Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - Rowling Joanne Kathleen - Страница 81

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“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.

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 an Erumpent 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 spattergroit, 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.”

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