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.
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Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
There was a little silence.
There was a little silence.
“I see,” said Dumbledore eventually, peering at Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles and giving Harry the usual sensation that he was being X-rayed. “And
you feel that you have exerted your very best efforts in this matter, do you? That you have exercised all of your considerable ingenuity? That you have left no depth of
cunning unplumbed in your quest to retrieve the memory?”
“Well,” Harry stalled, at a loss for what to say next. His single attempt to get hold of the memory suddenly seemed embarrassingly feeble. “Well... the day Ron
swallowed love potion by mistake I took him to Professor Slughorn. I thought maybe if I got Professor Slughorn in a good enough mood —”
“And did that work?” asked Dumbledore.
“Well, no, sir, because Ron got poisoned —”
“— which, naturally, made you forget all about trying to retrieve the memory; I would have expected nothing else, while your best friend was in danger. Once it became
clear that Mr. Weasley was going to make a full recovery, however, I would have hoped that you returned to the task I set you. I thought I made it clear to you how very
important that memory is. Indeed, I did my best to impress upon you that it is the most crucial memory of all and that we will be wasting our time without it.”
A hot, prickly feeling of shame spread from the top of Harry's head all the way down his body. Dumbledore had not raised his voice, he did not even sound angry, but
Harry would have preferred him to yell; this cold disappointment was worse than anything.
“Sir,” he said, a little desperately, “it isn't that I wasn't bothered or anything, I've just had other—other thing...”
“Other things on your mind,” Dumbledore finished the sentence for him. “I see.”
Silence fell between them again, the most uncomfortable silence Harry had ever experienced with Dumbledore; it seemed to go on and on, punctuated only by the little
grunting snores of the portrait of Armando Dippet over Dumbledore's head. Harry felt strangely diminished, as though he had shrunk a little since he had entered the
room.
When he could stand it no longer he said, “Professor Dumbledore, I'm really sorry. I should have done more... I should have realized you wouldn't have asked me to do
it if it wasn't really important.”
“Thank you for saying that, Harry,” said Dumbledore quietly. “May I hope, then, that you will give this matter higher priority from now on? There will be little
point in our meeting after tonight unless we have that memory.”
“I'll do it, sir, I'll get it from him,” he said earnestly.
“Then we shall say no more about it just now,” said Dumbledore more kindly, “but continue with our story where we left off. You remember where that was?”
“Yes, sir,” said Harry quickly. “Voldemort killed his father and his grandparents and made it look as though his Uncle Morfin did it. Then he went back to Hogwarts
and he asked ... he asked Professor Slughorn about Horcruxes,” he mumbled shamefacedly.
“Very good,” said Dumbledore. “Now, you will remember, I hope, that I told you at the very outset of these meetings of ours that we would be entering the realms of
guesswork and speculation?”
“Yes, sir".
“I see,” said Dumbledore eventually, peering at Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles and giving Harry the usual sensation that he was being X-rayed. “And
you feel that you have exerted your very best efforts in this matter, do you? That you have exercised all of your considerable ingenuity? That you have left no depth of
cunning unplumbed in your quest to retrieve the memory?”
“Well,” Harry stalled, at a loss for what to say next. His single attempt to get hold of the memory suddenly seemed embarrassingly feeble. “Well... the day Ron
swallowed love potion by mistake I took him to Professor Slughorn. I thought maybe if I got Professor Slughorn in a good enough mood —”
“And did that work?” asked Dumbledore.
“Well, no, sir, because Ron got poisoned —”
“— which, naturally, made you forget all about trying to retrieve the memory; I would have expected nothing else, while your best friend was in danger. Once it became
clear that Mr. Weasley was going to make a full recovery, however, I would have hoped that you returned to the task I set you. I thought I made it clear to you how very
important that memory is. Indeed, I did my best to impress upon you that it is the most crucial memory of all and that we will be wasting our time without it.”
A hot, prickly feeling of shame spread from the top of Harry's head all the way down his body. Dumbledore had not raised his voice, he did not even sound angry, but
Harry would have preferred him to yell; this cold disappointment was worse than anything.
“Sir,” he said, a little desperately, “it isn't that I wasn't bothered or anything, I've just had other—other thing...”
“Other things on your mind,” Dumbledore finished the sentence for him. “I see.”
Silence fell between them again, the most uncomfortable silence Harry had ever experienced with Dumbledore; it seemed to go on and on, punctuated only by the little
grunting snores of the portrait of Armando Dippet over Dumbledore's head. Harry felt strangely diminished, as though he had shrunk a little since he had entered the
room.
When he could stand it no longer he said, “Professor Dumbledore, I'm really sorry. I should have done more... I should have realized you wouldn't have asked me to do
it if it wasn't really important.”
“Thank you for saying that, Harry,” said Dumbledore quietly. “May I hope, then, that you will give this matter higher priority from now on? There will be little
point in our meeting after tonight unless we have that memory.”
“I'll do it, sir, I'll get it from him,” he said earnestly.
“Then we shall say no more about it just now,” said Dumbledore more kindly, “but continue with our story where we left off. You remember where that was?”
“Yes, sir,” said Harry quickly. “Voldemort killed his father and his grandparents and made it look as though his Uncle Morfin did it. Then he went back to Hogwarts
and he asked ... he asked Professor Slughorn about Horcruxes,” he mumbled shamefacedly.
“Very good,” said Dumbledore. “Now, you will remember, I hope, that I told you at the very outset of these meetings of ours that we would be entering the realms of
guesswork and speculation?”
“Yes, sir".
Ron looked both sulky and annoyed when he appeared
Ron looked both sulky and annoyed when he appeared at breakfast half an hour later, and though he sat with Lavender, Harry did not see them exchange a word all the time
they were together. Hermione was acting as though she was quite oblivious to all of this, but once or twice Harry saw an inexplicable smirk cross her face. All that day
she seemed to be in a particularly good mood, and that evening in the common room she even consented to look over (in other words, finish writing) Harry's Herbology
essay, something she had been resolutely refusing to do up to this point, because she had known that Harry would then let Ron copy his work.
“Thanks a lot, Hermione,” said Harry, giving her a hasty pat on the back as he checked his watch and saw that it was nearly eight o'clock. “Listen, I've got to hurry
or I'll be late for Dumbledore...”
She did not answer, but merely crossed out a few of his feebler sentences in a weary sort of way. Grinning, Harry hurried out through the portrait hole and off to the
Headmaster's office. The gargoyle leapt aside at the mention of toffee eclairs, and Harry took the spiral staircase two steps at a time, knocking on the door just as a
clock within chimed eight.
“Enter,” called Dumbledore, but as Harry put out a hand to push the door, it was wrenched open from inside. There stood Professor Trelawney.
“Aha!” she cried, pointing dramatically at Harry as she blinked at him through her magnifying spectacles.
“So this is the reason I am to be thrown unceremoniously from your office, Dumbledore!”
“My dear Sybill,” said Dumbledore in a slightly exasperated voice, “there is no question of throwing you unceremoniously from anywhere, but Harry does have an
appointment, and I really don't think there is any more to be said —”
“Very well,” said Professor Trelawney, in a deeply wounded voice. “If you will not banish the usurping nag, so be it... perhaps I shall find a school where my
talents are better appreciated...”
She pushed past Harry and disappeared down the spiral staircase; they heard her stumble halfway down, and Harry guessed that she had tripped over one of her trailing
shawls.
“Please close the door and sit down, Harry,” said Dumbledore, sounding rather tired.
Harry obeyed, noticing as he took his usual seat in front of Dumbledore's desk that the Pensieve lay between them once more, as did two more tiny crystal bottles full
of swirling memory.
“Professor Trelawney still isn't happy Firenze is teaching, then?” Harry asked.
“No,” said Dumbledore, “Divination is turning out to be much more trouble than I could have foreseen, never having studied the subject myself. I cannot ask Firenze
to return to the forest, where he is now an outcast, nor can I ask Sybill Trelawney to leave. Between ourselves, she has no idea of the danger she would be in outside
the castle. She does not know—and I think it would be unwise to enlighten her—that she made the prophecy about you and Voldemort, you see.”
Dumbledore heaved a deep sigh, then said, “But never mind my staffing problems. We have much more important matters to discuss. Firstly—have you managed the task I
set you at the end of our previous lesson?”
“Ah,” said Harry, brought up short. What with Apparition lessons and Quidditch and Ron being poisoned and getting his skull cracked and his determination to find out
what Draco Malfoy was up to, Harry had almost forgotten about the memory Dumbledore had asked him to extract from Professor Slughorn. “Well, I asked Professor Slughorn
about it at the end of Potions, sir, but, er, he wouldn't give it to me.”
they were together. Hermione was acting as though she was quite oblivious to all of this, but once or twice Harry saw an inexplicable smirk cross her face. All that day
she seemed to be in a particularly good mood, and that evening in the common room she even consented to look over (in other words, finish writing) Harry's Herbology
essay, something she had been resolutely refusing to do up to this point, because she had known that Harry would then let Ron copy his work.
“Thanks a lot, Hermione,” said Harry, giving her a hasty pat on the back as he checked his watch and saw that it was nearly eight o'clock. “Listen, I've got to hurry
or I'll be late for Dumbledore...”
She did not answer, but merely crossed out a few of his feebler sentences in a weary sort of way. Grinning, Harry hurried out through the portrait hole and off to the
Headmaster's office. The gargoyle leapt aside at the mention of toffee eclairs, and Harry took the spiral staircase two steps at a time, knocking on the door just as a
clock within chimed eight.
“Enter,” called Dumbledore, but as Harry put out a hand to push the door, it was wrenched open from inside. There stood Professor Trelawney.
“Aha!” she cried, pointing dramatically at Harry as she blinked at him through her magnifying spectacles.
“So this is the reason I am to be thrown unceremoniously from your office, Dumbledore!”
“My dear Sybill,” said Dumbledore in a slightly exasperated voice, “there is no question of throwing you unceremoniously from anywhere, but Harry does have an
appointment, and I really don't think there is any more to be said —”
“Very well,” said Professor Trelawney, in a deeply wounded voice. “If you will not banish the usurping nag, so be it... perhaps I shall find a school where my
talents are better appreciated...”
She pushed past Harry and disappeared down the spiral staircase; they heard her stumble halfway down, and Harry guessed that she had tripped over one of her trailing
shawls.
“Please close the door and sit down, Harry,” said Dumbledore, sounding rather tired.
Harry obeyed, noticing as he took his usual seat in front of Dumbledore's desk that the Pensieve lay between them once more, as did two more tiny crystal bottles full
of swirling memory.
“Professor Trelawney still isn't happy Firenze is teaching, then?” Harry asked.
“No,” said Dumbledore, “Divination is turning out to be much more trouble than I could have foreseen, never having studied the subject myself. I cannot ask Firenze
to return to the forest, where he is now an outcast, nor can I ask Sybill Trelawney to leave. Between ourselves, she has no idea of the danger she would be in outside
the castle. She does not know—and I think it would be unwise to enlighten her—that she made the prophecy about you and Voldemort, you see.”
Dumbledore heaved a deep sigh, then said, “But never mind my staffing problems. We have much more important matters to discuss. Firstly—have you managed the task I
set you at the end of our previous lesson?”
“Ah,” said Harry, brought up short. What with Apparition lessons and Quidditch and Ron being poisoned and getting his skull cracked and his determination to find out
what Draco Malfoy was up to, Harry had almost forgotten about the memory Dumbledore had asked him to extract from Professor Slughorn. “Well, I asked Professor Slughorn
about it at the end of Potions, sir, but, er, he wouldn't give it to me.”
Chapter 20 Lord Voldemort's Request
Chapter 20 Lord Voldemort's Request
Harry and Ron left the hospital wing first thing on Monday morning, restored to full health by the ministrations of Madam Pomfrey and now able to enjoy the benefits of
having been knocked out and poisoned, the best of which was that Hermione was friends with Ron again. Hermione even escorted them down to breakfast, bringing with her
the news that Ginny had argued with Dean. The drowsing creature in Harry's chest suddenly raised its head, sniffing the air hopefully.
“What did they row about?” he asked, trying to sound casual as they turned onto a seventh-floor corridor that was deserted but for a very small girl who had been
examining a tapestry of trolls in tutus. She looked terrified at the sight of the approaching sixth years and dropped the heavy brass scales she was carrying.
“It's all right!” said Hermione kindly, hurrying forward to help her. “Here ...”
She tapped the broken scales with her wand and said, “Reparo.” The girl did not say thank you, but remained rooted to the spot as they passed and watched them out of
sight; Ron glanced back at her.
“I swear they're getting smaller,” he said.
“Never mind her,” said Harry, a little impatiently. “What did Ginny and Dean row about, Hermione?”
“Oh, Dean was laughing about McLaggen hitting that Bludger at you,” said Hermione.
“It must've looked funny,” said Ron reasonably.
“It didn't look funny at all!” said Hermione hotly. “It looked terrible and if Coote and Peakes hadn't caught Harry he could have been very badly hurt!”
“Yeah, well, there was no need for Ginny and Dean to split up over it,” said Harry, still trying to sound casual. “Or are they still together?”
“Yes, they are—but why are you so interested?” asked Hermione, giving Harry a sharp look.
“I just don't want my Quidditch team messed up again!” he said hastily, but Hermione continued to look suspicious, and he was most relieved when a voice behind them
called, “Harry!” giving him an excuse to turn his back on her.
“Oh, hi, Luna.”
“I went to the hospital wing to find you,” said Luna, rummaging in her bag. “But they said you'd left...”
She thrust what appeared to be a green onion, a large spotted toadstool, and a considerable amount of what looked like cat litter into Ron's hands, finally pulling out
a rather grubby scroll of parchment that she handed to Harry.
“... I've been told to give you this.”
It was a small roll of parchment, which Harry recognized at once as another invitation to a lesson with Dumbledore.
“Tonight,” he told Ron and Hermione, once he had unrolled it.
“Nice commentary last match!” said Ron to Luna as she took back the green onion, the toadstool, and the cat litter. Luna smiled vaguely.
“You're making fun of me, aren't you?” she said. “Everyone says I was dreadful.”
“No, I'm serious!” said Ron earnestly. “I can't remember enjoying commentary more! What is this, by the way?” he added, holding the onionlike object up to eye
level.
“Oh, it's a Gurdyroot,” she said, stuffing the cat litter and the toadstool back into her bag. “You can keep it if you like, I've got a few of them. They're really
excellent for warding off Gulping Plimpies.”
And she walked away, leaving Ron chortling, still clutching the Gurdyroot.
“You know, she's grown on me, Luna,” he said, as they set off again for the Great Hall. “I know she's insane, but it's in a good —”
He stopped talking very suddenly. Lavender Brown was standing at the foot of the marble staircase looking thunderous.
“Hi,” said Ron nervously.
“C'mon,” Harry muttered to Hermione, and they sped past, though not before they had heard Lavender say, “Why didn't you tell me you were getting out today? And why
was she with you?”
Harry and Ron left the hospital wing first thing on Monday morning, restored to full health by the ministrations of Madam Pomfrey and now able to enjoy the benefits of
having been knocked out and poisoned, the best of which was that Hermione was friends with Ron again. Hermione even escorted them down to breakfast, bringing with her
the news that Ginny had argued with Dean. The drowsing creature in Harry's chest suddenly raised its head, sniffing the air hopefully.
“What did they row about?” he asked, trying to sound casual as they turned onto a seventh-floor corridor that was deserted but for a very small girl who had been
examining a tapestry of trolls in tutus. She looked terrified at the sight of the approaching sixth years and dropped the heavy brass scales she was carrying.
“It's all right!” said Hermione kindly, hurrying forward to help her. “Here ...”
She tapped the broken scales with her wand and said, “Reparo.” The girl did not say thank you, but remained rooted to the spot as they passed and watched them out of
sight; Ron glanced back at her.
“I swear they're getting smaller,” he said.
“Never mind her,” said Harry, a little impatiently. “What did Ginny and Dean row about, Hermione?”
“Oh, Dean was laughing about McLaggen hitting that Bludger at you,” said Hermione.
“It must've looked funny,” said Ron reasonably.
“It didn't look funny at all!” said Hermione hotly. “It looked terrible and if Coote and Peakes hadn't caught Harry he could have been very badly hurt!”
“Yeah, well, there was no need for Ginny and Dean to split up over it,” said Harry, still trying to sound casual. “Or are they still together?”
“Yes, they are—but why are you so interested?” asked Hermione, giving Harry a sharp look.
“I just don't want my Quidditch team messed up again!” he said hastily, but Hermione continued to look suspicious, and he was most relieved when a voice behind them
called, “Harry!” giving him an excuse to turn his back on her.
“Oh, hi, Luna.”
“I went to the hospital wing to find you,” said Luna, rummaging in her bag. “But they said you'd left...”
She thrust what appeared to be a green onion, a large spotted toadstool, and a considerable amount of what looked like cat litter into Ron's hands, finally pulling out
a rather grubby scroll of parchment that she handed to Harry.
“... I've been told to give you this.”
It was a small roll of parchment, which Harry recognized at once as another invitation to a lesson with Dumbledore.
“Tonight,” he told Ron and Hermione, once he had unrolled it.
“Nice commentary last match!” said Ron to Luna as she took back the green onion, the toadstool, and the cat litter. Luna smiled vaguely.
“You're making fun of me, aren't you?” she said. “Everyone says I was dreadful.”
“No, I'm serious!” said Ron earnestly. “I can't remember enjoying commentary more! What is this, by the way?” he added, holding the onionlike object up to eye
level.
“Oh, it's a Gurdyroot,” she said, stuffing the cat litter and the toadstool back into her bag. “You can keep it if you like, I've got a few of them. They're really
excellent for warding off Gulping Plimpies.”
And she walked away, leaving Ron chortling, still clutching the Gurdyroot.
“You know, she's grown on me, Luna,” he said, as they set off again for the Great Hall. “I know she's insane, but it's in a good —”
He stopped talking very suddenly. Lavender Brown was standing at the foot of the marble staircase looking thunderous.
“Hi,” said Ron nervously.
“C'mon,” Harry muttered to Hermione, and they sped past, though not before they had heard Lavender say, “Why didn't you tell me you were getting out today? And why
was she with you?”
Thursday, November 25, 2010
“We didn't hate it!” said Hermione.
“We didn't hate it!” said Hermione.
“Speak for yourself, I haven't forgotten the Skrewts,” said Ron darkly. “And I'm telling you now, we've had a narrow escape. You didn't hear him going on about his
gormless brother — we'd have been teaching Grawp how to tie his shoelaces if we'd stayed.”
“I hate not talking to Hagrid,” said Hermione, looking upset.
“We'll go down after Quidditch,” Harry assured her. He too was missing Hagrid, although like Ron he thought that they were better off without Grawp in their lives. “
But trials might take all morning, the number of people who have applied.” He felt slightly nervous at confronting the first hurdle of his Captaincy. “I dunno why the
team's this popular all of a sudden.”
“Oh, come on, Harry,” said Hermione, suddenly impatient. “It's not Quidditch that's popular, it's you! You've never been more interesting, and frankly, you've never
been more fanciable.”
Ron gagged on a large piece of kipper. Hermione spared him one look of disdain before turning back to Harry.
“Everyone knows you've been telling the truth now, don't they? The whole Wizarding world has had to admit that you were right about Voldemort being back and that you
really have fought him twice in the last two years and escaped both times. And now they're calling you ‘the Chosen One'—well, come on, can't you see why people are
fascinated by you?”
Harry was finding the Great Hall very hot all of a sudden, even though the ceiling still looked cold and rainy.
“And you've been through all that persecution from the Ministry when they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar. You can still see the marks on the back
of your hand where that evil woman made you write with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway...”
“You can still see where those brains got hold of me in the Ministry, look,” said Ron, shaking back his sleeves.
“And it doesn't hurt that you've grown about a foot over the summer either,” Hermione finished, ignoring Ron.
“I'm tall,” said Ron inconsequentially.
The post owls arrived, swooping down through rain-flecked windows, scattering everyone with droplets of water. Most people were receiving more post than usual; anxious
parents were keen to hear from their children and to reassure them, in turn, that all was well at home. Harry had received no mail since the start of term; his only
regular correspondent was now dead and although he had hoped that Lupin might write occasionally, he had so far been disappointed. He was very surprised, therefore, to
see the snowy white Hedwig circling amongst all the brown and gray owls. She landed in front of him carrying a large, square package. A moment later, an identical
package landed in front of Ron, crushing beneath it his minuscule and exhausted owl, Pigwidgeon.
“Ha!” said Harry, unwrapping the parcel to reveal a new copy of Advanced Potion-Making, fresh from Flourish and Blotts.
“Oh good,” said Hermione, delighted. “Now you can give that graffitied copy back.”
“Are you mad?” said Harry. “I'm keeping it! Look, I've thought it out —”
He pulled the old copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and tapped the cover with his wand, muttering, “Diffindo!” The cover fell off. He did the same thing
with the brand-new book (Hermione looked scandalized). He then swapped the covers, tapped each, and said, “Reparo!”
“Speak for yourself, I haven't forgotten the Skrewts,” said Ron darkly. “And I'm telling you now, we've had a narrow escape. You didn't hear him going on about his
gormless brother — we'd have been teaching Grawp how to tie his shoelaces if we'd stayed.”
“I hate not talking to Hagrid,” said Hermione, looking upset.
“We'll go down after Quidditch,” Harry assured her. He too was missing Hagrid, although like Ron he thought that they were better off without Grawp in their lives. “
But trials might take all morning, the number of people who have applied.” He felt slightly nervous at confronting the first hurdle of his Captaincy. “I dunno why the
team's this popular all of a sudden.”
“Oh, come on, Harry,” said Hermione, suddenly impatient. “It's not Quidditch that's popular, it's you! You've never been more interesting, and frankly, you've never
been more fanciable.”
Ron gagged on a large piece of kipper. Hermione spared him one look of disdain before turning back to Harry.
“Everyone knows you've been telling the truth now, don't they? The whole Wizarding world has had to admit that you were right about Voldemort being back and that you
really have fought him twice in the last two years and escaped both times. And now they're calling you ‘the Chosen One'—well, come on, can't you see why people are
fascinated by you?”
Harry was finding the Great Hall very hot all of a sudden, even though the ceiling still looked cold and rainy.
“And you've been through all that persecution from the Ministry when they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar. You can still see the marks on the back
of your hand where that evil woman made you write with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway...”
“You can still see where those brains got hold of me in the Ministry, look,” said Ron, shaking back his sleeves.
“And it doesn't hurt that you've grown about a foot over the summer either,” Hermione finished, ignoring Ron.
“I'm tall,” said Ron inconsequentially.
The post owls arrived, swooping down through rain-flecked windows, scattering everyone with droplets of water. Most people were receiving more post than usual; anxious
parents were keen to hear from their children and to reassure them, in turn, that all was well at home. Harry had received no mail since the start of term; his only
regular correspondent was now dead and although he had hoped that Lupin might write occasionally, he had so far been disappointed. He was very surprised, therefore, to
see the snowy white Hedwig circling amongst all the brown and gray owls. She landed in front of him carrying a large, square package. A moment later, an identical
package landed in front of Ron, crushing beneath it his minuscule and exhausted owl, Pigwidgeon.
“Ha!” said Harry, unwrapping the parcel to reveal a new copy of Advanced Potion-Making, fresh from Flourish and Blotts.
“Oh good,” said Hermione, delighted. “Now you can give that graffitied copy back.”
“Are you mad?” said Harry. “I'm keeping it! Look, I've thought it out —”
He pulled the old copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and tapped the cover with his wand, muttering, “Diffindo!” The cover fell off. He did the same thing
with the brand-new book (Hermione looked scandalized). He then swapped the covers, tapped each, and said, “Reparo!”
Chapter 11 Hermione's Helping Hand
Chapter 11 Hermione's Helping Hand
As Hermione had predicted, the sixth-years’ free periods were not the hours of blissful relaxation Ron had anticipated, but times in which to attempt to keep up with
the vast amount of homework they were being set. Not only were they studying as though they had exams every day, but the lessons themselves had become more demanding
than ever before. Harry barely understood half of what Professor McGonagall said to them these days; even Hermione had had to ask her to repeat instructions once or
twice. Incredibly, and to Hermione's increasing resentment, Harry's best subject had suddenly become Potions, thanks to the Half-Blood Prince.
Non-verbal spells were now expected, not only in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but in Charms and Transfiguration too. Harry frequently looked over at his classmates in
the common room or at mealtimes to see them purple in the face and straining as though they had overdosed on U-No-Poo; but he knew that they were really struggling to
make spells work without saying incantations aloud. It was a relief to get outside into the greenhouses; they were dealing with more dangerous plants than ever in
Herbology, but at least they were still allowed to swear loudly if the Venomous Tentacula seized them unexpectedly from behind.
One result of their enormous workload and the frantic hours of practicing non-verbal spells was that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had so far been unable to find time to go
and visit Hagrid. He had stopped coming to meals at the staff table, an ominous sign, and on the few occasions when they had passed him in the corridors or out in the
grounds, he had mysteriously failed to notice them or hear their greetings.
“We've got to go and explain,” said Hermione, looking up at Hagrid's huge empty chair at the staff table the following Saturday at breakfast.
“We've got Quidditch tryouts this morning!” said Ron. “And we're supposed to be practicing that Aguamenti Charm from Flitwick! Anyway, explain what? How are we going
to tell him we hated his stupid subject?”
As Hermione had predicted, the sixth-years’ free periods were not the hours of blissful relaxation Ron had anticipated, but times in which to attempt to keep up with
the vast amount of homework they were being set. Not only were they studying as though they had exams every day, but the lessons themselves had become more demanding
than ever before. Harry barely understood half of what Professor McGonagall said to them these days; even Hermione had had to ask her to repeat instructions once or
twice. Incredibly, and to Hermione's increasing resentment, Harry's best subject had suddenly become Potions, thanks to the Half-Blood Prince.
Non-verbal spells were now expected, not only in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but in Charms and Transfiguration too. Harry frequently looked over at his classmates in
the common room or at mealtimes to see them purple in the face and straining as though they had overdosed on U-No-Poo; but he knew that they were really struggling to
make spells work without saying incantations aloud. It was a relief to get outside into the greenhouses; they were dealing with more dangerous plants than ever in
Herbology, but at least they were still allowed to swear loudly if the Venomous Tentacula seized them unexpectedly from behind.
One result of their enormous workload and the frantic hours of practicing non-verbal spells was that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had so far been unable to find time to go
and visit Hagrid. He had stopped coming to meals at the staff table, an ominous sign, and on the few occasions when they had passed him in the corridors or out in the
grounds, he had mysteriously failed to notice them or hear their greetings.
“We've got to go and explain,” said Hermione, looking up at Hagrid's huge empty chair at the staff table the following Saturday at breakfast.
“We've got Quidditch tryouts this morning!” said Ron. “And we're supposed to be practicing that Aguamenti Charm from Flitwick! Anyway, explain what? How are we going
to tell him we hated his stupid subject?”
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Chapter 67
Chapter 67
Kitty made the acquaintance of Madame Stahl too, and this acquaintance, together with her friendship with Varenka, did not merely exercise a great influence on her, it also comforted her in her mental distress. She found this comfort through a completely new world being opened to her by means of this acquaintance, a world having nothing in common with her past, an exalted, noble world, from the height of which she could contemplate her past calmly. It was revealed to her that besides the instinctive life to which Kitty had given herself up hitherto there was a spiritual life. This life was disclosed in religion, but a religion having nothing in common with that one which Kitty had known from childhood, and which found expression in litanies and all-night services at the Widow's Home, where one might meet one's friends, and in learning by heart Slavonic texts with the priest. This was a lofty, mysterious religion connected with a whole series of noble thoughts and feelings, which one could do more than merely believe because one was told to, which one could love.
Kitty found all this out not from words. Madame Stahl talked to Kitty as to a charming child that one looks on with pleasure as on the memory of one's youth, and only once she said in passing that in all human sorrows nothing gives comfort but love and faith, and that in the sight of Christ's compassion for us no sorrow is trifling--and immediately talked of other things. But in every gesture of Madame Stahl, in every word, in every heavenly--as Kitty called it--look, and above all in the whole story of her life, which she heard from Varenka, Kitty recognized that something "that was important," of which, till then, she had known nothing.
Yet, elevated as Madame Stahl's character was, touching as was her story, and exalted and moving as was her speech, Kitty could not help detecting in her some traits which perplexed her. She noticed that when questioning her about her family, Madame Stahl had smiled contemptuously, which was not in accord with Christian meekness. She noticed, too, that when she had found a Catholic priest with her, Madame Stahl had studiously kept her face in the shadow of the lamp-shade and had smiled in a peculiar way. Trivial as these two observations were, they perplexed her, and she had her doubts as to Madame Stahl. But on the other hand Varenka, alone in the world, without friends or relations, with a melancholy disappointment in the past, desiring nothing, regretting nothing, was just that perfection of which Kitty dared hardly dream. In Varenka she realized that one has but to forget oneself and love others, and one will be calm, happy, and noble. And that was what Kitty longed to be. Seeing now clearly what was the most important, Kitty was not satisfied with being enthusiastic over it; she at once gave herself up with her whole soul to the new life that was opening to her. From Varenka's accounts of the doings of Madame Stahl and other people whom she mentioned, Kitty had already constructed the plan of her own future life. She would, like Madame Stahl's niece, Aline, of whom Varenka had talked to her a great deal, seek out those who were in trouble, wherever she might be living, help them as far as she could, give them the Gospel, read the Gospel to the sick, the criminals, to the dying. The idea of reading the Gospel to criminals, as Aline did, particularly fascinated Kitty. But all these were secret dreams, of which Kitty did not talk either to her mother or to Varenka.
While awaiting the time for carrying out her plans on a large scale, however, Kitty, even then at the springs, where there were so many people ill and unhappy, readily found a chance for practicing her new principles in imitation of Varenka.
At first the princess noticed nothing but that Kitty was much under the influence of her engouement, as she called it, for Madame Stahl, and still more for Varenka. She saw that Kitty did not merely imitate Varenka in her conduct, but unconsciously imitated her in her manner of walking, of talking, of blinking her eyes. But later on the princess noticed that, apart from this adoration, some kind of serious spiritual change was taking place in her daughter.
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Kitty made the acquaintance of Madame Stahl too, and this acquaintance, together with her friendship with Varenka, did not merely exercise a great influence on her, it also comforted her in her mental distress. She found this comfort through a completely new world being opened to her by means of this acquaintance, a world having nothing in common with her past, an exalted, noble world, from the height of which she could contemplate her past calmly. It was revealed to her that besides the instinctive life to which Kitty had given herself up hitherto there was a spiritual life. This life was disclosed in religion, but a religion having nothing in common with that one which Kitty had known from childhood, and which found expression in litanies and all-night services at the Widow's Home, where one might meet one's friends, and in learning by heart Slavonic texts with the priest. This was a lofty, mysterious religion connected with a whole series of noble thoughts and feelings, which one could do more than merely believe because one was told to, which one could love.
Kitty found all this out not from words. Madame Stahl talked to Kitty as to a charming child that one looks on with pleasure as on the memory of one's youth, and only once she said in passing that in all human sorrows nothing gives comfort but love and faith, and that in the sight of Christ's compassion for us no sorrow is trifling--and immediately talked of other things. But in every gesture of Madame Stahl, in every word, in every heavenly--as Kitty called it--look, and above all in the whole story of her life, which she heard from Varenka, Kitty recognized that something "that was important," of which, till then, she had known nothing.
Yet, elevated as Madame Stahl's character was, touching as was her story, and exalted and moving as was her speech, Kitty could not help detecting in her some traits which perplexed her. She noticed that when questioning her about her family, Madame Stahl had smiled contemptuously, which was not in accord with Christian meekness. She noticed, too, that when she had found a Catholic priest with her, Madame Stahl had studiously kept her face in the shadow of the lamp-shade and had smiled in a peculiar way. Trivial as these two observations were, they perplexed her, and she had her doubts as to Madame Stahl. But on the other hand Varenka, alone in the world, without friends or relations, with a melancholy disappointment in the past, desiring nothing, regretting nothing, was just that perfection of which Kitty dared hardly dream. In Varenka she realized that one has but to forget oneself and love others, and one will be calm, happy, and noble. And that was what Kitty longed to be. Seeing now clearly what was the most important, Kitty was not satisfied with being enthusiastic over it; she at once gave herself up with her whole soul to the new life that was opening to her. From Varenka's accounts of the doings of Madame Stahl and other people whom she mentioned, Kitty had already constructed the plan of her own future life. She would, like Madame Stahl's niece, Aline, of whom Varenka had talked to her a great deal, seek out those who were in trouble, wherever she might be living, help them as far as she could, give them the Gospel, read the Gospel to the sick, the criminals, to the dying. The idea of reading the Gospel to criminals, as Aline did, particularly fascinated Kitty. But all these were secret dreams, of which Kitty did not talk either to her mother or to Varenka.
While awaiting the time for carrying out her plans on a large scale, however, Kitty, even then at the springs, where there were so many people ill and unhappy, readily found a chance for practicing her new principles in imitation of Varenka.
At first the princess noticed nothing but that Kitty was much under the influence of her engouement, as she called it, for Madame Stahl, and still more for Varenka. She saw that Kitty did not merely imitate Varenka in her conduct, but unconsciously imitated her in her manner of walking, of talking, of blinking her eyes. But later on the princess noticed that, apart from this adoration, some kind of serious spiritual change was taking place in her daughter.
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Monday, November 22, 2010
The hero of the novel was
The hero of the novel was already almost reaching his English happiness, a baronetcy and an estate, and Anna was feeling a desire to go with him to the estate, when she suddenly felt that HE ought to feel ashamed, and that she was ashamed of the same thing. But what had he to be ashamed of? "What have I to be ashamed of?" she asked herself in injured surprise. She laid down the book and sank against the back of the chair, tightly gripping the paper cutter in both hands. There was nothing. She went over all her Moscow recollections. All were good, pleasant. She remembered the ball, remembered Vronsky and his face of slavish adoration, remembered all her conduct with him: there was nothing shameful. And for all that, at the same point in her memories, the feeling of shame was intensified, as though some inner voice, just at the point when she thought of Vronsky, were saying to her, "Warm, very warm, hot." "Well, what is it?" she said to herself resolutely, shifting her seat in the lounge. "What does it mean? Am I afraid to look it straight in the face? Why, what is it? Can it be that between me and this officer boy there exist, or can exist, any other relations than such as are common with every acquaintance?" She laughed contemptuously and took up her book again; but now she was definitely unable to follow what she read. She passed the paper knife over the window pane, then laid its smooth, cool surface to her cheek, and almost laughed aloud at the feeling of delight that all at once without cause came over her. She felt as though her nerves were strings being strained tighter and tighter on some sort of screwing peg. She felt her eyes opening wider and wider, her fingers and toes twitching nervously, something within oppressing her breathing, while all shapes and sounds seemed in the uncertain half-light to strike her with unaccustomed vividness. Moments of doubt were continually coming upon her, when she was uncertain whether the train were going forwards or backwards, or were standing still altogether; whether it were Annushka at her side or a stranger. "What's that on the arm of the chair, a fur cloak or some beast? And what am I myself? Myself or some other woman?" she was afraid of giving way to this delirium. But something drew her towards it, and she could yield to it or resist it at will. She got up to rouse herself, and slipped off her plaid and the cape of her warm dress. For a moment she regained her self-possession, and realized that the thin peasant who had come in wearing a long overcoat, with buttons missing from it, was the stoveheater, that he was looking at the thermometer, that it was the wind and snow bursting in after him at the door; but then everything grew blurred again.... That peasant with the long waist seemed to be gnawing something on the wall, the old lady began stretching her legs the whole length of the carriage, and filling it with a black cloud; then there was a fearful shrieking and banging, as though someone were being torn to pieces; then there was a blinding dazzle of red fire before her eyes and a wall seemed to rise up and hide everything. Anna felt as though she were sinking down. But it was not terrible, but delightful. The voice of a man muffled up and covered with snow shouted something in her ear. She got up and pulled herself together; she realized that they had reached a station and that this was the guard. She asked Annushka to hand her the cape she had taken off and her shawl, put them on and moved towards the door.
"Do you wish to get out?" asked Annushka.
"Do you wish to get out?" asked Annushka.
Chapter 29
"Come, it's all over, and thank God!" was the first thought that came to Anna Arkadyevna, when she had said good-bye for the last time to her brother, who had stood blocking up the entrance to the carriage till the third bell rang. She sat down on her lounge beside Annushka, and looked about her in the twilight of the sleeping-carriage. "Thank God! tomorrow I shall see Seryozha and Alexey Alexandrovitch, and my life will go on in the old way, all nice and as usual."
Still in the same anxious frame of mind, as she had been all that day, Anna took pleasure in arranging herself for the journey with great care. With her little deft hands she opened and shut her little red bag, took out a cushion, laid it on her knees, and carefully wrapping up her feet, settled herself comfortably. An invalid lady had already lain down to sleep. Two other ladies began talking to Anna, and a stout elderly lady tucked up her feet, and made observations about the heating of the train. Anna answered a few words, but not foreseeing any entertainment from the conversation, she asked Annushka to get a lamp, hooked it onto the arm of her seat, and took from her bag a paper knife and an English novel. At first her reading made no progress. The fuss and bustle were disturbing; then when the train had started, she could not help listening to the noises; then the snow beating on the left window and sticking to the pane, and the sight of the muffled guard passing by, covered with snow on one side, and the conversations about the terrible snowstorm raging outside, distracted her attention. Farther on, it was continually the same again and again: the same shaking and rattling, the same snow on the window, the same rapid transitions from steaming heat to cold, and back again to heat, the same passing glimpses of the same figures in the twilight, and the same voices, and Anna began to read and to understand what she read. Annushka was already dozing, the red bag on her lap, clutched by her broad hands, in gloves, of which one was torn. Anna Arkadyevna read and understood, but it was distasteful to her to read, that is, to follow the reflection of other people's lives. She had too great a desire to live herself. If she read that the heroine of the novel was nursing a sick man, she longed to move with noiseless steps about the room of a sick man; if she read of a member of Parliament making a speech, she longed to be delivering the speech; if she read of how Lady Mary had ridden after the hounds, and had provoked her sister-in-law, and had surprised everyone by her boldness, she too wished to be doing the same. But there was no chance of doing anything; and twisting the smooth paper knife in her little hands, she forced herself to read.
Still in the same anxious frame of mind, as she had been all that day, Anna took pleasure in arranging herself for the journey with great care. With her little deft hands she opened and shut her little red bag, took out a cushion, laid it on her knees, and carefully wrapping up her feet, settled herself comfortably. An invalid lady had already lain down to sleep. Two other ladies began talking to Anna, and a stout elderly lady tucked up her feet, and made observations about the heating of the train. Anna answered a few words, but not foreseeing any entertainment from the conversation, she asked Annushka to get a lamp, hooked it onto the arm of her seat, and took from her bag a paper knife and an English novel. At first her reading made no progress. The fuss and bustle were disturbing; then when the train had started, she could not help listening to the noises; then the snow beating on the left window and sticking to the pane, and the sight of the muffled guard passing by, covered with snow on one side, and the conversations about the terrible snowstorm raging outside, distracted her attention. Farther on, it was continually the same again and again: the same shaking and rattling, the same snow on the window, the same rapid transitions from steaming heat to cold, and back again to heat, the same passing glimpses of the same figures in the twilight, and the same voices, and Anna began to read and to understand what she read. Annushka was already dozing, the red bag on her lap, clutched by her broad hands, in gloves, of which one was torn. Anna Arkadyevna read and understood, but it was distasteful to her to read, that is, to follow the reflection of other people's lives. She had too great a desire to live herself. If she read that the heroine of the novel was nursing a sick man, she longed to move with noiseless steps about the room of a sick man; if she read of a member of Parliament making a speech, she longed to be delivering the speech; if she read of how Lady Mary had ridden after the hounds, and had provoked her sister-in-law, and had surprised everyone by her boldness, she too wished to be doing the same. But there was no chance of doing anything; and twisting the smooth paper knife in her little hands, she forced herself to read.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
He could hear her moving to the right
, trying to get a clear shot of him. He backed around the statue away from her, crouching behind the centaur's legs, his head level with the house-elf's.
‘I was and am the Dark Lord's most loyal servant. I learned the Dark Arts from him, and I know spells of such power that you, pathetic little boy, can never hope to compete— ’
‘Stupefy!’ yelled Harry. He had edged right around to where the goblin stood beaming up at the now headless wizard and taken aim at her back as she peered around the fountain. She reacted so fast he barely had time to duck.
‘Protego!’
The jet of red light, his own Stunning Spell, bounced back at him. Harry scrambled back behind the fountain and one of the goblin's ears went flying across the room.
‘Potter, I'm going to give you one chance!’ shouted Bellatrix. ‘Give me the prophecy—roll it out towards me now—and I may spare your life!’
‘Well, you're going to have to kill me, because it's gone!’ Harry roared and, as he shouted it, pain seared across his forehead; his scar was on fire again, and he felt a surge of fury that was quite unconnected with his own rage. ‘And he knows!’ said Harry, with a mad laugh to match Bellatrix's own. ‘Your dear old mate Voldemort knows it's gone! He's not going to be happy with you, is he?’
‘What? What do you mean?’ she cried, and for the first time there was fear in her voice.
‘The prophecy smashed when I was trying to get Neville up the steps! What do you think Voldemort'll say about that, then?’
His scar seared and burned ... the pain of it was making his eyes stream ...
‘LIAR!’ she shrieked, but he could hear the terror behind the anger now. ‘YOU'VE GOT IT, POTTER, AND YOU WILL GIVE IT TO ME! Accio prophecy! ACCIO PROPHECY!’
Harry laughed again because he knew it would incense her, the pain building in his head so badly he thought his skull might burst. He waved his empty hand from behind the one-eared goblin and withdrew it quickly as she sent another jet of green light flying at him.
‘Nothing there!’ he shouted. ‘Nothing to summon! It smashed and nobody heard what it said, tell your boss that!’
‘No!’ she screamed. ‘It isn't true, you're lying! MASTER, I TRIED, I TRIED—DO NOT PUNISH ME—’
‘Don't waste your breath!’ yelled Harry, his eyes screwed up against the pain in his scar, now more terrible than ever. ‘He can't hear you from here!’
‘Can't I, Potter?’ said a high, cold voice.
Harry opened his eyes.
Tall, thin and black-hooded, his terrible snakelike face white and gaunt, his scarlet, slit-pupilled eyes staring ... Lord Voldemort had appeared in the middle of the hall, his wand pointing at Harry who stood frozen, quite unable to move.
‘So, you smashed my prophecy?’ said Voldemort softly, staring at Harry with those pitiless red eyes. ‘No, Bella, he is not lying ... I see the truth looking at me from within his worthless mind ... months of preparation, months of effort ... and my Death Eaters have let Harry Potter thwart me again ...’
‘Master, I am sorry, I knew not, I was fighting the Animagus Black!’ sobbed Bellatrix, flinging herself down at Voldemort's feet as he paced slowly nearer. ‘Master, you should know—’
‘Be quiet, Bella,’ said Voldemort dangerously. ‘I shall deal with you in a moment. Do you think I have entered the Ministry of Magic to hear your snivelling apologies?’
‘I was and am the Dark Lord's most loyal servant. I learned the Dark Arts from him, and I know spells of such power that you, pathetic little boy, can never hope to compete— ’
‘Stupefy!’ yelled Harry. He had edged right around to where the goblin stood beaming up at the now headless wizard and taken aim at her back as she peered around the fountain. She reacted so fast he barely had time to duck.
‘Protego!’
The jet of red light, his own Stunning Spell, bounced back at him. Harry scrambled back behind the fountain and one of the goblin's ears went flying across the room.
‘Potter, I'm going to give you one chance!’ shouted Bellatrix. ‘Give me the prophecy—roll it out towards me now—and I may spare your life!’
‘Well, you're going to have to kill me, because it's gone!’ Harry roared and, as he shouted it, pain seared across his forehead; his scar was on fire again, and he felt a surge of fury that was quite unconnected with his own rage. ‘And he knows!’ said Harry, with a mad laugh to match Bellatrix's own. ‘Your dear old mate Voldemort knows it's gone! He's not going to be happy with you, is he?’
‘What? What do you mean?’ she cried, and for the first time there was fear in her voice.
‘The prophecy smashed when I was trying to get Neville up the steps! What do you think Voldemort'll say about that, then?’
His scar seared and burned ... the pain of it was making his eyes stream ...
‘LIAR!’ she shrieked, but he could hear the terror behind the anger now. ‘YOU'VE GOT IT, POTTER, AND YOU WILL GIVE IT TO ME! Accio prophecy! ACCIO PROPHECY!’
Harry laughed again because he knew it would incense her, the pain building in his head so badly he thought his skull might burst. He waved his empty hand from behind the one-eared goblin and withdrew it quickly as she sent another jet of green light flying at him.
‘Nothing there!’ he shouted. ‘Nothing to summon! It smashed and nobody heard what it said, tell your boss that!’
‘No!’ she screamed. ‘It isn't true, you're lying! MASTER, I TRIED, I TRIED—DO NOT PUNISH ME—’
‘Don't waste your breath!’ yelled Harry, his eyes screwed up against the pain in his scar, now more terrible than ever. ‘He can't hear you from here!’
‘Can't I, Potter?’ said a high, cold voice.
Harry opened his eyes.
Tall, thin and black-hooded, his terrible snakelike face white and gaunt, his scarlet, slit-pupilled eyes staring ... Lord Voldemort had appeared in the middle of the hall, his wand pointing at Harry who stood frozen, quite unable to move.
‘So, you smashed my prophecy?’ said Voldemort softly, staring at Harry with those pitiless red eyes. ‘No, Bella, he is not lying ... I see the truth looking at me from within his worthless mind ... months of preparation, months of effort ... and my Death Eaters have let Harry Potter thwart me again ...’
‘Master, I am sorry, I knew not, I was fighting the Animagus Black!’ sobbed Bellatrix, flinging herself down at Voldemort's feet as he paced slowly nearer. ‘Master, you should know—’
‘Be quiet, Bella,’ said Voldemort dangerously. ‘I shall deal with you in a moment. Do you think I have entered the Ministry of Magic to hear your snivelling apologies?’
There was a loud bang and a yell from behind the dais
. Harry saw Kingsley hit the ground yelling in pain: Bellatrix Lestrange turned tail and ran as Dumbledore whipped around. He aimed a spell at her but she deflected it; she was halfway up the steps now —
‘Harry—no!’ cried Lupin, but Harry had already ripped his arm from Lupin's slackened grip.
‘SHE KILLED SIRIUS!’ bellowed Harry. ‘SHE KILLED HIM—I'LL KILL HER!’
And he was off, scrambling up the stone benches; people were shouting behind him but he did not care. The hem of Bellatrix's robes whipped out of sight ahead and they were back in the room where the brains were swimming ...
She aimed a curse over her shoulder. The tank rose into the air and tipped. Harry was deluged in the foul-smelling potion within: the brains slipped and slid over him and began spinning their long coloured tentacles, but he shouted, ‘Wingardium Leviosa!’ and they flew off him up into the air. Slipping and sliding, he ran on towards the door; he leapt over Luna, who was groaning on the floor, past Ginny, who said, ‘Harry—what—?', past Ron, who giggled feebly, and Hermione, who was still unconscious. He wrenched open the door into the circular black hall and saw Bellatrix disappearing through a door on the other side of the room; beyond her was the corridor leading back to the lifts.
He ran, but she had slammed the door behind her and the walls were already rotating. Once more, he was surrounded by streaks of blue light from the whirling candelabra.
‘Where's the exit?’ he shouted desperately, as the wall rumbled to a halt again. ‘Where's the way out?’
The room seemed to have been waiting for him to ask. The door right behind him flew open and the corridor towards the lifts stretched ahead of him, torch-lit and empty. He ran ...
He could hear a lift clattering ahead; he sprinted up the passageway, swung around the corner and slammed his fist on to the button to call a second lift. It jangled and banged lower and lower; the grilles slid open and Harry dashed inside, now hammering the button marked ‘Atrium'. The doors slid shut and he was rising ...
He forced his way out of the lift before the grilles were fully open and looked around. Bellatrix was almost at the telephone lift at the other end of the hall, but she looked back as he sprinted towards her and aimed another spell at him. He dodged behind the Fountain of Magical Brethren: the spell zoomed past him and hit the wrought-gold gates at the other end of the Atrium so that they rang like bells. There were no more footsteps. She had stopped running. He crouched behind the statues, listening.
‘Come out, come out, little Harry!’ she called in her mock baby voice, which echoed off the polished wooden floors. ‘What did you come after me for, then? I thought you were here to avenge my dear cousin!’
‘I am!’ shouted Harry, and a score of ghostly Harry's seemed to chorus I am! I am! I am! all around the room.
‘Aaaaaah ... did you love him, little baby Potter?’
Hatred rose in Harry such as he had never known before; he flung himself out from behind the fountain and bellowed, ‘Crucio!’
Bellatrix screamed: the spell had knocked her off her feet, but she did not writhe and shriek with pain as Neville had—she was already back on her feet, breathless, no longer laughing. Harry dodged behind the golden fountain again. Her counter-spell hit the head of the handsome wizard, which was blown off and landed twenty feet away, gouging long scratches into the wooden floor.
‘Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy?’ she yelled. She had abandoned her baby voice now. ‘You need to mean them, Potter! You need to really want to cause pain—to enjoy it—righteous anger won't hurt me for long—I'll show you how it is done, shall I? I'll give you a lesson—’
Harry was edging around the fountain on the other side when she screamed, ‘Crucio!’ and he was forced to duck down again as the centaur's arm, holding its bow, span off and landed with a crash on the floor a short distance from the golden wizard's head.
‘Potter, you cannot win against me!’ she cried.
‘Harry—no!’ cried Lupin, but Harry had already ripped his arm from Lupin's slackened grip.
‘SHE KILLED SIRIUS!’ bellowed Harry. ‘SHE KILLED HIM—I'LL KILL HER!’
And he was off, scrambling up the stone benches; people were shouting behind him but he did not care. The hem of Bellatrix's robes whipped out of sight ahead and they were back in the room where the brains were swimming ...
She aimed a curse over her shoulder. The tank rose into the air and tipped. Harry was deluged in the foul-smelling potion within: the brains slipped and slid over him and began spinning their long coloured tentacles, but he shouted, ‘Wingardium Leviosa!’ and they flew off him up into the air. Slipping and sliding, he ran on towards the door; he leapt over Luna, who was groaning on the floor, past Ginny, who said, ‘Harry—what—?', past Ron, who giggled feebly, and Hermione, who was still unconscious. He wrenched open the door into the circular black hall and saw Bellatrix disappearing through a door on the other side of the room; beyond her was the corridor leading back to the lifts.
He ran, but she had slammed the door behind her and the walls were already rotating. Once more, he was surrounded by streaks of blue light from the whirling candelabra.
‘Where's the exit?’ he shouted desperately, as the wall rumbled to a halt again. ‘Where's the way out?’
The room seemed to have been waiting for him to ask. The door right behind him flew open and the corridor towards the lifts stretched ahead of him, torch-lit and empty. He ran ...
He could hear a lift clattering ahead; he sprinted up the passageway, swung around the corner and slammed his fist on to the button to call a second lift. It jangled and banged lower and lower; the grilles slid open and Harry dashed inside, now hammering the button marked ‘Atrium'. The doors slid shut and he was rising ...
He forced his way out of the lift before the grilles were fully open and looked around. Bellatrix was almost at the telephone lift at the other end of the hall, but she looked back as he sprinted towards her and aimed another spell at him. He dodged behind the Fountain of Magical Brethren: the spell zoomed past him and hit the wrought-gold gates at the other end of the Atrium so that they rang like bells. There were no more footsteps. She had stopped running. He crouched behind the statues, listening.
‘Come out, come out, little Harry!’ she called in her mock baby voice, which echoed off the polished wooden floors. ‘What did you come after me for, then? I thought you were here to avenge my dear cousin!’
‘I am!’ shouted Harry, and a score of ghostly Harry's seemed to chorus I am! I am! I am! all around the room.
‘Aaaaaah ... did you love him, little baby Potter?’
Hatred rose in Harry such as he had never known before; he flung himself out from behind the fountain and bellowed, ‘Crucio!’
Bellatrix screamed: the spell had knocked her off her feet, but she did not writhe and shriek with pain as Neville had—she was already back on her feet, breathless, no longer laughing. Harry dodged behind the golden fountain again. Her counter-spell hit the head of the handsome wizard, which was blown off and landed twenty feet away, gouging long scratches into the wooden floor.
‘Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy?’ she yelled. She had abandoned her baby voice now. ‘You need to mean them, Potter! You need to really want to cause pain—to enjoy it—righteous anger won't hurt me for long—I'll show you how it is done, shall I? I'll give you a lesson—’
Harry was edging around the fountain on the other side when she screamed, ‘Crucio!’ and he was forced to duck down again as the centaur's arm, holding its bow, span off and landed with a crash on the floor a short distance from the golden wizard's head.
‘Potter, you cannot win against me!’ she cried.
Chapter 36 The Only One He Ever Feared
‘He hasn't gone!’ Harry yelled.
He did not believe it; he would not believe it; still he fought Lupin with every bit of strength he had. Lupin did not understand; people hid behind that curtain; Harry had heard them whispering the first time he had entered the room. Sirius was hiding, simply lurking out of sight—
‘SIRIUS!’ he bellowed. ‘SIRIUS!’
‘He can't come back, Harry,’ said Lupin, his voice breaking as he struggled to contain Harry. ‘He can't come back, because he's d—
‘HE—IS—NOT— DEAD!’ roared Harry. ‘SIRIUS!’
There was movement going on around them, pointless bustling, the flashes of more spells. To Harry it was meaningless noise, the deflected curses flying past them did not matter, nothing mattered except that Lupin should stop pretending that Sirius—who was standing feet from them behind that old curtain—was not going to emerge at any moment, shaking back his dark hair and eager to re-enter the battle.
Lupin dragged Harry away from the dais. Harry still staring at the archway, was angry at Sirius now for keeping him waiting—
But some part of him realised, even as he fought to break free from Lupin, that Sirius had never kept him waiting before ... Sirius had risked everything, always, to see Harry to help him ... if Sirius was not reappearing out of that archway when Harry was yelling for him as though his life depended on it, the only possible explanation was that he could not come back ... that he really was—
Dumbledore had most of the remaining Death Eaters grouped in the middle of the room, seemingly immobilised by invisible ropes; Mad-Eye Moody had crawled across the room to where Tonks lay, and was attempting to revive her; behind the dais there were still flashes of light, grunts and cries—Kingsley had run forward to continue Sirius's duel with Bellatrix.
‘Harry?’
Neville had slid down the stone benches one by one to the place where Harry stood. Harry was no longer struggling against Lupin, who maintained a precautionary grip on his arm nevertheless.
‘Harry ... I'b really sorry ...’ said Neville. His legs were still dancing uncontrollably. ‘Was dad man—was Sirius Black a—a friend of yours?’
Harry nodded.
‘Here,’ said Lupin quietly, and pointing his wand at Neville's legs he said, ‘Finite.’ The spell was lifted: Neville's legs fell back to the floor and remained still. Lupin's face was pale. ‘Let's—let's find the others. Where are they all, Neville?’
Lupin turned away from the archway as he spoke. It sounded as though every word was causing him pain.
‘Dey're all back dere,’ said Neville. ‘A brain addacked Ron bud I dink he's all righd—and Herbione's unconscious, bud we could feel a bulse—’
He did not believe it; he would not believe it; still he fought Lupin with every bit of strength he had. Lupin did not understand; people hid behind that curtain; Harry had heard them whispering the first time he had entered the room. Sirius was hiding, simply lurking out of sight—
‘SIRIUS!’ he bellowed. ‘SIRIUS!’
‘He can't come back, Harry,’ said Lupin, his voice breaking as he struggled to contain Harry. ‘He can't come back, because he's d—
‘HE—IS—NOT— DEAD!’ roared Harry. ‘SIRIUS!’
There was movement going on around them, pointless bustling, the flashes of more spells. To Harry it was meaningless noise, the deflected curses flying past them did not matter, nothing mattered except that Lupin should stop pretending that Sirius—who was standing feet from them behind that old curtain—was not going to emerge at any moment, shaking back his dark hair and eager to re-enter the battle.
Lupin dragged Harry away from the dais. Harry still staring at the archway, was angry at Sirius now for keeping him waiting—
But some part of him realised, even as he fought to break free from Lupin, that Sirius had never kept him waiting before ... Sirius had risked everything, always, to see Harry to help him ... if Sirius was not reappearing out of that archway when Harry was yelling for him as though his life depended on it, the only possible explanation was that he could not come back ... that he really was—
Dumbledore had most of the remaining Death Eaters grouped in the middle of the room, seemingly immobilised by invisible ropes; Mad-Eye Moody had crawled across the room to where Tonks lay, and was attempting to revive her; behind the dais there were still flashes of light, grunts and cries—Kingsley had run forward to continue Sirius's duel with Bellatrix.
‘Harry?’
Neville had slid down the stone benches one by one to the place where Harry stood. Harry was no longer struggling against Lupin, who maintained a precautionary grip on his arm nevertheless.
‘Harry ... I'b really sorry ...’ said Neville. His legs were still dancing uncontrollably. ‘Was dad man—was Sirius Black a—a friend of yours?’
Harry nodded.
‘Here,’ said Lupin quietly, and pointing his wand at Neville's legs he said, ‘Finite.’ The spell was lifted: Neville's legs fell back to the floor and remained still. Lupin's face was pale. ‘Let's—let's find the others. Where are they all, Neville?’
Lupin turned away from the archway as he spoke. It sounded as though every word was causing him pain.
‘Dey're all back dere,’ said Neville. ‘A brain addacked Ron bud I dink he's all righd—and Herbione's unconscious, bud we could feel a bulse—’
Thursday, November 18, 2010
He felt as though the memory of it was eating him from inside.
He felt as though the memory of it was eating him from inside. He had been so sure his parents were wonderful people that he had never had the slightest difficulty in disbelieving the aspersions Snape cast on his father's character. Hadn't people like Hagrid and Sirius told Harry how wonderful his father had been? (Yeah, well, look what Sirius was like himself, said a nagging voice inside Harry's head ... he was as bad, wasn't he?) Yes, he had once overheard Professor McGonagall saying that his father and Sirius had been troublemakers at school, but she had described them as forerunners of the Weasley twins, and Harry could not imagine Fred and George dangling someone upside-down for the fun of it ... not unless they really loathed them ... perhaps Malfoy or somebody who really deserved it .
Harry tried to make a case for Snape having deserved what he had suffered at James's hands: but hadn't Lily asked, ‘What's he done to you?’ And hadn't James replied, ‘It's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean.’ Hadn't James started it all simply because Sirius had said he was bored? Harry remembered Lupin saying back in Grimmauld Place that Dumbledore had made him prefect in the hope that he would be able to exercise some control over James and Sirius ... but in the Pensieve, he had sat there and let it all happen ...
Harry kept reminding himself that Lily had intervened; his mother had been decent. Yet, the memory of the look on her face as she had shouted at James disturbed him quite as much as anything else; she had clearly loathed James, and Harry simply could not understand how they could have ended up married. Once or twice he even wondered whether James had forced her into it ...
For nearly five years the thought of his father had been a source of comfort, of inspiration. Whenever someone had told him he was like James, he had glowed with pride inside. And now ... now he felt cold and miserable at the thought of him.
The weather grew breezier, brighter and warmer as the Easter holidays passed, but Harry, along with the rest of the fifth- and seventh-years, was trapped inside, revising, traipsing back and forth to the library. Harry pretended his bad mood had no other cause but the approaching exams, and as his fellow Gryffindors were sick of studying themselves, his excuse went unchallenged.
‘Harry, I'm talking to you, can you hear me?’
‘Huh?’
He looked round. Ginny Weasley, looking very windswept, had joined him at the library table where he had been sitting alone. It was late on Sunday evening: Hermione had gone back to Gryffindor Tower to revise Ancient Runes, and Ron had Quidditch practice.
‘Oh, hi,’ said Harry, pulling his books towards him. ‘How come you're not at practice?’
‘It's over,’ said Ginny. ‘Ron had to take Jack Sloper up to the hospital wing.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, we're not sure, but we think he knocked himself out with his own bat.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Anyway ... a package just arrived, it's only just got through Umbridge's new screening process.’
She hoisted a box wrapped in brown paper on to the table; it had clearly been unwrapped and carelessly re-wrapped. There was a scribbled note across it in red ink, reading: Inspected and Passed by the Hogwarts High Inquisitor.
‘It's Easter eggs from Mum,’ said Ginny. ‘There's one for you ... there you go.’
She handed him a handsome chocolate egg decorated with small, iced Snitches and, according to the packaging, containing a bag of Fizzing Whizzbees. Harry looked at it for a moment, then, to his horror, felt a lump rise in his throat.
‘Are you OK, Harry?’ Ginny asked quietly.
‘Yeah, I'm fine,’ said Harry gruffly. The lump in his throat was painful. He did not understand why an Easter egg should have made him feel like this.
‘You seem really down lately,’ Ginny persisted. ‘You know, I'm sure if you just talked to Cho ...’
‘It's not Cho I want to talk to,’ said Harry brusquely.
‘Who is it, then?’ asked Ginny, watching him closely.
‘I ...’
He glanced around to make quite sure nobody was listening. Madam Pince was several shelves away, stamping out a pile cf books for a frantic-looking Hannah Abbott.
‘I wish I could talk to Sirius,’ he muttered. ‘But I know I can't.’
Harry tried to make a case for Snape having deserved what he had suffered at James's hands: but hadn't Lily asked, ‘What's he done to you?’ And hadn't James replied, ‘It's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean.’ Hadn't James started it all simply because Sirius had said he was bored? Harry remembered Lupin saying back in Grimmauld Place that Dumbledore had made him prefect in the hope that he would be able to exercise some control over James and Sirius ... but in the Pensieve, he had sat there and let it all happen ...
Harry kept reminding himself that Lily had intervened; his mother had been decent. Yet, the memory of the look on her face as she had shouted at James disturbed him quite as much as anything else; she had clearly loathed James, and Harry simply could not understand how they could have ended up married. Once or twice he even wondered whether James had forced her into it ...
For nearly five years the thought of his father had been a source of comfort, of inspiration. Whenever someone had told him he was like James, he had glowed with pride inside. And now ... now he felt cold and miserable at the thought of him.
The weather grew breezier, brighter and warmer as the Easter holidays passed, but Harry, along with the rest of the fifth- and seventh-years, was trapped inside, revising, traipsing back and forth to the library. Harry pretended his bad mood had no other cause but the approaching exams, and as his fellow Gryffindors were sick of studying themselves, his excuse went unchallenged.
‘Harry, I'm talking to you, can you hear me?’
‘Huh?’
He looked round. Ginny Weasley, looking very windswept, had joined him at the library table where he had been sitting alone. It was late on Sunday evening: Hermione had gone back to Gryffindor Tower to revise Ancient Runes, and Ron had Quidditch practice.
‘Oh, hi,’ said Harry, pulling his books towards him. ‘How come you're not at practice?’
‘It's over,’ said Ginny. ‘Ron had to take Jack Sloper up to the hospital wing.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, we're not sure, but we think he knocked himself out with his own bat.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Anyway ... a package just arrived, it's only just got through Umbridge's new screening process.’
She hoisted a box wrapped in brown paper on to the table; it had clearly been unwrapped and carelessly re-wrapped. There was a scribbled note across it in red ink, reading: Inspected and Passed by the Hogwarts High Inquisitor.
‘It's Easter eggs from Mum,’ said Ginny. ‘There's one for you ... there you go.’
She handed him a handsome chocolate egg decorated with small, iced Snitches and, according to the packaging, containing a bag of Fizzing Whizzbees. Harry looked at it for a moment, then, to his horror, felt a lump rise in his throat.
‘Are you OK, Harry?’ Ginny asked quietly.
‘Yeah, I'm fine,’ said Harry gruffly. The lump in his throat was painful. He did not understand why an Easter egg should have made him feel like this.
‘You seem really down lately,’ Ginny persisted. ‘You know, I'm sure if you just talked to Cho ...’
‘It's not Cho I want to talk to,’ said Harry brusquely.
‘Who is it, then?’ asked Ginny, watching him closely.
‘I ...’
He glanced around to make quite sure nobody was listening. Madam Pince was several shelves away, stamping out a pile cf books for a frantic-looking Hannah Abbott.
‘I wish I could talk to Sirius,’ he muttered. ‘But I know I can't.’
Chapter 29 Careers Advice
Chapter 29 Careers Advice
‘But why haven't you got Occlumency lessons any more?’ said Hermione, frowning.
‘I've told you,’ Harry muttered. ‘Snape reckons I can carry on by myself now I've got the basics.’
‘So you've stopped having funny dreams?’ said Hermione sceptically.
‘Pretty much,’ said Harry, not looking at her.
‘Well, I don't think Snape should stop until you're absolutely sure you can control them!’ said Hermione indignantly. ‘Harry, I think you should go back to him and ask— ’
‘No,’ said Harry forcefully. ‘Just drop it, Hermione, OK?’
It was the first day of the Easter holidays and Hermione, as was her custom, had spent a large part of the day drawing up revision timetables for the three of them. Harry and Ron had let her do it; it was easier than arguing with her and, in any case, they might come in useful.
Ron had been startled to discover there were only six weeks left until their exams.
‘How can that come as a shock?’ Hermione demanded, as she tapped each little square on Ron's timetable with her wand so that it flashed a different colour according to its subject.
‘I dunno,’ said Ron, ‘there's been a lot going on.’
‘Well, there you are,’ she said, handing him his timetable, ‘if you follow that you should do fine.’
Ron looked down it gloomily, but then brightened.
‘You've given me an evening off every week!’
‘That's for Quidditch practice,’ said Hermione.
The smile faded from Ron's face.
‘What's the point?’ he said dully. ‘We've got about as much chance of winning the Quidditch Cup this year as Dad's got of becoming Minister for Magic.’
Hermione said nothing; she was looking at Harry, who was staring blankly at the opposite wall of the common room while Crookshanks pawed at his hand, trying to get his ears scratched.
‘What's wrong, Harry?’
‘What?’ he said quickly. ‘Nothing.’
He seized his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and pretended to be looking something up in the index. Crookshanks gave him up as a bad job and slunk away under Hermione's chair.
‘I saw Cho earlier,’ said Hermione tentatively. ‘She looked really miserable, too ... have you two had a row again?’
‘Wha—oh, yeah, we have,’ said Harry, seizing gratefully on the excuse.
‘What about?’
‘That sneak friend of hers, Marietta,’ said Harry.
‘Yeah, well, I don't blame you!’ said Ron angrily, setting down his revision timetable. ‘If it hadn't been for her ...’
Ron went into a rant about Marietta Edgecombe, which Harry found helpful; all he had to do was look angry, nod and say ‘Yeah’ and That's right’ whenever Ron drew breath, leaving his mind free to dwell, ever more miserably, on what he had seen in the Pensieve.
‘But why haven't you got Occlumency lessons any more?’ said Hermione, frowning.
‘I've told you,’ Harry muttered. ‘Snape reckons I can carry on by myself now I've got the basics.’
‘So you've stopped having funny dreams?’ said Hermione sceptically.
‘Pretty much,’ said Harry, not looking at her.
‘Well, I don't think Snape should stop until you're absolutely sure you can control them!’ said Hermione indignantly. ‘Harry, I think you should go back to him and ask— ’
‘No,’ said Harry forcefully. ‘Just drop it, Hermione, OK?’
It was the first day of the Easter holidays and Hermione, as was her custom, had spent a large part of the day drawing up revision timetables for the three of them. Harry and Ron had let her do it; it was easier than arguing with her and, in any case, they might come in useful.
Ron had been startled to discover there were only six weeks left until their exams.
‘How can that come as a shock?’ Hermione demanded, as she tapped each little square on Ron's timetable with her wand so that it flashed a different colour according to its subject.
‘I dunno,’ said Ron, ‘there's been a lot going on.’
‘Well, there you are,’ she said, handing him his timetable, ‘if you follow that you should do fine.’
Ron looked down it gloomily, but then brightened.
‘You've given me an evening off every week!’
‘That's for Quidditch practice,’ said Hermione.
The smile faded from Ron's face.
‘What's the point?’ he said dully. ‘We've got about as much chance of winning the Quidditch Cup this year as Dad's got of becoming Minister for Magic.’
Hermione said nothing; she was looking at Harry, who was staring blankly at the opposite wall of the common room while Crookshanks pawed at his hand, trying to get his ears scratched.
‘What's wrong, Harry?’
‘What?’ he said quickly. ‘Nothing.’
He seized his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and pretended to be looking something up in the index. Crookshanks gave him up as a bad job and slunk away under Hermione's chair.
‘I saw Cho earlier,’ said Hermione tentatively. ‘She looked really miserable, too ... have you two had a row again?’
‘Wha—oh, yeah, we have,’ said Harry, seizing gratefully on the excuse.
‘What about?’
‘That sneak friend of hers, Marietta,’ said Harry.
‘Yeah, well, I don't blame you!’ said Ron angrily, setting down his revision timetable. ‘If it hadn't been for her ...’
Ron went into a rant about Marietta Edgecombe, which Harry found helpful; all he had to do was look angry, nod and say ‘Yeah’ and That's right’ whenever Ron drew breath, leaving his mind free to dwell, ever more miserably, on what he had seen in the Pensieve.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Chapter 21 The Eye Of The Snake
Chapter 21 The Eye Of The Snake
Hermione ploughed her way back to Hagrid's cabin through two feet of snow on Sunday morning. Harry and Ron wanted to go with her, but their mountain of homework had reached an alarming height again, so they remained
grudgingly in the common room, Tying to ignore the gleeful shouts drifting up from the grounds outside, where students were enjoying themselves skating on the frozen lake, tobogganing and, worst of all, bewitching
snowballs to zoom up to Gryffindor Tower and rap hard on the windows.
‘Oi!’ bellowed Ron, finally losing patience and sticking his head out of the window, ‘I am a prefect and if one more snowball hits this window—OUCH!’
He withdrew his head sharply, his face covered in snow.
‘It's Fred and George,’ he said bitterly, slamming the window behind him. ‘Gits ...’
Hermione returned from Hagrid's just before lunch, shivering slightly, her robes damp to the knees.
‘So?’ said Ron, looking up when she entered. ‘Got all his lessons planned for him?’
‘Well, I tried,’ she said dully, sinking into a chair beside Harry. She pulled out her wand and gave it a complicated little wave so that hot air streamed out of the tip; she then pointed this at her robes, which began to steam as
they dried out. ‘He wasn't even there when I arrived, I was knocking for at least half an hour. And then he came stumping out of the Forest—’
Harry groaned. The Forbidden Forest was teeming with the kind of creatures most likely to get Hagrid the sack. ‘What's he keeping in there? Did he say?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Hermione miserably. ‘He says he wants them to be a surprise. I tried to explain about Umbridge, but he just doesn't get it. He kept saying nobody in their right mind would rather study Knarls than Chimaeras—oh, I
don't think he's got a Chimaera,’ she added at the appalled look on Harry and Ron's faces, ‘but that's not for lack of trying, from what he said about how hard it is to get eggs. I don't know how many times I told him he'd be
better off following Grubbly-Plank's plan, I honestly don't think he listened to half of what I said. He's in a bit of a funny mood, you know. He still won't say how he got all those injuries.’
Hagrid's reappearance at the staff table at breakfast next day was not greeted by enthusiasm from all students. Some, like Fred, George and Lee, roared with delight and sprinted up the aisle between the Gryffindor and
Hufflepuff tables to wring Hagrid's enormous hand; others, like Parvati and Lavender, exchanged gloomy looks and shook their heads. Harry knew that many of them preferred Professor Grubbly-Planks lessons, and the worst
of it was that a very small, unbiased part of him knew that they had good reason: Grubbly-Plank's idea of an interesting class was not one where there was a risk that somebody might have their head ripped off.
It was with a certain amount of apprehension that Harry, Ron and Hermione headed down to Hagrid's on Tuesday, heavily muffled against the cold. Harry was worried, not only about what Hagrid might have decided to teach
them, but also about how the rest of the class, particularly Malfoy and his cronies, would behave if Umbridge was watching them.
However, the High Inquisitor was nowhere to be seen as they struggled through the snow towards Hagrid, who stood waiting for them on the edge of the Forest. He did not present a reassuring sight; the bruises that had been
purple on Saturday night were now tinged with green and yellow and some of his cuts still seemed to be bleeding. Harry could not understand this: had Hagrid perhaps been attacked by some creature whose venom
prevented the wounds it inflicted from healing? As though to complete the ominous picture, Hagrid was carrying what looked like half a dead cow over his shoulder.
‘We're workin’ in here today!’ Hagrid called happily to the approaching students, jerking his head back at the dark trees behind him. ‘Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark.’
‘What prefers the dark?’ Harry heard Malfoy say sharply to Crabbe and Goyle, a trace of panic in his voice. ‘What did he say prefers the dark—did you hear?’
Harry remembered the only other occasion on which Malfoy had entered the Forest before now; he had not been very brave then, either. He smiled to himself; after the Quidditch match anything that caused Malfoy discomfort
was all right with him.
‘Ready?’ said Hagrid cheerfully, looking around at the class. ‘Right, well, I've bin savin’ a trip inter the Forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we'd go an’ see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we're studyin’ today is
pretty rare, I reckon I'm probably the on'y person in Britain who's managed ter train ‘em.’
‘And you're sure they're trained, are you?’ said Malfoy, the panic in his voice even more pronounced. ‘Only it wouldn't be the first time you'd brought wild stuff to class, would it?’
The Slytherins murmured agreement and a few Gryffindors looked as though they thought Malfoy had a fair point, too.
‘Course they're trained,’ said Hagrid, scowling and hoisting the dead cow a little higher on his shoulder.
‘So what happened to your face, then?’ demanded Malfoy.
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Hermione ploughed her way back to Hagrid's cabin through two feet of snow on Sunday morning. Harry and Ron wanted to go with her, but their mountain of homework had reached an alarming height again, so they remained
grudgingly in the common room, Tying to ignore the gleeful shouts drifting up from the grounds outside, where students were enjoying themselves skating on the frozen lake, tobogganing and, worst of all, bewitching
snowballs to zoom up to Gryffindor Tower and rap hard on the windows.
‘Oi!’ bellowed Ron, finally losing patience and sticking his head out of the window, ‘I am a prefect and if one more snowball hits this window—OUCH!’
He withdrew his head sharply, his face covered in snow.
‘It's Fred and George,’ he said bitterly, slamming the window behind him. ‘Gits ...’
Hermione returned from Hagrid's just before lunch, shivering slightly, her robes damp to the knees.
‘So?’ said Ron, looking up when she entered. ‘Got all his lessons planned for him?’
‘Well, I tried,’ she said dully, sinking into a chair beside Harry. She pulled out her wand and gave it a complicated little wave so that hot air streamed out of the tip; she then pointed this at her robes, which began to steam as
they dried out. ‘He wasn't even there when I arrived, I was knocking for at least half an hour. And then he came stumping out of the Forest—’
Harry groaned. The Forbidden Forest was teeming with the kind of creatures most likely to get Hagrid the sack. ‘What's he keeping in there? Did he say?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Hermione miserably. ‘He says he wants them to be a surprise. I tried to explain about Umbridge, but he just doesn't get it. He kept saying nobody in their right mind would rather study Knarls than Chimaeras—oh, I
don't think he's got a Chimaera,’ she added at the appalled look on Harry and Ron's faces, ‘but that's not for lack of trying, from what he said about how hard it is to get eggs. I don't know how many times I told him he'd be
better off following Grubbly-Plank's plan, I honestly don't think he listened to half of what I said. He's in a bit of a funny mood, you know. He still won't say how he got all those injuries.’
Hagrid's reappearance at the staff table at breakfast next day was not greeted by enthusiasm from all students. Some, like Fred, George and Lee, roared with delight and sprinted up the aisle between the Gryffindor and
Hufflepuff tables to wring Hagrid's enormous hand; others, like Parvati and Lavender, exchanged gloomy looks and shook their heads. Harry knew that many of them preferred Professor Grubbly-Planks lessons, and the worst
of it was that a very small, unbiased part of him knew that they had good reason: Grubbly-Plank's idea of an interesting class was not one where there was a risk that somebody might have their head ripped off.
It was with a certain amount of apprehension that Harry, Ron and Hermione headed down to Hagrid's on Tuesday, heavily muffled against the cold. Harry was worried, not only about what Hagrid might have decided to teach
them, but also about how the rest of the class, particularly Malfoy and his cronies, would behave if Umbridge was watching them.
However, the High Inquisitor was nowhere to be seen as they struggled through the snow towards Hagrid, who stood waiting for them on the edge of the Forest. He did not present a reassuring sight; the bruises that had been
purple on Saturday night were now tinged with green and yellow and some of his cuts still seemed to be bleeding. Harry could not understand this: had Hagrid perhaps been attacked by some creature whose venom
prevented the wounds it inflicted from healing? As though to complete the ominous picture, Hagrid was carrying what looked like half a dead cow over his shoulder.
‘We're workin’ in here today!’ Hagrid called happily to the approaching students, jerking his head back at the dark trees behind him. ‘Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark.’
‘What prefers the dark?’ Harry heard Malfoy say sharply to Crabbe and Goyle, a trace of panic in his voice. ‘What did he say prefers the dark—did you hear?’
Harry remembered the only other occasion on which Malfoy had entered the Forest before now; he had not been very brave then, either. He smiled to himself; after the Quidditch match anything that caused Malfoy discomfort
was all right with him.
‘Ready?’ said Hagrid cheerfully, looking around at the class. ‘Right, well, I've bin savin’ a trip inter the Forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we'd go an’ see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we're studyin’ today is
pretty rare, I reckon I'm probably the on'y person in Britain who's managed ter train ‘em.’
‘And you're sure they're trained, are you?’ said Malfoy, the panic in his voice even more pronounced. ‘Only it wouldn't be the first time you'd brought wild stuff to class, would it?’
The Slytherins murmured agreement and a few Gryffindors looked as though they thought Malfoy had a fair point, too.
‘Course they're trained,’ said Hagrid, scowling and hoisting the dead cow a little higher on his shoulder.
‘So what happened to your face, then?’ demanded Malfoy.
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Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Chapter 14 Percy And Padfoot
Harry was first to wake up in his dormitory next morning. He lay for a moment watching dust swirl in the ray of sunlight coming through the gap in his four-poster's hangings, and savoured the thought that it was Saturday. The first week of term seemed to have dragged on for ever, like one gigantic History of Magic lesson.
Judging by the sleepy silence and the freshly minted look of that beam of sunlight, it was just after daybreak. He pulled open the curtains around his bed, got up and started to dress. The only sound apart from the distant twittering of birds was the slow, deep breathing of his fellow Gryffindors. He opened his schoolbag carefully, pulled out parchment and quill and headed out of the dormitory for the common room.
Making straight for his favourite squashy old armchair beside the now extinct fire, Harry settled himself down comfortably and unrolled his parchment while looking around the room. The detritus of crumpled-up bits of parchment, old Gobstones, empty ingredient jars and sweet wrappers that usually covered the common room at the end of each day was gone, as were all Hermione's elf hats. Wondering vaguely how many elves had now been set free whether they wanted to be or not, Harry uncorked his ink bottle, dipped his quill into it, then held it suspended an inch above the smooth yellowish surface of his parchment, thinking hard ... but after a minute or so he found himself staring into the empty grate, at a complete loss for what to say.
He could now appreciate how hard it had been for Ron and Hermione to write him letters over the summer. How was he supposed to tell Sirius everything that had happened over the past week and pose all the questions he was burning to ask without giving potential letter-thieves a lot of information he did not want them to have?
He sat quite motionless for a while, gazing into the fireplace, then, finally coming to a decision, he dipped his quill into the ink bottle once more and set it resolutely on the parchment.
Dear Snuffles,
Hope you're OK, the first week back here's been terrible, I'm really glad it's the weekend.
We've got a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Umbridge. She's nearly as nice as your mum. I'm writing because that thing I wrote to you about last summer happened again last night when I was doing a detention with Umbridge.
We're all missing our biggest friend, we hope he'll be back soon.
Please write back quickly.
Best,
Harry
Harry reread the letter several times, trying to see it from the point of view of an outsider. He could not see how they would know what he was talking about—or who he was talking to—just from reading this letter. He did hope Sirius would pick up the hint about Hagrid and tell them when he might be back. Harry did not want to ask directly in case it drew too much attention to what Hagrid might be up to while he was not at Hogwarts.
Considering it was a very short letter, it had taken a long time to write; sunlight had crept halfway across the room while he had been working on it and he could now hear distant sounds of movement from the dormitories above. Sealing the parchment carefully, he climbed through the portrait hole and headed off for the Owlery.
‘I would not go that way if I were you,’ said Nearly Headless Nick, drifting disconcertingly through a wall just ahead of Harry as he walked down the passage. ‘Peeves is planning an amusing joke on the next person to pass the bust of Paracelsus halfway down the corridor.’
Judging by the sleepy silence and the freshly minted look of that beam of sunlight, it was just after daybreak. He pulled open the curtains around his bed, got up and started to dress. The only sound apart from the distant twittering of birds was the slow, deep breathing of his fellow Gryffindors. He opened his schoolbag carefully, pulled out parchment and quill and headed out of the dormitory for the common room.
Making straight for his favourite squashy old armchair beside the now extinct fire, Harry settled himself down comfortably and unrolled his parchment while looking around the room. The detritus of crumpled-up bits of parchment, old Gobstones, empty ingredient jars and sweet wrappers that usually covered the common room at the end of each day was gone, as were all Hermione's elf hats. Wondering vaguely how many elves had now been set free whether they wanted to be or not, Harry uncorked his ink bottle, dipped his quill into it, then held it suspended an inch above the smooth yellowish surface of his parchment, thinking hard ... but after a minute or so he found himself staring into the empty grate, at a complete loss for what to say.
He could now appreciate how hard it had been for Ron and Hermione to write him letters over the summer. How was he supposed to tell Sirius everything that had happened over the past week and pose all the questions he was burning to ask without giving potential letter-thieves a lot of information he did not want them to have?
He sat quite motionless for a while, gazing into the fireplace, then, finally coming to a decision, he dipped his quill into the ink bottle once more and set it resolutely on the parchment.
Dear Snuffles,
Hope you're OK, the first week back here's been terrible, I'm really glad it's the weekend.
We've got a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Umbridge. She's nearly as nice as your mum. I'm writing because that thing I wrote to you about last summer happened again last night when I was doing a detention with Umbridge.
We're all missing our biggest friend, we hope he'll be back soon.
Please write back quickly.
Best,
Harry
Harry reread the letter several times, trying to see it from the point of view of an outsider. He could not see how they would know what he was talking about—or who he was talking to—just from reading this letter. He did hope Sirius would pick up the hint about Hagrid and tell them when he might be back. Harry did not want to ask directly in case it drew too much attention to what Hagrid might be up to while he was not at Hogwarts.
Considering it was a very short letter, it had taken a long time to write; sunlight had crept halfway across the room while he had been working on it and he could now hear distant sounds of movement from the dormitories above. Sealing the parchment carefully, he climbed through the portrait hole and headed off for the Owlery.
‘I would not go that way if I were you,’ said Nearly Headless Nick, drifting disconcertingly through a wall just ahead of Harry as he walked down the passage. ‘Peeves is planning an amusing joke on the next person to pass the bust of Paracelsus halfway down the corridor.’
Monday, November 15, 2010
Lovely evening!’
shouted Uncle Vernon, waving at Mrs. Number Seven opposite, who was glaring from behind her net curtains. ‘Did you hear that car backfire just now? Gave Petunia and me quite a turn!’
He continued to grin in a horrible, manic way until all the curious neighbours had disappeared from their various windows, then the grin became a grimace of rage as he beckoned Harry back towards him.
Harry moved a few steps closer, taking care to stop just short of the point at which Uncle Vernon's outstretched hands could resume their strangling.
‘What the devil do you mean by it, boy?’ asked Uncle Vernon in a croaky voice that trembled with fury.
‘What do I mean by what?’ said Harry coldly. He kept looking left and right up the street, still hoping to see the person who had made the cracking noise.
‘Making a racket like a starting pistol right outside our—’
‘I didn't make that noise,’ said Harry firmly.
Aunt Petunia's thin, horsy face now appeared beside Uncle Vernon's wide, purple one. She looked livid.
‘Why were you lurking under our window?’
‘Yes—yes, good point, Petunia! What were you doing under our window, boy?’
‘Listening to the news,’ said Harry in a resigned voice.
His aunt and uncle exchanged looks of outrage.
‘Listening to the news! Again?’
‘Well, it changes every day, you see,’ said Harry.
‘Don't you be clever with me, boy! I want to know what you're really up to—and don't give me any more of this listening to the news tosh! You know perfectly well that your lot—’
‘Careful, Vernon!’ breathed Aunt Petunia, and Uncle Vernon lowered his voice so that Harry could barely hear him,'—that your lot don't get on our news!’
‘That's all you know,’ said Harry.
The Dursleys goggled at him for a few seconds, then Aunt Petunia said, ‘You're a nasty little liar. What are all those—’ she, too, lowered her voice so that Harry had to lip-read the next word, ‘—owls doing if they're not bringing you news?’
‘Aha!’ said Uncle Vernon in a triumphant whisper. ‘Get out of that one, boy! As if we didn't know you get all your news from those pestilential birds!’
Harry hesitated for a moment. It cost him something to tell the truth this time, even though his aunt and uncle could not possibly know how bad he felt at admitting it.
‘The owls ... aren't bringing me news,’ he said tonelessly.
‘I don't believe it,’ said Aunt Petunia at once.
‘No more do I,’ said Uncle Vernon forcefully.
‘We know you're up to something funny,’ said Aunt Petunia.
‘We're not stupid, you know,’ said Uncle Vernon.
‘Well, that's news to me,’ said Harry, his temper rising, and before the Dursleys could call him back, he had wheeled about, crossed the front lawn, stepped over the low garden wall and was striding off up the street.
He was in trouble now and he knew it. He would have to face his aunt and uncle later and pay the price for his rudeness, but he did not care very much just at the moment; he had much more pressing matters on his mind.
Harry was sure the cracking noise had been made by someone Apparating or Disapparating. It was exactly the sound Dobby the house-elf made when he vanished into thin air. Was it possible that Dobby was here in Privet Drive? Could Dobby be following him right at this very moment? As this thought occurred he wheeled around and stared back down Privet Drive, but it appeared to be completely deserted and Harry was sure that Dobby did not know how to become invisible.
He continued to grin in a horrible, manic way until all the curious neighbours had disappeared from their various windows, then the grin became a grimace of rage as he beckoned Harry back towards him.
Harry moved a few steps closer, taking care to stop just short of the point at which Uncle Vernon's outstretched hands could resume their strangling.
‘What the devil do you mean by it, boy?’ asked Uncle Vernon in a croaky voice that trembled with fury.
‘What do I mean by what?’ said Harry coldly. He kept looking left and right up the street, still hoping to see the person who had made the cracking noise.
‘Making a racket like a starting pistol right outside our—’
‘I didn't make that noise,’ said Harry firmly.
Aunt Petunia's thin, horsy face now appeared beside Uncle Vernon's wide, purple one. She looked livid.
‘Why were you lurking under our window?’
‘Yes—yes, good point, Petunia! What were you doing under our window, boy?’
‘Listening to the news,’ said Harry in a resigned voice.
His aunt and uncle exchanged looks of outrage.
‘Listening to the news! Again?’
‘Well, it changes every day, you see,’ said Harry.
‘Don't you be clever with me, boy! I want to know what you're really up to—and don't give me any more of this listening to the news tosh! You know perfectly well that your lot—’
‘Careful, Vernon!’ breathed Aunt Petunia, and Uncle Vernon lowered his voice so that Harry could barely hear him,'—that your lot don't get on our news!’
‘That's all you know,’ said Harry.
The Dursleys goggled at him for a few seconds, then Aunt Petunia said, ‘You're a nasty little liar. What are all those—’ she, too, lowered her voice so that Harry had to lip-read the next word, ‘—owls doing if they're not bringing you news?’
‘Aha!’ said Uncle Vernon in a triumphant whisper. ‘Get out of that one, boy! As if we didn't know you get all your news from those pestilential birds!’
Harry hesitated for a moment. It cost him something to tell the truth this time, even though his aunt and uncle could not possibly know how bad he felt at admitting it.
‘The owls ... aren't bringing me news,’ he said tonelessly.
‘I don't believe it,’ said Aunt Petunia at once.
‘No more do I,’ said Uncle Vernon forcefully.
‘We know you're up to something funny,’ said Aunt Petunia.
‘We're not stupid, you know,’ said Uncle Vernon.
‘Well, that's news to me,’ said Harry, his temper rising, and before the Dursleys could call him back, he had wheeled about, crossed the front lawn, stepped over the low garden wall and was striding off up the street.
He was in trouble now and he knew it. He would have to face his aunt and uncle later and pay the price for his rudeness, but he did not care very much just at the moment; he had much more pressing matters on his mind.
Harry was sure the cracking noise had been made by someone Apparating or Disapparating. It was exactly the sound Dobby the house-elf made when he vanished into thin air. Was it possible that Dobby was here in Privet Drive? Could Dobby be following him right at this very moment? As this thought occurred he wheeled around and stared back down Privet Drive, but it appeared to be completely deserted and Harry was sure that Dobby did not know how to become invisible.
‘Watching the news...’
he said scathingly. ‘I'd like to know what he's really up to. As if a normal boy cares what's on the news— Dudley hasn't got a clue what's going on; doubt he knows who the Prime Minister is! Anyway, it's not as if there'd be anything about his lot on our news—’
‘Vernon, shh!’ said Aunt Petunia. ‘The window's open!’
‘Oh—yes— sorry, dear.’
The Dursleys fell silent. Harry listened to a jingle about Fruit ‘n’ Bran breakfast cereal while he watched Mrs. Figg, a batty cat-loving old lady from nearby Wisteria Walk, amble slowly past. She was frowning and muttering to herself. Harry was very pleased he was concealed behind the bush, as Mrs. Figg had recently taken to asking him round for tea whenever she met him in the street. She had rounded the corner and vanished from view before Uncle Vernon's voice floated out of the window again.
‘Dudders out for tea?’
‘At the Polkisses',’ said Aunt Petunia fondly. ‘He's got so many little friends, he's so popular...’
Harry suppressed a snort with difficulty. The Dursleys really were astonishingly stupid about their son, Dudley. They had swallowed all his dim-witted lies about having tea with a different member of his gang every night of the summer holidays. Harry knew perfectly well that Dudley had not been to tea anywhere; he and his gang spent every evening vandalising the play park, smoking on street corners and throwing stones at passing cars and children. Harry had seen them at it during his evening walks around Little Whinging; he had spent most of the holidays wandering the streets, scavenging newspapers from bins along the way.
The opening notes of the music that heralded the seven o'clock news reached Harry's ears and his stomach turned over. Perhaps tonight—after a month of waiting—would be the night.
‘Record numbers of stranded holidaymakers fill airports as the Spanish baggage-handlers’ strike reaches its second week—’
‘Give ‘em a lifelong siesta, I would,’ snarled Uncle Vernon over the end of the newsreader's sentence, but no matter: outside in the flowerbed, Harry's stomach seemed to unclench. If anything had happened, it would surely have been the first item on the news; death and destruction were more important than stranded holidaymakers.
He let out a long, slow breath and stared up at the brilliant blue sky. Every day this summer had been the same: the tension, the expectation, the temporary relief, and then mounting tension again ... and always, growing more insistent all the time, the question of why nothing had happened yet....
He kept listening, just in case there was some small clue, not recognised for what it really was by the Muggles—an unexplained disappearance, perhaps, or some strange accident ... but the baggage-handlers’ strike was followed by news about the drought in the Southeast ('I hope he's listening next door!’ bellowed Uncle Vernon. ‘Him with his sprinklers on at three in the morning!'), then a helicopter that had almost crashed in a field in Surrey, then a famous actress's divorce from her famous husband ('As if we're interested in their sordid affairs,’ sniffed Aunt Petunia, who had followed the case obsessively in every magazine she could lay her bony hands on).
Harry closed his eyes against the now blazing evening sky as the newsreader said, ‘—and finally, Bungy the budgie has found a novel way of keeping cool this summer. Bungy, who lives at the Five Feathers in Barnsley, has learned to water ski! Mary Dorkins went to find out more.’
Harry opened his eyes. If they had reached water-skiing budgerigars, there would be nothing else worth hearing. He rolled cautiously on to his front and raised himself on to his knees and elbows, preparing to crawl out from under the window.
He had moved about two inches when several things happened in very quick succession.
A loud, echoing crack broke the sleepy silence like a gunshot; a cat streaked out from under a parked car and flew out of sight; a shriek, a bellowed oath and the sound of breaking china came from the Dursleys’ living room, and as though this was the signal Harry had been waiting for he jumped to his feet, at the same time pulling from the waistband of his jeans a thin wooden wand as if he were unsheathing a sword—but before he could draw himself up to full height, the top of his head collided with the Dursleys’ open window. The resultant crash made Aunt Petunia scream even louder.
Harry felt as though his head had been split in two. Eyes streaming, he swayed, trying to focus on the street to spot the source of the noise, but he had barely staggered upright when two large purple hands reached through the open window and closed tightly around his throat.
‘Put—it—away!’ Uncle Vernon snarled into Harry's ear. ‘Now! Before—anyone—sees!’
‘Get—off—me!’ Harry gasped. For a few seconds they struggled, Harry pulling at his uncle's sausage-like fingers with his left hand, his right maintaining a firm grip on his raised wand; then, as the pain in the top of Harry's head gave a particularly nasty throb, Uncle Vernon yelped and released Harry as though he had received an electric shock. Some invisible force seemed to have surged through his nephew, making him impossible to hold.
Panting, Harry fell forwards over the hydrangea bush, straightened up and stared around. There was no sign of what had caused the loud cracking noise, but there were several faces peering through various nearby windows. Harry stuffed his wand hastily back into his jeans and tried to look innocent.
‘Vernon, shh!’ said Aunt Petunia. ‘The window's open!’
‘Oh—yes— sorry, dear.’
The Dursleys fell silent. Harry listened to a jingle about Fruit ‘n’ Bran breakfast cereal while he watched Mrs. Figg, a batty cat-loving old lady from nearby Wisteria Walk, amble slowly past. She was frowning and muttering to herself. Harry was very pleased he was concealed behind the bush, as Mrs. Figg had recently taken to asking him round for tea whenever she met him in the street. She had rounded the corner and vanished from view before Uncle Vernon's voice floated out of the window again.
‘Dudders out for tea?’
‘At the Polkisses',’ said Aunt Petunia fondly. ‘He's got so many little friends, he's so popular...’
Harry suppressed a snort with difficulty. The Dursleys really were astonishingly stupid about their son, Dudley. They had swallowed all his dim-witted lies about having tea with a different member of his gang every night of the summer holidays. Harry knew perfectly well that Dudley had not been to tea anywhere; he and his gang spent every evening vandalising the play park, smoking on street corners and throwing stones at passing cars and children. Harry had seen them at it during his evening walks around Little Whinging; he had spent most of the holidays wandering the streets, scavenging newspapers from bins along the way.
The opening notes of the music that heralded the seven o'clock news reached Harry's ears and his stomach turned over. Perhaps tonight—after a month of waiting—would be the night.
‘Record numbers of stranded holidaymakers fill airports as the Spanish baggage-handlers’ strike reaches its second week—’
‘Give ‘em a lifelong siesta, I would,’ snarled Uncle Vernon over the end of the newsreader's sentence, but no matter: outside in the flowerbed, Harry's stomach seemed to unclench. If anything had happened, it would surely have been the first item on the news; death and destruction were more important than stranded holidaymakers.
He let out a long, slow breath and stared up at the brilliant blue sky. Every day this summer had been the same: the tension, the expectation, the temporary relief, and then mounting tension again ... and always, growing more insistent all the time, the question of why nothing had happened yet....
He kept listening, just in case there was some small clue, not recognised for what it really was by the Muggles—an unexplained disappearance, perhaps, or some strange accident ... but the baggage-handlers’ strike was followed by news about the drought in the Southeast ('I hope he's listening next door!’ bellowed Uncle Vernon. ‘Him with his sprinklers on at three in the morning!'), then a helicopter that had almost crashed in a field in Surrey, then a famous actress's divorce from her famous husband ('As if we're interested in their sordid affairs,’ sniffed Aunt Petunia, who had followed the case obsessively in every magazine she could lay her bony hands on).
Harry closed his eyes against the now blazing evening sky as the newsreader said, ‘—and finally, Bungy the budgie has found a novel way of keeping cool this summer. Bungy, who lives at the Five Feathers in Barnsley, has learned to water ski! Mary Dorkins went to find out more.’
Harry opened his eyes. If they had reached water-skiing budgerigars, there would be nothing else worth hearing. He rolled cautiously on to his front and raised himself on to his knees and elbows, preparing to crawl out from under the window.
He had moved about two inches when several things happened in very quick succession.
A loud, echoing crack broke the sleepy silence like a gunshot; a cat streaked out from under a parked car and flew out of sight; a shriek, a bellowed oath and the sound of breaking china came from the Dursleys’ living room, and as though this was the signal Harry had been waiting for he jumped to his feet, at the same time pulling from the waistband of his jeans a thin wooden wand as if he were unsheathing a sword—but before he could draw himself up to full height, the top of his head collided with the Dursleys’ open window. The resultant crash made Aunt Petunia scream even louder.
Harry felt as though his head had been split in two. Eyes streaming, he swayed, trying to focus on the street to spot the source of the noise, but he had barely staggered upright when two large purple hands reached through the open window and closed tightly around his throat.
‘Put—it—away!’ Uncle Vernon snarled into Harry's ear. ‘Now! Before—anyone—sees!’
‘Get—off—me!’ Harry gasped. For a few seconds they struggled, Harry pulling at his uncle's sausage-like fingers with his left hand, his right maintaining a firm grip on his raised wand; then, as the pain in the top of Harry's head gave a particularly nasty throb, Uncle Vernon yelped and released Harry as though he had received an electric shock. Some invisible force seemed to have surged through his nephew, making him impossible to hold.
Panting, Harry fell forwards over the hydrangea bush, straightened up and stared around. There was no sign of what had caused the loud cracking noise, but there were several faces peering through various nearby windows. Harry stuffed his wand hastily back into his jeans and tried to look innocent.
Chapter 1 Dudley Demented
The hottest day of the summer so far was drawing to a close and a drowsy silence lay over the large, square houses of Privet Drive. Cars that were usually gleaming stood dusty in their drives and lawns that were once emerald green lay parched and yellowing—for the use of hosepipes had been banned due to drought. Deprived of their usual car-washing and lawn-mowing pursuits, the inhabitants of Privet Drive had retreated into the shade of their cool houses, windows thrown wide in the hope of tempting in a nonexistent breeze. The only person left outdoors was a teenage boy who was lying flat on his back in a flowerbed outside number four.
He was a skinny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who had the pinched, slightly unhealthy look of someone who has grown a lot in a short space of time. His jeans were torn and dirty, his T-shirt baggy and faded, and the soles of his trainers were peeling away from the uppers. Harry Potter's appearance did not endear him to the neighbours, who were the sort of people who thought scruffiness ought to be punishable by law, but as he had hidden himself behind a large hydrangea bush this evening he was quite invisible to passers-by. In fact, the only way he would be spotted was if his Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia stuck their heads out of the living-room window and looked straight down into the flowerbed below.
On the whole, Harry thought he was to be congratulated on his idea of hiding here. He was not, perhaps, very comfortable lying on the hot, hard earth but, on the other hand, nobody was glaring at him, grinding their teeth so loudly that he could not hear the news, or shooting nasty questions at him, as had happened every time he had tried sitting down in the living room to watch television with his aunt and uncle.
Almost as though this thought had fluttered through the open window, Vernon Dursley, Harry's uncle, suddenly spoke.
‘Glad to see the boy's stopped trying to butt in. Where is he, anyway?’
‘I don't know,’ said Aunt Petunia, unconcerned. ‘Not in the house.’
Uncle Vernon grunted.
He was a skinny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who had the pinched, slightly unhealthy look of someone who has grown a lot in a short space of time. His jeans were torn and dirty, his T-shirt baggy and faded, and the soles of his trainers were peeling away from the uppers. Harry Potter's appearance did not endear him to the neighbours, who were the sort of people who thought scruffiness ought to be punishable by law, but as he had hidden himself behind a large hydrangea bush this evening he was quite invisible to passers-by. In fact, the only way he would be spotted was if his Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia stuck their heads out of the living-room window and looked straight down into the flowerbed below.
On the whole, Harry thought he was to be congratulated on his idea of hiding here. He was not, perhaps, very comfortable lying on the hot, hard earth but, on the other hand, nobody was glaring at him, grinding their teeth so loudly that he could not hear the news, or shooting nasty questions at him, as had happened every time he had tried sitting down in the living room to watch television with his aunt and uncle.
Almost as though this thought had fluttered through the open window, Vernon Dursley, Harry's uncle, suddenly spoke.
‘Glad to see the boy's stopped trying to butt in. Where is he, anyway?’
‘I don't know,’ said Aunt Petunia, unconcerned. ‘Not in the house.’
Uncle Vernon grunted.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
After Twenty Years
The policeman on the beat moved up the avenue impressively. The impressiveness was habitual and not for show, for spectators were few. The time was barely 10 o'clock at night, but chilly gusts of wind with a taste of rain in
them had well nigh depeopled the streets.
Trying doors as he went, twirling his club with many intricate and artful movements, turning now and then to cast his watchful eye adown the pacific thoroughfare, the officer, with his stalwart form and slight swagger, made a
fine picture of a guardian of the peace. The vicinity was one that kept early hours. Now and then you might see the lights of a cigar store or of an all-night lunch counter; but the majority of the doors belonged to business
places that had long since been closed.
When about midway of a certain block the policeman suddenly slowed his walk. In the doorway of a darkened hardware store a man leaned, with an unlighted cigar in his mouth. As the policeman walked up to him the man
spoke up quickly.
"It's all right, officer," he said, reassuringly. "I'm just waiting for a friend. It's an appointment made twenty years ago. Sounds a little funny to you, doesn't it? Well, I'll explain if you'd like to make certain it's all straight. About that
long ago there used to be a restaurant where this store stands--'Big Joe' Brady's restaurant."
"Until five years ago," said the policeman. "It was torn down then."
The man in the doorway struck a match and lit his cigar. The light showed a pale, square-jawed face with keen eyes, and a little white scar near his right eyebrow. His scarfpin was a large diamond, oddly set.
"Twenty years ago to-night," said the man, "I dined here at 'Big Joe' Brady's with Jimmy Wells, my best chum, and the finest chap in the world. He and I were raised here in New York, just like two brothers, together. I was
eighteen and Jimmy was twenty. The next morning I was to start for the West to make my fortune. You couldn't have dragged Jimmy out of New York; he thought it was the only place on earth. Well, we agreed that night that
we would meet here again exactly twenty years from that date and time, no matter what our conditions might be or from what distance we might have to come. We figured that in twenty years each of us ought to have our
destiny worked out and our fortunes made, whatever they were going to be."
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them had well nigh depeopled the streets.
Trying doors as he went, twirling his club with many intricate and artful movements, turning now and then to cast his watchful eye adown the pacific thoroughfare, the officer, with his stalwart form and slight swagger, made a
fine picture of a guardian of the peace. The vicinity was one that kept early hours. Now and then you might see the lights of a cigar store or of an all-night lunch counter; but the majority of the doors belonged to business
places that had long since been closed.
When about midway of a certain block the policeman suddenly slowed his walk. In the doorway of a darkened hardware store a man leaned, with an unlighted cigar in his mouth. As the policeman walked up to him the man
spoke up quickly.
"It's all right, officer," he said, reassuringly. "I'm just waiting for a friend. It's an appointment made twenty years ago. Sounds a little funny to you, doesn't it? Well, I'll explain if you'd like to make certain it's all straight. About that
long ago there used to be a restaurant where this store stands--'Big Joe' Brady's restaurant."
"Until five years ago," said the policeman. "It was torn down then."
The man in the doorway struck a match and lit his cigar. The light showed a pale, square-jawed face with keen eyes, and a little white scar near his right eyebrow. His scarfpin was a large diamond, oddly set.
"Twenty years ago to-night," said the man, "I dined here at 'Big Joe' Brady's with Jimmy Wells, my best chum, and the finest chap in the world. He and I were raised here in New York, just like two brothers, together. I was
eighteen and Jimmy was twenty. The next morning I was to start for the West to make my fortune. You couldn't have dragged Jimmy out of New York; he thought it was the only place on earth. Well, we agreed that night that
we would meet here again exactly twenty years from that date and time, no matter what our conditions might be or from what distance we might have to come. We figured that in twenty years each of us ought to have our
destiny worked out and our fortunes made, whatever they were going to be."
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Wednesday, November 10, 2010
How Hurricane Ike Underscores the Importance of an Effective Water Purification Process
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：134 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 1:30:38
I'm shocked. I was listening to a radio news story about the aftermath of Hurricane Ike in the south Texas area. In an effort to provide local citizens with clean drinking water, a spokesman was saying that they were adding more chlorine to their water purification process. While you can expect chlorine to kill bacterial contaminants that have fouled the water system due to the hurricane, chlorine cannot be counted on to remove synthetic chemical contaminants that were probably also deposited in the water. Chlorine is a disinfectant. It is not a filter. When you explain water purification, that distinction must be made!
Disinfection
With the landscape of southern Texas dotted with numerous oil refineries it only makes sense that people would be alarmed about the possibility of their water being contaminated by refinery chemicals. Add to that the possible contamination by all types of waste (industrial, medical, etc.) and it becomes apparent that the need to explain water purification can be crucial.
Adding more chlorine to a chlorine-based water purification process has the potential for making a dangerous situation even worse. While it may be able to prevent water-borne diseases like typhoid and cholera from erupting, chlorine has serious drawbacks that are going to be magnified with increased doses in the water.
Chlorine leaches heavy metals, like lead, as it flows through the aging plumbing systems of many homes. Lead is poisonus to humans.
Chlorine also creates chloroform gas in the vapor of a bathroom shower. And who knows what kind of dangerous chemical reactions increased levels of chlorine will have with any of the contaminants that have been introduced into the water as a result of Hurrican Ike.
If you explain water purification based on disinfection, then chlorine is probably going to make up a large part of that explanation.
Filtration
It is apparent that a water purification process that is based on filtration, rather than disinfection, is going to have to be utilized if people want to ensure that the the water they drink, cook and bathe in is completely safe.
When you explain water purification based on filtration, several commonly-used systems immediately come to mind.
Reverse osmosis is a popular system that uses filtration, but usually requires the addition of a carbon filter to make sure that contaminants that are small enough to make it through the reverse osmosis membrane are caught. This water purficiation process is expensive and requires a lot of upkeep. People dealing with the costly destruction of a hurricane may find that a reverse osmosis system is not feasible.
Distillation is another potentially expensive water purification process. It, too, requires the addition of a carbon filter in order to catch all the contaminants that distillation is unable to remove. Ongoing maintenance is another requirement of distillation. The carbon filters must be changed frequently due to continuous build up of potentially harmful bacteria.
I'm shocked. I was listening to a radio news story about the aftermath of Hurricane Ike in the south Texas area. In an effort to provide local citizens with clean drinking water, a spokesman was saying that they were adding more chlorine to their water purification process. While you can expect chlorine to kill bacterial contaminants that have fouled the water system due to the hurricane, chlorine cannot be counted on to remove synthetic chemical contaminants that were probably also deposited in the water. Chlorine is a disinfectant. It is not a filter. When you explain water purification, that distinction must be made!
Disinfection
With the landscape of southern Texas dotted with numerous oil refineries it only makes sense that people would be alarmed about the possibility of their water being contaminated by refinery chemicals. Add to that the possible contamination by all types of waste (industrial, medical, etc.) and it becomes apparent that the need to explain water purification can be crucial.
Adding more chlorine to a chlorine-based water purification process has the potential for making a dangerous situation even worse. While it may be able to prevent water-borne diseases like typhoid and cholera from erupting, chlorine has serious drawbacks that are going to be magnified with increased doses in the water.
Chlorine leaches heavy metals, like lead, as it flows through the aging plumbing systems of many homes. Lead is poisonus to humans.
Chlorine also creates chloroform gas in the vapor of a bathroom shower. And who knows what kind of dangerous chemical reactions increased levels of chlorine will have with any of the contaminants that have been introduced into the water as a result of Hurrican Ike.
If you explain water purification based on disinfection, then chlorine is probably going to make up a large part of that explanation.
Filtration
It is apparent that a water purification process that is based on filtration, rather than disinfection, is going to have to be utilized if people want to ensure that the the water they drink, cook and bathe in is completely safe.
When you explain water purification based on filtration, several commonly-used systems immediately come to mind.
Reverse osmosis is a popular system that uses filtration, but usually requires the addition of a carbon filter to make sure that contaminants that are small enough to make it through the reverse osmosis membrane are caught. This water purficiation process is expensive and requires a lot of upkeep. People dealing with the costly destruction of a hurricane may find that a reverse osmosis system is not feasible.
Distillation is another potentially expensive water purification process. It, too, requires the addition of a carbon filter in order to catch all the contaminants that distillation is unable to remove. Ongoing maintenance is another requirement of distillation. The carbon filters must be changed frequently due to continuous build up of potentially harmful bacteria.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Have A Stylish Crystal Chandelier
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：131 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 1:05:19
Crystal chandeliers are a pricey buy. However, you can forever find purchases that are affordable enough. By knowing where to look and by researching about the thriftiest shops around city, you can definitely get a
chandelier that won't hurt your pockets.
Below are some great dreams on where to hold excluding classy chandeliers. You're guaranteed to find one after the read.
Second Hand Crystal Chandeliers
Families pitiful to another home should be on your watch directory. Because they'll be promotion some of their gear at home, you can possibly imagine sparkler chandeliers on their retailing. The goods is leaving to expense
you excluding since the piece has been worn already. And since sparkler chandeliers preserve their proviso even after a long year's use, you can definitely find something that value your money in instant hand purchases.
Although the point has been worn already, it doesn't mean that they are not good enough to be used again in your homes. Of course, you should try the chandelier first before making the get. You should also observe for any
defects so you may barter with the peddler at an even junior rate.
Garage Sales
Garage sales are one of the chairs you can foothold a sparkler chandelier. Every year, there are festivals in a city which have garage sales as one of their activities. You might want to try looking for rock chandeliers during
these occasions.
Garage sales do not always plug moment hand substance. Some sort new and some are faintly used. So even in a garage store, you can indeed find a class new sparkler chandelier. By being resourceful enough, you'd
surely find the best lighting routine to meet with your homes.
The Internet
The internet is maybe the prime store in the world nowadays. You cannot only buy type new things, but you can also goods following hand ones with utter replacement parts. Crystal chandeliers over the web may also be
auctioned for some price. Who knows, you might even find the Louis XVI Drop Crystal Chandelier at the best bargain price.
Aside from used sparkler chandeliers, you can acquire marker new lighting systems over the web. The costs are much cheaper since you do not have to pay for overheads or sometimes the taxes. There are also several
choices or websites which push crystal chandelier over the web. Some even permit customized orders to believe your wishes. So where better place to shop for crystal chandeliers than the internet, right?
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chanel 2.55
burberry outlet
coach outlet
Crystal chandeliers are a pricey buy. However, you can forever find purchases that are affordable enough. By knowing where to look and by researching about the thriftiest shops around city, you can definitely get a
chandelier that won't hurt your pockets.
Below are some great dreams on where to hold excluding classy chandeliers. You're guaranteed to find one after the read.
Second Hand Crystal Chandeliers
Families pitiful to another home should be on your watch directory. Because they'll be promotion some of their gear at home, you can possibly imagine sparkler chandeliers on their retailing. The goods is leaving to expense
you excluding since the piece has been worn already. And since sparkler chandeliers preserve their proviso even after a long year's use, you can definitely find something that value your money in instant hand purchases.
Although the point has been worn already, it doesn't mean that they are not good enough to be used again in your homes. Of course, you should try the chandelier first before making the get. You should also observe for any
defects so you may barter with the peddler at an even junior rate.
Garage Sales
Garage sales are one of the chairs you can foothold a sparkler chandelier. Every year, there are festivals in a city which have garage sales as one of their activities. You might want to try looking for rock chandeliers during
these occasions.
Garage sales do not always plug moment hand substance. Some sort new and some are faintly used. So even in a garage store, you can indeed find a class new sparkler chandelier. By being resourceful enough, you'd
surely find the best lighting routine to meet with your homes.
The Internet
The internet is maybe the prime store in the world nowadays. You cannot only buy type new things, but you can also goods following hand ones with utter replacement parts. Crystal chandeliers over the web may also be
auctioned for some price. Who knows, you might even find the Louis XVI Drop Crystal Chandelier at the best bargain price.
Aside from used sparkler chandeliers, you can acquire marker new lighting systems over the web. The costs are much cheaper since you do not have to pay for overheads or sometimes the taxes. There are also several
choices or websites which push crystal chandelier over the web. Some even permit customized orders to believe your wishes. So where better place to shop for crystal chandeliers than the internet, right?
uggs
chanel 2.55
burberry outlet
coach outlet
Monday, November 8, 2010
Mission Possible: Permanent Hair Reduction
The Mission: Eliminate the target (ALIAS: HAIR) with Light Amplification Stimulated Emission of Radiation (ALIAS: LASER).
The Operatives:
1. A very knowledgeable and skilled physician.
2. A patient with unwanted hair.
The Goal: Satisfied, virtually hair-free patients.
The Strategy: The target (hair) will be eliminated and may never come back. The patient must be informed of the following:
This Mission is Effective
A high energy laser will emit a beam of light that passes through the skin to the hair follicle where it is absorbed. The laser energy is transformed into heat, which destroys the hair follicle leaving the surrounding skin unaffected. The skin is further protected during treatment by cryogen sprayed onto the skin cooling the upper layers and providing the patient with increased comfort. Our intelligence reports indicate that laser treatment, in the hands of a highly trained physician, can safely remove unwanted body hair without damaging the delicate pores and structures of the skin.
This Mission is Fast
The procedure can take as little as 10 minutes depending on the area being treated. Underarms and bikini areas are usually completed in less than fifteen minutes. Legs, backs and larger areas can take longer.
Alternative Missions Have Failed
Shaving, plucking, waxing and depilatory creams provide only temporary relief. Until now, the only way to remove hair permanently has been by electrolysis - a tedious, time-consuming and uncomfortable procedure.
You Will Be Protected Throughout the Mission
The treatment will include wearing safety eyewear to protect the operative's eyes from the laser light during the procedure. A small hand piece will be used that touches the skin to deliver the laser light. A light spray of coolant onto the skin will be felt just before each laser pulse. A test area will be done prior to the treatment. Your full treatment may be done on the same day or up to two weeks later, depending on the skin's reaction. Topical anesthesia may also be requested based on individual preference. The treated area may become pink or red within 30 minutes of treatment. This may last from a few hours to several days and is relieved with the application of ice or cooling gels.
Pre and Post Mission Precautions are Imperative
It is important to avoid the sun 4-6 weeks before and after treatment or until allowed by your physician. Additionally, you must avoid electrolysis, plucking or waxing hair for 6 weeks prior to treatment. REPEAT: removal of the target through methods other than shaving will sabotage the mission and it will be aborted. The darker your skin tone, the higher the risk of potential side effects from a laser treatment. If you have a dark skin type, your physician may prescribe a bleaching cream 4-6 weeks before treatment to optimize results. If you have had a history of perioral herpes, prophylactic antiviral therapy may be prescribed. You should discuss your desired results and the improvements you expect to achieve with your physician. Together you can decide if your expectations will be met and if this laser mission is the best option.
There Will Be Several Back Up Missions
Hair grows in cycles. The number of missions required depends upon your skin color and coarseness of the hair. Everyone will require at least 3 treatments as the process is only effective on hair that is in the active growth phase. Repeat sessions (even 5 or 6 is common) will be necessary to increase the likelihood of permanent hair reduction.
Mission Summary
This article will not self-destruct. If you chose to accept, keep this in mind: those with blond or "peach-fuzz" targets are not candidates for this mission. Consult Dr. Ali, Mission Specialist, for further debriefing.
The Operatives:
1. A very knowledgeable and skilled physician.
2. A patient with unwanted hair.
The Goal: Satisfied, virtually hair-free patients.
The Strategy: The target (hair) will be eliminated and may never come back. The patient must be informed of the following:
This Mission is Effective
A high energy laser will emit a beam of light that passes through the skin to the hair follicle where it is absorbed. The laser energy is transformed into heat, which destroys the hair follicle leaving the surrounding skin unaffected. The skin is further protected during treatment by cryogen sprayed onto the skin cooling the upper layers and providing the patient with increased comfort. Our intelligence reports indicate that laser treatment, in the hands of a highly trained physician, can safely remove unwanted body hair without damaging the delicate pores and structures of the skin.
This Mission is Fast
The procedure can take as little as 10 minutes depending on the area being treated. Underarms and bikini areas are usually completed in less than fifteen minutes. Legs, backs and larger areas can take longer.
Alternative Missions Have Failed
Shaving, plucking, waxing and depilatory creams provide only temporary relief. Until now, the only way to remove hair permanently has been by electrolysis - a tedious, time-consuming and uncomfortable procedure.
You Will Be Protected Throughout the Mission
The treatment will include wearing safety eyewear to protect the operative's eyes from the laser light during the procedure. A small hand piece will be used that touches the skin to deliver the laser light. A light spray of coolant onto the skin will be felt just before each laser pulse. A test area will be done prior to the treatment. Your full treatment may be done on the same day or up to two weeks later, depending on the skin's reaction. Topical anesthesia may also be requested based on individual preference. The treated area may become pink or red within 30 minutes of treatment. This may last from a few hours to several days and is relieved with the application of ice or cooling gels.
Pre and Post Mission Precautions are Imperative
It is important to avoid the sun 4-6 weeks before and after treatment or until allowed by your physician. Additionally, you must avoid electrolysis, plucking or waxing hair for 6 weeks prior to treatment. REPEAT: removal of the target through methods other than shaving will sabotage the mission and it will be aborted. The darker your skin tone, the higher the risk of potential side effects from a laser treatment. If you have a dark skin type, your physician may prescribe a bleaching cream 4-6 weeks before treatment to optimize results. If you have had a history of perioral herpes, prophylactic antiviral therapy may be prescribed. You should discuss your desired results and the improvements you expect to achieve with your physician. Together you can decide if your expectations will be met and if this laser mission is the best option.
There Will Be Several Back Up Missions
Hair grows in cycles. The number of missions required depends upon your skin color and coarseness of the hair. Everyone will require at least 3 treatments as the process is only effective on hair that is in the active growth phase. Repeat sessions (even 5 or 6 is common) will be necessary to increase the likelihood of permanent hair reduction.
Mission Summary
This article will not self-destruct. If you chose to accept, keep this in mind: those with blond or "peach-fuzz" targets are not candidates for this mission. Consult Dr. Ali, Mission Specialist, for further debriefing.
Dare To Diminish Acne Scars
Acne is a very common skin disorder and it affects many people. The reason people get acne is that the pores of the face become clogged with natural oils. Bacteria multiplies when the pores of the skin are plugged up. Although bacteria is there before this, it multiplies when the pores are blocked up. When people pick and rub their pimples, delicate facial tissues tear resulting in scars.
Once someone's face becomes scarred from acne that has been scratched, it's very difficult to get rid of the scars that are left behind.
Modern medical "miracles" to help restore the beauty of acne-scarred skin are not without risk. Your dermatologist might recommend dermabrasion, collagen injections, or laser methods.
It's good that there are a number of medical procedures that can help return skin to its former good looks, but many individuals can't afford them. Also, it's hard to say what the final outcome will be for skin that has been treated with harsh chemicals.
Since there is a risk with surgical and invasive means of acne scar removal, many people are looking instead to natural methods.
These treatments can be done at home and that's a real advantage for acne sufferers. They help your whole complexion to look and feel better even if you do not have acne pits.
Treatments you can do in the privacy of your own home are safe and inexpensive.
Most home remedies use minerals, vitamins, herbal extracts and antioxidants, so there are few if any side effects. Home remedies are mainly used for lighter cases of acne scarring and not for severe cases.
These home remedies have been around for a long time since they are so effective.
For example, many individuals have found that Vitamin E oil used consistently and over a long period of time usually diminishes scars.
If you mix cucumber and tomato juice together and place this mixture on your pits, you may have good results and may improve the texture of your skin. Lemon juice may be beneficial if it is placed directly on acne scars. A paste made from smashed garlic gloves and placed on the skin may be effective.
Place a mixture of sandalwood powder and a little rosewater on your face. Try an oatmeal paste mask on your face.
Here's a unique and inexpensive moisturizing treatment: warm some honey and massage it into your skin.
Some people find applying egg whites to acne scars helpful.
These homemade facial masks can be left on the skin for about half an hour and some even for a longer period of time. Then wash them off.
Homemade acne remedies require patience before results can be seen.
If you've been picking and scratching your pimples and have created scars, some of them may be with you for the rest of your life. Don't let that stop you since using natural remedies may help your scars to be less noticeable.
Prevention is really the best way to go when it comes to treating acne scars because once scars are there, they may be around for a long time to come. That's why you should fight the urge to finger your zits and pick them. Living a healthy lifestyle will also help your skin to look better.
Once someone's face becomes scarred from acne that has been scratched, it's very difficult to get rid of the scars that are left behind.
Modern medical "miracles" to help restore the beauty of acne-scarred skin are not without risk. Your dermatologist might recommend dermabrasion, collagen injections, or laser methods.
It's good that there are a number of medical procedures that can help return skin to its former good looks, but many individuals can't afford them. Also, it's hard to say what the final outcome will be for skin that has been treated with harsh chemicals.
Since there is a risk with surgical and invasive means of acne scar removal, many people are looking instead to natural methods.
These treatments can be done at home and that's a real advantage for acne sufferers. They help your whole complexion to look and feel better even if you do not have acne pits.
Treatments you can do in the privacy of your own home are safe and inexpensive.
Most home remedies use minerals, vitamins, herbal extracts and antioxidants, so there are few if any side effects. Home remedies are mainly used for lighter cases of acne scarring and not for severe cases.
These home remedies have been around for a long time since they are so effective.
For example, many individuals have found that Vitamin E oil used consistently and over a long period of time usually diminishes scars.
If you mix cucumber and tomato juice together and place this mixture on your pits, you may have good results and may improve the texture of your skin. Lemon juice may be beneficial if it is placed directly on acne scars. A paste made from smashed garlic gloves and placed on the skin may be effective.
Place a mixture of sandalwood powder and a little rosewater on your face. Try an oatmeal paste mask on your face.
Here's a unique and inexpensive moisturizing treatment: warm some honey and massage it into your skin.
Some people find applying egg whites to acne scars helpful.
These homemade facial masks can be left on the skin for about half an hour and some even for a longer period of time. Then wash them off.
Homemade acne remedies require patience before results can be seen.
If you've been picking and scratching your pimples and have created scars, some of them may be with you for the rest of your life. Don't let that stop you since using natural remedies may help your scars to be less noticeable.
Prevention is really the best way to go when it comes to treating acne scars because once scars are there, they may be around for a long time to come. That's why you should fight the urge to finger your zits and pick them. Living a healthy lifestyle will also help your skin to look better.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Short Trip For Christmas Celebrations? Christmas Loans
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：135 UpdateTime：2008-10-18 23:46:40
If you want to make a short trip to travel elsewhere for Christmas or if you want to pay a visit to a distant relative during these festivities, you can request a Christmas loan that can provide you with all the funding you need to pay for the tickets plus buying presents and any other expenses you may think of. These special loans are only offered during this time of the year in which lenders feature special promotions.
Using these loans for preparing and financing short trips for Christmas celebration is a lot smarter than resorting to credit cards or other sources because the costs associated with these loans are very low and some lenders even waive fees in order to attract more customers. Christmas loans are one-time promotions that you do not want to let pass by.
Why Use Loans?
Buying tickets in advance can save you a lot of money. However, you may not always have the cash to purchase the tickets a month or two before the travel date. However, by requesting a loan you can easily obtain the funds for making that purchase and often, the savings for pre-purchasing will exceed the amount of money you will have to pay for interests.
Of course, you could use your credit card if you have one. But, truth is that credit card financing is far more expensive than resorting to Christmas loans. The interest rate charged for credit cards doubles the rates charged for Christmas loans and sometimes is even higher than that. Thus, requesting a Christmas loan is a lot better than using your credit card for purchasing the ticket or paying for accommodation.
Seizing The Opportunity
These fantastic loans are not offered in the same terms during the year. Truth is that lenders know that people tend to spend more during Christmas celebrations and thus want to attract the biggest number of applicants as possible. Thus, they offer very advantageous terms and compete among them for calling borrowers attention with offers and promotions.
That is the reason why it is a good idea not to let this opportunity pass. You are not always able to get finance at such competitive rates and with so advantageous terms. You will be offered higher loan amounts, longer repayment programs and many other advantages. Thus, if you need finance or you know that you will need the money sooner or later, it is wise to request a loan during this time of the year as the costs of financing are significantly lower now.
Comparing Offers
Moreover, you can make sure to get the best terms available by comparing what the different lenders have to offer. In order to do so, you just need to do a quick search for Christmas loans on the internet and you will be presented with thousands of results. Look for the lenders that seem to offer what you need and request loan quotes from them. By doing this you will be able to compare interest rates and other loan terms. Once you have found the best offer and the loan that suits your needs, you just need to apply and wait to be contacted by them.
If you want to make a short trip to travel elsewhere for Christmas or if you want to pay a visit to a distant relative during these festivities, you can request a Christmas loan that can provide you with all the funding you need to pay for the tickets plus buying presents and any other expenses you may think of. These special loans are only offered during this time of the year in which lenders feature special promotions.
Using these loans for preparing and financing short trips for Christmas celebration is a lot smarter than resorting to credit cards or other sources because the costs associated with these loans are very low and some lenders even waive fees in order to attract more customers. Christmas loans are one-time promotions that you do not want to let pass by.
Why Use Loans?
Buying tickets in advance can save you a lot of money. However, you may not always have the cash to purchase the tickets a month or two before the travel date. However, by requesting a loan you can easily obtain the funds for making that purchase and often, the savings for pre-purchasing will exceed the amount of money you will have to pay for interests.
Of course, you could use your credit card if you have one. But, truth is that credit card financing is far more expensive than resorting to Christmas loans. The interest rate charged for credit cards doubles the rates charged for Christmas loans and sometimes is even higher than that. Thus, requesting a Christmas loan is a lot better than using your credit card for purchasing the ticket or paying for accommodation.
Seizing The Opportunity
These fantastic loans are not offered in the same terms during the year. Truth is that lenders know that people tend to spend more during Christmas celebrations and thus want to attract the biggest number of applicants as possible. Thus, they offer very advantageous terms and compete among them for calling borrowers attention with offers and promotions.
That is the reason why it is a good idea not to let this opportunity pass. You are not always able to get finance at such competitive rates and with so advantageous terms. You will be offered higher loan amounts, longer repayment programs and many other advantages. Thus, if you need finance or you know that you will need the money sooner or later, it is wise to request a loan during this time of the year as the costs of financing are significantly lower now.
Comparing Offers
Moreover, you can make sure to get the best terms available by comparing what the different lenders have to offer. In order to do so, you just need to do a quick search for Christmas loans on the internet and you will be presented with thousands of results. Look for the lenders that seem to offer what you need and request loan quotes from them. By doing this you will be able to compare interest rates and other loan terms. Once you have found the best offer and the loan that suits your needs, you just need to apply and wait to be contacted by them.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Baby Development
Pregnancy and birth are the two most important events, a mother will experience in her life. Both deserve careful and thoughtful planning.
From conception to birth
The countdown to a babys birth actually begins about two weeks before it is conceived or the first day of the womans last menstrual period. Conception can only occur during ovulation, which happens about the middle of the month of menstrual period.
An average full term pregnancy consists of a nine-month growth period-approximately 280 days. During the first three months, also known as first trimester, the baby develops all its internal organs, arms and legs. During the second trimester, which is from 4th month to 6th month, the baby continues to develop its eyes, head, bones and other external organs. The third trimester is from 7th month to 9th month or until birth.
Fetal development
First month- In this initial stage, the baby is only inches long. Heart, backbone and spinal cord begins to form.
Second month-Baby is now approximately 1/8 inches long. Eye, nose, lips and teeth starts to form. Heart functions at this stage.
Third month-Baby is now 21/2 inches long. It now develops to a recognizable form. Most internal organs and tissues grow in this stage.
Fourth month-Baby is now 61/2 inches long. Fingers, palms, tooth buds starts to grow. Gender is identifiable by this time. The pregnancy really begins to show from this month onwards.
Fifth month-Baby is about 8 to 10 inches long. Mother begins to feel the fatal movement inside the womb. The hair begins to grow on babys head.
Sixth month-By this time, the baby is 14 to 16 inches long. It is during this period that bones harden, growth and weight gain are rapid and babys movement is visible from outside.
Seventh month- Baby is now 14 to 16 inches long. During this month the eyelids, which formed in the second month begins to open. It can see as well as it can hear.
Eighth month-Baby is 16 to 18 inches long. Most body organs are developed by this time except lungs.
Ninth month-Baby is 19 to 29 inches long. Growth finally begins to slow, as the baby is ready to come out. Now the baby is fully developed in form and can survive outside the mothers body.
This is the order in which a new life progresses from conception to birth. When the beautiful little baby enters the world, on an average, the weight will be anywhere from 6 to 9 pounds and measure between 18 to 25 inches.
From birth to 2 years of age
Watching a baby grow and develop new skills is an exciting time. Many factors can affect a babys development. These include inheritance, culture health, opportunity, freedom and most importantly, love and affection. A babys development is monitored in the following areas: 1. Physical development 2. Intellectual development 3. Language development 4. Emotional development 5. Social development
From conception to birth
The countdown to a babys birth actually begins about two weeks before it is conceived or the first day of the womans last menstrual period. Conception can only occur during ovulation, which happens about the middle of the month of menstrual period.
An average full term pregnancy consists of a nine-month growth period-approximately 280 days. During the first three months, also known as first trimester, the baby develops all its internal organs, arms and legs. During the second trimester, which is from 4th month to 6th month, the baby continues to develop its eyes, head, bones and other external organs. The third trimester is from 7th month to 9th month or until birth.
Fetal development
First month- In this initial stage, the baby is only inches long. Heart, backbone and spinal cord begins to form.
Second month-Baby is now approximately 1/8 inches long. Eye, nose, lips and teeth starts to form. Heart functions at this stage.
Third month-Baby is now 21/2 inches long. It now develops to a recognizable form. Most internal organs and tissues grow in this stage.
Fourth month-Baby is now 61/2 inches long. Fingers, palms, tooth buds starts to grow. Gender is identifiable by this time. The pregnancy really begins to show from this month onwards.
Fifth month-Baby is about 8 to 10 inches long. Mother begins to feel the fatal movement inside the womb. The hair begins to grow on babys head.
Sixth month-By this time, the baby is 14 to 16 inches long. It is during this period that bones harden, growth and weight gain are rapid and babys movement is visible from outside.
Seventh month- Baby is now 14 to 16 inches long. During this month the eyelids, which formed in the second month begins to open. It can see as well as it can hear.
Eighth month-Baby is 16 to 18 inches long. Most body organs are developed by this time except lungs.
Ninth month-Baby is 19 to 29 inches long. Growth finally begins to slow, as the baby is ready to come out. Now the baby is fully developed in form and can survive outside the mothers body.
This is the order in which a new life progresses from conception to birth. When the beautiful little baby enters the world, on an average, the weight will be anywhere from 6 to 9 pounds and measure between 18 to 25 inches.
From birth to 2 years of age
Watching a baby grow and develop new skills is an exciting time. Many factors can affect a babys development. These include inheritance, culture health, opportunity, freedom and most importantly, love and affection. A babys development is monitored in the following areas: 1. Physical development 2. Intellectual development 3. Language development 4. Emotional development 5. Social development
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
So You Want To Become A Private Investigator?
Today, the Internet private investigation is becoming popular. This is because many people now put their information on the Internet. This form of investigation is mainly used to get people who commit Internet fraud. They use
different softwares to get hold of these people.
There are lots of factors to put into consideration when choosing a private investigation agency. You need to check the size of the agency. Generally large agencies have a good number of investigators. In most cases each
of them specializes in different forms of service.
The number of private investigation tools being used currently is alarming. People no longer use the Holmes chemistry set. Instead they make their choice from the well-advanced and effective tools available today. One of
such tools is the surveillance tool.
Private investigation job can be done on a part time basis. This is common among people who have interest in private investigation and who are into another career. This might be stressful but if you have passion for it, you
can plan your time in such a way that your investigation job does not clash with the other career.
Experience is one important feature expected of private investigators. They begin to acquire this experience from their training period. Gradually they improve on their skills while doing the job. Besides, people prefer
experienced hands to handle their cases, especially delicate cases.
There are lots of materials required for private investigation. One of the materials in surveillance materials. These materials could be audio or video. Another type of material is the Forensic material which helps in getting facts
in the course of investigation.
Companies who seek to have private investigation go for investigators that have military background. The essence is that private investigators with military background are physically fit and disciplined. They are equally
balanced psychologically.
One basic thing private investigation is about is Forensics. This is because the job requires lots of investigation in order to spot the clues. As an investigator what makes you unique is the ability to spot clues form what people
say.
burberry outlet
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different softwares to get hold of these people.
There are lots of factors to put into consideration when choosing a private investigation agency. You need to check the size of the agency. Generally large agencies have a good number of investigators. In most cases each
of them specializes in different forms of service.
The number of private investigation tools being used currently is alarming. People no longer use the Holmes chemistry set. Instead they make their choice from the well-advanced and effective tools available today. One of
such tools is the surveillance tool.
Private investigation job can be done on a part time basis. This is common among people who have interest in private investigation and who are into another career. This might be stressful but if you have passion for it, you
can plan your time in such a way that your investigation job does not clash with the other career.
Experience is one important feature expected of private investigators. They begin to acquire this experience from their training period. Gradually they improve on their skills while doing the job. Besides, people prefer
experienced hands to handle their cases, especially delicate cases.
There are lots of materials required for private investigation. One of the materials in surveillance materials. These materials could be audio or video. Another type of material is the Forensic material which helps in getting facts
in the course of investigation.
Companies who seek to have private investigation go for investigators that have military background. The essence is that private investigators with military background are physically fit and disciplined. They are equally
balanced psychologically.
One basic thing private investigation is about is Forensics. This is because the job requires lots of investigation in order to spot the clues. As an investigator what makes you unique is the ability to spot clues form what people
say.
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Monday, November 1, 2010
Shared Hosting Selection Tips
If cost is an issue when you are looking at hosting options then shared hosting is the best value for money option far exceeding the so-called benefits of 'free hosting'
Some shared hosting providers provide outstanding service. It is in a shared hosting provider's best interest to make sure that all the sites being hosted on a server get equal amounts of bandwidth and that none of the sites
implement practices or techniques that are detrimental to the other sites hosting on the same server. These include things such as running scripts that consume too many resources, sending out too many emails in one
specific time period, or even getting too much traffic. A good shared hosting provider will check the servers for such eventualities and quickly suspend or disable the offending account.
If you are therefore thinking of engaging in such practices - think again, since you will just get your site shut down in no time.
How do you know which shared hosting company to go for? It is actually easy enough - the ones that have been in operation for a while all know the ropes. Just make use of a good web hosting review site and search for
reviews of shared hosting providers.
These are useful indicators of customer satisfaction.
Things to watch out for when selecting a web hosting provider are some of the following points:
- Do you require 24x7 support? You might if you are sitting in a different time zone from your hosting provider and YOUR business hours are not their business hours! You might need to urgently resolve technical problems
during your business hours that might actually fall outside of normal business hours for your hosting provider.
- Try and ascertain what the size is of their data center. If you can't glean this from their website or from a web hosting review website, ask them directly. Avoid companies that have only one or two servers. If anything goes
wrong, they won't have a fallback server to provide a quick turnaround.
- Look at the features and benefits provided by the hosting company. Your hosting company should at least provide a control panel, as well as simple access to website statistics, as well as provision for email setups,
managing sub-domains and installing scripts.
- Sometimes a hosting company offers various freebies and special deals to sweeten the deal. Hosting is very competitive and this is a way to get more customers. The benefit is yours since you might get free coupons for pay
per click marketing, or free access to web templates for 3 months - keep your eyes open for these offers and if they are made by a reputable hosting company - go for them!
When looking for shared hosting it is always a good idea to check out the contract fine print. You need to make sure, especially if this is particularly cheap hosting, that there are no hidden costs in the fine print. Examples of
these might include things such as extra bandwidth or hard disk costs, additional costs for 'extra' features such as extra email boxes, or having to pay extra for things such as server side scripting or MySQL databases.
Some shared hosting providers provide outstanding service. It is in a shared hosting provider's best interest to make sure that all the sites being hosted on a server get equal amounts of bandwidth and that none of the sites
implement practices or techniques that are detrimental to the other sites hosting on the same server. These include things such as running scripts that consume too many resources, sending out too many emails in one
specific time period, or even getting too much traffic. A good shared hosting provider will check the servers for such eventualities and quickly suspend or disable the offending account.
If you are therefore thinking of engaging in such practices - think again, since you will just get your site shut down in no time.
How do you know which shared hosting company to go for? It is actually easy enough - the ones that have been in operation for a while all know the ropes. Just make use of a good web hosting review site and search for
reviews of shared hosting providers.
These are useful indicators of customer satisfaction.
Things to watch out for when selecting a web hosting provider are some of the following points:
- Do you require 24x7 support? You might if you are sitting in a different time zone from your hosting provider and YOUR business hours are not their business hours! You might need to urgently resolve technical problems
during your business hours that might actually fall outside of normal business hours for your hosting provider.
- Try and ascertain what the size is of their data center. If you can't glean this from their website or from a web hosting review website, ask them directly. Avoid companies that have only one or two servers. If anything goes
wrong, they won't have a fallback server to provide a quick turnaround.
- Look at the features and benefits provided by the hosting company. Your hosting company should at least provide a control panel, as well as simple access to website statistics, as well as provision for email setups,
managing sub-domains and installing scripts.
- Sometimes a hosting company offers various freebies and special deals to sweeten the deal. Hosting is very competitive and this is a way to get more customers. The benefit is yours since you might get free coupons for pay
per click marketing, or free access to web templates for 3 months - keep your eyes open for these offers and if they are made by a reputable hosting company - go for them!
When looking for shared hosting it is always a good idea to check out the contract fine print. You need to make sure, especially if this is particularly cheap hosting, that there are no hidden costs in the fine print. Examples of
these might include things such as extra bandwidth or hard disk costs, additional costs for 'extra' features such as extra email boxes, or having to pay extra for things such as server side scripting or MySQL databases.
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