamaged. “You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man. Let us walk.”
Stunned, Harry followed as Dumbledore strode away from where the flayed child lay whimpering, leading him to two seats that Harry had not previously noticed, set some distance away under that high, sparkling ceiling. Dumbledore sat down in one of them, and Harry fell into the other, staring at his old headmaster’s face. Dumbledore’s long silver hair and beard, the piercingly blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles, the crooked nose: Everything was as he had remembered it. And yet…
“But you’re dead,” said Harry.
“Oh yes,” said Dumbledore matter-of-factly.
“Then… I’m dead too?”
“Ah,” said Dumbledore, smiling still more broadly. “That is the question, isn’t it? On the whole, dear boy, I think not.”
They looked at each other, the old man still beaming.
“Not?” repeated Harry.
“Not,” said Dumbledore.
“But…” Harry raised his hand instinctively toward the lightning scar. It did not seem to be there. “But I should have died - I didn’t defend myself! I meant to let him kill me!”
“And that,” said Dumbledore, “will, I think, have made all the difference.”
Happiness seemed to radiate from Dumbledore like light; like fire: Harry had never seen the man so utterly, so palpably content.
“Explain,” said Harry.
“But you already know,” said Dumbledore. He twiddled his thumbs together.
“I let him kill me,” said Harry. “Didn’t I?”
“You did,” said Dumbledore, nodding. “Go on!”
“So the part of his soul that was in me…”
Dumbledore nodded still more enthusiastically, urging Harry onward, a broad smile of encouragement on his face.
“… has it gone?”
“Oh yes!” said Dumbledore. “Yes, he destroyed it. Your soul is whole, and completely your own, Harry.”
“But then…”
Harry trembled over his shoulder to where the small, maimed creature trembled under the chair.
“What is that, Professor?”
“Something that is beyond either of our help,” said Dumbledore.
“But if Voldemort used the Killing Curse,” Harry started again, “and nobody died for me this time - how can I be alive?”
“I think you know,” said Dumbledore. “Think back. Remember what he did, in his ignorance, in his greed and his cruelty.”
Harry thought. He let his gaze drift over his surroundings. If it was indeed a palace in which they sat, it was an odd one, with chairs set in little rows and bits of railing here and there, and still, he and Dumbledore and the stunted creatures under the chair were the only beings there. Then the answer rose to his lips easily, without effort.
“He took my blood,” said Harry.
“Precisely!” said Dumbledore. “He took your blood and rebuilt his living body with it! Your blood in his veins, Harry, Lily’s protection inside both of you! He tethered you to life while he lives!”
“I live… while he lives? But I thought… I thought it was the other way around! I thought we both had to die? Or is it the same thing?”
He was distracted by the whimpering and thumping of the agonized creature behind them and glanced back at it yet again.
“Are you sure we can’t do anything?”
“There is no help possible.”
“Then explain… more,” said Harry, and Dumbledore smiled.
“You were the seventh Horcrux, Harry, the Horcrux he never meant to make. He had rendered his soul so unstable that it broke apart when he committed those acts of unspeakable evil, the murder of your parents, the attempted killing of a child. But what escaped from that room was even less than he knew. He left more than his body behind. He left part of himself latched to you, the would-be victim who had survived.”
“And his knowledge remained woefully incomplete, Harry! That which Voldemort does not value, he takes no trouble to comprehend. Of house-elves and children’s tales, of love, loyalty, and innocence, Voldemort knows and understands nothing. Nothing. That they all have a power beyond his own, a power beyond the reach of any magic, is a truth he has never grasped.”
“He took your blood believing it would strengthen him. He took into his body a tiny part of the enchantment your mother laid upon you when she died for you. His body keeps her sacrifice alive, and while that enchantment survives, so do you and so does Voldemort’s one last hope for himself.”
Dumbledore smiled at Harry, and Harry stared at him.
“And you knew this? You knew - all along?”
“I guessed. But my guesses have usually been good,” said Dumbledore happily, and they sat in silence for what seemed like a long time, while the creature behind them continued to whimper and tremble.
“There’s more,” said Harry. “There’s more to it. Why did my wand break the wand he borrowed?”
“As to that, I cannot be sure.”
“Have a guess, then,” said Harry, and Dumbledore laughed.
“What you must understand, Harry, is that you and Lord Voldemort have journeyed together into realms of magic hitherto unknown and untested. But here is what I think happened, and it is unprecedented, and no wandmaker could, I think, ever have predicted or explained it to Voldemort.”
“Without meaning to, as you now know, Lord Voldemort doubled the bond between you when he returned to a human form. A part of his soul was still attached to yours, and, thinking to strengthen himself, he took a part of your mother’s sacrifice into himself. If he could only have understood the precise and terrible power of that sacrifice, he would not, perhaps, have dared to touch your blood…. But then, if he had been able to understand, he could not be Lord Voldemort, and might never have murdered at all.”
“Having ensured this two-fold connection, having wrapped your destinies together more securely than ever two wizards were joined in history, Voldemort proceeded to attack you with a wand that shared a core with yours. And now something very strange happened, as we know. The cores reacted in a way that Lord Voldemort, who never knew that your wand was a twin of his, had ever expected.”
“He was more afraid than you were that night, Harry. You had accepted, even embraced, the possibility of death, something Lord Voldemort has never been able to do. Your courage won, your wand overpowered his. And in doing so, something happened between those wands, something that echoed the relationship between their masters.”
“I believe that your wand imbibed some of the power and qualities of Voldemort’s wand that night, which is to say that it contained a little of Voldemort himself. So your wand recognized him when he pursued you, recognized a man who was both kin and mortal enemy, and it regurgitated some of his own magic against him, magic much more powerful than anything Lucius’s wand had ever performed. Your wand now contained the power of your enormous courage and of Voldemort’s own deadly skill: What chance did that poor stick of Lucius Malfoy’s stand?”
“But if my wand was so powerful, how come Hermione was able to break it?” asked Harry.
“My dear boy, its remarkable effects were directed only at Voldemort, who had tampered so ill-advisedly with the deepest laws of magic. Only toward him was that wand abnormally powerful. Otherwise it was a wand like any other… though a good one, I am sure,” Dumbledore finished kindly.
Harry sat in thought for a long time, or perhaps seconds. It was very hard to be sure of things like time, here.
“He killed me with your wand.”
“He failed to kill you with my wand,” Dumbledore corrected Harry. “I think we can agree that you are not dead - though, of course,” he added, as if fearing he had been discourteous, “I do not minimize your sufferings, which I am sure were severe.”
“I feel great at the moment, though,” said Harry, looking down at his clean, unblemished hands. “Where are we, exactly?”
“Well, I was going to ask you that,” said Dumbledore, looking around. “Where would you say that we are?”
Until Dumbledore had asked, Harry had not known. Now, however, he found that he had an answer ready to give.
“It looks,” he said slowly, “like King’s Cross station. Except a lo cleaner and empty, and there are no trains as far as I can see.”
“King’s Cross station!” Dumbledore was chuckling immoderately. “Good gracious, really?”
“Well, where do you think we are?” asked Harry, a little defensively.
“My dear boy, I have no idea. This is, as they say, your party.”
Harry had no idea what this meant; Dumbledore was being infuriating. He glared at him, then remembered a much more pressing question than that of their current location.
“The Deathly Hallows,” he said, and he was glad to see that the words wiped the smile from Dumbledore’s face.
“Ah, yes,” he said. He even looked a little worried.
“Well?”
For the first time since Harry had met Dumbledore, he looked less than an old man, much less. He looked fleetingly like a small boy caught in wrongdoing.
“Can you forgive me?” he said. “Can you forgive me for not trusting you? For not telling you? Harry, I only feared that you would fail as I had failed. I only dreaded that you would make my mistakes. I crave your pardon, Harry. I have known, for some time now, that you are the better man.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Harry, startled by Dumbledore’s tone, by the sudden tears in his eyes.
“The Hallows, the Hallows,” murmured Dumbledore. “A desperate man’s dream!”
“But they’re real!”
“Real, and dangerous, and a lure for fools,” said Dumbledore. “And I was such a fool. But you know, don’t you? I have no secrets from you anymore. You know.”
“What do I know?”
Dumbledore turned his whole body to face Harry, and tears still sparkled in the brilliantly blue eyes.
“Master of death, Harry, master of Death! Was I better, ultimately, than Voldemort?”
“Of course you were,” said Harry. “Of course - how can you ask that? You never killed if you could avoid it!”
“True, true,” said Dumbledore, and he was like a child seeking reassurance. “Yet I too sought a way to conquer death, Harry.”
“Not the way he did,” said Harry. After all his anger at Dumbledore, how odd it was to sit here, beneath the high, vaulted ceiling, and defend Dumbledore from himself. “Hallows, not Horcruxes.”
“Hallows,” murmured Dumbledore, “not Horcruxes. Precisely.”
There was a pause. The creature behind them whimpered, but Harry no longer looked around.
“Grindelwald was looking for them too?” he asked.
Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment and nodded.
“It was the thing, above all, that drew us together,” he said quietly. “Two clever, arrogant boys with a shared obsession. He wanted to come to Godric’s Hollow, as I am sure you have guessed, because of the grave of Ignotus Peverell. He wanted to explore the place the third brother had died.”
“So it’s true?” asked Harry. “All of it? The Peverell brothers - ”
“ - were the three brothers of the tale,” said Dumbledore, nodding. “Oh yes, I think so. Whether they met Death on a lonely road… I think it more likely that the Peverell brothers were simply gifted, dangerous wizards who succeeded in creating those powerful objects. The story of them being Death’s own Hallows seems to me the sort of legend that might have sprung up around such creations.”
“The Cloak, as you know now, traveled down through the ages, father to son, mother to daughter, right down to Ignotus’s last living descendant, who was born, as Ignotus was, in the village of Godric’s Hollow.”
Dumbledore smiled at Harry.
“Me?”
“You. You have guessed. I know, why the Cloak was in my possession on the night your parents died. James had showed it to me just a few days previously. It explained much of his undetected wrongdoing at school! I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I asked to borrow it, to examine it. I had long since given up my dream of uniting the Hallows, but I could not resist, could not help taking a closer look…. It was a Cloak the likes of which I had never seen, immensely old, perfect in every respect… and then your father died, and I had two Hallows at last, all to myself!”
His tone was unbearably bitter.
“The Cloak wouldn’t have helped them survive, though,” Harry said quickly. “Voldemort knew where my mum and dad were. The Cloak couldn’t have made them curse-proof.”
“True,” sighed Dumbledore. “True.”
Harry waited, but Dumbledore did not speak, so he prompted him.
“So you’d given up looking for the Hallows when you saw the Cloak?”
“Oh yes,” said Dumbledore faintly. It seemed that he forced himself to meet Harry’s eyes. “You know what happened. You know. You cannot despise me more than I despise myself.”
“But I don’t despise you - ”
“Then you should,” said Dumbledore. He drew a deep breath. “You know the secret of my sister’s ill health, what those Muggles did, what she became. You know how my poor father sought revenge, and paid the price, died In Azkaban. You know how my mother gave up her own life to care for Ariana.”
“I resented it, Harry.”
Dumbledore stated it baldly, coldly. He was looking now over the top of Harry’s head, into the distance.
“I was gifted, I was brilliant. I wanted to escape. I wanted to shine. I wanted glory.”
“Do not misunderstand me,” he said, and pain crossed the face so that he looked ancient again. “I loved them, I loved my parents, I loved my brother and my sister, but I was selfish, Harry, more selfish than you, who are a remarkably selfless person, could possibly imagine.”
“So that, when my mother died, and I was left the responsibility of a damaged sister and a wayward brother, I returned to my village in anger and bitterness. Trapped and wasted, I thought! And then of course, he came….”
Dumbledore looked directly into Harry’s eyes again.
“Grindelwald. You cannot imagine how his ideas caught me, Harry, inflamed me. Muggles forced into subservience. We wizards triumphant. Grindelwald and I, the glorious young leaders of the revolution.”
“Oh, I had a few scruples. I assuaged my conscience with empty words. It would all be for the greater good, and any harm done would be repaid a hundredfold in benefits for wizards. Did I know, in my heart of hearts, what Gellert Grindelwald was? I think I did, but I closed my eyes. If the plans we were making came to fruition, all my dreams would come true.”
“And at the heart of our schemes, the Deathly Hallows! How they fascinated him, how they fascinated both of us! The unbeatable wand, the weapon that would lead us to power! The Resurrection Stone - to him, though I pretended not to know it, it meant an army of Inferi! To me, I confess, it meant the return of my parents, and the lifting of all responsibility from my shoulders.”
“And the Cloak… somehow, we never discussed the Cloak much, Harry. Both of us could conceal ourselves well enough without the Cloak, the true magic of which, of course, is that it can be used to protect and shield others as well as its owner. I thought that, if we ever found it, it might be useful in hiding Ariana, but our interest in the Cloak was mainly that it completed the trio, for the legend said that the man who had united all three objects would then be truly master of death, which we took to mean ‘invincible.’”
“Invincible masters of death, Grindelwald and Dumbledore! Two months of insanity, of cruel dreams, and neglect of the only two members of my family left to me.”
“And then… you know what happened. Reality returned in the form of my rough, unlettered, and infinitely more admirable brother. I did not want to hear the truths he shouted at me. I did not want to hear that I could not set forth and seek Hallows with a fragile and unstable sister in tow.”
“The argument became a fight. Grindelwald lost control. That which I had always sensed in him, though I pretended not to, now sprang into terrible being. And Ariana… after all my mother’s care and caution… lay dead upon the floor.”
Dumbledore gave a little gasp and began to cry in earnest. Harry reached out and was glad to find that he could touch him: He gripped his arm tightly and Dumbledore gradually regained control.
“Well, Grindelwald fled, as anyone but I could have predicted. He vanished, with his plans for seizing power, and his schemes for Muggle torture, and his dreams of the Deathly Hallows, dreams in which I had encouraged him and helped him. He ran, while I was left to bury my sister, and learn to live with my guilt and my terrible grief, the price of my shame.”
“Years passed. There were rumors about him. They said he had procured a wand of immense power. I, meanwhile, was offered the post of Minister of Magic, not once, but several times. Naturally, I refused. I had learned that I was not to be trusted with power.”
“But you’d have been better, much better, than Fudge or Scimgeour!” burst out Harry.
“Would I?” asked Dumbledore heavily. “I am not so sure. I had proven, as a very young man, that power was my weakness and my temptation. It is a curious thing, Harry, but perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it. Those who, like you, have leadership thrust upon them, and take up the mantle because they must, and find to their own surprise that they wear it well.”
“I was safer at Hogwarts. I think I was a good teacher - ”
“You were the best -”
“- you are very kind, Harry. But while I busied myself with the training of young wizards, Grindelwald was raising an army. They say he feared me, and perhaps he did, but less, I think, than I feared him.”
“Oh, not death,” said Dumbledore, in answer to Harry’s questioning look. “Not what he could do to me magically. I knew that we were evenly matched, perhaps that I was a shade more skillful. It was the truth I feared. You see, I never knew which of us, in that last, horrific fight, had actually cast the curse that killed my sister. You may call me cowardly: You would be right, Harry. I dreaded beyond all things the knowledge that it had been I who brought about her death, not merely through my arrogance and stupidity, but that I actually struck the blow that snuffed out her life.”
“I think he knew it, I think he knew what frightened me. I delayed meeting him until finally, it would have been too shameful to resist any longer. People were dying and he seemed unstoppable, and I had to do what I could.”
“Well, you know what happened next. I won the duel. I won the wand.”
Another silence. Harry did not ask whether Dumbledore had ever found out who struck Ariana dead. He did not want to know, and even less did he want Dumbledore to have to tell him. At last he knew what Dumbledore would have seen when he looked in the mirror of Erised, and why Dumbledore had been so understanding of the fascination it had exercised over Harry.
They sat in silence for a long time, and the whipmerings of the creature behind them barely disturbed Harry anymore.
At last he said, “Grindelwald tried to stop Voldemort going after the wand. He lied, you know, pretended he had never had it.”
Dumbledore nodded, looking down at his lap, tears still glittering on the crooked nose.
“They say he showed remorse in later years, alone in his cell at Nurmengard. I hope that is true. I would like to think that he did feel the horror and shame of what he had done. Perhaps that lie to Voldemort was his attempt to make amends… to prevent Voldemort from taking the Hallow…”
“…or maybe from breaking into your tomb?” suggested Harry, and Dumbledore dabbed his eyes.
After another short pause Harry said, “You tried to use the Resurrection Stone.”
Dumbledore nodded.
“When I discovered it, after all those years, buried in the abandoned home of the Gaunts - the Hallow I had craved most of all, though in my youth I had wanted it for very different reasons - I lost my head, Harry. I quite forgot that I was not a Horcrux, that the ring was sure to carry a curse. I picked it up, and I put it on, and for a second I imagined that I was about to see Ariana, and my mother, and my father, and to tell them how very, very sorry, I was….”
“I was such a fool, Harry. After all those years I had learned nothing. I was unworthy to unite the Deathly Hallows, I had proved it time and again, and here was final proof.”
“Why?” said Harry. “It was natural! You wanted to see them again. What’s wrong with that?”
“Maybe a man in a million could unite the Hallows, Harry. I was fit only to possess the meanest of them, the least extraordinary. I was fit to own the Elder Wand, and not boast of it, and not to kill with it. I was permitted to tame and use it, because I took it, not for gain, but to save others from it.”
“But the Cloak, I took out of vain curiousity, and so it could never have worked for me as it works for you, its true owners. The stone I would have used in an attempt to drag back those who are at peace, rather than enable my self-sacrifice, as you did. You are the worthy possessor of the Hallows.”
Dumbledore patted Harry’s hand, and Harry looked up at the old man and smiled; he could not help himself. How could he remain angry with Dumbledore now?
“Why did you have to make it so difficult?”
Dumbledore’s smile was tremulous.
“I am afraid I counted on Miss Granger to slow you up, Harry. I was afraid that your hot head might dominate your good heart. I was scared that, if presented outright with the facts about those tempting objects, you might seize the Hallows as I did, at the wrong time, for the wrong reasons. If you laid hands on them, I wanted you to possess them safely. You are the true master of death, because the true master does not seek to run away from Death. He accepts that he must die, and understands that there are far, far worse things in the living world than dying.”
“And Voldemort never knew about the Hallows?”
“I do not think so, because he did not recognize the Resurrection Stone he turned into a Horcrux. But even if he had known about them, Harry. I doubt that he would have been interested in any except the first. He would not think that he needed the Cloak, and as for the stone, whom would he want to bring back from the dead? He fears the dead. He does not love.”
“But you expected him to go after the wand?”
“I have been sure that he would try, ever since your wand beat Voldemort’s in the graveyard of Little Hangleton. At first, he was afraid that you had conquered him by superior skill. Once he had kidnapped Ollivander, however, he discovered the existence of the twin cores. He thought that explained everything. Yet the borrowed wand did no better against yours! So Voldemort, instead of asking himself what quality it was in you that had made your wand so strong, what gift you possessed that he did not, naturally set out to find the one wand that, they said, would beat any other. For him, the Elder Wand has become an obsession to rival his obsession with you. He believes that the Elder Wand removes his last weakness and makes him truly invincible. Poor Severus…”
“If you planned your death with Snape, you meant him to end up with the Elder Wand, didn’t you?”
“I admit that was my intention,” said Dumbledore, “but it did not work as I intended, did it?”
“No,” said Harry. “That bit didn’t work out.”
The creature behind them jerked and moaned, and Harry and Dumbledore sate without talking for the longest time yet. The realization of what would happen next settled gradually over Harry in the long minutes, like softly falling snow.
“I’ve got to go back, haven’t I?”
“That is up to you.”
“I’ve got a choice?”
“Oh yes,” Dumbledore smiled at him. “We are in King’s Cross you say? I think that if you decided not to go back, you would be able to… let’s say… board a train.”
“And where would it take me?”
“On,” said Dumbledore simply.
Silence again.
“Voldemort’s got the Elder Wand.”
“True. Voldemort has the Elder Wand.”
“But you want me to go back?”
“I think,” said Dumbledore, “that if you choose to return, there is a chance that he may be finished for good. I cannot promise it. But I know this, Harry, that you have less to fear from returning here than he does.”
Harry glanced again at the raw looking thing that trembled and choked in the shadow beneath the distant chair.
“Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and above all, those who live without love. By returning, you may ensure that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families are torn apart. If that seems to you a worthy goal, they we saw good-bye for the present.”
Harry nodded and sighed. Leaving this place would not be nearly as hard as walking into the forest had been, but it was warm and light and peaceful here, and he knew that he was heading back to pain and the fear of more loss. He stood up, and Dumbledore did the same, and they looked for a long moment into each other’s faces.
“Tell me one last thing,” said Harry, “Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?”
Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry’s ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure.
“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?”
　　他趴在地上，想在这一片寂静中听见哪怕一点点的声音。但他确实是一个人。没有人在监视他，也没有其他的任何人在这儿。甚至他自己都无法完全肯定他是不是在这儿。
　　很长一段时间过去了，不过可能也只是一会儿的工夫，一个想法出现在他的脑海里：他必须活下去。这个想法比任何别的想法都实在，因为他躺着，实实在在地躺着，在某个未知的平面上，他还有触觉，而他躺在上面的那个东西也是实实在在地存在着的。
　　几乎在他下定结论的同时，哈利意识到他是赤裸着的。但是由于完全确信了这里只有他一个人，所以这对于他来说就无所谓了，这并没有激起他的一点兴趣。他只想知道，既然他有触觉，那他是不是应该还有视觉呢，在他睁开眼睛的时候，哈利发现自己还看得见。
　　哈利躺在一片迷雾中，一片与他以前从未见过的与众不同的迷雾。他周围的环境并没有被雾气遮掩，更恰当地说是那些雾气还没来得急去形成他周围的景物。他躺在上面的地板似乎一片空白，只是一个简单的能承载东西的平面。
　　他坐了起来，他的身上没有伤口，他摸了摸自己的脸，他根本没有戴眼镜。
　　一阵噪音通过他周围这些无形的虚无传到了他的耳边。那是一个什么东西挣扎着拍打带着枷锁的翅膀的声音，那是一个令人感到同情的声音，同时也令人不安。他有一种很不舒服的感觉，好像他在鬼鬼祟祟地偷听一样，有些可耻。
　　这时，他希望他是穿着衣服的。还没等这个想法在他的脑中更清晰一些，不远处就出现了一件礼袍。他拿起它并穿在了身上，这件礼袍柔软，干净又温暖。但奇特的是为什么它会在他想要的时候就立刻出现了呢……
　　他站起身，看了看四周。他是不是在有求必应屋里?他越往远看，看见的东西就越多。他的头顶上是一个在阳光下闪闪发亮的玻璃半球形屋顶，也许这里是一个宫殿。一切都是寂静的，除了那些从离迷雾不远处的某个地方传来的哀号声……
　　哈利开始慢慢地感觉到了不安，周围的事物开始在他眼前出现。一个宽敞的空间，明亮而干净，比学校的礼堂还大的大厅，以及一个闪亮的半球形天花板，这里十分空荡，只有他一个人，除了——
　　他后退了一步，他看见了发出那个声音的东西，它的形状看起来像一个裸体的婴儿，它蜷缩在地板上，皮肤很粗糙，好像被剥了皮，它躺在一个凳子下面，不知为什么好像被憋住了一般，吃力地喘着气。
　　他害怕它，尽管它只是一个很小很脆弱，像受伤的婴儿一样的东西，他还是不想靠近它。然而他还是慢慢地向它走去，并随时准备着转身跑回来。很快地，他已经近到可以碰到它了，但是他还是不敢这么做，他觉得自己很懦弱。他应该去安慰它为它减轻痛苦，即使它憎恶地排斥着他。
　　“你帮不了它。”
　　当他在它周围转来转去的时候，邓布利多向他走来，脚步轻快而挺拔，他身穿着一件破旧的深蓝色长袍。
　　“哈利。”他张开手臂，他的双手都是白皙而完整的。“你是一个很棒的小伙子，你很勇敢，是一个勇敢的人，来，我们一起走。”
　　哈利吃惊地跟着邓布利多大步离开了那哀号的无皮婴儿。前面有两把椅子，但哈利之前并没有注意到它们，它们被放置在不远处的又高又亮的天花板下面。邓布利多在一把椅子上坐下，而哈利坐进了另一把椅子，他愣愣地盯着自己以前的校长的脸庞。邓布利多银色的长发和胡须，半月眼镜后面的睿智的蓝眼睛，还有鹰钩鼻:一切都同他记忆中的一模一样，但是……
　　“但是你已经死了。”哈利说。
　　“哦，是的。”邓布利多实事求是地说。
　　“那么……我也死了?”
　　“啊。"邓布利多安静地微笑着说，"这倒是个问题，不是吗?”
　　“基本上说，我亲爱的孩子，我认为没有。”
　　“没有?”哈利重复道。
　　“没有。”邓布利多说。
　　“但是……”哈利本能地把手伸向了他的闪电形伤疤，它好像不在了，“但是我一定是死了--我并没有保护我自己，我愚蠢地让他杀了我！”
　　“我想那，”邓布利多说，“一定就是问题的关键。”
　　快乐像灯光，像火焰一般从邓布利多的身上散发出来:哈利从来没见过这个男人如此彻底地满足。
　　“请解释一下吧。”哈利说。
　　“但是你已经知道了。”邓布利多无聊地玩着手指。
　　“我让他杀了我，”哈利说，“不是吗?”
　　“是的，”邓布利多点了点头，“继续说。”
　　“所以说，那部分在我的体内的灵魂……”
　　邓布利多更加狂热地点了点头，脸上绽开了灿烂的笑容。
　　“那它被毁掉了吗?”
　　“哦，是的！”邓布利多说，“他亲手毁掉了它，而现在你的灵魂是完整的，完全是你自己的，哈利。”
　　哈利颤抖着肩膀向他们身后那个在凳子底下躺着的受了伤还在发抖的生物望去。
　　“那是什么，教授?”
　　“我们谁也帮不上忙的东西罢了。”邓布利多说。
　　“但是如果伏地魔使用了死咒，”哈利重新开口说，“而这次没有人为了保护我而死去--那我是怎么活下来的呢?”
　　“我认为你是知道的，”邓布利多说。“你往回想，回忆，在他的无知，他的贪婪和他的残酷的驱使下，他都做了什么。”
　　哈利拼命地思考，用眼睛扫视周围的一切，如果他们真的坐在一个宫殿里，那这也是一个临时的宫殿，凳子杂乱地排列着，到处都是栏杆，而他，邓布利多和那个小东西仍然是这里唯一的生物，答案很容易地就跑到了嘴边，不费吹灰之力。
　　“他用了我的血。”哈利说。
　　“完全正确！”邓布利多说，“他用了你的血去重获他的肉身，你的血成了他身体的组成部分，哈利，莉莉的保护魔咒在你们俩的身上同时起作用。导致了只要他活着，你就会活着！”
　　“他活着……我就活着?但是我还以为……我有着完全相反的想法！我以为我们会同归于尽，那这是一回事吗?”
　　他被他们身后的那个生物痛苦的呜咽声搅得心烦意乱，不断地回头去看。
　　“你确定我们真的不能为它做点什么吗?”
　　“不可能有办法帮它。”
　　“那么……就请再接着解释。”哈利说。邓布利多微笑着。
　　“你是第七个魂器，哈利，一个他从来没想过要制作的魂器，他使他的灵魂变得极度不稳定，以至于当他做出杀死你的父母，还企图要杀死小孩子的邪恶行为时，灵魂就自动分裂了出来。但是从那间屋子里逃出来时，他绝对不知道他留下的不只是他的身体，他还使他的一部分灵魂和你——谋杀的幸存者——锁在了一起。
　　“但是他知道的东西一直都少得可怜，哈利，这是伏地魔最没用的地方，他从来不费神去理解去领会，关于家养小精灵与孩子们的故事，关于爱，关于忠诚和清白，伏地魔不理解也不知道这些，什么也不知道。而这些东西所拥有的力量是远远超过他的，是任何魔法都无法匹敌的，这是一个他永远也理解不了的事实。
　　“他以为他用了你的血就可以使他强大起来，他把你母亲的一小部分魔法也带进了他的体内。她的爱也留存在了他的体内，所以你是伏地魔最后的寄托。”
　　邓布利多微笑着看着哈利，而哈利则盯着他。
　　“那你知道这些?你……一直都知道?”
　　“我猜的，但是我的猜测通常是对的。”邓布利多欢快地说。
　　他们似乎静静地坐了好久，直到他们身后的那个生物开始继续呜咽和颤抖。
　　“还有，”哈利说，“还有一个问题，为什么我的魔杖毁坏了他借来的魔杖?”
　　“这个，我也不太清楚。”
　　“那你就猜一下。”哈利说。邓布利多笑了几声。
　　“你必须要知道的，哈利，就是你和伏地魔已经共同进入了一个未知的魔法领域。我也只能推测一下是怎么回事，毕竟这是从来没出现过的情况，没有一个魔杖制造师能预料得到这种情况或是，向伏地魔解释清楚前因后果。
　　“你现在知道了，伏地魔恢复肉身时无意间使你们两人之间的联系加强了，他的一部分灵魂仍然依赖于你，而为了使自己更强大，他吸收了一部分你母亲的爱。如果他知道这种爱的无比强大的可怕力量的话，我想他是不敢去碰你的血的……不过，如果他早就知道的话，那他就不会做伏地魔了，更不会杀死那么多人了。
　　“确认了这种互相的联系，也就确认了你们两人的命运是空前地紧密相连的，伏地魔用一根和你的魔杖杖心相连的魔杖去攻击了你。结果奇怪的事情发生了，两根魔杖的杖心稍稍起了反应，伏地魔怎么也想不到他的魔杖和你的魔杖是兄弟，这是他从未预料到的。
　　“其实那天晚上他比你还要担心害怕，哈利，你面对甚至接受了可能到来的死亡，这是伏地魔他永远也做不到的，你在精神上和勇气上获胜了，你的魔杖压制住了他的，而这时，两个魔杖间出现了反应，这正显示出了它们主人之间的联系。
　　“我认为那天晚上你的魔杖从他的魔杖中吸收了一部分魔法，甚至包含一部分伏地魔自己的力量。所以在他追击你的时候你的魔杖认出了他，认出了这个既是兄弟又是死敌的人，于是你的魔杖反涌出了一些伏地魔自己的力量来攻击他，卢修斯的魔杖从来没承受过如此强大的力量。现在你的魔杖包含着你的巨大的勇气和伏地魔致命的力量:卢修斯的破魔杖怎么可能挺得住呢?”
　　“那既然我的魔杖有如此强大的力量，那为什么赫敏还能把它弄坏呢?”哈利问。
　　“我亲爱的孩子，它的不寻常的力量只是针对伏地魔的，伏地魔他对魔法的规则是如此地无知，只有对他，魔杖才显示出不寻常的力量，换句话说，这时你的魔杖几乎就和拥有极其强大力量的魔杖一样了，我确信。”邓布利多温和地结束了这番话。
　　哈利坐在那儿想了好久，或者可能也就是几秒，在这种地方很难感觉到“时间”。
　　“他用你的魔杖杀了我。”
　　“他打算要用我的魔杖杀你，但他失败了。”邓布利多纠正哈利说。“我想我们可以确定你没有死--当然，”他加上一句，似乎是怕有些失礼，“我不是在说你没有受难，我确定你受的折磨已经够多了。”
　　“尽管这样，但我此时此刻感觉很好。”哈利说，一边低头看他那干净无疵的手。“那么，我们到底在哪里?”
　　"哦，我正想问你这个问题，"邓布利多环顾周围，说，“你认为我们这是在那儿?”
　　在邓布利多问之前，哈利还不知道，但是现在，他发现自己已经有了答案。
　　“看起来，”他慢慢地说，“好像是国王十字车站。但是这里空空的，连清洁工也没有，而且在我看来，这里也没有火车。”"
　　“国王十字车站！”邓布利多毫不掩饰地咯咯笑了起来。“多么美好，是真的吗?”
　　“好吧，那你说我们这是在哪里？”哈利心怀戒备地说。
　　“亲爱的波特，我根本不知道。但据他们说，这是你的派对。”
　　哈利不明白这是什么意思。邓布利多让他恼怒了。哈利对他怒目而视，然后他想起有比他们当前处境中的问题更紧急的事情。
　　“死圣，”他说，满意地看到邓布利多脸上的微笑随着他的话消失了。
　　“啊，是的。”他说。他看上去甚至有些焦虑。“怎么了？”
　　从哈利第一次见到邓布利多起，他就从来没像现在这样如此的不像一个老人，一点都不像。他看起来就像一个被抓住做错事的顽皮男孩。
　　“你会原谅我么？”他说，“你会原谅我对你不信任么？原谅我没有把一切告诉你？哈利，我只是害怕你会像我一样失败。我只是害怕你会犯和我一样的错误。我希望你能原谅我，哈利。我知道，很久以来我就知道，你是一个优秀的男子汉。”
　　“你要说什么？”哈利问，被邓布利多的音调镇住了，还有他的眼睛里突然冒出的泪水。
　　“死圣， 死圣，”邓布利多咕哝说，“一个绝望男人的梦想！”
　　“但是它们是真实存在的！”
　　“是真实存在的，而且是危险的，还引来了一大群傻瓜。”邓布利多说，“我就是一个这么愚蠢的人。但是你是知道的，不是吗？我对你再也没有什么秘密了，你知道的。”
　　“我知道什么？”
　　邓布利多将他整个身子转过来朝向哈利，眼泪在他的明亮的蓝眼睛里闪闪发光。
　　“死亡之杖，哈利，死亡之杖！从根本上说，与伏地魔相比，我要好一些吗？”
　　“你当然比他好，”哈利说，“当然——你问这个干什么？你从来都尽可能避免杀人。”
　　“是的，是的，”邓布利多说，他就像一个寻找定心丸的孩子，“然而，我也曾经寻求过征服死亡的方法，哈利”
　　“不是他那种方法。”哈利说。毕竟他开始对邓布利多生气了，但是他所能做的只是在高高的拱形的天花板下坐下来，听着邓布利多为自己辩护。
　　“是死圣，不是魂器。”
　　“是死圣，”邓布利多嘀咕着，“不是魂器，真的。”
　　接下来是一阵沉默。他们后面的生物发出呜咽声，但哈利不再去注意它了。
　　“格林德沃也在找它们？”他问。
　　邓布利多闭了一会眼睛，点了点头。
　　“那件事，是最最重要的，使我们走到一起。”邓布利多安静地说，“两个聪明而自负的男孩子共同的向往。他想要去高锥克山谷——我可以肯定你已经猜到了——是因为伊格诺思?佩弗利尔的坟墓。他想要探访第三个弟弟死去的地方。”

　　“这么说那个故事是真的？”哈利说，“全都是真的？佩弗利尔三兄弟——”
　　“——正是故事里的三兄弟。”邓布利多点了点头，“哦，是的，我是这样想的。无论他们是否在一条孤单的小路上遇到了死神……我觉得更有可能的是佩弗利尔兄弟只是很有天赋的懂黑魔法的巫师，他们成功地制作出了那些威力强大的魔法物件。那个他们最后成为死神的圣徒的故事，对我而言是可以让我兴奋得跳起来的传说。
　　“那件斗篷，正如你所知，随着时间流传下来，从父亲到儿子，母亲到女儿，一直流传到伊格诺思的最后一批后代，就像伊格诺思一样在高锥克山谷出生的人。”
　　邓布利多向哈利微笑着。
　　“我？”
　　“你。你猜得很对。我知道，为什么斗篷在你父母死去的时候会属于我，詹姆在那之前的几天展示给我看过。这样就解释了为什么他在学校里做了那么多违纪的事却没有被发现。我几乎不能相信我所看到的。我借走了它，想要研究一下。自从我放弃集齐死圣已经有很长时间了，但是我也忍不住，我忍不住想要好好看看……它是我从未见过的斗篷，非常旧，但在各个方面都很完美……然后你的父亲死去了，我最终有了两件死圣，完全属于我！”
　　他的声音忍不住露出痛苦之意。
　　“但斗篷也不会帮助他们活下来，”哈利很快地说，“伏地魔知道了我的父母在哪里。而斗篷并不能抵抗咒语。”
　　“是的，”邓布利多叹着气说，“是的。”哈利等着，但是邓布利多不再说话，所以哈利开始提示他。
　　“所以当你见到斗篷时就放弃了寻找死圣？”
　　“哦，是的。”邓布利多微弱地说。看上去他是强迫自己面对着哈利的眼睛。“你知道发生了什么，你知道的。不过你不会比我更轻视我自己。”
　　“可我没有轻视你。”
　　“以后你会的。”邓布利多说。他深深地呼吸，“你知道我的妹妹得病的秘密，那是麻瓜干的，让她变成了那个样子。你知道我可怜的父亲是如何寻找他们报仇，如何被判了刑，如何在阿兹卡班死去的。你也知道我的妈妈用尽一生来照顾阿瑞娜。
　　“我憎恨这一切，哈利。”
　　邓布利多坦率而冷淡的说了这一切。他的目光越过哈利的头顶，看向远方。
　　“我是极有天赋的，我是才华横溢的。我想要逃离。我想要出人头地。我想要得到荣誉。
　　“别误解我，”他说，痛苦在他的脸上显现，使他看上去又变回了老人，“我爱他们，我爱我的父母，我爱我的弟弟妹妹。但是我是自私的，哈利，比你——一个非常无私的人——能够想象得到的要自私得多。
　　“所以，在我的母亲死去后，我承担起了照顾有病的妹妹和任性的弟弟的职责，我既愤怒又悲痛地回到了我的村庄。我想这使我陷入困境而且浪费了我的时间。就在这个时候，他来了……”
　　邓布利多再次直视着哈利的双眼。
　　“格林德沃。你简直无法想象他的想法是怎样吸引了我，哈利，让我着迷。麻瓜被我们用武力强迫去做一些对我们有用的事。我们巫师胜利了。格林德沃和我，成了两个年轻的光荣领袖。
　　“哦，我还是有顾虑的。但我用空洞的语言抚慰我的良心。一切都会变好的，任何伤害麻瓜的行为都会带给巫师无数好处。在我内心深处，我会不知道格林德沃是个什么样的人吗？我想我知道，但是我闭上双眼，不去理睬。如果我们的计划实现了，我所有的梦想都会成真。
　　“而且在我们计划的核心，就是死圣！它们令他那么着迷，它们令我们俩那么着迷！那个无懈可击的魔杖可以引导我们拥有极端的力量！那块回魂石对他而言——虽然在他面前我假装我不知道——是一支阴尸军队，而对我而言，我承认，那意味着我父母的重生，我肩负着重大的使命
　　“至于斗篷……不知道为什么，我们从来没有过多的讨论过斗篷，哈利。我们两个可以不借助斗篷而很好的隐藏自己，依靠魔法，当然，是那种你可以保护主人和遮挡其他人的魔法。我想，如果我们找到了它，可能会对藏起阿瑞娜很管用。但是我们对斗篷的最主要的兴趣在于它是那三样东西的组成部分，传说中人只有得到所有三样东西才能征服死亡，那个被我们认定为是不可能被征服的东西。
　　“无敌的死神！格林德沃和邓布利多！癫狂的两个月，噩梦般的两个月，使我疏忽了遗留下来的我的两个家庭成员。
　　“然后，你就知道发生什么了。我的粗鲁的、无知的却更值得敬佩的弟弟告诉我妹妹病重。我不想听到他吵着告诉我妹妹的事，我不想听到自己因为一个多病而娇弱的妹妹而无法出行去寻找死圣。
　　“争执演变成了斗殴。格林德沃失去了控制。我从一开始就知道他是这样的人，但是我假装我不知道，结果他暴露出了他凶残的一面，而阿瑞娜……尽管她曾受到我母亲的细心呵护……但此刻她还是不可避免地躺在地上死去了。”
　　邓布利多发出了一阵气喘声，留下真挚的眼泪。哈利伸出手，很高兴地发现他可以碰触到邓布利多。他紧紧地抓住的邓布利多的胳膊，让他渐渐地平静下来。
　　“然后，格林德沃逃跑了，除了我以外没有人想到他会离开。他消失了，带着他争权夺势的计划，折磨麻瓜的阴谋，以及对死圣的梦想——我曾经鼓励他帮助他实现的梦想。他逃走了，而我留下来将妹妹下葬，并学着在内疚和沉重的哀痛里生活。那是我人生中最可耻的一笔。
　　“年复一年，关于他的传闻很多。人们说他获得了一根拥有无限力量的魔杖。在此期间，我不只一次被邀请担任魔法部长。自然的，我拒绝了，我知道我并不适合执掌权力……”
　　“但你比福吉和斯克林杰强多了！”哈利大声喊出来。
　　“是吗？”邓布利多沉重的问“我可不那么确定。当我是一个年轻人时，我曾证明，权力虽然对我有诱惑力，但那却是我的弱点。这是很奇怪的，哈利，不过也许最适合掌权的人正是那些从未刻意去追求过它的人。那些像你一样的人，当有领导任务强加在他们身上时，他们只好穿上制服，因为他们不得不这样做，然后他们便惊奇地发现他们能够做得很好。我在霍格沃茨会更安全。而且我认为我是一个不错的教授--”
　　“您是最棒的！”
　　“你很善良，哈利。但正当我忙于训练年轻巫师的时候，格林德沃建立起了一个军队。人们说他很害怕我，但也许，和他害怕我比起来，我更惧怕他。
　　“哦，不是怕死。”邓布利多说，回答了哈利脸上的疑问。“不是怕他可能会对我施的魔法，我们是势均力敌的——也许我还更胜一筹。我害怕的是事情的真相。听我说，我永远也不知道在那个令人毛骨耸然的夜里，到底是谁最后发射咒语杀死了我的妹妹。你也许会说我胆怯，你是对的，哈利，我最害怕的是我一直认为阿瑞娜是因我而死，不仅因为我的傲慢和愚蠢，更是因为我，带来那场使阿瑞娜死亡的争斗的我啊！
　　“我认为他知道，我认为他知道是什么使我恐惧，我一直拒绝与他会面，直到再拒绝就太不体面了。人总有一死，但他的死亡看来已经无法避免，而我只好做一些我不得不做的事情。
　　“然后，你知道发生了什么，我赢了那场决斗，赢得了那根魔杖。”
　　又一阵静默。哈利没有问邓布利多是否查明了杀死阿瑞娜的到底是谁。他不想知道，也没打算让邓布利多会告诉他。他终于知道了当邓布利多朝厄里斯魔镜中看去的时候他会看见什么，也明白了为什么邓布利多会那么理解哈利对厄里斯魔镜的着迷。
　　他们静静地坐了很久，他们身后那个生物的呜咽声已经不再能打扰哈利了。
　　最后哈利说，“格林德沃尽力阻止了伏地魔去追寻那根魔杖。他说了谎，你知道的，他对伏地魔谎称自己从来都没有过那根魔杖。”
　　邓布利多点了点头，低头看着他自己的膝盖，弯弯的鹰钩鼻上依然闪着泪光。
　　“他们说他在之后的几年里显示出了自责，他独自待在努尔蒙德的地下室里，我希望这是真的，我情愿相信他为了他所做的一切感到恐惧和懊悔，也许对伏地魔说谎就是他在企图弥补他的过错……防止伏地魔拿走死圣。”
　　“也许也是防止他入侵你的坟墓?”哈利提出，邓布利多轻轻地眨了眨眼。
　　在又一次的短暂静默之后，哈利说，“你曾经试着用过回魂石。”
　　邓布利多点了点头。
　　“当我终于在冈特老宅找到已被埋葬多年的回魂石——那个我最渴望得到的死圣， 尽管我年轻的时候想要它是出于另一个完全不同的目的----时，我失去了理智，哈利。我完全忘记了那是一个魂器，忘记了那个戒指一定带着诅咒。我只是拿起它并把它戴上，那一刻我想象着我就要见到阿瑞娜，见到我的母亲和父亲了，然后告诉他们我非常抱歉，非常对不起他们—
　　“我就是这样一个傻瓜，哈利。这么多年来我什么也没学到。我没有资格去集齐死圣，这已被反反复复地证实过，而那是最后一次。”
　　“为什么?”哈利说，“那是人之常情，你希望可以再见他们一面，有什么错吗?”
　　“也许一百万个人里才可能有一个人有资格集齐，哈利。而我只配得到它们中最低劣，最不起眼的，我只配得到长老魔杖，而且不能借此自夸，更不能用它杀人。而且这个对我来说也不是极其适合的。我被允许去驯服和使用它，因为我不是为了获得财富，而是想凭借它去帮助别人。
　　“但是那件斗篷，我白白对它好奇了那么久，显然它不可能对我像对你一样那么听话，你才是它真正的主人。至于那块石头，我一直尽力想用它让人起死回生，而不是像你一样自我牺牲。你是最适合拥有死圣的人。
　　邓布利多轻轻地拍了拍哈利的手，哈利抬起头望着这个老人，脸上露出了笑容。他控制不了自己，可他现在怎么可能还生邓布利多的气呢?
　　“你为什么把它弄得这么复杂?”
　　邓布利多的笑容颤了一下。
　　“我想依靠格兰杰小姐使你放慢速度，我怕你头脑发热，不理智占据了的美好心灵，我怕如果那些诱人的魔法物件直接出现在你眼前，你也会像我一样在错误的时间，因为一些错误的理由去夺取这些死圣。当你拥有它们时，我希望你是清醒的。你是真正能征服死亡的人，因为能真正征服死亡的人是从来不会试图去寻找逃避死亡的方法的，他接受了他一定会死的事实，而且他明白，在世界上有远比死亡更糟糕的事情。”
　　“伏地魔从来都不知道死圣吗?”
　　“我认为是的，因为他并没有认出回魂石而直接把它做成了魂器。但即使他知道它们，哈利，我也怀疑他是否会感兴趣。他不会认为他需要那个斗篷，至于那块石头，他会想让谁复活呢?他怕死，而他不会爱。”
　　“但是你料到了他会追寻那根魔杖?”
　　“我肯定他会去试试，自从你的魔杖在小汉顿村的墓地里打败他的魔杖。开始，他还以为你是用出众的技术打败了他。但自从那次他绑架了奥利凡德，他就发现了两根魔杖的杖心之间的联系。他认为这就解释了一切。但那个借来的魔杖并不能更好的和你抗衡。所以伏地魔没有去思考你是怎样让你的魔杖变得如此强大，你到底是有哪种他所没有的才能，而是很自然的去寻找他们所谓的一种所向无敌的魔杖。对他来说，长老魔杖就是他认为的可以挫败你的东西，他确信长老魔杖可以填补他唯一的弱点，使他所向披靡。可怜的西弗勒斯……”
　　“如果你的死亡是你和斯内普计划好了的，那么你是想让他和长老魔杖一起完蛋，是吗？
　　“我承认那是我的目的” 邓布利多说“但它没有和我预想的一样发生，不是吗？
　　“是啊”哈利说“并没有起作用。”
　　他们身后的生物不停地呜咽和抽筋。哈利和邓布利多已经很久没有再说话。接下来会发生的事情在哈利的脑中逐渐清晰，就好像轻轻飘落的雪花。
　　“我该回去了，是不是?”
　　“你自己决定。"
　　"我有其他的选择吗?"
　　“哦，是的” 邓布利多笑着说“你不是说我们在国王十字车站嘛？如果你不想回去，你也许可以…让我们想想…坐火车！”
　　“它会带我去哪里？”
　　“带你继续走下去。”邓布利多简单的说。
　　沉默再次将他们包围。
　　“伏地魔已经得到了长老魔杖”
　　“是的。伏地魔得到了长老魔杖。”
　　“但是你想让我回去？”
　　“我认为，”邓布利多说，“如果你选择回去，就会有机会让他彻底失败。我不敢保证。但是我知道，哈利，对于你回去这件事，他比你更害怕。”
　　哈利又看了一眼那看上去像被剥了皮的东西，它正在不远处冷冰冰的椅子下的阴影中颤抖着喘不过来气来。
　　“不要怜悯死者，哈利。要同情那些活着的人，更要同情那些生活中没有爱的人。话又说回来，你可能会使更多的灵魂免于受到伤害，使更多的家庭免于妻离子散。如果这对你来说是一个有价值的目标的话，那么，我们就要暂时分开了。”
　　哈利点点头，叹了一口气。离开这里远不如当初走进禁林那么艰难，但是，这个地方是这样的温暖明亮和宁静的，而他知道他回去就要面对痛苦，恐惧和更多的失去。他站起身来，邓布利多也这样做了，他们互相凝望了很长时间。
　　“告诉我最后一件事，”哈利说，“这是真的吗？或者这只是我的头脑中的想象？”
　　邓布利多看向他，他的声音在哈利的耳朵里显得如此明朗有力，尽管明亮的雾再次暗了下来，模糊了他的身影。“这当然是出现在你头脑中的，哈利，可这真的就能说明这是虚假的吗？”