A Peck Of Owls

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.

‘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.

‘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 walked on, hardly aware of the route he was taking, for he had pounded these streets so often lately that his feet carried him to his favourite haunts automatically. Every few steps he glanced back over his shoulder. Someone magical had been near him as he lay among Aunt Petunia's dying begonias, he was sure of it. Why hadn't they spoken to him, why hadn't they made contact, why were they hiding now?

And then, as his feeling of frustration peaked, his certainty leaked away.

Perhaps it hadn't been a magical sound after all. Perhaps he was so desperate for the tiniest sign of contact from the world to which he belonged that he was simply overreacting to perfectly ordinary noises. Could he be sure it hadn't been the sound of something breaking inside a neighbour's house?

Harry felt a dull, sinking sensation in his stomach and before he knew it the feeling of hopelessness that had plagued him all summer rolled over him once again.

Tomorrow morning he would be woken by the alarm at five o'clock so he could pay the owl that delivered the Daily Prophet—but was there any point continuing to take it? Harry merely glanced at the front page before throwing it aside these days; when the idiots who ran the paper finally realised that Voldemort was back it would be headline news, and that was the only kind Harry cared about.

If he was lucky, there would also be owls carrying letters from his best friends Ron and Hermione, though any expectation he'd had that their letters would bring him news had long since been dashed.

‘We can't say much about you-know-what, obviously....’ ‘We've been told not to say anything important in case our letters go astray....’ ‘We're quite busy but I can't give you details here....’ ‘There's a fair amount going on, we'll tell you everything when we see you....’

But when were they going to see him? Nobody seemed too bothered with a precise date. Hermione had scribbled I expect we'll be seeing you quite soon inside his birthday card, but how soon was soon? As far as Harry could tell from the vague hints in their letters, Hermione and Ron were in the same place, presumably at Ron's parents’ house. He could hardly bear to think of the pair of them having fun at The Burrow when he was stuck in Privet Drive. In fact, he was so angry with them he had thrown away, unopened, the two boxes of Honeydukes chocolates they'd sent him for his birthday. He'd regretted it later, after the wilted salad Aunt Petunia had provided for dinner that night.

And what were Ron and Hermione busy with? Why wasn't he, Harry, busy? Hadn't he proved himself capable of handling much more than them? Had they all forgotten what he had done? Hadn't it been he who had entered that graveyard and watched Cedric being murdered, and been tied to that tombstone and nearly killed?

Don't think about that, Harry told himself sternly for the hundredth time that summer. It was bad enough that he kept revisiting the graveyard in his nightmares, without dwelling on it in his waking moments too.

He turned a corner into Magnolia Crescent; halfway along he passed the narrow alleyway down the side of a garage where he had first clapped eyes on his godfather. Sirius, at least, seemed to understand how Harry was feeling. Admittedly, his letters were just as empty of proper news as Ron and Hermione's, but at least they contained words of caution and consolation instead of tantalising hints:

‘I know this must be frustrating for you....’ ‘Keep your nose clean and everything will be OK....’ ‘Be careful and don't do anything rash....’

Well, thought Harry, as he crossed Magnolia Crescent, turned into Magnolia Road and headed towards the darkening play park, he had (by and large) done as Sirius advised. He had at least resisted the temptation to tie his trunk to his broomstick and set off for The Burrow by himself. In fact, Harry thought his behaviour had been very good considering how frustrated and angry he felt at being stuck in Privet Drive so long, reduced to hiding in flowerbeds in the hope of hearing something that might point to what Lord Voldemort was doing. Nevertheless, it was quite galling to be told not to be rash by a man who had served twelve years in the wizard prison, Azkaban, escaped, attempted to commit the murder he had been convicted for in the first place, then gone on the run with a stolen hippogriff....

Harry vaulted over the locked park gate and set off across the parched grass. The park was as empty as the surrounding streets. When he reached the swings he sank on to the only one that Dudley and his friends had not yet managed to break, coiled one arm around the chain and stared moodily at the ground. He would not be able to hide in the Dursleys’ flowerbed again. Tomorrow, he would have to think of some fresh way of listening to the news. In the meantime, he had nothing to look forward to but another restless, disturbed night, because even when he escaped the nightmares about Cedric he had unsettling dreams about long dark corridors, all finishing in dead ends and locked doors, which he supposed had something to do with the trapped feeling he had when he was awake. Often the old scar on his forehead prickled uncomfortably, but he did not fool himself that Ron or Hermione or Sirius would find that very interesting any more. In the past, his scar hurting had warned that Voldemort was getting stronger again, but now that Voldemort was back they would probably remind him that its regular irritation was only to be expected ... nothing to worry about ... old news...

The injustice of it all welled up inside him so that he wanted to yell with fury. If it hadn't been for him, nobody would even have known Voldemort was back! And. his reward was to be stuck in Little Whinging for four solid weeks, completely cut off from the magical world, reduced to squatting among dying begonias so hat he could hear about water-skiing budgerigars! How could Dumbledore have forgotten him so easily? Why had Ron and Hermione got together without inviting him along, too? How much longer was he supposed to endure Sirius telling him to sit tight and be a good boy; or resist the temptation to write to the stupid Daily Prophet and point out that Voldemort had returned? These curious thoughts whirled around in Harry's head, and his insides writhed with anger as a sultry, velvety night fell around him, the air full of the smell of warm, dry grass, and the only sound that of the low grumble of traffic on the road beyond the park railings. He did not know how long he had sat on the swing before the sound of voices interrupted his musings and he looked up. The streetlamps from the surrounding roads were casting a misty glow strong enough to silhouette a group of people making their way across the park. One of them was singing a loud, crude song. The others were laughing. A soft ticking noise came from several expensive racing bikes that they were wheeling along.

Harry knew who those people were. The figure in front was unmistakeably his cousin, Dudley Dursley wending his way home, accompanied by his faithful gang.

Dudley was as vast as ever, but a year's hard dieting and the discovery of a new talent had wrought quite a change in his physique. As Uncle Vernon delightedly told anyone who would listen, Dudley had recently become the Junior Heavyweight Inter-school Boxing Champion of the Southeast. ‘The noble sport', as Uncle Vernon called it, had made Dudley even more formidable than he had seemed to Harry in their primary school days when he had served as Dudley's first punchball. Harry was not remotely afraid of his cousin any more but he still didn't think that Dudley learning to punch harder and more accurately was cause for celebration. Neighbourhood children all around were terrified of him—even more terrified than they were of ‘that Potter boy', who, they had been warned, was a hardened hooligan and attended St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.

Harry watched the dark figures crossing the grass and wondered who they had been beating up tonight. Look round, Harry found himself thinking as he watched them. Come on ... look round... I'm sitting here all alone... Come and have a go...

If Dudley's friends saw him sitting here, they would be sure to make a beeline for him, and what would Dudley do then? He wouldn't want to lose face in front of the gang, but he'd be terrified of provoking Harry.... It would be really fun to watch Dudley's dilemma, to taunt him, watch him, with him powerless to respond ... and if any of the others tried hitting Harry, he was ready—he had his wand. Let them try ... he'd love to vent some of his frustration on the boys who had once made his life hell—

But they didn't turn around, they didn't see him, they were almost at the railings. Harry mastered the impulse to call after them.... Seeking a fight was not a smart move.... He must not use magic.... He would be risking expulsion again.

The voices of Dudley's gang died away; they were out of sight, heading along Magnolia Road.

There you go, Sirius, Harry thought dully. Nothing rash. Kept my nose clean. Exactly the opposite of what you'd have done...

He got to his feet and stretched. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon seemed to feel that whenever Dudley turned up was the right time to be home, and any time after that was much too late. Uncle Vernon had threatened to lock Harry in the shed if he came home after Dudley ever again, so, stifling a yawn, and still scowling, Harry set off toward the park gate.

Magnolia Road, like Privet Drive, was full of large, square houses with perfectly manicured lawns, all owned by large, square owners who drove very clean cars similar to Uncle Vernon's. Harry preferred Little Whinging by night, when the curtained windows made patches of jewel-bright colour in the darkness and he ran no danger of hearing disapproving mutters about his ‘delinquent’ appearance when he passed the householders. He walked quickly, so that halfway along Magnolia Road Dudley's gang came into view again; they were saying their farewells at the entrance to Magnolia Crescent. Harry stepped into the shadow of a large lilac tree and waited.

‘...squealed like a pig, didn't he?’ Malcolm was saying, to guffaws from the others.

‘Nice right hook, Big D,’ said Piers.

‘Same time tomorrow?’ said Dudley.

‘Round at my place, my parents will be out,’ said Gordon.

‘See you then,’ said Dudley.

‘Bye, Dud!’

‘See ya, Big D!’

Harry waited for the rest of the gang to move on before setting off again. When their voices had faded once more he headed around the corner into Magnolia Crescent and by walking very quickly he soon came within hailing distance of Dudley, who was strolling along at his ease, humming tunelessly.

‘Hey, Big D!’

Dudley turned.

‘Oh,’ he grunted. ‘It's you.’

‘How long have you been “Big D” then?’ said Harry.

‘Shut it,’ snarled Dudley, turning away.

‘Cool name,’ said Harry, grinning and falling into step beside is cousin. ‘But you'll always be “Ickle Diddykins” to me.’

‘I said, SHUT IT!’ said Dudley, whose ham-like hands had curled into fists.

‘Don't the boys know that's what your mum calls you?’

‘Shut your face.’

‘You don't tell her to shut her face. What about “Popkin” and “Dinky Diddydums", can I use them then?’

Dudley said nothing. The effort of keeping himself from hitting Harry seemed to demand all his self-control.

‘So who've you been beating up tonight?’ Harry asked, his grin fading. ‘Another ten-year-old? I know you did Mark Evans two nights ago—’

‘He was asking for it,’ snarled Dudley.

‘Oh yeah?’

‘He cheeked me.’

‘Yeah? Did he say you look like a pig that's been taught to walk on its hind legs? ‘Cause that's not cheek, Dud, that's true...’

A muscle was twitching in Dudley's jaw. It gave Harry enormous satisfaction to know how furious he was making Dudley; he felt as though he was siphoning off his own frustration into his cousin, the only outlet he had.

They turned right down the narrow alleyway where Harry had first seen Sirius and which formed a short cut between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. It was empty and much darker than the streets it linked because there were no streetlamps. Their footsteps were muffled between garage walls on one side and a high fence on the other.

‘Think you're a big man carrying that thing, don't you?’ Dudley said after a few seconds.

‘What thing?’

‘That—that thing you are hiding.’

Harry grinned again.

‘Not as stupid as you look, are you, Dud? But I s'pose, if you were, you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time....’

Harry pulled out his wand. He saw Dudley look sideways at it.

‘You're not allowed,’ Dudley said at once. ‘I know you're not. You'd get expelled from that freak school you go to.’

‘How d'you know they haven't changed the rules, Big D?’

‘They haven't,’ said Dudley, though he didn't sound completely convinced.

Harry laughed softly.

‘You haven't got the guts to take me on without that thing, have you?’ Dudley snarled.

‘Whereas you just need four mates behind you before you can beat up a ten year old. You know that boxing title you keep banging on about? How old was your opponent? Seven? Eight?’

‘He was sixteen, for your information,’ snarled Dudley, ‘and he was out cold for twenty minutes after I'd finished with him and he was twice as heavy as you. You just wait till I tell Dad you had that thing out—’

‘Running to Daddy now, are you? Is his ickle boxing champ frightened of nasty Harry's wand?’

‘Not this brave at night, are you?’ sneered Dudley.

‘This is night, Diddykins. That's what we call it when it goes all dark like this.’

‘I mean when you're in bed!’ Dudley snarled.

He had stopped walking. Harry stopped too, staring at his cousin.

From the little he could see of Dudley's large face, he was wearing a strangely triumphant look.

‘What d'you mean, I'm not brave when I'm in bed?’ said Harry, Completely nonplussed. ‘What—am I supposed to be frightened of, pillows or something?’

‘I heard you last night,’ said Dudley breathlessly. ‘Talking in your sleep. Moaning.’

‘What d'you mean?’ Harry said again, but there was a cold, plunging sensation in his stomach. He had revisited the graveyard last night in his dreams.

Dudley gave a harsh bark of laughter, then adopted a high-pitched whimpering voice.

‘"Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric!” Who's Cedric—your boyfriend?’

‘I—you're lying,’ said Harry automatically. But his mouth had gone dry. He knew Dudley wasn't lying—how else would he know about Cedric?

‘"Dad! Help me, Dad! He's going to kill me, Dad! Boo hoo!” ’

‘Shut up,’ said Harry quietly. ‘Shut up, Dudley, I'm warning you!’

‘"Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He's killed Cedric! Dad, help me! He's going to—” Don't you point that thing at me!’

Dudley backed into the alley wall. Harry was pointing the wand directly at Dudley's heart. Harry could feel fourteen years’ hatred of Dudley pounding in his veins—what wouldn't he give to strike now, to jinx Dudley so thoroughly he'd have to crawl home like an insect, struck dumb, sprouting feelers—

‘Don't ever talk about that again,’ Harry snarled. ‘D'you understand me?’

‘Point that thing somewhere else!’

‘I said, do you understand me?’

‘Point it somewhere else!’

‘DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?’

‘GET THAT THING AWAY FROM—’

Dudley gave an odd, shuddering gasp, as though he had been doused in icy water.

Something had happened to the night. The star-strewn indigo sky was suddenly pitch black and lightless—the stars, the moon, the misty streetlamps at either end of the alley had vanished. The distant rumble of cars and the whisper of trees had gone. The balmy evening was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold. They were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some giant hand had dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire alleyway, blinding them.

For a split second Harry thought he had done magic without meaning to, despite the fact that he'd been resisting as hard as he could—then his reason caught up with his senses—he didn't have the power to turn off the stars. He turned his head this way and that, trying to see something, but the darkness pressed on his eyes like a weightless veil.

Dudley's terrified voice broke in Harry's ear.

‘W-what are you d-doing? St-stop it!’

‘I'm not doing anything! Shut up and don't move!’

‘I c-can't see! I've g-gone blind! I—’

‘I said shut up!’

Harry stood stock still, turning his sightless eyes left and right. The cold was so intense he was shivering all over; goose bumps had erupted up his arms and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up—he opened his eyes to their fullest extent, staring blankly around, unseeing.

It was impossible.... They couldn't be here.... Not in Little Whinging.... He strained his ears.... He would hear them before he saw them....

‘I'll t-tell Dad!’ Dudley whimpered. ‘W-where are you? What are you d-do—?’

‘Will you shut up?’ Harry hissed, ‘I'm trying to lis—’

But he fell silent. He had heard just the thing he had been dreading.

There was something in the alleyway apart from themselves, something that was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. Harry felt a horrible jolt of dread as he stood trembling in the freezing air.

‘C-cut it out! Stop doing it! I'll h-hit you, I swear I will!’

‘Dudley, shut—’

WHAM!

A fist made contact with the side of Harry's head, lifting him off his feet. Small white lights popped in front of his eyes. For the second time in an hour Harry felt as though his head had been cleaved in two; next moment, he had landed hard on the ground and his wand had flown out of his hand.

‘You moron, Dudley!’ Harry yelled, his eyes watering with pain as he scrambled to his hands and knees, feeling around frantically in the blackness. He heard Dudley blundering away, hitting the alley fence, stumbling.

‘DUDLEY, COME BACK! YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!’

There was a horrible squealing yell and Dudley's footsteps stopped. At the same moment, Harry felt a creeping chill behind him that could mean only one thing. There was more than one.

‘DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! Wand!’ Harry muttered frantically, his hands flying over the ground like spiders. ‘Where's—wand—come on—Lumos!’

He said the spell automatically, desperate for light to help him in his search—and to his disbelieving relief, light flared inches from his right hand—the wand tip had ignited. Harry snatched it up, scrambled to his feet and turned around.

His stomach turned over.

A towering, hooded figure was gliding smoothly towards him, hovering over the ground, no feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking on the night as it came.

Stumbling backwards, Harry raised his wand.

‘Expecto patronum!’

A silvery wisp of vapour shot from the tip of the wand and the Dementor slowed, but the spell hadn't worked properly; tripping over his own feet, Harry retreated further as the Dementor bore down upon him, panic fogging his brain—concentrate—

A pair of grey, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside the Dementor's robes, reaching for him. A rushing noise filled Harry's ears.

‘Expecto patronum!’

His voice sounded dim and distant.... Another wisp of silver smoke, feebler than the last, drifted from the wand—he couldn't do it any more, he couldn't work the spell.

There was laughter inside his own head, shrill, high-pitched laughter.... He could smell the Dementor's putrid, death-cold breath filling his own lungs, drowning him— Think ... something happy....

But there was no happiness in him ... the Dementor's icy fingers were closing on his throat—the high-patched laughter was growing louder and louder, and a voice spoke inside his head: ‘Bow to death, Harry.... It might even be painless.... I would not know.... I have never died....’

He was never going to see Ron and Hermione again—

And their faces burst clearly into his mind as he fought for breath.

‘EXPECTO PATRONUM!’

An enormous silver stag erupted from the tip of Harry's wand; it's antlers caught the Dementor in the place where the heart should have been; it was thrown backwards, weightless as darkness, and as the stag charged, the Dementor swooped away, bat-like and defeated.

‘THIS WAY!’ Harry shouted at the stag. Wheeling around, he sprinted down the alleyway, holding the lit wand aloft. ‘DUDLEY? DUDLEY!’

He had run barely a dozen steps when he reached them: Dudley was curled up on the ground, his arms clamped over his face. A second Dementor was crouching low over him, gripping his wrists in its slimy hands, prising them slowly, almost lovingly apart, lowering its hooded head towards Dudley's face as though about to kiss him....

‘GET IT!’ Harry bellowed, and with a rushing, roaring sound, the silver stag he had conjured came galloping past him. The Dementor's eyeless face was barely an inch from Dudley's when the silver antlers caught it; the thing was thrown up into the air and, like its fellow, it soared away and was absorbed into the darkness; the stag cantered to the end of the alleyway and dissolved into silver mist.

Moon, stars and streetlamps burst back into life. A warm breeze swept the alleyway. Trees rustled in neighbouring gardens and the mundane rumble of cars in Magnolia Crescent filled the air again.

Harry stood quite still, all his senses vibrating, taking in the abrupt return to normality. After a moment, he became aware that his T-shirt was sticking to him; he was drenched in sweat.

He could not believe what had just happened. Dementors here, in Little Whinging.

Dudley lay curled up on the ground, whimpering and shaking. Harry bent down to see whether he was in a fit state to stand up, but then he heard loud, running footsteps behind him. Instinctively raising his wand again, he span on his heel to face the newcomer.

Mrs. Figg, their batty old neighbour, came panting into sight. Her grizzled grey hair was escaping from its hairnet, a clanking string shopping bag was swinging from her wrist and her feet were halfway out of her tartan carpet slippers. Harry made to stow his wand hurriedly out of sight, but—

‘Don't put it away, idiot boy!’ she shrieked. ‘What if there are more of them around? Oh, I'm going to kill Mundungus Fletcher!’

达力遭遇摄魂怪

    夏季以来最炎热的一天终于快要结束了，女贞路上那些方方正正的大房子笼罩在一片令人昏昏欲睡的寂静中。平日里光亮照人的汽车，这会儿全都灰扑扑地停在车道上，曾经葱翠欲滴的草地，已变得枯黄——　由于旱情，浇水软管已被禁止使用。女贞路上的居民，乎常的消遣就是擦车和割草，现在这两件事都做不成了，只好躲进他们阴凉的房子里，把窗户开得大大的，指望能吹进一丝并不存在的凉风。只有一个人还待在户外，这是一个十多岁的男孩，这时他正平躺在女贞路4号外面的花坛里。

    他是一个瘦瘦的男孩，黑头发，戴着眼镜，看上去有些赢弱，略带病态，似乎是因为在很短的时间里个头蹿得太快。他身上的牛仔裤又破又脏，T恤衫松松垮垮，已经褪了颜色，运动鞋的鞋底与鞋帮分了家。哈利波特的这副模样，是无法讨得邻居们喜欢的。他们那些人认为，破旧邋遢应该受到法律制裁。不过他这天傍晚藏在一大丛绣球花后面，过路人都不会看见他。实际上，只要他的姨父弗农或姨妈佩妮从起居室的窗户探出脑袋，径直朝下面的花坛里望，他还是有司能被他们看见的。

    总的来说，哈利觉得他能想到藏在这里真是值得庆幸。躺在炎热的硬邦邦的泥土上也许并不舒服，但另一方面，这里不会有人狠狠地瞪着他，把牙齿咬得咯咯直响，害得他听不清新闻里讲的是什么，也不会有人连珠炮似的问他一些颊人的问题。每次他想坐在客厅里跟姨妈姨父一块儿看看电视，他们总是搅得他不得安宁。

    就好像他的这些想法插上翅膀，飞进了敞开的窗户，哈利的姨父弗农-德思礼突然说起话来。

    “谢天谢地，那小子总算不来探头探脑了。呃，他到底上哪儿去了？”

    “不知道，”佩妮姨妈漠不关心地说，“反正不在家。”

    弗农姨父不满地嘟哝着。

    “看新闻？？”他刻薄地说，“我倒想知道他到底有什么打算。一个正常的男孩，谁会去关心新闻啊——　达力对时事一无所知，我怀疑他连首相是谁都不知道！见鬼，　我们的新闻里怎么会有跟他们那类人有关的——　”

    “弗农，嘘！”佩妮姨妈说，“窗户开着呢！”

    “哦——　是的——　对不起，亲爱的。”

    德思礼夫妇不说话了。哈利听着一段关于水果麦麸营养早餐的广告短歌，一边望着费格太太——　住在离这儿不远的紫藤路上的一个脾气古怪、养着很多猫的老太太慢吞吞地走过去。她皱着眉头，嘴里念念有词。哈利心想幸亏自己藏在灌木丛后面，因为最近费格太太在街上一碰到哈利，就要邀请他过去喝茶。她拐过街角不见了，　这时候弗农姨父的声音又从窗13飘了出来“达达①出去喝茶了？”

    “到波奇斯家去了。”佩妮姨妈慈爱地说，“他交了这么多小朋友，大家都这么喜欢他？？”

    哈利拼命控制自己，才没有从鼻子里哼出声来。德恩礼两13子在对待他们的宝贝儿子达力的问题上，真是愚蠢得出奇。达力在暑假的每个晚上都编造愚蠢的谎话，说是到他那帮狐朋狗友的某个人家去喝茶，而他们居然就听信了。哈利知道得很清楚，达力压根儿就没去什么地方喝茶，他和他那些哥们儿每天晚上都在游乐场毁坏公物，在街角抽烟，朝过路的汽车和孩子扔石子儿。哈利晚上在小惠金区散步时，曾看见过他们的这些行径。这个暑假的大部分时间他都在街头游荡，沿路从垃圾箱里捡出报纸翻看。

    七点钟新闻的开始曲传到了哈利的耳朵里，他紧张得连五脏六腑都翻腾起来。也许今晚——　在等待了一个月之后——　就在今晚。

    西班牙行李搬运工的罢工进入第二周，大批度假者滞留机场——“要是我，就让他们终身享受午睡。”新闻广播员的话音刚落，弗农姨父就恶狠狠地吼道，但是没关系，外面花坛里的哈利心里一块石头已经落了地。如果真的发生了什么事，肯定是头条新闻，死亡和灾难远比滞留机场的度假者重要得多。

    他慢慢地长舒了一口气，仰望着清澈湛蓝的天空。这个夏天的每个日子都是这样：紧张，期待，暂时松一口气，然后弦又一点点地绷紧。而一个问题越来越迫切：为什么还没有事情发生？他继续听下去，怕万一有一些不起眼的线索，麻瓜们还没有弄清究竟是怎么回事——　比如有人不明原因地失踪，或出了奇怪的意外事故。可是行李搬运工罢工的新闻之后，是东南部地区的旱情（“我希望隔壁的那个人好好听昕！”弗农姨父气冲冲地嚷道，“他凌晨三点钟就把洒水器开着了！”），然后是一架直升飞机差点在萨里郡的田野坠毁，接着是某位大名鼎鼎的女演员跟她那位大名鼎鼎的丈夫离婚（“就好像我们谁关心他们那些破事儿似的。”佩妮姨妈轻蔑地说，实际上她近乎痴迷地关注着这件事，翻遍了她那双骨瘦如柴的手能够拿到的每一本杂志）。

    哈利闭上眼睛，天空的晚霞变得刺眼了，这时新闻广播员说道：——　最后，虎皮鹦鹉邦吉今年夏天找到了一个保持凉爽的新办法。生活在巴恩斯利五根羽毛街的邦吉，学会了用水橇滑水！玛丽多尔金详细报道。

    哈利睁开眼睛。既然已经说到虎皮鹦鹉滑水橇，看来不会再有什么值得一听的新闻了。他小心翼翼地翻过身，用膝盖和胳膊肘撑着爬起来，准备手脚并用爬离窗户。

    刚爬了两英寸，就接二连三地发生了好几件事，真是说时迟那时快。

    一记响亮的、带有回音的爆裂声，像一声熗响，划破了昏昏欲睡的寂静；一只猫从一辆停着的汽车底下蹿出来，不见了踪影；德思礼家的客厅里传来一声尖叫、一句叫骂，还有瓷器摔碎的声音。哈利似乎一直就在等待这个信号，他猛地站起身，同时像拔剑一样从牛仔裤兜里掏出一根细细的木质魔杖——　可是还没等他完全站直身体，脑袋就撞在了德思礼家敞开的窗户上。砰的一声，吓得佩妮姨妈叫得更响了。

    哈利觉得脑袋似乎被劈成了两半，眼睛里泪水涟涟。他摇晃着身体，看着街上，努力让模糊的视线变得清晰，好弄明白刚才的声音是从哪儿发出来的。可是他刚勉强站直身子，就有两只紫红色的大手从敞开的窗口伸出来，紧紧掐住了他的喉咙。

    “把它——　收起来！”弗农姨父揪着哈利的耳朵吼道，“快点！别让——　人家——　看见！”

    “放——　开——　我！”哈利喘着气说。他们扭打了几秒钟，哈利用左手去掰姨父香肠般粗大的手指，右手还牢牢地握着举起的魔杖。接着，哈利本来就疼痛难忍的头顶猛的一阵钻心的剧痛，弗农姨父大叫一声，就像遭到电击一般，松开了哈利。似乎他外甥体内涌起一股看不见的力量，使他没法抓住他。

    哈利气喘吁吁地扑倒在绣球花中，然后直起身体，朝四周张望着。他看不出刚才那声爆响是从哪儿发出来的，但周围各式各样的窗户里探出了几张人脸。哈利赶紧把魔杖塞进牛仔裤里，装出什么事儿也没有的样子。

    “多么迷人的夜晚！”弗农姨父朝住在对面、正从网眼窗帘后面朝外瞪视的7号太太挥挥手，大声说道，“听见刚才汽车回火的声音了吗？把我和佩妮吓了一大跳呢！”

    他脸上一直堆着那种难看的、疯子般的怪笑，直到那些好奇的邻居从他们各式各样的窗口消失。这时他的笑容突然变成了狰狞的怒容，他示意哈利回到他面前。

    哈利朝前挪动了几步，很小心地及时停住脚步，以免弗农姨父伸出的双手再掐住自己的喉咙。

    “你这到底搞的什么鬼，小子？”弗农姨父用气得微微发抖的低沉声音问。

    “我搞什么啦？”哈利冷冷地问。他不停地朝街上东张西望，仍然希望看见是谁弄出了刚才那声爆响。

    “弄出那噪音，像手熗开火，就在我们家窗户外——　”

    “鄢声音不是我弄出来的。”哈利坚决地说。

    这时，弗农姨父的紫红色宽脸膛旁边，出现了佩妮姨妈那张瘦长的马脸，脸色铁青。

    “你为什么鬼鬼祟祟地躲在我们家窗户底下？”

    “好——　好，问得好，佩妮！你在我们家窗户底下搞什么鬼，小子？”

    “听新闻。”哈利用顺从的声音说。

    姨妈和姨父气呼呼地交换了一下目光。

    “听新闻！还听？”

    “是啊，新闻每天都在变的，你知道。”哈利说。

    “别跟我耍小聪明，小子！我想知道你到底打的什么主意——　别再跟我说什么听新闻之类的鬼话！你心里明明知道，你们那类人——　”

    “留神，弗农！”佩妮姨妈紧张地说，于是弗农姨父一下子把声音压得很低，哈利简直听不清他在说什么，“——　你们那类人不会出现在我们的新闻里！”

    “那是你的想法。”哈利说。

    德思礼夫妇狠狠地瞪了他几秒钟，然后佩妮姨妈说：“你真是个坏透了的小骗子。那些——　”她也突然放低了声音，哈利只能凭着她嘴唇的动作才听懂了她下面的话，“　——　猫头鹰不是给你传递消息又是在做什么呢？”

    “啊哈！”弗农姨父得意地小声说，“快说实话吧，小子！好像我们不知道你能从那些讨厌的大鸟那儿得到所有的消息似的！”

    哈利迟疑了片刻。这次说实话是要付出代价的，尽管姨妈和姨父不可能知道他承认这件事心里有多难过。

    “猫头鹰——　不给我传递消息了。”他于巴巴地说。

    “我不相信。”佩妮姨妈立刻说。

    “我也不相信。”弗农姨父强硬地跟了一句。

    “我们知道你要做出点出格的事儿了。”佩妮姨妈说。

    “我们不是傻瓜，你知道。”弗农姨父说。

    “哦，那对我来说倒是新闻。”哈利说，他的火气上来了，不等德思礼夫妇把他叫回去，他就一转身跑过门前的草地，跨过花园的矮墙，大步流星地走到了街上。

    他惹麻烦了，他知道。待会儿他将不得不面对姨妈姨父，为他刚才的无礼言行付出代价，但现在他管不了那么多。他脑子里有更加迫切的事情需要考虑呢。

    哈利可以肯定，刚才那声爆响是某人幻影显形或幻影移形时发出的。家养小精灵多比每次消失在空气中时，发出的都是这种声音。难道多比跑到这女贞路来啦？难道多比此刻正在跟踪他？想到这里，哈利猛地转过身，望着身后的女贞路，但是路上看不见一个人，而哈利相信多比是不知道怎样隐形的。

    他继续朝前走，几乎没去注意脚下的路，最近他经常拖着沉重的脚步在这些街道上走来走去，两只脚自动就把他带往他最爱去的地方。他每走几步，就扭头望望。剐才他躺在佩妮姨妈那奄奄一息的秋海棠丛中时，某个会魔法的人就在近旁，这是肯定的。他们为什么不跟他说话？他们为什么不与他取得联系？他们为什么现在躲起来了？随着他心头的失望渐渐达到高峰，他的自信开始动摇了。

    也许那根本就不是什么魔法声音。也许他太渴望得到来自他那个世界的蛛丝马迹的联络信号了，结果被一些再普通不过的声音搞得大惊小怪。他能肯定那不是邻居家里什么东西打碎的声音吗？哈利内心产生了一种沮丧的、失落的感觉，接着，整个夏天都在折磨着他的绝望感又一次不期而然地把他淹没了。

    明天早晨五点钟，他会被闹钟吵醒，付钱买下猫头鹰送来的《预言家日报》——　可是继续订阅这份报纸有什么用呢？这些日子，哈利每天只是扫一眼第一版，就把报纸扔到了一边。这些办报纸的白痴，一旦他们知道伏地魔回来了，肯定会把这个消息作为头版头条，这才是哈利惟一关心的事情。

    如果他运气好，猫头鹰会送来他最好的朋友罗恩和赫敏的来信，他原来指望他们的来信会给他带来消息，但这份期待早就破灭了。

    关于那件事，我们不能说得太多，有人叫我们不要谈及任何重要的事情，以免我们的信件被送锗地方。我们现在很忙，但我在这里不能跟你细说，发生了许多事情，我们跟你见面时都会告诉你的。可是他们什么时候才能见到他呢？谁也不肯说出一个具体日期。赫敏在给他的生日贺卡上草草写道，希望我们能很快见到你。可是到底多快呢？哈利从他们信里透露的蛛丝马迹可以看出，赫敏和罗恩是在同一个地方，很可能是在罗恩父母的家里。一想到他们俩在陋居玩得开心，而他却困在女贞路动弹不得，他就觉得简直受不了。他太生他们的气了，他过生日时他们寄来的两盒蜜蜂公爵糖果店的巧克力，他没有打开就给扔掉了。那天晚上，吃完佩妮姨妈端出来当晚饭的于巴巴的沙拉后，他又觉得很后悔。

    罗恩和赫敏到底在忙些什么呢？为什么他，哈利，整天无所事事呢？难道他没有证明自己处理事情的能力比他们强得多吗？难道他们都忘记了他做过的事情吗？难道不是他进入那片墓地，亲眼目睹塞德里克被杀，并且被绑在那块墓碑上，差点丧命吗？别想那些事啦，哈利严厉地对自己说，暑假以来他已是第一百次这样警告自己了。夜里不断做噩梦回到那片墓地，就已经够糟糕的了，如果醒着的时候也想这件事，就更难让人忍受了。

    他转了个弯，来到木兰花新月街。在这条街上走到一半，他经过了车库旁边那条狭窄的小巷，他就是在那里第一次看见他的教父的。至少，小天狼星似乎是明白哈利的感受的。必须承认，他的信与罗恩和赫敏的信一样，也没有向哈利透露他想知道的消息，但小天狼星的信里写了一些告诫和宽慰的话，而不是半藏半露，逗得人心痒难忍。

    我知道这对你来说一定很沮丧，只要安分守己，一切都会很好的，千万小心，不要做任何草率的事情。是啊，他（基本上）还是照小天狼星的叮嘱去做的，哈利这么想着，一边穿过木兰花新月街，拐进了木兰花路，朝逐渐变得昏暗的游乐场走去。是啊，他至少抵挡住了诱惑，没有索性把箱子绑在飞天扫帚上，直接飞到陋居去。实际上，哈利认为自己的表现一直是非常好的，要知道他被困在女贞路这么长时间，为了能听见一点透露伏地魔所作所为的只言片语，不得不藏在花坛里，这让他感到多么沮丧和生气啊。然而，居然是小天狼星叮嘱他不要鲁莽行事，这真是叫人恼怒。

    要知道小天狼星自己就是在阿兹卡班巫师监狱里被关了十二年，然后逃出来，试图完成他原先被指控的那个谋杀罪，最后骑着一只偷来的鹰头马身有翼兽逃之天天的。

    游乐场的门锁着，哈利一跃而过，踏着于枯的草地往前走去。游乐场里和周围的街道一样空荡荡的。他来到秋千所在的地方，找到一架达力和他那些朋友还没来得及毁坏的秋千坐了上去，一只胳膊挽着铁链，目光忧郁地望着地面。他再也不能藏在德思礼家的花坛里了。明天，他必须想出另外的办法去偷听新闻。与此同时，他没有什么可指望的，摆在他面前的又是一个混乱不安的夜晚。就算他侥幸逃过关于塞德里克的噩梦，他也会梦见一条条漫长而昏暗的走廊，每一条走廊的尽头都是死胡同或紧锁的房门，这些梦境弄得他心神不宁，他猜想这大概和他醒着时产生的困兽般的情绪有关。他额头上的伤疤经常刺痛，很不舒服，但他知道，罗恩、赫敏和小天狼星不会对这件事很感兴趣了。过去，他的伤疤疼痛发作预示着伏地魔的力量正在再次变得强大起来，但现在伏地魔已经回来了，他们大概会提醒他说早就料到会有这种定期发作的疼痛，没什么可担心的，已经不是什么新闻了。这太不公平了，他内心的怨愤不断地堆积，他真想大声怒吼出来。如果不是他，甚至谁都不会知道伏地魔回来了！而他得到的回报呢，却是被困在小惠金区整整四个星期，完全与魔法世界失去了联系，不得不去蹲在那些快要枯死的秋海棠丛中，就是为了能够听到虎皮鹦鹉滑水橇的消息！邓布利多怎么能这么轻易地就把他忘记了呢？为什么罗恩和赫敏聚到一起，却没有叫上他呢？他还需要在这里忍耐多久，听着小天狼星告诉自己要循规蹈矩，不要轻举妄动；抵挡住内心的冲动，不给愚蠢的《预言家日报》写信，告诉他们伏地魔已经回来了？这些愤怒的想法在哈利脑海里翻腾，搅得他内心乱糟糟的。这时夜幕已经降临，一个闷热而柔和的夜晚到来了，空气里弥漫着热乎乎的干草昧儿，四下里只能听见游乐场栏杆外的道路上传来的低沉的车辆声。

    他不知道自己在秋千上坐了多久，后来别人的说话声打断了他的沉思。他抬起头来，周围街道上的路灯投下一片朦胧的光影。他能看到一伙人影正在穿过游乐场，其中一个大声哼着一首粗俗的歌，其他人哈哈大笑。还有轻微的丁丁声传来，那是他们推着走的几辆价格不菲的赛车发出的声音。

    哈利知道那些人是谁。打头的那个毫无疑问就是他的表哥达力德思礼，正由他那帮狐朋狗友陪着朝家里走去。

    达力还像以前一样人高马大，但一年来严格控制伙食，再加上新开发了一项才能，他的体格大有改观。弗农姨父逢人就高兴地说，达力最近成了东南部少年重量级校际拳击比赛冠军。这项弗农姨父所说的“高贵的运动”，使达力变得更加令人生畏。哈利上小学时充当的是达力练习拳击的第一个吊球，那时他就觉得达力够厉害的，现在哈利对他的表哥已经没有丝毫畏惧感了，但他认为，达力出拳越来越狠，越来越准，总不是什么值得庆贺的事情。左邻右舍的孩子都很害怕达力——　甚至超过害怕那个“波特小子”，大人们曾经警告过他们，那个波特是个屡教不改的小流氓，正在圣布鲁斯安全中心少年犯学校接受管教。

    哈利望着那几个黑乎乎的身影走过草地，心想不知他们今晚又把谁痛打了一顿。回过头来，哈利发现自己一边望着他们一边心里这么想。快呀！回过头表哥，我一个人坐在这里呢，过来比试比试吧。达力的朋友们如果看见他坐在这里，肯定会径直朝他冲过来的，那么达力会怎么做呢？他肯定不愿在朋友面前丢脸，但又不敢招惹哈利。看着达力左右为难，嘲弄他，欣赏他无力反抗的难受样儿，真是太好玩了。如果别人有谁敢来打哈利，他也有准备——　他手里有魔杖呢。来试试吧！他正巴不得把失望情绪发泄在这些曾经使他的生活变得像地狱一样的男孩子们身上呢。

    但是他们没有回过头来，没有看见他，他们已经快要走到栏杆那儿了。哈利克制住把他们叫回来的冲动，找人打架可不是明智的举动，他绝不可以使用魔法，不然又有被学校开除的危险。

    达力那伙入的声音渐渐地听不见了，他们顺着木兰花路越走越远，从视线中消失了。

    你可以放心了，小天狼星，哈利闷闷不乐地想，不做鲁莽的事。安分守己。跟你当年做的事情正好相反。

    他从秋千上下来站到地上，挺直身体。佩妮姨妈和弗农姨父似乎觉得达力什么时间露面，这个时间就是应该回家的时间，只要是在这个时间之后，就是太晚了。弗农姨父曾经威胁说，如果哈利再在达力之后回家，就把他关进棚子里。于是，哈利忍住哈欠，愁眉苦脸地朝游乐场的大门走去。

    木兰花路和女贞路一样，布满了一座座方方正正的大房子，草地修剪得完美无瑕。它们的主人都是一些方方正正的大块头，开着像弗农姨父那样的一尘不染的汽车。哈利更喜欢晚上的小惠金区，一扇扇拉着窗帘的窗户，在黑暗中呈现出一个个珠宝般明亮的色块，白天，每当他经过那些户主面前时，总会听见对于他这个“少年犯”的不满的嘀咕声，现在就不会有这种危险了。他走得很快，在木兰花路一半的地方，他又看见了达力那帮家伙。他们正在木兰花新月街的入口处互相告别。哈利走进一棵大丁香树的阴影里等着。

    “他像猪一样嗷嗷叫唤，是吧？”莫肯说，其他人发出粗野的笑声。

    “漂亮的右钩拳，D哥。”皮尔说。

    “明天还是那个时候？”达力问。

    “在我家外面，我爸妈明天出去。”戈登说。

    “到时候见。”达力说。

    “回见，达①！”

    “再见，D哥！”

    哈利等其他人都走开了才从树下走了出来。那些人的声音又一次远去了，他拐过街角，走上了木兰花新月街。他走得很快，很快就跟上达力能招呼他了。达力悠闲自在地迈着步子，嘴里哼着不成调儿的小曲儿。

    “喂，D哥！”

    达力转过身来。

    “噢，”他嘟哝道，“是你啊。”

    “你什么时候成‘D哥’了？”哈利问道。

    “闭嘴！”达力恶狠狠地吼道，转过身去。

    “这名字蛮酷的，”哈利说，他咧嘴笑着，跟他的表哥齐步往前走，“但在我看来，你永远都是‘达达小宝贝’。”

    “你闭嘴！”达力说，两只火腿般粗胖的手捏成了拳头。

    “那些男孩不知道你妈妈叫你什么吗？”

    “住口！”

    “你可没有叫她住口啊。‘宝贝蛋儿’和‘达达小心肝’，我能用这些名字叫你吗？”

    达力没有说话。他在拼命克制自己，不去动手揍哈利，这似乎需要他所有的自制力。

    “你今天晚上把谁打了一顿？”哈利问道，脸上的笑容隐去了，“又是个十岁大的男孩？我知道你两天前的晚上打了马克伊万斯——　”

    “他自找的。”达力没好气地说。

    “哦，是吗？”

    “他侮辱我。”

    “是吗？他是不是说你像一头用两条腿走路的猪？嘿，那可不是侮辱，达达，那是事实呀。”

    达力牙关上的肌肉在抽动。哈利看到自己惹得达力这么生气，心里别提有多满足了。他觉得自己似乎把他的沮丧情绪转移到了表哥身上，这是他惟一的发泄方式。

    他们拐进了哈利第一次看见小天狼星的那条狭窄的小巷，那是木兰花新月街和紫藤路之间的一条近道。空荡荡的小巷，因为没有路灯，比它连接的那两条街道黑暗得多。小巷一边是车库的围墙，另一边是高高的栅栏，因此他们的脚步声显得很沉闷。

    ①对达力的昵称。

    “你拿着那玩意儿，就觉得自己是个男子汉了，是吗？”达力愣了几秒钟后说。“什么玩意儿？”“那个——　你藏起来的东西。”哈利脸上又露出坏笑。“你看起来很笨，实际上并不笨哪，达达？我想，如果你真的很笨，就不会一边走路一边说话了。”哈利抽出魔杖。他看见达力斜眼瞄着魔杖。“你不能用它，”达力反应很快地说，“我知道你不能。你会被你上的那个怪胎学校开除的。”“你怎么知道他们没有改变章程呢，D哥？”

    “那不可能。”达力说，不过他的声音显得不那么肯定。哈利轻轻笑出声来。“你如果不拿着那玩意儿，根本没有胆子跟我较量，是不是？”达力怒气冲冲地问。“那你呢，你需要四个伙计给你撑腰，才能打败一个十岁的毛孩子。你知道你到处吹嘘的那个拳击称号吗？你的对手有几岁？七岁？八岁？”“告诉你吧，他十六岁了。”达力恶狠狠地说，“我把他撂倒后，他整整昏迷了二十分钟，而且他的身体比你的重两倍。你等着吧，我要告诉爸爸你掏出了那玩意儿——　”

    “跑回家去找爸爸，是吗？他的拳击小冠军还会害怕哈利这根讨厌的魔杖？”“你晚上就没有这么勇敢了，是不是？”达力讥笑道。

    “现在就是晚上，达达小宝贝儿。天黑成这样，不是晚上是什么？”“我是说等你上床以后！”达力气势汹汹地说。他停下脚步，哈利也站住了，盯着他的表哥。他只能看见达力那张大脸的一部分，可以看出那上面透着一种古怪的得意神情。“你说什么，我躺在床上就不勇敢啦？”哈利闽，被完全弄糊涂了，“我有什么可害怕的呢，是枕头还是什么？”“我昨天夜里听见了，”达力喘着粗气说，“你说梦话。哼哼采着。”你说什么？“哈利又问了一遍，但他的心突然一阵发冷，忽地往下一沉。昨夜他在梦中又回到了那片墓地。

    达力声音粗哑地笑了起来，然后发出一阵呜呜咽咽的尖厉声音。“‘别杀塞德里克！别杀塞德里克！’谁是塞德里克——　你的朋友吗？”“我——　你在胡说。”哈利本能地说。但他嘴里突然发于。他知道达力没有胡说——　不然他怎么会知道塞德里克呢？“‘爸！救救我，爸！他要来杀我了，爸！呜呜！’”

    “闭嘴！”哈利小声说，“闭嘴，达力，我警告你！”　“‘快来救救我，爸！妈，快来救救我！他杀死了塞德里克！爸，救救我！他要——　’不许你用那玩意儿指着我！”

    达力退缩到墙根下。哈利将魔杖不偏不倚地对准达力的心脏。哈利感觉到他对达力十四年的仇恨此刻正在他的血管里汹涌冲撞——　他真愿意放弃一切。只要能痛痛快快地出手，给达力念一个厉害的恶咒，让他只能像爬虫一样爬回家，嘴里说不出话来，头顶上忽忽冒出两根触角。“不许再提这件事，”哈利厉声说，“明白了吗？”

    “把那玩意儿指着别处！”

    “我问你呢，你明白了吗？”

    “把它指着别处！”

    “你明白了吗？”

    “把那玩意儿拿开——　”

    达力突然奇怪地打了个激灵，抽了口冷气，好像被冰冷的水浇了个透湿。

    黑夜里，怪事发生了。洒满星星的深蓝色夜空突然变得一片漆黑，没有一丝光亮——　星星、月亮、小巷两端昏黄的路灯，一下子全都消失了。远处汽车开过的隆隆声、近处树叶的沙沙声，也都听不见了。刚才温和宜人的夜晚突然变得寒冷刺骨。他们被包围在无法穿透的深邃而无声的黑暗中，仿佛一只巨手用一层冷冰冰的厚厚帘幕覆盖住了整条小巷，使得他们看不见任何东西。

    刹那间，哈利以为他在不知不觉中施了魔法，尽管他一直在拼命地克制自己——　然后他的理智跟上了感觉的步伐——　他没有能力让星星熄灭。他把脑袋转来转去，想看到点什么，但黑暗像一层轻薄的面纱贴在他的眼睛上。

    达力恐惧的声音刺进了哈利的耳膜。

    “你——你在做——做什么？快停——停下！”

    “我什么也没做！你快闭嘴，不许动！”

    “我——我看不见！我——我眼睛瞎了！我——　”

    “我叫你闭嘴！”

    哈利一动不动地站着，失去视力的眼睛转向左边又转向右边。四下里冷得要命，他禁不住浑身发抖，手臂上起了一层鸡皮疙瘩，脖子后面的汗毛根根竖立——　他极力睁大眼睛，茫然地瞪着四周，但是他什么也看不见。这不可能，他们不会来这里，不会来小惠金区。他竖起耳朵，他要在看到他们之前先听到他们的声音。“我要告诉一告诉爸爸！”达力抽抽搭搭地说，“你一你在哪里？你在一在做什——　？”　“你能不能闭嘴？”哈利从牙缝里说道，“我正在听——　”

    但他停住了。他听见了他一直害怕的东西。小巷里除了他们俩还有另外的东西，正在发出长长的呼噜呼噜的沙哑喘息。

    哈利瑟瑟发抖地站在寒冷刺骨的黑夜里，感到一阵强烈的恐惧。“停一停下！住手！我一我要揍你，我说到做到！”“达力，闭——　”　砰！一拳击中了哈利的脑袋，打得他双脚失去平衡，眼前直冒金星。哈利在一小时内第二次觉得他的脑袋被劈成了两半。接着，他重重地跌倒在地上，魔杖脱手飞了出去。

    “你这个笨蛋，达力！”哈利喊道，疼得眼睛里涌出了泪花。他挣扎着手脚并用，在黑暗中胡乱地摸索着。他听见达力踉踉跄跄冲过去，撞在小巷边的栅栏上，脚底下摇摇晃晃。

    “达力，快回来！你正好冲着它去了！”一声可怕的、尖厉刺耳的喊叫，达力的脚步声停止了。与此同时，哈利感到身后一阵寒意袭来，这只能说明一件事情。他们不止一个。

    “达力，把嘴巴闭上！不管你做什么，千万要把嘴巴闭上！魔杖！”哈利狂乱地说，两只手像蜘蛛一样在地面上快速地摸索。“我的——　魔杖呢——　快点——　荧光闪烁！”

    他本能地念出这个咒语，急于想得到点亮光帮他找到魔杖——　突然，在离他右手几英寸的地方冒出一道亮光，他简直不敢相信，心中松了口气——　魔杖头被点亮了。哈利一把抓起魔杖，挣扎着站起来，急忙转身。

    他的五脏六腑都翻腾起来了。一个戴着兜帽的庞大身影无声地朝他滑过来。那身影高高地悬浮在地面上，长袍下看不见脚也看不见脸，移动时仿佛在一点点地吞噬着黑暗。哈利跌跌撞撞地退后几步，举起了魔杖。“呼神护卫！”一股银色的烟雾从魔杖头上冒了出来，摄魂怪的动作放慢了，但咒语并没有完全生效。看到摄魂怪朝自己袭来，哈利脚底绊了一下，又往后退了两步，恐慌使他的大脑变得模糊一片——　集中意念——　一双黏糊糊的、结满痂的灰手从摄魂怪的长袍里伸出来要抓他。窸窸率率的声音灌满了哈利的耳朵。“呼神护卫！”他的声音显得模糊而遥远。又是一股银色烟雾，比刚才更加淡薄无力，从魔杖头上喷了出来——　他无能为力了，他念不成这个咒语了。他的脑海里响起了笑声，尖厉、刺耳的笑声，他已经感到摄魂怪那股腐臭的、死亡般阴冷的气息灌满他的肺部，憋得他喘不过气来——　想一想，快乐的事情，可是他内心已经没有丝毫喜悦，摄魂怪冰冷的手指就要掐住他的喉咙了——　那尖厉、刺耳的笑声越来越响，他的脑海里有一个声音在说：“朝死亡屈服吧，哈利，甚至不会有任何痛苦？？我不会知道？？我从来没有死过？？”

    他再也见不到罗恩和赫敏了——他拼命地喘息着，他们的脸一下子清晰地浮现在他的脑海里。

    “呼神护卫！”

    一头巨大的银色牡鹿从哈利的魔杖头上喷了出来，两根鹿角直刺向摄魂怪的心脏所在的地方。摄魂怪被撞得连连后退，像周围的黑暗一样没有重量。牡鹿冲上前去，摄魂怪像蝙蝠一样扑闪到一边，匆匆逃走了。

    “这边！”哈利朝牡鹿喊道。他转身拔腿在小巷里奔跑，手里高高举着点亮的魔杖。“达力？达力？”

    他跑了十几步就赶到了他们跟前。达力蜷缩在地上，两只胳膊死死地护着脸。第二个摄魂怪正矮身蹲在他身边，用两只黏糊糊的手抓住达力的手腕，几乎很温柔地把两只胳膊慢慢地掰开了，那颗戴兜帽的脑袋朝达力的脸垂下去，似乎要去亲吻他。

    “抓住它！”哈利喊道，随着一阵快速的呼啸声，他变出来的那头银色牡鹿从他的身边跑过。摄魂怪那没有眼睛的脸离达力的脸只差不到一英寸了，说时迟那时快，银色的鹿角刺中了它，把它挑起来抛到半空。它像刚才它的那个同伴一样，腾空逃走，被黑暗吞没了。牡鹿慢跑到小巷尽头，化为一股银色烟雾消失了。

    月亮、星星和路灯一下子又发出了亮光。小巷里吹过一阵温暖的微风。邻居家花园里的沙沙树叶声、木兰花新月街那尘世里的汽车声又充斥了夜空。哈利一动不动地站着，所有的感官都在跳动不止，以适应这突然的变化。过了一会儿，他才意识到他的T恤衫粘在身上，他全身都被汗水湿透了。

    他无法相信刚才发生的事情。摄魂怪出现在这里，在小惠金区。

    达力蜷着身子躺在地上，抽抽搭搭，浑身发抖。哈利弯腰看看达力有没有可能站起来。就在这时，他听见身后传来重重的奔跑的脚步声。他本能地又举起魔杖，急转身面对着这个新来的人。

费格太太，他们那位脾气古怪的老邻居，气喘吁吁地出现在他们面前。她花白相间的头发从发网里散落出来，手腕上挂着一个丁当作响的网袋，两只脚都快从那双格子呢的厚拖鞋里滑出来了。哈利刚想赶紧把魔杖藏起来，只听——“别藏啦，傻孩子！”她尖叫着说，“如果周围还有他们的人怎么办呢？哦，我非宰了蒙顿格斯弗莱奇不可！”

Dudley Demented

‘What?’ said Harry blankly.

‘He left!’ said Mrs. Figg, wringing her hands. ‘Left to see someone about a batch of cauldrons that fell off the back of a broom! I told him I'd flay him alive if he went, and now look! Dementors! It's just lucky I put Mr. Tibbles on the case! But we haven't got time to stand around! Hurry, now, we've got to get you back! Oh, the trouble this is going to cause! I will kill him!’

‘But—’

The revelation that his batty old cat-obsessed neighbour knew what dementors were was almost as big a shock to Harry as meeting two of them down the alleyway. ‘You're—you're a witch?’

‘I'm a Squib, as Mundungus knows full well, so how on earth was I supposed to help you fight off dementors? He left you completely without cover when I'd warned him—’

‘This Mundungus has been following me? Hang on—it was him! He Disapparated from the front of my house!’

‘Yes, yes, yes, but luckily I'd stationed Mr. Tibbles under a car just in case, and Mr Tibbles came and warned me, but by the time I got to your house you'd gone— and now—oh, what's Dumbledore going to say? You!’ she shrieked at Dudley, still supine on the alley floor. ‘Get your fat bottom off the ground, quick!’

‘You know Dumbledore?’ said Harry, staring at her.

‘Of course I know Dumbledore, who doesn't know Dumbledore? But come on— I'll be no help if they come back, I've never so much as Transfigured a teabag.’

She stooped down, seized one of Dudley's massive arms in her wizened hands and tugged.

‘Get up, you useless lump, get up!’

But Dudley either could not or would not move. He remained on the ground, trembling and ashen-faced, his mouth shut very tight.

‘I'll do it.’ Harry took hold of Dudley's arm and heaved. With an enormous effort he managed to hoist him to his feet. Dudley seemed to be on the point of fainting. His small eyes were rolling in their sockets and sweat was beading his face; the moment Harry let go of him he swayed dangerously.

‘Hurry up!’ said Mrs. Figg hysterically.

Harry pulled one of Dudley's massive arms around his own shoulders and dragged him towards the road, sagging slightly under the weight. Mrs. Figg tottered along in front of them, peering anxiously around the corner.

‘Keep your wand out,’ she told Harry, as they entered Wisteria Walk. ‘Never mind the Statute of Secrecy now, there's going to be hell to pay anyway, we might as well be hanged for a dragon as an egg. Talk about the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery... This was exactly what Dumbledore was afraid of—what's that at the end of the street? Oh, it's just Mr. Prentice... Don't put your wand away, boy, don't I keep telling you I'm no use?’

It was not easy to hold a wand steady and haul Dudley along at the same time. Harry gave his cousin an impatient dig in the ribs, but Dudley seemed to have lost all desire for independent movement. He was slumped on Harry's shoulder, his large feet dragging along the ground.

‘Why didn't you tell me you're a Squib, Mrs. Figg?’ asked Harry, panting with the effort to keep walking. ‘All those times I came round your house—why didn't you say anything?’

‘Dumbledore's orders. I was to keep an eye on you but not say anything, you were too young. I'm sorry I gave you such a miserable time, Harry, but the Dursleys would never have let you come if they'd thought you enjoyed it. It wasn't easy, you know ... but oh my word,’ she said tragically, wringing her hands once more, ‘when Dumbledore hears about this—how could Mundungus have left, he was supposed to be on duty until midnight—where is he? How am I going to tell Dumbledore what's happened? I can't Apparate—’

‘I've got an owl, you can borrow her,’ Harry groaned, wondering whether his spine was going to snap under Dudley's weight.

‘Harry, you don't understand! Dumbledore will need to act as quickly as possible, the Ministry have their own ways of detecting underage magic, they'll know already, you mark my words—’

‘But I was getting rid of dementors, I had to use magic—they're going to be more worried about what dementors were doing floating around Wisteria Walk, surely?’

‘Oh, my dear, I wish it were so, but I'm afraid— MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!’

There was a loud crack and a strong smell of drink mingled with stale tobacco filled the air as a squat, unshaven man in a tattered overcoat materialised right in front of them. He had short, bandy legs, long straggly ginger hair and bloodshot, baggy eyes that gave him the doleful look of a basset hound. He was also clutching a silvery bundle that Harry recognised at once as an Invisibility Cloak.

’ ‘S’ up, Figgy?’ he said, staring from Mrs. Figg to Harry and Dudley. ‘What ‘appened to staying undercover?’

‘I'll give you undercover!’ cried Mrs. Figg. ‘Dementors, you useless, skiving sneak thief!’

‘Dementors?’ repeated Mundungus, aghast. ‘Dementors, here?’

‘Yes, here, you worthless pile of bat droppings, here!’ shrieked Mrs. Figg. ‘Dementors attacking the boy on your watch!’

‘Blimey,’ said Mundungus weakly, looking from Mrs. Figg to Harry, and back again. ‘Blimey, I...’

‘And you off buying stolen cauldrons! Didn't I tell you not to go? Didn't I?’

‘I—well, I—’ Mundungus looked deeply uncomfortable. ‘It ... it was a very good business opportunity, see...’

Mrs. Figg raised the arm from which her string bag dangled and whacked Mundungus around the face and neck with it; judging by the clanking noise it made it was full of cat food.

‘Ouch—gerroff— gerroff, you mad old bat! Someone's gotta tell Dumbledore!’

‘Yes—they— have!’ yelled Mrs. Figg, swinging the bag of cat food at every bit of Mundungus she could reach. ‘And—it—had—better—be—you—and—you—can—tell— him—why—you—weren't—there—to—help!’

‘Keep your ‘airnet on!’ said Mundungus, his arms over his head, cowering. ‘I'm going, I'm going!’

And with another loud crack, he vanished.

‘I hope Dumbledore murders him!’ said Mrs. Figg furiously. ‘Now come on, Harry, what are you waiting for?’

Harry decided not to waste his remaining breath on pointing out that he could barely walk under Dudley's bulk. He gave the semi-conscious Dudley a heave and staggered onwards.

‘I'll take you to the door,’ said Mrs. Figg, as they turned into Privet Drive. ‘Just in case there are more of them around.... Oh my word, what a catastrophe ... and you had to fight them off yourself ... and Dumbledore said we were to keep you from doing magic at all costs.... Well, it's no good crying over spilt potion, I suppose ... but the cat's among the pixies now...’

‘So,’ Harry panted, ‘Dumbledore's ... been having ... me followed?’

‘Of course he has,’ said Mrs. Figg impatiently. ‘Did you expect him to let you wander around on your own after what happened in June? Good Lord, boy, they told me you were intelligent.... Right ... get inside and stay there,’ she said, as they reached number four. ‘I expect someone will be in touch with you soon enough.’

‘What are you going to do?’ asked Harry quickly.

‘I'm going straight home,’ said Mrs. Figg, staring around the dark street and shuddering. ‘I'll need to wait for more instructions. Just stay in the house. Goodnight.’

‘Hang on, don't go yet! I want to know—’

But Mrs. Figg had already set off at a trot, carpet slippers flopping, string bag clanking.

‘Wait!’ Harry shouted after her. He had a million questions to ask anyone who was in contact with Dumbledore; but within seconds Mrs. Figg was swallowed by the darkness. Scowling, Harry readjusted Dudley on his shoulder and made his slow, painful way up number four's garden path.

The hall light was on. Harry stuck his wand back inside the waistband of his jeans, rang the bell and watched Aunt Petunia's outline grow larger and larger, oddly distorted by the rippling glass in the front door.

‘Diddy! About time too, I was getting quite—quite— Diddy, what's the matter?’

Harry looked sideways at Dudley and ducked out from under his arm just in time. Dudley swayed on the spot for a moment, his face pale green ... then he opened his mouth and vomited all over the doormat.

‘DIDDY! Diddy, what's the matter with you? Vernon? VERNON!’

Harry's uncle came galumphing out of the living room, walrus moustache blowing hither and thither as it always did when he was agitated. He hurried forwards to help Aunt Petunia negotiate a weak-kneed Dudley over the threshold while avoiding stepping in the pool of sick.

‘He's ill, Vernon!’

‘What is it, son? What's happened? Did Mrs. Polkiss give you something foreign for tea?’

‘Why are you all covered in dirt, darling? Have you been lying on the ground?’

‘Hang on—you haven't been mugged, have you, son?’

Aunt Petunia screamed.

‘Phone the police, Vernon! Phone the police! Diddy, darling, speak to Mummy! What did they do to you?’

In all the kerfuffle nobody seemed to have noticed Harry, which suited him perfectly. He managed to slip inside just before Uncle Vernon slammed the door and, while the Dursleys made their noisy progress down the hall towards the kitchen, Harry moved carefully and quietly towards the stairs.

‘Who did it, son? Give us names. We'll get them, don't worry.’

‘Shh! He's trying to say something, Vernon! What is it, Diddy? Tell Mummy!’

Harry's foot was on the bottom-most stair when Dudley found his voice.

‘Him.’

Harry froze, foot on the stair, face screwed up, braced for the explosion.

‘BOY! COME HERE!’

With a feeling of mingled dread and anger, Harry removed his foot slowly from the stair and turned to follow the Dursleys.

The scrupulously clean kitchen had an oddly unreal glitter after the darkness outside. Aunt Petunia was ushering Dudley into a chair; he was still very green and clammy-looking. Uncle Vernon was standing in front of the draining board, glaring at Harry through tiny, narrowed eyes.

‘What have you done to my son?’ he said in a menacing growl.

‘Nothing,’ said Harry, knowing perfectly well that Uncle Vernon wouldn't believe him.

‘What did he do to you, Diddy?’ Aunt Petunia said in a quavering voice, now sponging sick from the front of Dudley's leather jacket. ‘Was it—was it you-know-what, darling? Did he use—his thing?’

Slowly, tremulously, Dudley nodded.

‘I didn't!’ Harry said sharply, as Aunt Petunia let out a wail and Uncle Vernon raised his fists. ‘I didn't do anything to him, it wasn't me, it was—’

But at that precise moment a screech owl swooped in through the kitchen window. Narrowly missing the top of Uncle Vernon's head, it soared across the kitchen, dropped the large parchment envelope it was carrying in its beak at Harry's feet, turned gracefully, the tips of its wings just brushing the top of the fridge, then zoomed outside again and off across the garden.

‘OWLS!’ bellowed Uncle Vernon, the well-worn vein in his temple pulsing angrily as he slammed the kitchen window shut. ‘OWLS AGAIN! I WILL NOT HAVE ANY MORE OWLS IN MY HOUSE!’

But Harry was already ripping open the envelope and pulling out the letter inside, his heart pounding somewhere in the region of his Adam's apple.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle.

The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.

As you have already received an official warning for a previous offence under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on the twelfth of August.

Hoping you are well,

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

Improper Use of Magic Office

Ministry of Magic

Harry read the letter through twice. He was only vaguely aware of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia talking. Inside his head, all was icy and numb. One fact had penetrated his consciousness like a paralysing dart. He was expelled from Hogwarts. It was all over. He was never going back.

He looked up at the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon was purple-faced, shouting, his fists still raised; Aunt Petunia had her arms around Dudley who was retching again.

Harry's temporarily stupefied brain seemed to reawaken. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand. There was only one thing for it. He would have to run—now. Where he was going to go, Harry didn't know but he was certain of one thing: at Hogwarts or outside it, he needed his wand. In an almost dreamlike state, he pulled his wand out and turned to leave the kitchen.

‘Where d'you think you're going?’ yelled Uncle Venon. When Harry didn't reply, he pounded across the kitchen to block the doorway into the hall. ‘I haven't finished with you, boy!’

‘Get out of the way,’ said Harry quietly.

‘You're going to stay here and explain how my son—’

‘If you don't get out of the way I'm going to jinx you,’ said Harry, raising the wand.

‘You can't pull that one on me!’ snarled Uncle Vernon. ‘I know you're not allowed to use it outside that madhouse you call a school!’

The madhouse has chucked me out,’ said Harry. ‘So I can do whatever I like. You've got three seconds. One—two—’

A resounding CRACK filled the kitchen. Aunt Petunia screamed, Uncle Vernon yelled and ducked, but for the third time that night Harry was searching for the source of a disturbance he had not made. He spotted it at once: a dazed and ruffled-looking barn owl was sitting outside on the kitchen sill, having just collided with the closed window.

Ignoring Uncle Vernon's anguished yell of ‘OWLS!’ Harry crossed the room at a run and wrenched the window open. The owl stuck out its leg, to which a small roll of parchment was tied, shook its feathers, and took off the moment Harry had taken the letter. Hands shaking, Harry unfurled the second message, which was written very hastily and blotchily in black ink.

Harry—

Dumbledore's just arrived at the Ministry and he's trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOUR WAND.

Arthur Weasley

Dumbledore was trying to sort it all out ... what did that mean? how much power did Dumbledore have to override the Ministry of Magic? Was there a chance that he might be allowed back to Hogwarts, then? A small shoot of hope burgeoned in Harry's chest, almost immediately strangled by panic—how was he supposed to refuse to surrender his wand without doing magic? He'd have to duel with the Ministry representatives, and if he did that, he'd be lucky to escape Azkaban, let alone expulsion.

His mind was racing.... He could run for it and risk being captured by the Ministry, or stay put and wait for them to find him here. He was much more tempted by the former course, but he knew Mr. Weasley had his best interests at heart ... and, after all, Dumbledore had sorted out much worse than this before....

‘Right,’ Harry said, ‘I've changed my mind, I'm staying.’

He flung himself down at the kitchen table and faced Dudley and Aunt Petunia. The Dursleys appeared taken aback at his abrupt change of mind. Aunt Petunia glanced despairingly at Uncle Vernon. The vein in his purple temple was throbbing worse than ever.

‘Who are all these ruddy owls from?’ he growled.

‘The first one was from the Ministry of Magic, expelling me,’ said Harry calmly. He was straining his ears to catch any noises outside, in case the Ministry representatives were approaching, and it was easier and quieter to answer Uncle Vernon's questions than to have him start raging and bellowing. The second one was from my friend Ron's dad, who works at the Ministry.’

‘Ministry of Magic?’ bellowed Uncle Vernon. ‘People like you in government? Oh, this explains everything, everything, no wonder the country's going to the dogs....’

When Harry did not respond, Uncle Vernon glared at him, then spat out, ‘And why have you been expelled?’

‘Because I did magic.’

‘AHA!’ roared Uncle Vernon, slamming his fist down on top of the fridge, which sprang open; several of Dudley's low-fat snacks toppled out and burst on the floor. ‘So you admit it! What did you do to Dudley?’

‘Nothing,’ said Harry, slightly less calmly. ‘That wasn't me—’

‘Was,’ muttered Dudley unexpectedly, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia instantly made flapping gestures at Harry to quieten him while they both bent low over Dudley.

‘Go on, son,’ said Uncle Vernon, ‘what did he do?’

‘Tell us, darling,’ whispered Aunt Petunia.

‘Pointed his wand at me,’ Dudley mumbled.

‘Yeah, I did, but I didn't use—’ Harry began angrily, but...

‘SHUT UP!’ roared Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia in unison.

‘Go on, son,’ repeated Uncle Vernon, moustache blowing about furiously.

‘All dark,’ Dudley said hoarsely, shuddering. ‘Everything dark. And then I h-heard ... things. Inside m-my head...’

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged looks of utter horror. If their least favourite thing in the world was magic, closely followed by neighbours who cheated more than they did on the hosepipe ban, people who heard voices were definitely in the bottom ten. They obviously thought Dudley was losing his mind.

‘What sort of things did you hear, popkin?’ breathed Aunt Petunia, very white-faced and with tears in her eyes.

But Dudley seemed incapable of saying. He shuddered again and shook his large blond head, and despite the sense of numb dread that had settled on Harry since the arrival of the first owl, he felt a certain curiosity. Dementors caused a person to relive the worst moments of their life.... What would spoiled, pampered, bullying Dudley have been forced to hear?

‘How come you fell over, son?’ said Uncle Vernon, in an unnaturally quiet voice, the kind of voice he might adopt at the bedside of a very ill person.

‘T-tripped,’ said Dudley shakily. ‘And then—’

He gestured at his massive chest. Harry understood: Dudley was remembering the clammy cold that filled the lungs as hope and happiness were sucked out of you.

‘Horrible,’ croaked Dudley. ‘Cold. Really cold.’

‘OK,’ said Uncle Vernon, in a voice of forced calm, while Aunt Petunia laid an anxious hand on Dudley's forehead to feel his temperature. ‘What happened then, Dudders?’

‘Felt ... felt ... felt ... as if ... as if...’

‘As if you'd never be happy again,’ Harry supplied dully.

‘Yes,’ Dudley whispered, still trembling.

‘So!’ said Uncle Vernon, voice restored to full and considerable volume as he straightened up. ‘You put some crackpot spell on my on so he'd hear voices and believe he was—was doomed to misery, or something, did you?’

‘How many times do I have to tell you?’ said Harry, temper and voice both rising. ‘It wasn't me! It was a couple of dementors!’

‘A couple of—what's this codswallop?’

‘De—men—tors,’ said Harry slowly and clearly. ‘Two of them.’

‘And what the ruddy hell are dementors?’

‘They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban,’ said Aunt Petunia.

Two seconds of ringing silence followed these words before Aunt Petunia clapped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear word. Uncle Vernon was goggling at her. Harry's brain reeled. Mrs. Figg was one thing—butAunt Petunia?

‘How d'you know that?’ he asked her, astonished.

Aunt Petunia looked quite appalled with herself. She glanced at Uncle Vernon in fearful apology, then lowered her hand slightly to reveal her horsy teeth.

‘I heard—that awful boy—telling her about them—years ago,’ she said jerkily.

‘If you mean my mum and dad, why don't you use their names?’ said Harry loudly but Aunt Petunia ignored him. She seemed horribly flustered.

Harry was stunned. Except for one outburst years ago, in the course of which Aunt Petunia had screamed that Harry's mother had been a freak, he had never heard her mention her sister. He was astounded that she had remembered this scrap of information about the magical world for so long, when she usually put all her energies into pretending it didn't exist.

Uncle Vernon opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it once more, shut it, then, apparently struggling to remember how to talk, opened it for a third time and croaked, ‘So—so—they—er—they—er—they actually exist, do they—er— Dementy-whatsits?’

Aunt Petunia nodded.

Uncle Vernon looked from Aunt Petunia to Dudley to Harry as if hoping somebody was going to shout ‘April Fool!’ When nobody did, he opened his mouth yet again, but was spared the struggle to find more words by the arrival of the third owl of the evening. It zoomed through the still-open window like a feathery cannon-ball and landed with a clatter on the kitchen table, causing all three of the Dursleys to jump with fright. Harry tore a second official-looking envelope from the owl's beak and ripped it open as the owl swooped back out into the night.

‘Enough—effing—owls...’ muttered Uncle Vernon distractedly, stomping over to the window and slamming it shut again.

Dear Mr. Potter,

Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on the twelfth of August, at which time an official decision will be taken.

Following discussions with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspended from school pending further enquiries.

With best wishes,

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

Improper Use of Magic Office

Ministry of Magic

Harry read this letter through three times in quick succession. The miserable knot in his chest loosened slightly with the relief of knowing he was not yet definitely expelled, though his fears were by no means banished. Everything seemed to hang on this hearing on the twelfth of August.

‘Well?’ said Uncle Vernon, recalling Harry to his surroundings. ‘What now? Have they sentenced you to anything? Do your lot have the death penalty?’ he added as a hopeful afterthought.

‘I've got to go to a hearing,’ said Harry.

‘And they'll sentence you there?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘I won't give up hope, then,’ said Uncle Vernon nastily.

‘Well, if that's all,’ said Harry, getting to his feet. He was desperate to be alone, to think, perhaps to send a letter to Ron, Hermione or Sirius.

‘NO, IT RUDDY WELL IS NOT ALL!’ bellowed Uncle Vernon. ‘SIT BACK DOWN!’

‘What now?’ said Harry impatiently.

‘DUDLEY!’ roared Uncle Vernon. ‘I want to know exactly what happened to my son!’

‘FINE!’ yelled Harry, and in his temper, red and gold sparks shot out of the end of his wand, still clutched in his hand. All three Dursleys flinched, looking terrified.

‘Dudley and I were in the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk,’ said Harry, speaking fast, fighting to control his temper. ‘Dudley thought he'd be smart with me, I pulled out my wand but didn't use it. Then two dementors turned up—’

‘But what ARE Dementoids?’ asked Uncle Vernon furiously. ‘What do they DO?’

‘I told you—they suck all the happiness out of you,’ said Harry, ‘and if they get the chance, they kiss you—’

‘Kiss you?’ said Uncle Vernon, his eyes popping slightly. ‘Kiss you?’

‘It's what they call it when they suck the soul out of your mouth.’

Aunt Petunia uttered a soft scream.

‘His soul? They didn't take—he's still got his—’

She seized Dudley by the shoulders and shook him, as though testing to see whether she could hear his soul rattling around inside him.

‘Of course they didn't get his soul, you'd know if they had,’ said Harry, exasperated.

‘Fought ‘em off, did you, son?’ said Uncle Vernon loudly, with the appearance of a man struggling to bring the conversation back on to a plane he understood. ‘Gave ‘em the old one-two, did you?’

‘You can't give a Dementor the old one-two,’ said Harry through clenched teeth.

‘Why's he all right, then?’ blustered Uncle Vernon. ‘Why isn't he all empty, then?’

‘Because I used the Patronus—’

WHOOSH. With a clattering, a whirring of wings and a soft fall of dust, a fourth owl came shooting out of the kitchen fireplace.

‘FOR GOD'S SAKE!’ roared Uncle Vernon, pulling great clumps of hair out of his moustache, something he hadn't been driven to do in a long time. ‘I WILL NOT HAVE OWLS HERE, I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS, I TELL YOU!’

But Harry was already pulling a roll of parchment from the owl's leg. He was so convinced that this letter had to be from Dumbledore, explaining everything—the dementors, Mrs. Figg, what the Ministry was up to, how he, Dumbledore, intended to sort everything out—that for the first time in his life he was disappointed to see Sirius's handwriting. Ignoring Uncle Vernons ongoing rant about owls, and narrowing his eyes against a second cloud of dust as the most recent owl took off back up the chimney, Harry read Sirius's message.

Arthur has just told us what's happened. Don't leave the house again, whatever you do.

Harry found this such an inadequate response to everything that had happened tonight that he turned the piece of parchment over, looking for the rest of the letter, but there was nothing else.

And now his temper was rising again. Wasn't anybody going to say ‘well done’ for fighting off two dementors single-handed? Both Mr. Weasley and Sirius were acting as though he'd misbehaved, and were saving their tellings-off until they could ascertain how much damage had been done.

‘—a peck, I mean, pack of owls shooting in and out of my house. I won't have it, boy, I won't—’

‘I can't stop the owls coming,’ Harry snapped, crushing Sirius's letter in his fist.

‘I want the truth about what happened tonight!’ barked Uncle Vernon. ‘If it was demenders who hurt Dudley, how come you've been expelled? You did you-know-what, you've admitted, it!’

Harry took a deep, steadying breath. His head was beginning to ache again. He wanted more than anything to get out of the kitchen, and away from the Dursleys.

‘I did the Patronus Charm to get rid of the dementors,’ he said, forcing himself to remain calm. ‘It's the only thing that works against them.’

‘But what were Dementoids doing in Little Whinging?’ said Uncle Vernon in an outraged tone.

‘Couldn't tell you,’ said Harry wearily. ‘No idea.’

His head was pounding in the glare of the strip-lighting now. His anger was ebbing away. He felt drained, exhausted. The Dursleys were all staring at him.

‘It's you,’ said Uncle Vernon forcefully. ‘It's got something to do with you, boy, I know it. Why else would they turn up here? Why else would they be down that alleyway? You've got to be the only—the only—’ Evidently, he couldn't bring himself to say the word ‘wizard'. The only you-know-what for miles.’

‘I don't know why they were here.’

But at Uncle Vernon's words, Harry's exhausted brain had ground back into action. Why had the dementors come to Little Whinging? How could it be coincidence that they had arrived in the alleyway where Harry was? Had they been sent? Had the Ministry of Magic lost control of the dementors? Had they deserted Azkaban and joined Voldemort, as Dumbledore had predicted they would?

‘These demembers guard some weirdo prison?’ asked Uncle Vernon, lumbering along in the wake of Harry's train of thought.

‘Yes,’ said Harry.

If only his head would stop hurting, if only he could just leave the kitchen and get to his dark bedroom and think....

‘Oho! They were coming to arrest you!’ said Uncle Vernon, with the triumphant air of a man reaching an unassailable conclusion. ‘That's it, isn't it, boy? You're on the run from the law!’

‘Of course I'm not,’ said Harry, shaking his head as though to scare off a fly, his mind racing now.

‘Then why—?’

‘He must have sent them,’ said Harry quietly, more to himself than to Uncle Vernon.

‘What's that? Who must have sent them?’

‘Lord Voldemort,’ said Harry.

He registered dimly how strange it was that the Dursleys, who flinched, winced and squawked if they heard words like ‘wizard', ‘magic’ or ‘wand', could hear the name of the most evil wizard of all time without the slightest tremor.

‘Lord—hang on,’ said Uncle Vernon, his face screwed up, a look of dawning comprehension coming into his piggy eyes. ‘I've heard that name ... that was the one who...’

‘Murdered my parents, yes,’ Harry said dully.

‘But he's gone,’ said Uncle Vernon impatiently, without the slightest sign that the murder of Harry's parents might be a painful topic. ‘That giant bloke said so. He's gone.’

‘He's back,’ said Harry heavily.

It felt very strange to be standing here in Aunt Petunia's surgically clean kitchen, beside the top-of-the-range fridge and the wide-screen television, talking calmly of Lord Voldemort to Uncle Vernon. The arrival of the dementors in Little Whinging seemed to have breached the great, invisible wall that divided the relentlessly non-magical world of Privet Drive and the world beyond. Harry's two lives had somehow become fused and everything had been turned upside-down; the Dursleys were asking for details about the magical world, and Mrs. Figg knew Albus Dumbledore; dementors were soaring around Little Whinging, and he might never return to Hogwarts. Harry's head throbbed more painfully.

‘Back?’ whispered Aunt Petunia.

She was looking at Harry as she had never looked at him before. And all of a sudden, for the very first time in his life, Harry fully appreciated that Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister. He could not have said why this hit him so very powerfully at this moment. All he knew was that he was not the only person in the room who had an inkling of what Lord Voldemort being back might mean. Aunt Petunia had never in her life looked at him like that before. Her large, pale eyes (so unlike her sisters) were not narrowed in dislike or anger, they were wide and fearful. The furious pretence that Aunt Petunia had maintained all Harry's life—that there was no magic and no world other than the world she inhabited with Uncle Vernon—seemed to have fallen away.

‘Yes,’ Harry said, talking directly to Aunt Petunia now. He came back a month ago. I saw him.’

Her hands found Dudley's massive leather-clad shoulders and clutched them.

‘Hang on,’ said Uncle Vernon, looking from his wife to Harry and back again, apparently dazed and confused by the unprecedented understanding that seemed to have sprung up between them. ‘Hang on. This Lord Voldything's back, you say.’

‘Yes.’

‘The one who murdered your parents.’

‘Yes.’

‘And now he's sending dismembers after you?’

‘Looks like it,’ said Harry.

‘I see,’ said Uncle Vernon, looking from his white-faced wife to Harry and hitching up his trousers. He seemed to be swelling, his great purple face stretching before Harry's eyes. ‘Well, that settles it,’ he said, his shirt front straining as he inflated himself, ‘you can get out of this house, boy!’

‘What?’ said Harry.

‘You heard me—OUT!’ Uncle Vernon bellowed, and even Aunt Petunia and Dudley jumped. ‘OUT! OUT! I should've done this years ago! Owls treating the place like a rest home, puddings exploding, half the lounge destroyed, Dudley's tail, Marge bobbing around on the ceiling and that flying Ford Anglia—OUT! OUT! You've had it! You're history! You're not staying here if some loony's after you, you're not endangering my wife and son, you're not bringing trouble down on us, if you're going the same way as your useless parents, I've had it! OUT!’

Harry stood rooted to the spot. The letters from the Ministry, Mr. Weasley and Sirius were all crushed in his left hand. Don't leave the house again, whatever you do. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE.

‘You heard me!’ said Uncle Vernon, bending forwards now, his massive purple face coming so close to Harry's, he actually felt flecks of spit hit his face. ‘Get going! You were all keen to leave half an hour ago! I'm right behind you! Get out and never darken our doorstep again! Why we ever kept you in the first place, I don't know, Marge was right, it should have been the orphanage. We were too damn soft for our own good, thought we could squash it out of you, thought we could turn you normal, but you've been rotten from the beginning and I've had enough—OWLS!’

The fifth owl zoomed down the chimney so fast it actually hit the floor before zooming into the air again with a loud screech. Harry raised his hand to seize the letter, which was in a scarlet envelope, but it soared straight over his head, flying directly at Aunt Petunia, who let out a scream and ducked, her arms over her face. The owl dropped the red envelope on her head, turned, and flew straight back up the chimney.

Harry darted forwards to pick up the letter, but Aunt Petunia beat him to it.

‘You can open it if you like,’ said Harry, ‘but I'll hear what it says anyway. That's a Howler.’

‘Let go of it, Petunia!’ roared Uncle Vernon. ‘Don't touch it, it could be dangerous!’

‘It's addressed to me,’ said Aunt Petunia in a shaking voice. ‘It's addressed to me, Vernon, look! Mrs. Petunia Dursley, The Kitchen, Number Four, Privet Drive—’

She caught her breath, horrified. The red envelope had begun to smoke.

‘Open it!’ Harry urged her. ‘Get it over with! It'll happen anyway.’

‘No.’

Aunt Petunia's hand was trembling. She looked wildly around the kitchen as though looking for an escape route, but too late—the envelope burst into flames. Aunt Petunia screamed and dropped it.

An awful voice filled the kitchen, echoing in the confined space, issuing from the burning letter on the table.

‘REMEMBER MY LAST, PETUNIA.’

Aunt Petunia looked as though she might faint. She sank into the chair beside Dudley, her face in her hands. The remains of the envelope smouldered into ash in the silence.

‘What is this?’ Uncle Vernon said hoarsely. ‘What—I don't—Petunia?’

Aunt Petunia said nothing. Dudley was staring stupidly at his mother, his mouth hanging open. The silence spiralled horribly. Harry was watching his aunt, utterly bewildered, his head throbbing fit to burst.

‘Petunia, dear?’ said Uncle Vernon timidly. ‘P-Petunia?’

She raised her head. She was still trembling. She swallowed.

‘The boy—the boy will have to stay, Vernon,’ she said weakly.

‘W-what?’

‘He stays,’ she said. She was not looking at Harry. She got to her feet again.

‘He ... but Petunia...’

‘If we throw him out, the neighbours will talk,’ she said. She was rapidly regaining her usual brisk, snappish manner, though she was still very pale. ‘They'll ask awkward questions, they'll want to know where he's gone. We'll have to keep him.’

Uncle Vernon was deflating like an old tyre.

‘But Petunia, dear—’

Aunt Petunia ignored him. She turned to Harry.

‘You're to stay in your room,’ she said. ‘You're not to leave the house. Now get to bed.’

Harry didn't move.

‘Who was that Howler from?’

‘Don't ask questions,’ Aunt Petunia snapped.

‘Are you in touch with wizards?’

‘I told you to get to bed!’

‘What did it mean? Remember the last what?’

‘Go to bed!’

‘How come—?’

‘YOU HEARD YOUR AUNT, NOW GO UP TO BED!’

一群猫头鹰

    “什么？”哈利迷惑地问。

    “他去了！”费格太太绞着自己的两只手说，“去见一个人，去谈一批从飞天扫帚上掉下来的坩埚！我对他说，如果他敢去，我就活剥他的皮，结果你看看现在！摄魂怪！幸亏我叫踢踢给我通风报信！哎呀，我们没有时间在这里闲站着了！哈利，我们得赶紧把你送回去！哦，这会惹来多大的麻烦啊！我非宰了他不可！”

    “可是——　”哈利突然得知这位脾气古怪、喜欢养猫的老邻居居然知道摄魂怪，这份惊讶不亚于他刚才在小巷里碰见两个摄魂怪。“你——　你是个巫师？”

    “我是个哑炮，蒙顿格斯什么都知道，所以我怎么可能帮助你赶跑摄魂怪呢？他自个儿跑了，留下你毫无掩护，我还提醒过他——　”

    “这个蒙顿格斯一直在跟踪我？慢着——　原来是他！他在我家门口幻影移形了！”

    “是啊，是啊，是啊，幸亏我安排踢踢躲在一辆汽车下面以防万一，踢踢跑过来告诉了我，可是等我赶到你家时你已经走了——　结果现在——　哦，邓布利多会怎么说呢？你！”她尖着嗓子冲着仍然躺在小巷里的达力嚷道，“把你的肥屁股从地上拾起来，快点！”

    “你认识邓布利多？”哈利吃惊地瞪着她问道。

    “我当然认识邓布利多，谁不认识邓布利多呢？可是快点吧——　如果他们再回来，我可帮不上什么忙。我没有多少本事，连给一只茶叶包变形都不会。”

    她弯下腰，用皱巴巴的手抓住达力一只肥粗的胳膊使劲拉着。

    “站起来，你这个没用的傻大个儿。快站起来！”

    可是达力不知是动不了还是压根儿就不愿意动弹，他还是躺在地上，浑身发抖，脸如死灰，嘴巴闭得紧紧的。

    “我来吧。”哈利抓住达力的胳膊用力拽着。他费了九牛二虎之力，总算把达力拖得站了起来。达力似乎随时都会昏倒，他的小眼睛在眼窝里转来转去，脸上沁出粒粒汗珠。哈利刚松开手，他就摇晃起来，好像要摔倒的样子。

    “快走！”费格太太心急火燎地说。

    哈利抓起达力一只粗大无比的胳膊，搭在自己的肩膀上，拖着他往前走去。达力的重量把他压得连腰都直不起来了。费格太太跌跌撞撞地走在他们前面，警惕地注视着拐角里的动静。

    “把你的魔杖拿在外面，”他们走进紫藤路时，她对哈利说，“现在别管什么《保密法》啦，反正是免不了受罚，为一条龙是一死，为一个蛋也是一死。说到《对未成年巫师加以合理约束法》——　这正是邓布利多一直担心的——　路口那儿是什么？噢，是普伦提斯先生？？别把魔杖收起来，孩子，我不是一直跟你说吗，我是不管用的！”

    既要稳稳地举着魔杖，同时又要拖着达力往前走，这真不是一件容易的事。哈利不耐烦地捅了捅表哥的肋骨，可是达力似乎完全丧失了自己行动的愿望。他瘫倒在哈利的肩膀上，两只大脚拖在地上。

    “你以前为什么没有告诉我你是个哑炮，费格太太？”哈利问，他不敢停脚，累得气喘吁吁。“我那么多次到你家去——　你为什么一字不提呢？”

    “邓布利多吩咐的，要我留心照看你，但什么也不能说，你当时还太小呢。对不起，我那时弄得你很不开心，哈利，但如果德思礼家的人觉得你喜欢上我家来，他们就再也不会让你来了。这挺不容易的，你知道？？可是，哎呀，”她悲痛地说，又一次把双手紧紧地绞在一起，“如果邓布利多听说了这件事——　蒙顿格斯怎么能离开呢，他应该值班到午夜的——　他去了哪儿？我怎么去向邓布利多汇报这件事呢？我不会幻影显形。”

    “我有一只猫头鹰，可以借给你。”哈利嘴里直哼哼，怀疑他的脊椎骨都要被达力压断了。

    “哈利，你不明白！邓布利多需要尽快采取行动，因为魔法部自己有一套办法侦察未成年人使用魔法的情况，他们恐怕已经知道了，信不信由你。”

    “但我要摆脱摄魂怪呀，我不得不使用魔法——　他们肯定更关心为什么摄魂怪总是在紫藤路飘来飘去，是不是？”

    “哦，我亲爱的，我也巴不得是这样呢，但我担心——　蒙顿格斯弗莱奇，我要宰了你！”

    啪，随着一声刺耳的爆响，空气里升起一股烟酒混合的强烈臭味，一个胡子拉碴、身穿一件破烂外套的矮胖子突然出现在他们面前。两条短短的罗圈腿，一头又长又乱的姜黄色头发，一双肿胀充血的眼睛，使得他看上去像一只短腿猎狗那样愁苦。他手里还抓着一包银色的东西，哈利一眼认出那是一件隐形衣。

    “出什么事了，费格？”他问，眼睛望望费格太太，望望哈利，又望望达力，“不是说不暴露身份的吗？”“去你的不暴露身份！”费格太太嚷道，“摄魂怪，你这个逃避责任的没用的大骗子！”“摄魂怪？”蒙顿格斯重复了一句，吓坏了，“摄魂怪，在这儿？”“没错，就在这儿，你这堆一无是处的臭大粪，就在这儿！”费格太太尖声嚷道，“摄魂怪袭击了你负责监护的孩子！”“天哪，”蒙顿格斯轻声叫道，看看费格太太，看看哈利，又看看费格太太，“天哪，我——　”　“你去买那些偷来的坩埚了！我不是叫你别去的吗？是不是？”“我——　唉，我——　”蒙顿格斯显得心烦意乱，“这——　这笔生意可是机会难得啊，你看——　”　费格太太举起拎着网袋的胳膊，用网袋使劲抽打蒙顿格斯的脸和脖子。从丁丁当当的声音来推测，网袋里肯定装满了猫食。“哎哟——　够了——　够了，你这只发疯的老蝙蝠！得派人去告诉邓布利多呀！”

    “是的——　他们——　去了！”费格太太一边嚷，一边把那袋猫食没头没脑地砸向蒙顿格斯。“最好——　你——　自己去——　你可以——　告诉他——　你为什么——　没在这里——　解围！”

    “把你的发网戴好了！”蒙顿格斯用胳膊护住脑袋，往后退缩着说，“我这就去，我这就去！”

    啪，又是一声刺耳的爆响，他消失了。

    “真希望邓布利多取了他的小命！”费格太太气呼呼地说，“好了，快走吧，哈利，你还等什么呀？”

    哈利已经累得气都喘不匀了，心想还是不要浪费口舌去向费格太太解释说达力压得他几乎走不动路了吧。他使劲拉了一下半昏半醒的达力，继续踉踉跄跄地往前走。

    “我送你们到门口，”他们拐进女贞路时，费格太太说，“以防附近还有摄魂怪？？哎呀呀，真是一场大祸啊？？你不得不独自把他们赶跑？？而邓布利多说我们要不惜一切代价阻止你使用魔法？？唉，得啦，药水已经洒了，哭也没有用？？不过那只猫这会儿已经到了小精灵那儿了。”

    “这么说，”哈利喘着气说，“邓布利多？？一直在？？派人跟踪我？”

    “当然是这样，”费格太太不耐烦地说，“六月份发生了那件事之后，你难道还指望他让你一个人四处乱逛？孩子，他们告诉我说你很聪明？？好了？？进去吧，待着别出来。”这时他们已经到了4号门前。“我想很快就会有人跟你联系的。”

    “你准备做什么？”哈利赶紧问道。

    “我直接回家，”费格太太说，朝漆黑的街道张望了一下，打了个冷战，“我需要等候新的指令。待在家里别出来。晚安。”

    “等等，先别走！我还想知道——　”

    但是费格太太已经一溜小跑走远了，厚拖鞋啪嗒啪嗒，网袋丁丁当当。

    “等一下！”哈利对着她的背影喊道。他心里有数不清的问题要问任何一个与邓布利多有联系的人，但是一眨眼的工夫，费格太太的身影就被黑暗吞没了。哈利紧锁着眉头，重新调整了一下瘫在他肩膀上的达力，拖着沉重的脚步，慢慢走上女贞路4号的花园小径。

    客厅里亮着灯。哈利把魔杖重新插进牛仔裤的腰带，摁响了门铃。佩妮姨妈的身影越来越大，被前门上起着波纹的玻璃折射得奇形怪状。

    “达达！回来得正是时候，我正感到非常——　非常——　达达，怎么回事？”

    哈利侧脸望着达力，及时地从他胳膊下脱出身来。达力原地摇晃了一会儿，脸色发青？？然后他张开大嘴，畦的一口，全吐在门垫子上了。

    “达达，达达，你怎么啦？弗农？弗农！”

    哈利的姨父拖着笨重的身体从起居室赶来，他的海象胡子乱七八糟地飘了起来，每当他激动不安时总是这样。他三步两步赶上来，和佩妮姨妈一起搀扶着膝盖发软的达力跨过门槛，同时小心别踩着达力吐出来的那堆脏东西。

    “他病了，弗农！”

    “怎么回事，儿子？出了什么事？波奇斯太太在茶点上给你吃什么不合适的东西了？”

    “你怎么身上都是土，亲爱的？你一直躺在地上吗？”

    “慢着——　你没有挨打吧，儿子，嗯？”

    佩妮姨妈尖叫起来。

    “给警察打电话，弗农！给警察打电话！达达，亲爱的，跟妈妈说说！他们把你怎么样啦？”

    在一片混乱中，似乎谁也没有注意哈利，这正合他的心意。他正好赶在弗农姨父重重关上房门前溜进来。当德思礼一家闹哄哄地穿过客厅，走向厨房时，哈利小心地、蹑手蹑脚地朝楼梯走去。

    “这是谁干的，儿子？快告诉我们他们的名字。我们会抓住他们的，不用担心。”

    “嘘！他正要说话呢，弗农！怎么回事，达达？快告诉妈妈！”

    哈利的脚刚踏上第一级楼梯，达力终于发出了声音。

    “他。”

    哈利怔住了，一只脚踏在楼梯上，脸扭成一团，鼓起勇气准备迎接这场大爆炸。

    “小子！你给我过采！”

    哈利怀着恐惧和愤怒交织的心情，慢慢地把脚从楼梯上撤了下来，转身跟着德思礼一家。

    刚从外面的夜色中进来，觉得擦洗得一尘不染的厨房明晃晃的，怪异而不真实。佩妮姨妈领达力坐到一张椅子上。达力仍然脸色发青，一副病恹恹的样子。弗农姨父站在滴水板前面，眯起一对小眼睛，狠狠地瞪着哈利。

    “你对我儿子做了什么？”他气势汹汹地吼道。

    “什么也没做。”哈利说，他很清楚弗农姨父根本不会相信他的话。

    “他对你做了什么，达达？”佩妮姨妈一边用湿海绵擦去达力皮夹克上的脏东西，一边用发抖的声音问道，“是——　是那玩意儿吗，亲爱的？他用了——　他的家伙？”

    达力颤抖着慢慢地点了点头。

    “我没有！”哈利急切地说，佩妮姨妈发出一声号啕，弗农姨父举起两个拳头。“我没有把他怎么样，那不是我，那是——　”

    就在这个时候，一只长耳猫头鹰忽地从窗户飞进了厨房，既而擦着弗农姨父的头顶，轻盈地从厨房那头飞过来，把嘴里叼着的一个羊皮纸大信封丢在哈利脚边，然后优雅地一转身，翅膀尖正好扫过冰箱顶，嗖的一声飞了出去，掠过花园上空消失了。

    “猫头鹰！”弗农姨父气得大吼。他狠狠地把厨房窗户砰的一声关上了。他太阳穴上的那根经常暴起的血管又在突突跳动。“又是猫头鹰！再也不许猫头鹰进我的家里！”

    哈利已经扯开信封，抽出了里面的信，他的心怦怦狂跳，已经快要跳到嗓子眼了。

    亲爱的波特先生：我们接到情报，你于今晚九点二十三分在一个麻瓜居住区，当着一个麻瓜的面施用了守护神魔咒。这一行为严重违反了《对未成年巫师加以合理约束法》，因此你已被霍格沃茨魔法学校开除。魔法部将很快派代表前往你的住所，销毁你的魔杖。鉴于你此前已因违反《国际魔法师联合会保密法》的第十三条而受到正式警告，我们很遗憾地通知你，你必须在8月12日上午九时前往魔法部受审。

    希望你多多保重。

    你忠实的马法尔达霍普柯克魔法部禁止滥用魔法司哈利把这封信连读了两遍。他只模模糊糊地意识到弗农姨父和佩妮姨妈在那儿说着什么。他的脑海里一片冰冷，一片空白。一个事实像一把致人瘫痪的飞镖扎进了他的意识。他被霍格沃茨开除了。一切都完了。他再也回不去了。

    他抬头望着德思礼一家。弗农姨父的脸涨成了猪肝色，他大声吼叫着，两只拳头仍然高高地举着。佩妮姨妈用两只胳膊搂着又在于呕不止的达力。

    哈利暂时麻木的思维似乎慢慢苏醒了过来。魔法部将很快派代表前往你的住所，销毁你的魔杖。只有一个办法。他必须逃走——　事不宜迟。究竟去哪儿呢，哈利并不知道，但有一点是肯定的：不管在霍格沃茨校内还是校外，他都离不开他的魔杖。在一种几乎是半梦半醒的状态中，他抽出魔杖，转身想离开厨房。

    “你打算上哪儿去？”弗农姨父嚷道。看到哈利没有回答，他嗵嗵嗵地从厨房那头走过来，挡在了通往客厅的门口。“我跟你的事情还没完呢，小子！”“闪开！”哈利轻声说。“你必须待在这里，老实交代我的儿子怎么会——　”

    “如果你不闪开，我就给你念一个恶咒。”哈利说着举起了魔杖。“你别想用它来对付我！”弗农姨父恶狠狠地说，“我知道，你出了那所你称为学校的疯人院，是不允许摆弄它的！”“疯人院已经把我赶出来了，”哈利说，“所以我愿意干什么就干什么。现在给你三秒钟。一——　二——　”

    厨房里发出一声爆响，回音不绝。佩妮姨妈失声尖叫，弗农姨父吼叫着弯腰躲避，而哈利呢，他在寻找一场不是由他造成的混乱的源头，这已经是这个晚上的第三次了。他立刻发现了：一只昏头昏脑、羽毛蓬乱的谷仓猫头鹰正蹲在厨房外面的窗台上，刚才它撞在关着的窗户玻璃上了。

    弗农姨父痛苦地嚷道：“猫头鹰！”哈利没有理睬他，径直跑到厨房那头，猛地打开窗户。猫头鹰伸出一条腿，上面拴着一小卷羊皮纸。它抖了抖羽毛，哈利一把信取下来它就飞走了。哈利颤抖着双手，展开这第二封信，上面用黑墨水草草地写着几行字，纸上污渍斑斑。

    哈利：邓布利多刚赶到魔法部，正在调查整个事件。不要离开你姨妈和姨父的家。不要再施魔法。不要交出你的魔杖。

    亚瑟韦斯莱邓布利多正在调查整个事情？？这是什么意思呢？邓布利多有多大能耐，能够凌驾于魔法部之上？这么说，他还有可能重新回到霍格沃茨？一线小小的希望在哈利心中迅速升起，但几乎立刻就被惊慌的情绪扼杀了——　他不施魔法，怎么可能拒绝交出魔杖呢？他必须与魔法部的代表展开较量。如果他那么做了，能够逃脱阿兹卡班监狱已算侥幸，更别说给学校开除了。

    他脑子飞快地转着？？他可以赶快逃走，冒着被魔法部抓到的危险，也可以待在原地，等着他们来这里找到他。他觉得第一条路更有吸引力，但他知道韦斯莱先生肯定考虑过怎样对他最有利？？而且，邓布利多以前处理过比这糟糕得多的事情呢。

    “好吧，”哈利说，“我改变主意了，我不走了。”

    他飞快地扑到厨房桌子旁，面对着达力和佩妮姨妈。德思礼一家似乎对他这样突然改变主意吃惊不小。佩妮姨妈绝望地望着弗农姨父。他紫红色太阳穴上的血管跳得比以前更厉害了。

    “　这些讨厌透顶的猫头鹰是谁派来的？”　他凶狠地吼道。

    “第一只是魔法部派来的，把我开除了。”哈利平静地说。他竖起两只耳朵，专心地听着外面的动静，生怕魔法部的代表已经来了。现在与其让弗农姨父大发雷霆，怒吼咆哮，还不如回答他的问题更容易，也更安静。“第二只是我朋友罗恩的爸爸派来的，他在魔法部工作。”

    “魔法部？”弗农姨父恶声恶气地说，“你们这样的人也能在政府工作？哦，我总算都明白了，都明白了，怪不得这个国家如今一天不如一天呢。，，哈利没有回答。弗农姨父气呼呼地瞪着他，然后厉声问：”你为什么会被开除？“

    “因为我使用了魔法。”

    “啊哈！”弗农姨父吼道，拳头重重地砸在冰箱顶上，冰箱的门忽地弹开，达力的几包低脂肪小食品掉了出来，散落在地上。“这么说你承认了！你对达力做了”什么也没有，“哈利说，不像刚才那么平静了，”那不是我——　“

    “是！”达力出人意料地蹦出了一句，弗农姨父和佩妮姨妈立刻朝哈利挥舞着胳膊让他闭嘴，然后两人都俯身看着达力。

    “说下去，儿子，”弗农姨父说，“他做了什么？”

    “告诉我们，亲爱的。”佩妮姨妈小声说。

    “他用魔杖指着我。”达力含混不清地说。

    “是啊，我指着他，但并没有用——　”哈利气愤地说，然而——　“闭嘴！”弗农姨父和佩妮姨妈异口同声地吼道。“说下去，儿子。”弗农姨父又说了一遍，小胡子上下乱舞。“全黑了，”达力打着激灵，声音嘶哑地说，“四下里一片漆黑。然后我听——　听见？？有东西。在我一我的脑袋里。”

    弗农姨父和佩妮姨妈交换了一个惊恐万状的眼神。如果说在这个世界上他们最不喜欢的东西是魔法——　其次就是邻居在禁用浇水软管的问题上弄虚作假，做得比他们更过分——　那么听到自己脑子里有人说话，肯定也是最糟糕的事情之一。他们显然认为达力已经精神错乱了。

    “你听见什么样的话了，宝贝儿？”佩妮姨妈压低声音问，她脸色自得吓人，眼里含着泪水。

    可是达力似乎不会说话了。他又打了个寒噤，摇了摇那颗亚麻色头发的大脑袋。尽管第一只猫头鹰到来后，哈利的内心因恐惧而近乎麻木了，但此刻他也感到有些好奇。摄魂怪能使人重新经历一生中最痛苦的时刻。那么，这个被溺爱的养尊处优的、横行霸道的达力，会被迫听到什么呢？“你是怎么摔倒的，儿子？”弗农姨父问道，用的是一种很不自然的轻声细语，就像在一个病人膏肓的病人床边说话。“绊一绊了一跤，”达力发着抖说，“后来——　”　他指了指他肥阔的胸脯。哈利明白了。达力想起了他的希望和快乐被吸取时灌满他肺部的那股阴森森的寒气。

    “可怕，”达力声音嘶哑地说，“冷。冷极了。”

    “好吧，”弗农姨父说，尽量使声音显得平静，“接下来发生了什么事，达力？”佩妮姨妈焦急地把手放在达力的额头上，试试他发不发烧。

    “觉得？？觉得？？觉得？？好像？？好像？？”

    “好像你再也不会感到快乐了。”哈利干巴巴地替他说道。

    “就是这样！”达力小声说，仍然抖个不停。

    “知道了！”弗农姨父直起身，重新扯开了嗓子，声音震耳欲聋，“你给我儿子念了一个古怪的咒语，害得他听见自己脑子里有人说话，还以为自己——　自己一辈子也快活不起来了，是不是？”

    “我还要告诉你们多少遍？”哈利说，他的声音和火气同时上升，“不是我。是两个摄魂怪！”

    “两个——　什么乱七八糟的玩意儿？”

    “摄一魂一怪，”哈利慢慢地一字一句地说，“两个。”

    “这摄魂怪又是什么古怪玩意儿？”

    “他们看守阿兹卡班巫师监狱。”佩妮姨妈说。

    话一出口，是两秒钟的死寂，然后佩妮姨妈猛地用手捂住嘴巴，似乎刚才一不小心说了一句令人恶心的脏话。弗农姨父瞪大眼睛看着她。哈利的脑子里一片混乱。费格太太倒也罢了——　可是佩妮姨妈？“你怎么知道？”他惊讶极了，问道。

    佩妮姨妈似乎被自己吓坏了。她战战兢兢带着歉意地看了一眼弗农姨父，手微微下垂，露出嘴里的长牙。

    “好多年前——　我听见——　那个可怕的男孩——　对她说起过他们。”她断断续续地说。

    “如果你是指我的妈妈和爸爸，你为什么不说他们的名字呢？”哈利大声问，但佩妮姨妈没有理睬他。她似乎惊慌失措到了极点。

    哈利感到非常震惊。几年前有一次佩妮姨妈情绪爆发，尖叫着说哈利的妈妈是个怪物，除此之外，哈利从没昕她提起过自己的妹妹。而她居然记得魔法世界的这点细节，这么长时间都没有忘记。哈利真是惊讶极了，平常她总是竭尽全力假装魔法世界并不存在的呀。

    弗农姨父张了张嘴又闭上了，接着又张了张又闭上了，然后，显然是在挣扎着回忆怎样说话。他第三次把嘴张开，声音嘶哑地说：“这么说——　这么说——　他们——　嗯——　他们——　嗯——　真的存在，他们——　嗯——　这些死魂怪？”

    佩妮姨妈点了点头。

    弗农姨父的目光从佩妮姨妈身上转向达力，又转向哈利，似乎希望有人大喊一声：“愚人节！”看到没有人这么做，他又把嘴巴张开了，而就在这时，今晚的第三只猫头鹰飞来了，他也就不用费力地再说些什么了。猫头鹰像一枚长着羽毛的炮弹，嗖的一声飞进仍然开着的窗户，啪嗒嗒地落在厨房的桌子上，吓得德思札一家三口都跳了起来。哈利从猫头鹰嘴里扯下第二封公函样的信封，撕开封口，这时猫头鹰腾身飞回了外面的夜色中。

    “够了——　粗鲁的——　猫头鹰。”弗农姨父心烦意乱地说，噔噔噔地走到窗口，又把窗户重重地关上了。

    亲爱的波特先生，我们约二十二分钟前曾致函于你，之后魔法部改变了立即销毁你的魔杖的决定。你可以保留魔杖，直到8月12日受审的时候再做正式决定。

    经与霍格沃茨魔法学校校长商量，魔法部同意将开除你学籍的问题也留到那时再做决定。因此，你可以认为自己是暂时停学，等候进一步的调查。顺致问候。你忠实的马法尔达霍普柯克魔法部禁止滥用魔法司哈利飞快地将信连看了三遍。知道自己还没有肯定被开除，他心头那个令人难受的疙瘩总算解开了一点儿，但他的担心丝毫没有消除。似乎所有的事情都取决于8月12日的受审。

    “怎么了？”弗农姨父说，把哈利一下子拉回到了现实中，“现在又怎么啦？他们给你判决了没有？”他突然想起一个很有希望的念头，跟着问了这一句，“你们那类人有没有死刑啊？”

    “我要去受审。”哈利说。“他们在那儿给你判决？”“我想是吧。”“我不会放弃希望的。”弗农姨父满脸凶相地说。“好吧，如果完事了的话——　”哈利说着站了起来。他迫不及待地想清静一会儿，好好想一想，也许还要给罗恩、赫敏或小天狼星写一封信呢。“　没有，　事情还没有完！”弗农姨父吼道，“　坐下去！”

    “还有什么？”哈利不耐烦地问。“达力！”弗农姨父咆哮着说，“我想知道我的儿子到底出了什么事！”“很好！”哈利大喊一声。他气坏了，手里仍然攥着的魔杖顶上冒出红色和金色的火星。德思礼一家三口纷纷后退，一副大惊失色的样子。

    “达力和我走在木兰花新月街和紫藤路之间的小巷里，”哈利语速极快地说，拼命克制着自己的火气，“达力跟我斗嘴，我抽出了魔杖，但并没有用它。这时两个摄魂怪出现了——　”

    “摄魂怪是什么东西？”弗农姨父狂怒地问，“他们是做什么的？”“我告诉过你了——　它们吸光你内心所有的快乐，”哈利说，“如果它们逮着机会还会亲吻你——　”

    “亲吻？”弗农姨父说，眼珠子微微凸了出来，“亲吻？”　“把灵魂从你的嘴里吸出来，他们管这叫亲吻。”佩妮姨妈发出一声低低的惊叫。

    “他的灵魂？他们役有吸走——　他的灵魂没有被吸——　”　她抓住达力的两个肩膀拼命摇晃，好像要试试能不能听见他的灵魂在身体里哗啦啦作晌似的。“他们当然没有吸走他的灵魂，如果真是那样，你们会知道的。”哈利气恼地说。

    “你把他们打跑了，是吗，儿子？”弗农姨父大声说，看他那模样，似乎正挣扎着把谈话拖回到一个他能理解的水平上，“你给了它们一个‘左直拳接右直拳，，是不是？”

    “你不可能给摄魂怪一个左直拳接右直拳。”哈利从牙缝里说道。

    “那他怎么会没事？”弗农姨父气势汹汹地问，“他怎么没有被吸空，嗯？”“因为我念了守护神——　”

    呼呼。随着一阵撞击声、翅膀的扇动声，以及灰尘轻轻落下的声音，第四只猫头鹰从厨房的壁炉里冲了出来。

    “看在老天的分儿上！”弗农姨父大叫，把一撮撮胡子连根拔了下来。他已经很长时间没有被逼到这份儿上了，“不许猫头鹰到这里来，我受不了啦，你给我听着！”

    可是哈利已经从猫头鹰脚上扯下了一卷羊皮纸。他相信这封信肯定是邓布利多寄来的，而且把所有的事情都解释清楚了——　摄魂怪、费格太太、魔法部的勾当，还有他邓布利多打算怎样把事情摆平——　因此，平生第一次，他看到小天狼星的笔迹后感到非常失望。他没有理睬弗农姨父继续对猫头鹰的事情大叫大嚷，剐来的猫头鹰扑扇着翅膀从烟囱里飞出去时又卷起一片灰尘，他只好眯起眼睛，读着小天狼星的来信。

    亚瑟刚刚把事情告诉了我们。无论如何，你千万别再离开那所房子。

    哈利觉得，对今晚发生的事情做出这样的反应实在是太不够意思了。他把羊皮纸翻了过来，以为反面还有话，但什么也没有。

    他的火气又上来了。他只身一人打跑了两个摄魂怪，难道就没有一个人对他说一声“干得漂亮”？看韦斯莱先生和小天狼星的反应就好像他做了什么错事，他们要等到弄清他造成了多大的破坏，再好好地训斥他一顿。

    “一堆，我的意思是，一群猫头鹰在我的家里飞出飞进。我不允许，小子，我不——　”

    “猫头鹰要来，我也没有办法。”哈利没好气地说，使劲把小天狼星的来信捏在手心里。

    “我想知道今晚事情的真相！”弗农姨父厉声吼道，“如果是摄魂怪伤害了达力，　为什么你会被开除呢？你干了那事儿，你已经承认了！”

    哈利深深吸了口气，镇定了一下情绪。他的头又开始疼了。他最渴望的就是离开厨房，离开德思礼一家三口。“为了摆脱摄魂怪我念了守护神魔咒，”他说，竭力使自己保持平静，“对付他们只有这个办法管用。”“可是摄魂鬼跑到小惠金区来做什么？”弗农姨父怒不可遏地问。“没法告诉你。”哈利疲倦地说，“不知道。”现在他的脑袋突突作响，眼前好像闪过一道道耀眼的强光。他的愤怒逐渐消退，人觉得特别疲倦，浑身一点力气也没有。德思礼一家三口都在瞪着他。

    “是你，”弗农姨父恶狠狠地说，“肯定跟你有点关系，小子，我知道。不然它们为什么会出现在这儿？不然它们为什么会跑到那条小巷子里去？方圆多少里内，你是惟一的一个——　惟一的——　”显然，他没有勇气说出“巫师”这个词。“一个你知道是什么的东西。”

    “我也不知道它们为什么会上这儿来。”

    但是听了弗农姨父的话，哈利已经极度疲劳的大脑又开始吱吱嘎嘎地运转起来。摄魂怪为什么到小惠金区来？它们正好落在哈利所在的那条小巷里，这怎么可能是巧合呢？它们是被派来的吗？难道魔法部失去了对摄魂怪的控制？难道摄魂怪擅自逃离了阿兹卡班，加入了伏地魔一伙，就像邓布利多曾经预言的那样？“这些死魂灵是看守一家古怪监狱的？”弗农姨父问，吃力地紧跟着哈利的思路。“是的。”哈利说。只希望脑袋能够不疼，只希望能够离开厨房，回到黑暗的卧室，好好想想。“啊哈！它们是来抓你的！”弗农姨父一脸得意地说，像是得出了一个不容辩驳的结论，“就是这么回事，对不对，小子？你想逃脱法律的制裁！”

    “当然不是这样。”哈利说，使劲晃晃脑袋，像要赶走一只苍蝇，现在他的脑子在快速运转了。

    “那么为什么——　？”

    “一定是他派它们来的。”哈利轻声道，与其说他在对弗农姨父说话，还不如说是他在自言自语。

    “什么意思？一定是淮派它们来的？”

    “伏地魔。”哈利说。

    他模模糊糊地意识到眼前的情景是多么奇怪：德思礼一家听到“巫师”、“魔法”和“魔杖”这样的词都会吓得连连退缩，失声尖叫，而听到有史以来最邪恶的恶魔的名字，居然能没有一丝一毫的惊慌。

    “伏——　慢着，”弗农姨父说，他的脸皱成一团，猪眼似的小眼睛里慢慢露出恍然大悟的神情，“我听说过这个名字，他就是那个——　”

    “杀死我爸爸妈妈的人，没错。”哈利于巴巴地说。

    “可是他走了，”弗农姨父不耐烦地说，丝毫没有显示出哈利父母被害是一个痛苦的话题，“那个大块头说的。他走了。”

    “他又回来了。”哈利语气沉重地说。

    他站在佩妮姨妈那像手术室一样整洁干净的厨房里，挨着最高档的冰箱和超宽屏幕电视机，心平气和地跟弗农姨父谈论伏地魔，这感觉真是非常怪异。今晚摄魂怪光临小惠金区，似乎打破了一堵挡在女贞路这个冷漠的非魔法世界和另一个世界之问的无形高墙。哈利的两种不同生活好像交融在了一起，一切都乱了套。德思礼夫妇在询问魔法世界的详细情况，费格太太居然认识阿不思。邓布利多，摄魂怪在小惠金区上空飘来荡去，而他恐怕再也不能回到霍格沃茨去了。哈利的脑袋一跳一跳地疼得厉害。

    “回来了？”佩妮姨妈压低声音问。

    她望着哈利，那目光是以前从未有过的。突然之问，哈利有生以来第一次充分意识到佩妮姨妈是他妈妈的姐姐。他说不出来为什么此刻这样强烈地感受到了这一点。他只知道，这个屋子里不止他一个人模糊地意识到伏地魔的复出意味着什么。佩妮姨妈这辈子从未用这种目光看过他。她那双浅色的大眼睛（与她妹妹的眼睛如此不同）不再因厌恶和愤怒而眯起，而是睁得大大的，充满恐惧。哈利有生以来一直看着佩妮姨妈在很激烈地维护一种假相——　魔法根本不存在，除了她和弗农姨父共同生活的这个世界，根本不存在另一个世界——　而现在这种假相似乎消失了。

    “是的，”哈利说，现在他直接对佩妮姨妈说话了，“他一个月前回来的。我看见过他。”佩妮姨妈的手摸索着抓住达力那穿着皮夹克的肥阔肩膀，紧紧地抓着。

    “慢着，”弗农姨父望望妻子，望望哈利，然后又望望妻子，似乎被他们之间突然出现的前所未有的相互理解弄糊涂了，“慢着。你是说，那个叫伏地魔的家伙回来了？”

    “是的。”

    “就是杀死你父母的那个人？”

    “是的。”

    “现在他派摄魂怪来追杀你？”

    “看来是这样。”哈利说。

    “我明白了。”弗农姨父说，目光从面色苍白的妻子脸上转向哈利，然后把裤子往上拉了拉。他整个人似乎正在膨胀，那张紫红色的大脸膛在哈利眼前拉长了。“好了，这下子全解决了，”他吸足了气，衬衫的前胸绷得紧紧的，“你可以从这个家中滚出去了，小子！”“什么？”哈利问。

    “我说过了——　出去！”弗农姨父吼道，就连佩妮姨妈和达力也吓得跳了起来。“出去！出去！我好多年前就应该这么做了！猫头鹰把这里当成了疗养所，布丁炸开了花，半个起居室被糟蹋得不成样子，达力长出了尾巴，玛姬在天花板上飘来飘去，还有那辆会飞的福特安格里亚车——　出去！出去！你玩够了！你该退出了！如果有疯子在追杀你，你就不能留在这里，不能威胁到我的妻子和儿子，不能给我们带来麻烦。如果你要跟你那没用的父母走同一条路，我受够了！出去！”

    哈利站在原地，脚底像生了根。魔法部、韦斯莱先生和小天狼星的来信都捏在他的左手里。无论如何，你千万别再离开那所房子。不要离开你姨妈和姨父的家。

    “你听见我的话了！”弗农姨父这时向前探过身子，那张紫红色的大阔脸凑近了哈利的脸，哈利都能感觉到他的唾沫星子喷到了自己脸上。“快走！你半小时前不是急着要离开吗？我支持你！滚出去，永远不要再玷污我们家的门槛！我真不明白当初我们怎么会把你留下？玛姬说得对，应该把你送到孤儿院去。我们心肠太软了，到头来自己倒霉，我们以为能铲除你身上的孽根，以为能把你变成一个正常人，没想到你从一开始就不可救药，我受够了——　猫头鹰！”

    第五只猫头鹰嗖的一声从烟囱里蹿了下来，因速度太快，一头撞在地上，它尖厉地叫了一声，又忽地腾空飞起。哈利举起一只手去抓那个鲜红色的信封，可猫头鹰掠过他的头顶，径直朝佩妮姨妈飞去。佩妮姨妈尖叫一声，抬起两只胳膊护住脸，闪身躲避。猫头鹰把红信封扔在她头上，转身又从烟囱里飞了出去。

    哈利冲过去捡那封信，但佩妮姨妈抢先把信拿在了手里。“如果你愿意，你可以打开，”哈利说，“反正我能听见里面说些什么。这是一封吼叫信。”“扔掉它，佩妮！”弗农姨父大声吼道，“别碰它，可能会有危险的！”“信是写给我的，”佩妮姨妈声音颤抖地说，“写着我的名字，弗农，你看！女贞路4号，厨房，佩妮德思礼夫人——　”　她喘不过气来，完全吓坏了。这时红信封开始冒烟了。“快打开！”哈利催促道，“让它快点结束！你逃不过去的。”　“不。”

    佩妮姨妈的手在颤抖。她惊慌失措地环顾着厨房，似乎在寻找一条逃生之路，可是来不及了——　信封蹿出了火苗。佩妮姨妈失声尖叫，扔掉了信封。一个可怕的声音从落在桌上的那封燃烧的信里传了出来，充满了整个厨房，在有限的空间里回荡着。记住我最后的，佩妮。佩妮姨妈看上去似乎要晕倒了。她跌坐在达力旁边的椅子上，两只手捂着脸。信封剩下来的残片在寂静中化成了灰烬。“这是什么？”弗农姨父声音嘶哑地说，“什么——　我不明——　佩妮？”佩妮姨妈什么也投说。达力呆呆地瞪着他母亲，嘴巴张得大大的。寂静在可怕地升级。哈利无比惊愕地望着姨妈，脑袋疼得像要裂开一般。“佩妮，亲爱的？”弗农姨父怯生生地问，“佩一佩妮？”　佩妮姨妈抬起头。她仍然抖个不停，费力地咽了口唾沫。

    “那孩子——　那孩子必须留在这里，弗农。”她有气无力地说。“什一什么？”

“他留在这里。”她说，但眼睛没有望着哈利。她重新站了起来。

“他？？可是佩妮？？”

“如果我们把他赶出去，邻居们会说闲话的。”她说。她很快恢复了平日里那种精干、严厉的傲派，尽管脸色仍然十分苍白，“他们会问一些令人尴尬的问题。他们会打听他上哪儿去了。我们必须把他留下。”

弗农姨父像只旧轮胎一样泄了气。“可是佩妮。亲爱的——　”

　佩妮姨妈没有理睬他，而是转向了哈利。“你必须待在自己的房间里，”她说，“不许离开这所房子。现在上床去吧。”哈利没有动弹。“那封吼叫信是谁寄来的？”“别问东问西了。”佩妮姨妈厉声呵斥道。“你跟巫师有联系？”“我叫你上床去！”“那句话是什么意思？记住最后的什么？”“上床去！”“怎么会——　？”　“听见你姨妈的话了吗。快上床去！”

The Advanced Guard

I've just been attacked by dementors and I might be expelled from Hogwarts. I want to know what's going on and when I'm going to get out of here.

Harry copied these words on to three separate pieces of parchment the moment he reached the desk in his dark bedroom. He addressed the first to Sirius, the second to Ron, and the third to Hermione. His owl, Hedwig, was off hunting; her cage stood empty on the desk. Harry paced the bedroom waiting for her to come back, his head pounding, his brain too busy for sleep even though his eyes stung and itched with tiredness. His back ached from hauling Dudley home, and the two lumps on his head where the window and Dudley had hit him were throbbing painfully.

Up and down he paced, consumed with anger and frustration, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists, casting angry looks out at the empty, star-strewn sky every time he passed the window. Dementors sent to get him, Mrs. Figg and Mundungus Fletcher tailing him in secret, then suspension from Hogwarts and a hearing at the Ministry of Magic—and still no one was telling him what was going on.

And what, what, had that Howler been about? Whose voice had echoed so horribly, so menacingly, through the kitchen?

Why was he still trapped here without information? Why was everyone treating him like some naughty kid? Don't do any more magic, stay in the house...

He kicked his school trunk as he passed it, but far from relieving his anger he felt worse, as he now had a sharp pain in his toe to deal with in addition to the pain in the rest of his body.

Just as he limped past the window, Hedwig soared through it with a soft rustle of wings like a small ghost.

‘About time!’ Harry snarled, as she landed lightly on top of her cage. ‘You can put that down, I've got work for you!’

Hedwig's large, round, amber eyes gazed at him reproachfully over the dead frog clamped in her beak.

‘Come here,’ said Harry, picking up the three small rolls of parchment and a leather thong and tying the scrolls to her scaly leg. ‘Take these straight to Sirius, Ron and Hermione and don't come back here without good long replies. Keep pecking them till they've written decent-length answers if you've got to. Understand?’

Hedwig gave a muffled hooting noise, her beak still full of frog.

‘Get going, then,’ said Harry.

She took off immediately. The moment she'd gone, Harry threw himself down on his bed without undressing and stared at the dark ceiling. In addition to every other miserable feeling, he now felt guilty that he'd been irritable with Hedwig; she was the only friend he had at number four, Privet Drive. But he'd make it up to her when she came back with the answers from Sirius, Ron and Hermione.

They were bound to write back quickly; they couldn't possibly ignore a Dementor attack. He'd probably wake up tomorrow to three fat letters full of sympathy and plans for his immediate removal to The Burrow. And with that comforting idea, sleep rolled over him, stifling all further thought.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

But Hedwig didn't return next morning. Harry spent the day in his bedroom, leaving it only to go to the bathroom. Three times that day Aunt Petunia shoved food into his room through the cat-flap Uncle Vernon had installed three summers ago. Every time Harry heard her approaching he tried to question her about the Howler, but he might as well have interrogated the doorknob for all the answers he got. Otherwise, the Dursleys kept well clear of his bedroom. Harry couldn't see the point of forcing his company on them; another row would achieve nothing except perhaps make him so angry he'd perform more illegal magic.

So it went on for three whole days. Harry was alternately filled with restless energy that made him unable to settle to anything, during which time he paced his bedroom, furious at the whole lot of them for leaving him to stew in this mess, and with a lethargy so complete that he could lie on his bed for an hour at a time, staring dazedly into space, aching with dread at the thought of the Ministry hearing.

What if they ruled against him? What if he was expelled and his wand was snapped in half? What would he do, where would he go? He could not return to living full-time with the Dursleys, not now he knew the other world, the one to which he really belonged.... Might he be able to move into Sirius's house, as Sirius had suggested a year ago, before he had been forced to flee from the Ministry? Would Harry be allowed to live there alone, given that he was still underage? Or would the matter of where he went next be decided for him? Had his breach of the International Statute of Secrecy been severe enough to land him in a cell in Azkaban? Whenever this thought occurred, Harry invariably slid off his bed and began pacing again.

On the fourth night after Hedwig's departure Harry was lying in one of his apathetic phases, staring at the ceiling, his exhausted mind quite blank, when his uncle entered his bedroom. Harry looked slowly around at him. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and an expression of enormous smugness.

‘We're going out,’ he said.

‘Sorry?’

‘We—that is to say, your aunt, Dudley and I—are going out.’

‘Fine,’ said Harry dully, looking back at the ceiling.

‘You are not to leave your bedroom while we are away.’

‘OK.’

‘You are not to touch the television, the stereo, or any of our possessions.’

‘Right.’

‘You are not to steal food from the fridge.’

‘OK.’

‘I am going to lock your door.’

‘You do that.’

Uncle Vernon glared at Harry, clearly suspicious of this lack of argument, then stomped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Harry heard the key turn in the lock and Uncle Vernon's footsteps walking heavily down the stairs. A few minutes later he heard the slamming of car doors, the rumble of an engine, and the unmistakeable sound of the car sweeping out of the drive.

Harry had no particular feeling about the Dursleys leaving. It made no difference to him whether they were in the house or not. He could not even summon the energy to get up and turn on his bedroom light. The room grew steadily darker around him as he lay listening to the night sounds through the window he kept open all the time, waiting for the blessed moment when Hedwig returned.

The empty house creaked around him. The pipes gurgled. Harry lay there in a kind of stupor, thinking of nothing, suspended in misery.

Then, quite distinctly, he heard a crash in the kitchen below.

He sat bolt upright, listening intently. The Dursleys couldn't be back, it was much too soon, and in any case he hadn't heard their car.

There was silence for a few seconds, then voices.

Burglars, he thought, sliding off the bed on to his feet—but a split second later it occurred to him that burglars would keep their voices down, and whoever was moving around in the kitchen was certainly not troubling to do so.

He snatched up his wand from the bedside table and stood facing his bedroom door, listening with all his might. Next moment, he jumped as the lock gave a loud click and his door swung open.

Harry stood motionless, staring through the open doorway at the dark upstairs landing, straining his ears for further sounds, but none came. He hesitated for a moment, then moved swiftly and silently out of his room to the head of the stairs.

His heart shot upwards into his throat. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; eight or nine of them, all, as far as he could see, looking up at him.

‘Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out,’ said a low, growling voice.

Harry's heart was thumping uncontrollably. He knew that voice, but he did not lower his wand.

‘Professor Moody?’ he said uncertainly.

‘I don't know so much about “Professor",’ growled the voice, ‘never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly.’

Harry lowered his wand slightly but did not relax his grip on it, nor did he move. He had very good reason to be suspicious. He had recently spent nine months in what he had thought was Mad-Eye Moody's company only to find out that it wasn't Moody at all, but an impostor; an impostor, moreover, who

‘It's all right, Harry. We've come to take you away.’

Harry's heart leapt. He knew that voice, too, though he hadn't heard it for over a year.

‘P-Professor Lupin?’ he said disbelievingly. ‘Is that you?’

‘Why are we all standing in the dark?’ said a third voice, this one completely unfamiliar, a woman's. ‘Lumos.’

A wand-tip flared, illuminating the hall with magical light. Harry blinked. The people below were crowded around the foot of the stairs, gazing up at him intently, some craning their heads for a better look.

Remus Lupin stood nearest to him. Though still quite young, Lupin looked tired and rather ill; he had more grey hairs than when Harry had last said good-bye to him and his robes were more patched and shabbier than ever. Nevertheless, he was smiling broadly at Harry, who tried to smile back despite his state of shock.

‘Oooh, he looks just like I thought he would,’ said the witch who was holding her lit wand aloft. She looked the youngest there; she had a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet. ‘Wotcher, Harry!’

‘Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus,’ said a bald black wizard standing furthest back; he had a deep, slow voice and wore a single gold hoop in his ear. ‘He looks exactly like James.’

‘Except the eyes,’ said a wheezy-voiced, silver-haired wizard at the back. ‘Lily's eyes.’

Mad-Eye Moody, who had long grizzled grey hair and a large chunk missing from his nose, was squinting suspiciously at Harry through his mismatched eyes. One eye was small, dark and beady, the other large, round and electric blue—the magical eye that could see through walls, doors, and the back of Moody's own head.

‘Are you quite sure it's him, Lupin?’ he growled. ‘It'd be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater impersonating him. We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?’

‘Harry, what form does your Patronus take?’ Lupin asked.

‘A stag,’ said Harry nervously.

‘That's him, Mad-Eye,’ said Lupin.

Very conscious of everybody still staring at him, Harry descended the stairs, stowing his wand in the back pocket of his jeans as he came.

‘Don't put your wand there, boy!’ roared Moody. ‘What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know!’

‘Who d'you know who's lost a buttock?’ the violet-haired woman asked Mad-Eye interestedly.

‘Never you mind, you just keep your wand out of your back pocket!’ growled Mad-Eye. ‘Elementary wand-safety, nobody bothers about it any more.’ He stumped off towards the kitchen. ‘And I saw that,’ he added irritably, as the woman rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.

Lupin held out his hand and shook Harry's.

‘How are you?’ he asked, looking closely at Harry.

‘F-fine...’

Harry could hardly believe this was real. Four weeks with nothing, not the tiniest hint of a plan to remove him from Privet Drive, and suddenly a whole bunch of wizards was standing matter-of-factly in the house as though this was a long-standing arrangement. He glanced at the people surrounding Lupin; they were still gazing avidly at him. He felt very conscious of the fact that he had not combed his hair for four days.

‘I'm—you're really lucky the Dursleys are out...’ he mumbled.

‘Lucky, ha!’ said the violet-haired woman. ‘It was me who lured them out of the way. Sent a letter by Muggle post telling them they'd been short-listed for the All-England Best Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. They're heading off to the prize-giving right now.... Or they think they are.’

Harry had a fleeting vision of Uncle Vernon's face when he realised there was no All-England Best Kept Suburban Lawn Competition.

‘We are leaving, aren't we?’ he asked. ‘Soon?’

‘Almost at once,’ said Lupin, ‘we're just waiting for the all-clear.’

‘Where are we going? The Burrow?’ Harry asked hopefully.

‘Not The Burrow, no,’ said Lupin, motioning Harry towards the kitchen; the little knot of wizards followed, all still eyeing Harry curiously. ‘Too risky. We've set up Headquarters somewhere un-detectable. It's taken a while....’

Mad-Eye Moody was now sitting at the kitchen table swigging from a hip flask, his magical eye spinning in all directions, taking in the Dursleys’ many labour-saving appliances.

‘This is Alastor Moody, Harry,’ Lupin continued, pointing towards Moody.

‘Yeah, I know,’ said Harry uncomfortably. It felt odd to be introduced to somebody he'd thought he'd known for a year.

‘And this is Nymphadora—’

‘Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus,’ said the young witch with a shudder, ‘it's Tonks.’

‘Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only,’ finished Lupin.

‘So would you if your fool of a mother had called you Nymphadora,’ muttered Tonks.

‘And this is Kingsley Shacklebolt'—he indicated the tall black wizard, who bowed—'Elphias Doge'—the wheezy-voiced wizard nodded—'Dedalus Diggle—’

‘We've met before,’ squeaked the excitable Diggle, dropping his violet-coloured top hat.

‘—Emmeline Vance'—a stately-looking witch in an emerald green shawl inclined her head—'Sturgis Podmore'—a square-jawed wizard with thick straw-coloured hair winked—'and Hestia Jones.’ A pink-cheeked, black-haired witch waved from next to the toaster.

Harry inclined his head awkwardly at each of them as they were introduced. He wished they would look at something other than him; it was as though he had suddenly been ushered on-stage. He also wondered why so many of them were there.

‘A surprising number of people volunteered to come and get you,’ said Lupin, as though he had read Harry's mind; the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

‘Yeah, well, the more the better,’ said Moody darkly. ‘We're your guard, Potter.’

‘We're just waiting for the signal to tell us it's safe to set off,’ said Lupin, glancing out of the kitchen window. ‘We've got about fifteen minutes.’

‘Very clean, aren't they, these Muggles?’ said the witch called Tonks, who was looking around the kitchen with great interest. ‘My dad's Muggle-born and he's a right old slob. I suppose it varies, just as it does with wizards?’

‘Er—yeah,’ said Harry. ‘Look'—he turned back to Lupin—'what's going on, I haven't heard anything from anyone, what's Vol—?’

Several of the witches and wizards made odd hissing noises; Dedalus Diggle dropped his hat again, and Moody growled, ‘Shut up!’

‘What?’ said Harry.

‘We're not discussing anything here, it's too risky,’ said Moody, turning his normal eye on Harry. His magical eye remained focused on the ceiling. ‘Damn it,’ he added angrily, putting a hand up to the magical eye, ‘it keeps getting stuck—ever since that scum wore it—’

And with a nasty squelching sound much like a plunger being pulled from a sink, he popped out his eye.

‘Mad-Eye, you do know that's disgusting, don't you?’ said Tonks conversationally.

‘Get me a glass of water, would you, Harry,’ requested Moody.

Harry crossed to the dishwasher, took out a clean glass and filled it with water at the sink, still watched eagerly by the band of wizards. Their relentless staring was starting to annoy him.

‘Cheers,’ said Moody, when Harry handed him the glass. He dropped the magical eyeball into the water and prodded it up and down; the eye whizzed around, staring at them all in turn. ‘I want three hundred and sixty degrees visibility on the return journey.’

‘How're we getting—wherever we're going?’ Harry asked.

‘Brooms,’ said Lupin. ‘Only way. You're too young to Apparate, they'll be watching the Floo Network and it's more than our life's worth to set up an unauthorised Portkey.’

‘Remus says you're a good flier,’ said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep voice.

‘He's excellent,’ said Lupin, who was checking his watch. ‘Anyway, you'd better go and get packed, Harry, we want to be ready to go when the signal comes.’

‘I'll come and help you,’ said Tonks brightly.

She followed Harry back into the hall and up the stairs, looking around with much curiosity and interest.

‘Funny place,’ she said. ‘It's a bit too clean, d'you know what I mean? Bit unnatural. Oh, this is better,’ she added, as they entered Harry's bedroom and he turned on the light.

His room was certainly much messier than the rest of the house. Confined to it for four days in a very bad mood, Harry had not bothered tidying up after himself. Most of the books he owned were strewn over the floor where he'd tried to distract himself with each in turn and thrown it aside; Hedwig's cage needed cleaning out and was starting to smell; and his trunk lay open, revealing a jumbled mixture of Muggle clothes and wizards’ robes that had spilled on to the floor around it.

Harry started picking up books and throwing them hastily into his trunk. Tonks paused at his open wardrobe to look critically at her reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door.

‘You know, I don't think violet's really my colour,’ she said pensively, tugging at a lock of spiky hair. ‘D'you think it makes me look a bit peaky?’

‘Er—’ said Harry, looking up at her over the top of Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland.

‘Yeah, it does,’ said Tonks decisively. She screwed up her eyes in a strained expression as though she was struggling to remember something. A second later, her hair had turned bubble-gum pink.

‘How did you do that?’ said Harry, gaping at her as she opened her eyes again.

‘I'm a Metamorphmagus,’ she said, looking back at her reflection and turning her head so that she could see her hair from all directions. ‘It means I can change my appearance at will,’ she added, spotting Harry's puzzled expression in the mirror behind her. ‘I was born one. I got top marks in Concealment and Disguise during Auror training without any study at all, it was great.’

‘You're an Auror?’ said Harry, impressed. Being a Dark-wizard-catcher was the only career he'd ever considered after Hogwarts.

‘Yeah,’ said Tonks, looking proud. ‘Kingsley is as well; he's a bit higher up than me, though. I only qualified a year ago. Nearly failed on Stealth and Tracking. I'm dead clumsy, did you hear me break that plate when we arrived downstairs?’

‘Can you learn how to be a Metamorphmagus?’ Harry asked her, straightening up, completely forgetting about packing.

Tonks chuckled.

‘Bet you wouldn't mind hiding that scar sometimes, eh?’

Her eyes found the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead.

‘No, I wouldn't mind,’ Harry mumbled, turning away. He did not like people staring at his scar.

‘Well, you'll have to learn the hard way, I'm afraid,’ said Tonks. ‘Metamorphmagi are really rare, they're born, not made. Most wizards need to use a wand, or potions, to change their appearance. But we've got to get going, Harry, we're supposed to be packing,’ she added guiltily, looking around at all the mess on the floor.

‘Oh—yeah,’ said Harry, grabbing a few more books.

‘Don't be stupid, it'll be much quicker if I—pack!’ cried Tonks, waving her wand in a long, sweeping movement over the floor.

Books, clothes, telescope, and scales all soared into the air and flew pell-mell into the trunk.

‘It's not very neat,’ said Tonks, walking over to the trunk and looking down at the jumble inside. ‘My mum's got this knack of getting stuff to fit itself in neatly—she even gets the socks to fold themselves—but I've never mastered how she does it—it's a kind of flick—’ She flicked her wand hopefully.

One of Harry's socks gave a feeble sort of wiggle and flopped back on top of the mess in the trunk.

‘Ah, well,’ said Tonks, slamming the trunk's lid shut, ‘at least it's all in. That could do with a bit of cleaning, too.’ She pointed her wand at Hedwig's cage. ‘Scourgify.’ A few feathers and droppings vanished. ‘Well, that's a bit better— I've never quite got the hang of these householdy sort of spells. Right—got everything? Cauldron? Broom? Wow! A Firebolt!’

Her eyes widened as they fell on the broomstick in Harry's right hand. It was his pride and joy, a gift from Sirius, an international-standard broomstick.

‘And I'm still riding a Comet Two Sixty,’ said Tonks enviously. ‘Ah well ... wand still in your jeans? Both buttocks still on? OK, let's go. Locomotor trunk.’

Harry's trunk rose a few inches into the air. Holding her wand like a conductors baton, Tonks made the trunk hover across the room and out of the door ahead of them, Hedwig's cage in her left hand. Harry followed her down the stairs carrying his broomstick.

Back in the kitchen Moody had replaced his eye, which was spinning so fast after its cleaning it made Harry feel sick to look at it. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Sturgis Podmore were examining the microwave and Hestia Jones was laughing at a potato peeler she had come across while rummaging in the drawers. Lupin was sealing a letter addressed to the Dursleys.

‘Excellent,’ said Lupin, looking up as Tonks and Harry entered. ‘We've got about a minute, I think. We should probably get out into the garden so we're ready. Harry, I've left a letter telling your aunt and uncle not to worry—’

‘They won't,’ said Harry.

‘—that you're safe—’

‘That'll just depress them.’

‘—and you'll see them next summer.’

‘Do I have to?’

Lupin smiled but made no answer.

‘Come here, boy,’ said Moody gruffly, beckoning Harry towards him with his wand. ‘I need to Disillusion you.’

‘You need to what?’ said Harry nervously.

‘Disillusionment Charm,’ said Moody, raising his wand. ‘Lupin says you've got an Invisibility Cloak, but it won't stay on while we're flying; this'll disguise you better. Here you go—’

He rapped him hard on the top of the head and Harry felt a curious sensation as though Moody had just smashed an egg there; cold trickles seemed to be running down his body from the point the wand had struck.

‘Nice one, Mad-Eye,’ said Tonks appreciatively, staring at Harry's midriff.

Harry looked down at his body, or rather, what had been his body, for it didn't look anything like his any more. It was not invisible; it had simply taken on the exact colour and texture of the kitchen unit behind him. He seemed to have become a human chameleon.

‘Come on,’ said Moody, unlocking the back door with his wand.

They all stepped outside on to Uncle Vernon's beautifully kept lawn.

‘Clear night,’ grunted Moody, his magical eye scanning the heavens. ‘Could've done with a bit more cloud cover. Right, you,’ he barked at Harry, ‘we're going to be flying in close formation. Tonks'll be right in front of you, keep close on her tail. Lupin'll be covering you from below. I'm going to be behind you. The rest'll be circling us. We don't break ranks for anything, got me? If one of us is killed—’

‘Is that likely?’ Harry asked apprehensively, but Moody ignored him.

‘—the others keep flying, don't stop, don't break ranks. If they take out all of us and you survive, Harry, the rear guard are standing by to take over; keep flying east and they'll join you.’

‘Stop being so cheerful, Mad-Eye, he'll think we're not taking this seriously,’ said Tonks, as she strapped Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage into a harness hanging from her broom.

‘I'm just telling the boy the plan,’ growled Moody. ‘Our job's to deliver him safely to Headquarters and if we die in the attempt—’

‘No one's going to die,’ said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep, calming voice.

‘Mount your brooms, that's the first signal!’ said Lupin sharply, pointing into the sky.

Far, far above them, a shower of bright red sparks had flared among the stars. Harry recognised them at once as wand sparks. He swung his right leg over his Firebolt, gripped its handle tightly and felt it vibrating very slightly, as though it was as keen as he was to be up in the air once more.

‘Second signal, let's go!’ said Lupin loudly as more sparks, green this time, exploded high above them.

Harry kicked off hard from the ground. The cool night air rushed through his hair as the neat square gardens of Privet Drive fell away, shrinking rapidly into a patchwork of dark greens and blacks, and every thought of the Ministry hearing was swept from his mind as though the rush of air had blown it out of his head. He felt as though his heart was going to explode with pleasure; he was flying again, flying away from Privet Drive as he'd been fantasising about all summer, he was going home.... For a few glorious moments, all his problems seemed to recede to nothing, insignificant in the vast, starry sky.

‘Hard left, hard left, there's a Muggle looking up!’ shouted Moody from behind him. Tonks swerved and Harry followed her, watching his trunk swinging wildly beneath her broom. ‘We need more height.... Give it another quarter of a mile!’

Harry's eyes watered in the chill as they soared upwards: he could see nothing below now but tiny pinpricks of light that were car headlights and streetlamps. Two of those tiny lights might belong to Uncle Vernon's car.... The Dursleys would be heading back to their empty house right now, full of rage about the nonexistent Lawn Competition ... and Harry laughed aloud at the thought, though his voice was drowned by the flapping robes of the others, the creaking of the harness holding his trunk and the cage, and the whoosh of the wind in their ears as they sped through the air. He had not felt this alive in a month, or this happy.

‘Bearing south!’ shouted Mad-Eye. ‘Town ahead!’

They soared right to avoid passing directly over the glittering spiderweb of lights below.

‘Bear southeast and keep climbing, there's some low cloud ahead we can lose ourselves in!’ called Moody.

‘We're not going through clouds!’ shouted Tonks angrily, ‘we'll get soaked, Mad-Eye!’

Harry was relieved to hear her say this; his hands were growing numb on the Firebolt's handle. He wished he had thought to put on a coat; he was starting to shiver.

They altered their course every now and then according to Mad-Eye's instructions. Harry's eyes were screwed up against the rush of icy wind that was starting to make his ears ache; he could remember being this cold on a broom only once before, during the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff in his third year, which had taken place in a storm. The guard around him was circling continuously like giant birds of prey. Harry lost track of time. He wondered how long they had been flying, it felt like an hour at least.

‘Turning southwest!’ yelled Moody. ‘We want to avoid the motorway!’

Harry was now so chilled he thought longingly of the snug, dry interiors of the cars streaming along below, then, even more longingly, of travelling by Floo powder; it might be uncomfortable to spin around in fireplaces but it was at least warm in the flames.... Kingsley Shacklebolt swooped around him, bald pate and earring gleaming slightly in the moonlight.... Now Emmeline Vance was on his right, her wand out, her head turning left and right ... then she, too, swooped over him, to be replaced by Sturgis Podmore....

‘We ought to double back for a bit, just to make sure we're not being followed!’ Moody shouted.

‘ARE YOU MAD, MAD-EYE?’ Tonks screamed from the front. ‘We're all frozen to our brooms! If we keep going off-course we're not going to get there until next week! Besides, we're nearly there now!’

‘Time to start the descent!’ came Lupin's voice. ‘Follow Tonks, Harry!’

Harry followed Tonks into a dive. They were heading for the largest collection of lights he had yet seen, a huge, sprawling crisscrossing mass, glittering in lines and grids, interspersed with patches of deepest black. Lower and lower they flew, until Harry could see individual headlights and streetlamps, chimneys and television aerials. He wanted to reach the ground very much, though he felt sure someone would have to unfreeze him from his broom.

‘Here we go!’ called Tonks, and a few seconds later she had landed.

Harry touched down right behind her and dismounted on a patch of unkempt grass in the middle of a small square. Tonks was already unbuckling Harry's trunk. Shivering, Harry looked around. The grimy fronts of the surrounding houses were not welcoming; some of them had broken windows, glimmering dully in the light from the streetlamps, paint was peeling from many of the doors and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps.

‘Where are we?’ Harry asked, but Lupin said quietly, ‘In a minute.’

Moody was rummaging in his cloak, his gnarled hands clumsy with cold.

‘Got it,’ he muttered, raising what looked like a silver cigarette lighter into the air and clicking it.

The nearest streetlamp went out with a pop. He clicked the unlighter again; the next lamp went out; he kept clicking until every lamp in the square was extinguished and the only remaining light came from curtained windows and the sickle moon overhead.

‘Borrowed it from Dumbledore,’ growled Moody, pocketing the Put-Outer. ‘That'll take care of any Muggles looking out of the window, see? Now come on, quick.’

He took Harry by the arm and led him from the patch of grass, across the road and on to the pavement; Lupin and Tonks followed, carrying Harry's trunk between them, the rest of the guard, all with their wands out, flanking them.

The muffled pounding of a stereo was coming from an upper window in the nearest house. A pungent smell of rotting rubbish came from the pile of bulging bin-bags just inside the broken gate.

‘Here,’ Moody muttered, thrusting a piece of parchment towards Harry's Disillusioned hand and holding his lit wand close to it, so as to illuminate the writing. ‘Read quickly and memorise.’

Harry looked down at the piece of paper. The narrow handwriting was vaguely familiar. It said:

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

先遣警卫

    我刚才遭到摄魂怪的袭击，而且我可能会被霍格沃茨开除。我想知道发生了什么事，我什么时候才能离开这里。

    哈利走进黑暗的卧室，来到书桌前，立刻把这几句话抄在三张羊皮纸上。第一封信写给小天狼星，第二封信写给罗恩，第三封信写给赫敏。他的猫头鹰海德薇出去捕食了，空空的笼子放在桌上。哈利在卧室里踱来踱去，等着她回来。他脑袋嗡嗡作响，尽管累得眼睛又疼又涩，但思绪一片混乱，根本不可能睡觉。刚才把达力一路拖回家，现在后背疼得厉害；在这之前脑袋被窗户撞了一下，又挨了达力一拳，这时两个肿包一跳一跳地疼着。

    他踱过来踱过去，内心充满了火气和沮丧。他把牙齿咬得咯咯响，拳头捏得紧紧的，每次经过窗口，都把愤怒的目光投向外面群星闪烁的空荡荡的夜空。摄魂怪被派来抓他，费格太太和蒙顿格斯弗莱奇在偷偷跟踪他，然后又被霍格沃茨暂时停学，还要到魔法部去受审——　而且仍然没有一个人告诉他到底出了什么事情。

    还有，那封吼叫信说的是什么意思？是谁的声音那么可怕，那么气势汹汹地在厨房里回荡？他为什么仍然被困在这里，得不到半点音讯？为什么每个人都像对待一个调皮捣蛋的孩子那样对待他？不要再施魔法，待在那所房子里？？他走过上学用的箱子时，狠狠地踢了它一脚，可是非但没有缓解他愤怒的心情，反而更糟糕了，现在他不仅要忍受身上其他地方的疼痛，脚趾也感到钻心的疼。

    当他一瘸一拐地经过窗口时，海德薇像一个小幽灵似的轻轻扑棱着翅膀飞进了窗户。

    “回来得是时候啊！”哈利看到它轻盈地落在笼子顶上，没好气地说，“赶紧把那玩意儿放下，我有活儿等着你干呢！”

    海德薇嘴里叼着一只死青蛙，一双圆溜溜的琥珀色大眼睛责备地望着他。

    “过来。”哈利说着拿起那三小卷羊皮纸和一根皮带子，把羊皮纸拴在海德薇长满鳞片的腿上，“把这些直接送给小天狼星、罗恩和赫敏，必须等拿到长长的回信再回来。如果需要，就不停地用嘴啄他们，逼他们写出长度合适的回信。明白了吗？”

    海德薇发出一声含混的叫声，嘴里仍然被青蛙塞得满满的。

    “好啦，快走吧。”哈利说。

    海德薇立刻出发了。它刚一离开，哈利连衣服都没脱就一头倒在床上，眼睛呆呆地凝视着天花板。现在除了其他痛苦的感觉外，他还为自己刚才对海德薇恶劣的态度感到内疚。它是他在女贞路4号惟一的朋友。不过，等它拿到小天狼星、罗恩和赫敏的回信回来时，他会好好补偿它的。

    他们肯定会很快给他回音的。他们不可能对摄魂怪的攻击无动于衷。没准儿他明天一早醒来，就会看到三封厚厚的信，里面写满了对他的同情，以及安排他立刻转移到陋居的计划。这个想法令他放宽了心，睡意随之袭来，淹没了所有的思绪。

    然而，第二天早晨海德薇没有回来。哈利一整天都待在自己的卧室里，只有上厕所时才出去一下。佩妮姨妈一天三次把饭菜通过那扇小活板门塞进他的房间，那还是弗农姨父在三年前的夏天装上的。哈利每次听见佩妮姨妈的脚步声走近，都想问问她那封吼叫信是怎么回事，但这些问题与其问她，还不如去问那只门把手呢。除了送饭，德思礼一家人从不走近他的卧室。哈利也觉得硬跟他们待在一起没有什么意思。再大吵大闹一番不会有任何收获，大概只会惹得自己勃然大怒，忍不住违反法律动用魔法，一错再错。

    这种情况整整持续了三天。有时候哈利焦躁不安，根本不能静下心来做任何事情，只是在卧室里踱来踱去，为他们所有的人让他在这里忍受煎熬而气愤。有时候他又完全无精打采，整小时整小时地躺在床上，眼睛失神地望着空中，因为想到要去魔法部受审而惶恐不安。

    如果他们的判决对他不利怎么办呢？如果他真的被开除，魔杖被折断成两截怎么办呢？他将怎么做？他将去哪里？他不可能再像以前那样整天跟德思礼一家生活在一起了，因为他现在已经知道了另一个世界，一个真正属于他的世界。那么，他能不能搬到小天狼星那里去呢？一年前，小天狼星被迫逃避魔法部的追捕之前，曾经提出过这样的建议。现在哈利还没有成年，他们会允许他独自住在那里吗？还是他以后住在哪里的问题也将由别人替他做决定？难道他违反《国际保密法》的行为这么严重，使得他不得不到阿兹卡班去坐牢？每次一想到这儿，哈利总忍不住从床上爬起来，又在房间里踱来踱去。

    海德薇离开后的第四个夜晚，哈利正处于无精打采的状态，躺在床上，眼睛瞪着天花板，疲倦的大脑里几乎一片空白，这时弗农姨父走进了他的卧室。哈利慢慢转过脸来望着他。弗农姨父穿着他那套最好的西装，一副得意洋洋的神情。

    “我们要出去。”他说。

    “对不起，你说什么？”

    “我们——　也就是说，你姨妈、达力和我——　要出去。”

    “好吧。”哈利干巴巴地说，眼睛重又望着天花板。

    “我们不在的时候，你不许走出你的房间。”

    “好的。”

    “不许碰电视，碰音响，碰我们的任何东西。”

    “行。”

    “不准偷吃冰箱里的东西。”

    “好的。”

    “我要把你的门锁起来。”

    “你锁吧。”

    弗农姨父朝哈利瞪着眼睛，显然怀疑哈利这样听话有些不对头。然后他踏着沉重的脚步走出房间，回手把门关上了。哈利听见钥匙在锁眼里转动，又听见弗农姨父的脚步嗵嗵嗵地下楼去了。几分钟后，他听见了重重地关车门声，发动机隆隆作响，还听见了汽车驶出车道的确切无疑的声音。

    哈利对德思礼一家的离去没有什么特别的感觉。对他来说，他们在不在家没有多少差别。他甚至都打不起精神下床把卧室的灯打开。房间里越来越黑了，他躺在那里，倾听着一直敞开的窗口传进来的夜的声音，等待着海德薇归来的喜悦时刻。

    他周围空荡荡的房子发出吱吱嘎嘎的响声。管子里的水汩汩流淌。哈利躺在床上，仿佛处于一种麻木状态，脑子里什么也不想，心里焦躁不安。

    突然，他清楚地听见下面厨房里传来哗啦一声。

    他腾地坐起，侧耳细听。德思礼一家不可能这么快就回来了，而且他并没有听见他们汽车驶回的声音。

    几秒钟的寂静，然后传来说话的声音。

    盗贼，他想，一边悄悄地从床上下来——　但紧接着他又想到，盗贼肯定不敢大声说话，而在厨房里走动的人显然并没有压低自己的声音。

    他一把抓起床头柜上的魔杖，脸冲卧室的门站着，全神贯注地倾听。接着，锁咔嚓一响，卧室的门猛地被开了，他吓得跳了起来。

    哈利一动不动地站着，通过洞开的房门望着漆黑的楼梯平台，竖起耳朵捕捉动静，但再也没有听见任何声音。他迟疑片刻，然后飞快地、悄没声儿地走出自己的房间，来到楼梯口。

    他的心一下子蹿到了嗓子眼儿。下面昏暗的门厅里站着好几个人，从玻璃门透进来的路灯的光照出了他们的轮廓。一共有八九个人，而且在哈利看来，他们都在抬头望着他。

    “放下你的魔杖，孩子，免得把什么人的眼睛挖出来。”一个粗声粗气的低沉声音说。

    哈利的心无法控制地狂跳着。他听出了那个声音，但并没有放下魔杖。

    “穆迪教授？”他不敢肯定地问。

    “教授不教授的，我可不太知道。”那个粗粗的声音吼道，“我一直没有捞到多少教书的机会，是不是？下来吧，我们想好好看看你呢。”

    哈利把魔杖稍微放低了一点，但仍然用手攥得紧紧的，脚下也没有动弹。他完全有理由心存怀疑。就在最近，他曾跟那个他以为是疯眼汉穆迪的人一起待了九个月，结果发现那根本就不是穆迪，而是一个冒名顶替的家伙，而且，那家伙在暴露身份前还想杀死他。哈利还没想好下一步该怎么做，这时第二个微微沙哑的声音从楼下飘了上来。

    “没问题的，哈利。我们是来带你走的。”

    哈利的心欢跳起来。这个声音也是他熟悉的，尽管已经有一年多没有听到了。

    “卢一卢平教授？”他不敢相信地说。“是你吗？”

    “我们于吗都摸黑站着？”第三个声音说话了，这次是一个完全陌生的声音，一个女人的声音，“荧光闪烁。”

    一根魔杖头上突然有了亮光，魔光照亮了门厅。哈利眨了眨眼睛。下面的人都挤在楼梯口，抬头目不转睛地望着他，有几个人还使劲伸长了脖子，好把他-32　？看得更清楚一些。

    莱姆斯卢平站得离他最近。卢平尽管年纪很轻，但显得十分疲惫，神色憔悴。他的白头发比哈利上次跟他分手时更多，身上的长袍也比以前多了几块补丁，更加破旧了。不过，他望着哈利时脸上绽开了灿烂的笑容。哈利呢，尽管心里吃惊得不行，也勉强对他笑着。

    “喔，他的模样正跟我原先想的一样。”那个高高举着发光魔杖的女巫说。她似乎是那几个人里最年轻的，有着一张苍白的、心型的脸，一对闪闪发光的黑眼睛，那一头尖钉般的短发是一种鲜艳夺目的紫罗兰色。“你好，哈利！”

    “啊，我明白你的意思了，莱姆斯，”站在最后面的一个黑皮肤、秃脑袋的巫师说——　他的声音低沉、缓慢，一边耳朵上戴着一只金环——　“他看上去简直和詹姆一模一样。”

    “除了那双眼睛，”后面一个满头银发、说话呼哧呼哧的巫师说，“是莉莉的眼睛。”

    疯眼汉穆迪留着一头长长的花白头发。鼻子上缺了一大块肉。此刻正眯起两只不对称的眼睛怀疑地盯着哈利。他的一只眼睛又小又黑，目光明亮，另一只眼睛则又大又圆，闪烁着电光般的蓝色——　这只带魔法的眼睛能够看穿墙壁、房门和穆迪自己的后脑勺。

    “你能保证这就是他吗，卢平？”他粗声大气地吼道，“如果我们带回去一个冒充他的食死徒，可就闹出大麻烦了。我们最好问他一点只有波特本人才会知道的事情。除非有人带着吐真剂？”

    “哈利，你的守护神是什么样子的？”卢平问道。

    “一只牡鹿。”哈利紧张地说。

    “没错，就是他，疯眼汉。”卢平说。

    这么多人直瞪瞪地盯着自己，哈利感到有紧张。他一边往楼下走，一边把魔杖插进牛仔裤后面的口袋里。

    “别把魔杖插在那儿，孩子！”疯眼汉叫道，“如果它着起火来怎么办？你知道，比你厉害的巫师都把自己的屁股给烧掉过！”

    “你知道淮把屁股给烧掉啦？”紫罗兰色头发的女人很感兴趣地问疯眼汉。

    “不用你管，只是别把魔杖放在裤兜里就是了！”疯眼汉气冲冲地说，“这是基本的魔杖安全守则，现在谁也不理会它了。”他脚步重重地朝厨房走去。“我算是看明白啦。”那女人冲天花板翻眼珠时，他恼怒地加了一句。

    卢平伸出手来，跟哈利握手。

    “你怎么样？”他问，一边仔细地打量着哈利。

    “还一还好。”

    哈利简直不敢相信这一切都是真的。四个星期毫无音讯，没有一点蛛丝马-33　？迹显示要将他从女贞路转移出去，可是突然之间，一大堆巫师一本正经地站在这个家里，就好像这是早就安排好的事情。他望望围在卢平身边的那些人，他们伊然眼巴巴地盯着他。他想起自己已经四天没有梳头，不由得很不好意思起来。“我——　你们来得真巧，德思礼一家出去了。”他吞吞吐吐地说。

    “真巧，哈！”紫罗兰色头发的女人说，“是我把他们引出去的，免得碍事儿。通过麻瓜邮局给他们寄了封信，说他们在全英格兰最佳近郊草坪大奖赛中入围了。他们现在正急着去领奖？？或者自以为是去领奖呢。”

    哈利眼前闪过当弗农姨父得知根本就没有什么全英格兰最佳近郊草坪大奖赛时，脸上的那副表情。“我们要离开这里，是不是？”他问，“很快就走？”

    “差不多立即动身，”卢平说，“我们在等平安无事的信号。”

    “我们去哪儿呢？陋居吗？”哈利满怀希望地问。

    “不去陋居，那里不行，”卢平说着示意哈利朝厨房走去。那一小伙巫师都跟在后面，仍然好奇地打量着哈利，“太冒险了。我们在一个别人发现不了的地方建了指挥部。花了一些时间？？"疯眼汉穆迪已经坐在厨房的桌子边，大口大口地喝着弧形酒瓶里的酒，那只带魔法的眼睛滴溜溜乱转，把德思礼家那许多节省劳力的用具尽收眼底。”哈利，　这是阿拉斯托穆迪。“卢平指着穆迪继续说道。”是啊，我知道。“哈利尴尬地说。一个自己以为认识了一年的人，又被别人介绍来重新认识，这感觉真是很奇怪。

    “这位是尼法朵拉——　”

    “莱姆斯，别叫我尼法朵拉。”那个年轻女巫打了个冷战说道，“是唐克斯。”

    “尼法朵拉。唐克斯，更喜欢别人只称呼她的姓。”卢平把话说完。

    “如果你的傻瓜妈妈管你叫尼法朵拉①，你也会这样的。”唐克斯嘟囔道。

    ①在英语里，尼法朵拉一词的前半部分“尼法”是一个不太雅观的字眼。

    “这位是金斯莱‘沙克尔，”他指的是那位高个子、黑皮肤巫师，那人欠了欠身。“埃非亚多戈。”那个说话呼哧呼哧的巫师点了点头。“德达洛。迪歌——　”

    “我们以前见过。”爱激动的迪歌尖声尖气地说，他那顶紫色高顶大礼帽掉了下来。

    “爱米琳万斯。”一位披着深绿色披肩、端庄典雅的女巫微微点了点头。“斯多吉‘波德摩。”一个长着一头厚厚的稻草色头发的方下巴巫师眨了眨眼睛。“还有海丝佳琼斯。”一位头发乌黑、面颊粉嘟嘟的女巫从烤面包炉旁朝他们挥了挥手。

    介绍到每个人时，哈利都笨拙地朝他们点头打招呼。他真希望他们能把目光投向别处，别老盯着他看。他感到自己好像突然被请到了舞台上。而且，他不明白他们为什么一下子来了这么多人。

    “没想到那么多人主动提出要来接你。”卢平说，似乎读出了哈利的心思，两个嘴角微微动了动。

    “是啊，是啊，越多越好。”穆迪闷闷不乐地说，“我们是你的警卫，波特。”

    “现在就等发信号来告诉我们一切平安我们就可以出发。”卢平说着朝厨房窗外望了望，“我们大概还有十五分钟。”

    “弄得真干净啊，这些麻瓜，是不是？”那个姓唐克斯的女巫怀着极大的兴趣打量着厨房说道，“我爸爸也是麻瓜出身，他是个典型的邋遢鬼。我想麻瓜也是多种多样的，就像巫师一样。”

    “嗯——　是啊。”哈利说。“对了——　”他重新转向卢平，“发生了什么事，谁也不给我一点儿消息，伏地——　？”

    几个巫师嘴里发出古怪的嘘嘘声，德达洛迪歌的帽子又掉了下来，穆迪低吼道：“闭嘴！”

    “怎么啦？”哈利问。

    “在这里什么也不能说，太危险了。”穆迪说，那只正常的眼睛转向哈利，而那只带魔法的眼睛还是一动不动地盯着天花板。“该死，”他恼火地说，举起一只手去掏魔眼，“老是卡住——　自从那个卑鄙小人戴过以后就出毛病了。”

    随着一阵刺耳的嘎吱嘎吱声，就像从洗涤池里抠出活塞一样，穆迪把那只魔眼掏了出来。“疯眼汉，你这样做怪叫人恶心的，是不是？”唐克斯亲切随和地说。“劳驾，给我一杯水，哈利。”穆迪要求道。哈利走到洗碗机前，拿出一只干净杯子，在水池边接满了清水，而那帮巫师仍然眼巴巴地注视着他。他们这样毫不留情地盯着他看，他开始有点恼怒了。

    “谢谢。”哈利把杯子递过去时穆迪说。他把那只魔眼丢进水里，用手捅得它一沉一浮。那只眼睛瞍嗖地转动着，挨个儿瞪着屋里的每个人。“在回去的路上，我希望我能有三百六十度的视野。”

    “我们怎么去——　我们要去的地方？”哈利问。

    “骑扫帚，”卢平说，“只有这个办法。你年纪太小，还不能幻影移形，飞路网会遭到他们的监视，而如果起用一个未经批准的门钥匙，那要搭上我们的性命还不够呢。”

    “莱姆斯说你飞得很出色。”金斯莱-沙克尔用低沉的声音说。“他飞得棒极了，”卢平说，他不停地看着手表，“不管怎样，哈利，你最好去收拾一下东西，等信号一来，我们就要上路。”“我去帮帮你吧。”唐克斯欢快地说。

    她跟着哈利回到门厅，往楼上走去，一路兴趣盎然、充满好奇地东张西望。

    “这地方真好玩，”她说，“弄得也太干净了。你明白我的意思吧？有点不自然了。哦。这还差不多。”当他们走进哈利的卧室，哈利把灯打开时，她说道。

    他的房间确实比家里其他地方乱得多。整整四天闭门不出，情绪恶劣，哈利根本没有心思收拾自己的东西。他的大部分书都散落在地板上，因为他为了分散注意力，把每本书都翻开看了看，然后又随手扔到了一边。海德薇的笼子需要清理了，已经开始发出臭味。他的箱子敞开着，可以看见麻瓜衣服、巫师长袍在里面堆得乱七八糟，有的还散落在周围的地板上。

    哈利开始把书一本本地捡起来，匆匆扔进箱子里。唐克斯停在他打开的衣橱前，挑剔地照着橱门内侧的镜子。

    “知道吗，我觉得实际上紫罗兰色并不适合我，”她扯着一绺尖钉般的头发忧虑地说，“你说，它是不是使我的脸显得太尖了点儿？”

    “嗯——　”哈利的视线越过一本叫《英国和爱尔兰的魁地奇球队》的书望着她。

    “没错，是这样。”唐克斯果断地说。她紧紧地闭上眼睛，脸上是一种紧张的表情，似乎在拼命回忆什么事情。一秒钟后，她的头发变成了泡泡糖般的粉红色。

    “你怎么办到的？”哈利问，吃惊地望着她，这时她把眼睛睁开了。

    “我是个易容马格斯，”她说，重新打量着镜子里的自己，脑袋转来转去，从各个角度看自己的头发，“也就是说，我能够随心所欲地改变我的外貌。”她在镜子里看到身后的哈利脸上露出迷惑不解的表情，便又补充道：“我天生就是。在傲罗培训时，我根本不用学习就得到了隐藏和伪装的最高分，很了不起呢。”

    “你是个傲罗？”哈利十分震惊地问道。对于从霍格沃茨毕业以后的职业，他惟一考虑过的就是做一个专门逮捕黑巫师的人。

    “是啊，”唐克斯显出很骄傲的样子说，“金斯莱也是，不过他的级别比我还要高一点儿。我是去年才取得资格的。潜行和跟踪这门课差点儿不及格。我总是笨手笨脚的，你听见我们刚到楼下时我打碎那只盘子的声音了吗？”

    “能通过学习成为一个易容马格斯吗？”哈利问道。他直起身来，把收拾行李的事儿抛到了脑后。

    唐克斯轻轻地笑了。

    “我敢说，你不反对有时候把你的伤疤隐藏起来吧，嗯？”

    她的目光捕捉到哈利额头上的闪电形伤疤。

    “不反对，我巴不得呢。”哈利嘟哝着把脸转开了。他不喜欢别人盯着他的伤疤看。

    “噢，那你恐怕得靠自己的努力去学习了。”唐克斯说，“但易容马格斯是很希罕的，都是天生的，不是后天培养的。大多数巫师都需要用魔杖或药剂才能改变自己的外貌。不过我们得抓紧时间了，哈利，我们是来收拾行李的。”她望了望地上那堆乱七八糟的东西愧疚地说。

    “噢——　是啊。”哈利说着又抓起几本书。“别犯傻了，可以快得多呢，让我来——　收拾！”唐克斯大喊一声，同时用魔杖幅度很大地扫过地面。书、衣服、望远镜和天平纷纷飘到空中，杂乱无章地飞进箱子里。

    “不太整齐。”唐克斯说着走到箱子旁边低头看了看里面那乱糟糟的一堆，“我妈妈有一个诀窍，让东西自己归拢整齐——　她还能让袜子自己叠起来呢——　但我一直没弄清她是怎么做的——　好像是迅速地一抖——　”她满怀希望地抖了一下魔杖。

    哈利的一一只袜子软绵绵地扭动一下，又落回到箱子里那堆乱七八糟的东西上。

    “唉。算啦，”唐克斯说，把箱子盖砰的一声合上了，“至少东西都进去了。那玩意儿也需要打扫了。”她用魔杖指着海德薇的笼子。“清理一新。”几片羽毛和一些粪便顿时消失了。“哈，这下子好多了——　对这些家务活儿方面的咒语，我一向不太在行。好了——　东西都带齐了吗？坩埚？扫帚？哇！——　火弩箭？”

    她的目光落在哈利右手拿着的飞天扫帚上，顿时瞪大了眼睛。这是哈利的骄傲和欢乐，是小天狼星送给他的礼物，一把国际标准的飞天扫帚。

    “我骑的还是一把彗星260呢。”唐克斯羡慕地说，“啊，好了？？魔杖还插在你的牛仔裤里？两边的屁股还都在？好吧，我们走！箱子移动。”

    哈利的箱子飘浮到离地面几英寸的高度。唐克斯像指挥家拿着指挥棒一样举着她的魔杖，让箱子在他们前面摇摇晃晃地飘过房间，飘出房门，她的左手拎着海德薇的笼子。哈利拿着他的飞天扫帚跟着她下了楼梯。

    他们回到厨房时，穆迪已经把魔眼装上了，清洗过的眼睛转得飞快，哈利看了只觉得恶心想吐。金斯莱沙克尔和斯多吉波德摩在仔细研究微波炉，海丝佳琼斯刚才在抽屉里东翻西翻，发现了一个削土豆器，现在正对着它哈哈大笑。卢平给德思礼一家写了封信，正在封口。

    “太好了，”卢平抬头看到唐克斯和哈利走进来，说道，“我们大概还有一分钟。我们应该到外面的花园里去做好准备。哈利，我留下了一封信，告诉你的姨妈和姨父不要担心——　”

    “他们不会担心的。”哈利说。

    “——　说你很安全——　”

    “这只会让他们感到失望。”

    “——　还说你明年夏天再来看他们。”

    “非得这样吗？”

    卢平微微一笑，没有回答。

    “过来，孩子，”穆迪声音粗哑地说，同时用魔杖示意哈利到他跟前去，“我需要给你幻身。”

    “你需要什么？”哈利不安地问。

    “幻身咒。”穆迪说着举起魔杖，“卢平说你有一件隐形衣，但待会儿我们飞起来，它不会很贴身的。用幻身咒会把你伪装得更好。这就开始啦——　”

    他重重地敲了敲哈利的头顶，哈利有一种很奇怪的感觉，似乎穆迪在他脑袋上敲碎了一个鸡蛋。仿佛有一股冷冰冰的东西从魔杖敲打的地方流进了他的身体。

    “干得漂亮，疯眼汉。”唐克斯瞪大眼睛望着哈利的上腹，欣赏地说。

    哈利低头看了看自己的身体，确切地说，是自己以前的身体。现在它看上去好像根本不属于他了，倒没有隐形不见，但是颜色和质地变得与他身后的厨房设备一模一样。他似乎成了一只人形的变色龙。

    “走吧。”穆迪说着用魔杖打开了后门的锁。

    他们一个接一个地出了门，来到弗农姨父修剪得漂漂亮亮的草坪上。

    “晴朗的夜空，”穆迪嘟囔着，那只带魔法的眼睛扫视着天空，“需要来点儿云彩做掩护。好了，你听着，”他粗声粗气地对哈利说，“我们排成紧密的队形往前飞。唐克斯在你的正前方，你紧紧跟在她后面。卢乎在下面掩护你。我在你后面。其他人把我们围在中间。不管怎样都不能乱了队形，明白吗？如果我们中间有谁遇害——　”

    “那可能吗？”哈利担忧地问，但穆迪没有理睬他。

    “——　其他人继续往前飞，不能停下，不能乱了队形。如果他们把我们都于掉了，只有你还活着，哈利，还有后续的警卫随时准备接替上来。不停地往东飞，他们就会与你会合。”

    “不要这样兴高采烈的，疯眼汉，不然他会以为我们不是当真的。”唐克斯一边说，一边把哈利的箱子和海德薇的笼子绑在她扫帚上挂着的一根吊带上。

    “我只是在把计划告诉孩子。”穆迪没好气地说，“我们的工作是把他安全地护送到指挥部，如果我们半路就死了——　”

    “没有人会死的。”金斯莱沙克尔用息事宁人的低沉声音说。

    “骑上扫帚，那是第一个信号！”卢平指着天空果断地说。

    在他们头顶上空很高很高的地方，群星中突然绽开一片鲜红色的火花。哈利立刻看出那是魔杖变出的火花。他把右腿跨在火弩箭上，紧紧地抓住扫帚把，感觉到扫帚在微微颤动，似乎它也和他一样迫不及待地渴望再次飞上天空。

    “第二个信号，我们走吧！”卢平大声说，高空中又绽开一片火花，这次是绿-38　？色的。

    哈利使劲蹬离地面。黑夜里凉爽的微风吹拂着他的头发，女贞路上那些方方正正的花园越来越远，迅速缩小成一幅由墨绿和黑色拼缀而成的图案，到魔法部受审的事被抛到了九霄云外，似乎嗖嗖掠过的空气把这个念头从他的脑海里吹跑了。他觉得他的心快乐得都要爆炸了。他终于又飞上了天空，终于离开了女贞路，这可是他整个暑假都梦寐以求的事啊，他要回家了？？一时间他心花怒放，似乎所有的烦恼都不存在了，都在星光灿烂的辽阔夜空中变得微不足道了。

    “快向左，向左，有个麻瓜在抬头往上看呢！”穆迪在他后面喊道。唐克斯猛地一拐，哈利紧紧跟上，望着自己的箱子在唐克斯的扫帚底下剧烈地晃来晃去。“我们需要飞得再高一些？？再飞高四分之一英里！”

    他们忽忽地上升，哈利的眼睛被寒冷的空气刺得涌出了泪水。下面什么也看不见，只有一个个针孔般的亮点，是路灯和汽车前灯发出的光亮，其中两个亮点可能属于弗农姨父的汽车？？此刻德思礼一家大概正在赶回他们的空屋子呢，一路上为那个并不存在的草坪大奖赛气得鼓鼓的？？想到这里，哈利开心地大笑起来，但是其他巫师长袍飘动的呼呼声、那根拴住他箱子和鸟笼的吊带的嘎吱声，以及飞速掠过夜空时灌进他们耳朵里的呼啸风声，把他的笑声淹没了。一个月来，他从没有感觉到这样快活，这样扬眉吐气。

    “向南！”疯眼汉大叫，“前面是小镇！”他们向右一拐，以免直接从蛛网般的万家灯火上空飞过。“向东南飞，继续上升，前面有一片低云，我们可以飞进去，隐藏在里面！”穆迪喊道。“可别在云里头飞！”唐克斯气呼呼地大声说，“我们会变成落汤鸡的，疯眼汉！”哈利听她这么说，松了口气。他的双手一直抓着火弩箭的扫帚把，已经有点发麻。他真后悔刚才没想到再穿一件外套，他禁不住打起哆嗦来。

    他们根据疯眼汉的指令，不时地改变路线。凛冽的寒风迎面吹来，哈利不得不紧紧眯起眼睛，耳朵也冻得生疼。在他的记忆中，只有一次也是这么冷骑在扫帚上，那是三年级时跟赫奇帕奇的那场魁地奇比赛，是在暴风雨中进行的。警卫们不停地在他周围绕圈子，像一只只巨大的猛禽。哈利已经失去了时间概念。他不知道他们已经飞了多长时间，感觉至少有一个小时了。

    “转向西南！”穆迪嚷道，“我们要避开高速公路！”

    哈利已经感到冷得不行了，他渴望地想到下面公路上疾驶的汽车里舒服于爽的环境，他甚至更渴望地想到撒飞路粉旅行时的感觉。在壁炉里转来转去也许不太舒服，但至少是热乎乎地被火焰烤着的呀？？金斯莱-沙克尔忽忽地绕着他飞，秃脑袋和耳环在月光下微微闪烁？？这时候爱米琳万斯飞到他的右边，-39？举着魔杖，警惕地转动着脑袋？？然后她也嗖的一声超过了他，斯多吉‘波德摩立刻补了上来？？“我们最好原路折回去一段，以确保没有被人跟踪！”穆迪大声说。

    “你疯了吗，疯眼汉？”唐克斯在前面尖叫道，“我们都快在扫帚上冻僵了！如果这样不停地偏离路线，大概下个星期都到不了那儿！而且，我们差不多已经到了！”

    “是应该开始降落了！”卢平的声音传了过来，“哈利，跟牢唐克斯！”

    哈利跟着唐克斯俯冲下去。他们朝着一大片光亮飞去，哈利从未见过这么多灯光汇集在一起，纵横交错，星罗棋布，向四面八方延伸，其问点缀着一个个深黑色的方块。他们飞得越来越低，最后哈利能够看清一盏盏车灯和路灯、一个个烟囱和一根根电视天线了。他多么渴望赶紧落到地面啊，尽管他可以肯定需要有人先给他解冻，他才能从扫帚上下来。

    “我们到了！”唐克斯大喊一声。几秒钟后，她落在了地面上。

    哈利紧跟在她后面降落下来，在一个小广场中央一片凌乱荒芜的草地上跨下扫帚。唐克斯已经把哈利的箱子从吊带上解下来了。哈利浑身发抖，四下张望着。周围的房屋门脸阴森森的，一副拒人千里之外的样子。有些房屋的窗户都破了，在路灯的映照下闪着惨淡的光，许多门上油漆剥落，还有几户的前门台阶外堆满了垃圾。

    “这是什么地方？”哈利问。可是卢平小声说：“等一等。”

    穆迪在他的斗篷里翻找着，骨节粗大的双手已经冻得不听使唤了。

    “找到了。”他嘟囔着举起一个像是银色打火机一样的东西，咔哒摁了一下。

    最近的一盏路灯噗的一声熄灭了。他又咔哒摁了一下熄灯器，第二盏灯也灭了。他不停地咔哒咔哒，最后广场上的所有路灯都熄灭了，只有那些拉着窗帘的窗户里透出亮光，还有夜空中弯弯的月亮洒下的清辉。

    “向邓布利多借的，”穆迪一边粗声粗气地说，一边把熄灯器装进口袋，“防止麻瓜从窗户里往外看，明白吗？现在走吧，快点儿。”

    他拉着哈利的胳膊，领着他走出那片草地，穿过马路，来到人行道上。卢平和唐克斯搬着哈利的箱子跟在后面，其他人都拿出魔杖，在两侧掩护他们。

    从最近一座房屋的楼上窗户里隐隐传来立体声音响的隆隆声。一股腐烂垃圾的刺鼻臭味儿从破败的大门里那堆鼓鼓囊囊的垃圾口袋里散发出来。

    “这儿，”穆迪粗声说着，把一张羊皮纸塞进了哈利被幻身的手里，并举起他发光的魔杖凑过来照亮纸上的字，“快读一读，牢牢记住。”

哈利低头看着那张纸，上面细细长长的笔迹似乎在哪儿见过，写的是：凤凰社指挥部位于伦敦格里莫广场12号。

Number Twelve,Grimmauld Place

‘What's the Order of the—?’ Harry began.

‘Not here, boy!’ snarled Moody. ‘Wait till we're inside!’

He pulled the piece of parchment out of Harry's hand and set fire to it with his wand-tip. As the message curled into flames and floated to the ground, Harry looked around at the houses again. They were standing outside number eleven; he looked to the left and saw number ten; to the right, however, was number thirteen.

‘But where's—?’

‘Think about what you've just memorised,’ said Lupin quietly.

Harry thought, and no sooner had he reached the part about number twelve, Grimmauld Place, than a battered door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed swiftly by dirty walls and grimy windows. It was as though an extra house had inflated, pushing those on either side out of its way. Harry gaped at it. The stereo in number eleven thudded on. Apparently the Muggles inside hadn't felt anything.

‘Come on, hurry,’ growled Moody, prodding Harry in the back.

Harry walked up the worn stone steps, staring at the newly materialised door. Its black paint was shabby and scratched. The silver doorknocker was in the form of a twisted serpent. There was no keyhole or letterbox.

Lupin, pulled out his wand and tapped the door once. Harry heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the clatter of a chain. The door creaked open.

‘Get in quick, Harry,’ Lupin whispered, ‘but don't go far inside and don't touch anything.’

Harry stepped over the threshold into the almost total darkness of the hall. He could smell damp, dust, and a sweetish, rotting smell; the place had the feeling of a derelict building. He looked over his shoulder and saw the others filing in behind him, Lupin and Tonks carrying his trunk and Hedwig's cage. Moody was standing on the top step releasing the balls of light the Put-Outer had stolen from the streetlamps; they flew back to their bulbs and the square glowed momentarily with orange light before Moody limped inside and closed the front door, so that the darkness in the hall became complete.

‘Here—’

He rapped Harry hard over the head with his wand; Harry felt as though something hot was trickling down his back this time and knew that the Disillusionment Charm must have lifted.

‘Now stay still, everyone, while I give us a bit of light in here,’ Moody whispered.

The others’ hushed voices were giving Harry an odd feeling of foreboding; it was as though they had just entered the house of a dying person. He heard a soft hissing noise and then old-fashioned gas lamps sputtered into life all along the walls, casting a flickering insubstantial light over the peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet of a long, gloomy hallway, where a cobwebby chandelier glimmered overhead and age-blackened portraits hung crooked on the walls. Harry heard something scuttling behind the skirting board. Both the chandelier and the candelabra on a rickety table nearby were shaped like serpents.

There were hurried footsteps and Ron's mother, Mrs. Weasley, emerged from a door at the far end of the hall. She was beaming in welcome as she hurried towards them, though Harry noticed that she was rather thinner and paler than she had been last time he had seen her.

‘Oh, Harry, it's lovely to see you!’ she whispered, pulling him into a rib-cracking hug before holding him at arm's length and examining him critically. ‘You're looking peaky; you need feeding up, but you'll have to wait a bit for dinner, I'm afraid....’

She turned to the gang of wizards behind him and whispered urgently, ‘He's just arrived, the meeting's started.’

The wizards behind Harry all made noises of interest and excitement and began filing past him towards the door through which Mrs. Weasley had just come. Harry made to follow Lupin, but Mrs. Weasley held him back.

‘No, Harry, the meeting's only for members of the Order. Ron and Hermione are upstairs, you can wait with them until the meetings over, then we'll have dinner. And keep your voice down in the hall,’ she added in an urgent whisper.

‘Why?’

‘I don't want anything to wake up.’

‘What d'you—?’

‘I'll explain later, I've got to hurry, I'm supposed to be at the meeting— I'll just show you where you're sleeping.’

Pressing her finger to her lips, she led him on tiptoe past a pair of long, moth-eaten curtains, behind which Harry supposed there must be another door, and after skirting a large umbrella stand that looked as though it had been made from a severed troll's leg, they started up the dark staircase, passing a row of shrunken heads mounted on plaques on the wall. A closer look showed Harry that the heads belonged to house-elves. All of them had the same rather snout-like nose.

Harry's bewilderment deepened with every step he took. What on earth were they doing in a house that looked as though it belonged to the Darkest of wizards?

‘Mrs. Weasley, why—?’

‘Ron and Hermione will explain everything, dear, I've really got to dash,’ Mrs. Weasley whispered distractedly. ‘There'—they had reached the second landing—'you're the door on the right. I'll call you when it's over.’

And she hurried off downstairs again.

Harry crossed the dingy landing, turned the bedroom doorknob, which was shaped like a serpent's head, and opened the door.

He caught a brief glimpse of a gloomy high-ceilinged, twin-bedded room; then there was a loud twittering noise, followed by an even louder shriek, and his vision was completely obscured by a large quantity of very bushy hair— Hermione had thrown herself on to him in a hug that nearly knocked him flat, while Ron's tiny owl, Pigwidgeon, zoomed excitedly round and round their heads.

‘HARRY! Ron, he's here, Harry's here! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless—but we couldn't tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got things to tell us—the dementors! When we heard—and that Ministry hearing—it's just outrageous, I've looked it all up, they can't expel you, they just can't, there's provision in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations—’

‘Let him breathe, Hermione,’ said Ron, grinning as he closed the door behind Harry. He seemed to have grown several more inches during their month apart, making him taller and more gangly looking than ever, though the long nose, bright red hair and freckles were the same.

Still beaming, Hermione let go of Harry, but before she could say another word there was a soft whooshing sound and something white soared from the top of a dark wardrobe and landed gently on Harry's shoulder.

‘Hedwig!’

The snowy owl clicked her beak and nibbled his ear affectionately as Harry stroked her feathers.

‘She's been in a right state,’ said Ron. ‘Pecked us half to death when she brought your last letters, look at this—’

He showed Harry the index finger of his right hand, which sported a half-healed but clearly deep cut.

‘Oh, yeah,’ Harry said. ‘Sorry about that, but I wanted answers, you know....’

‘We wanted to give them to you, mate,’ said Ron. ‘Hermione was going spare, she kept saying you'd do something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news, but Dumbledore made us—’

‘—swear not to tell me,’ said Harry. ‘Yeah, Hermione's already said.’

The warm glow that had flared inside him at the sight of his two best friends was extinguished as something icy flooded the pit of his stomach. All of a sudden—after yearning to see them for a solid month—he felt he would rather Ron and Hermione left him alone.

There was a strained silence in which Harry stroked Hedwig automatically, not looking at either of the others.

‘He seemed to think it was best,’ said Hermione rather breathlessly. ‘Dumbledore, I mean.’

‘Right,’ said Harry. He noticed that her hands, too, bore the marks of Hedwig's beak and found that he was not at all sorry.

‘I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles—’ Ron began.

‘Yeah?’ said Harry, raising his eyebrows. ‘Have either of you been attacked by dementors this summer?’

‘Well, no—but that's why he's had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time—’

Harry felt a great jolt in his guts as though he had just missed a step going downstairs. So everyone had known he was being followed, except him.

‘Didn't work that well, though, did it?’ said Harry, doing his utmost to keep his voice even. ‘Had to look after myself after all, didn't I?’

‘He was so angry,’ said Hermione, in an almost awestruck voice. ‘Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary.’

‘Well, I'm glad he left,’ Harry said coldly. ‘If he hadn't, I wouldn't have done magic and Dumbledore would probably have left me at Privet Drive all summer.’

‘Aren't you ... aren't you worried about the Ministry of Magic hearing?’ said Hermione quietly.

‘No,’ Harry lied defiantly. He walked away from them, looking around, with Hedwig nestled contentedly on his shoulder, but this room was not likely to raise his spirits. It was dank and dark. A blank stretch of canvas in an ornate picture frame was all that relieved the bareness of the peeling walls, and as Harry passed it he thought he heard someone who was lurking out of sight snigger.

‘So why's Dumbledore been so keen to keep me in the dark?’ Harry asked, still trying hard to keep his voice casual. ‘Did you—er—bother to ask him at all?’

He glanced up just in time to see them exchanging a look that told him he was behaving just as they had feared he would. It did nothing to improve his temper.

‘We told Dumbledore we wanted to tell you what was going on,’ said Ron. ‘We did, mate. But he's really busy now, we've only seen him twice since we came here and he didn't have much time, he just made us swear not to tell you important stuff when we wrote, he said the owls might be intercepted—’

‘He could still've kept me informed if he'd wanted to,’ Harry said shortly. ‘You're not telling me he doesn't know ways to send messages without owls.’

Hermione glanced at Ron and then said, ‘I thought that, too. But he didn't want you to know anything.’

‘Maybe he thinks I can't be trusted,’ said Harry, watching their expressions.

‘Don't be thick,’ said Ron, looking highly disconcerted.

‘Or that I can't take care of myself.’

‘Of course he doesn't think that!’ said Hermione anxiously.

‘So how come I have to stay at the Dursleys’ while you two get to join in everything that's going on here?’ said Harry, the words tumbling over one another in a rush, his voice growing louder with every word. ‘How come you two are allowed to know everything that's going on?’

‘We're not!’ Ron interrupted. ‘Mum won't let us near the meetings, she says we're too young—’

But before he knew it, Harry was shouting.

‘SO YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU'VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN'T YOU? YOU'VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS’ FOR A MONTH! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO'VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT— WHO SAVED THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?’

Every bitter and resentful thought Harry had had in the past month was pouring out of him: his frustration at the lack of news, the hurt that they had all been together without him, his fury at being followed and not told about it: All the feelings he was half-ashamed of finally burst their boundaries. Hedwig took fright at the noise and soared off to the top of the wardrobe again; Pigwidgeon twittered in alarm and zoomed even faster around their heads.

‘WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM> COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME!’

Ron was standing there with his mouth half-open, clearly stunned and at a loss for anything to say, whilst Hermione looked on the verge of tears.

‘BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYONE BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING?’

‘Harry, we wanted to tell you, we really did—’ Hermione began.

‘CAN'T'VE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU'D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR—’

‘Well, he did—’

‘FOUR WEEKS I'VE BEEN STUCK IN PRIVET DRIVE, NICKING PAPERS OUT OF BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT'S BEEN GOING ON—’

‘We wanted to—

‘I SUPPOSE YOU'VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN'T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER—’

‘No, honest—’

‘Harry, we're really sorry!’ said Hermione desperately, her eyes now sparkling with tears. ‘You're absolutely right, Harry— I'd be furious if it was me!’

Harry glared at her, still breathing deeply, then turned away from them again, pacing up and down. Hedwig hooted glumly from the top of the wardrobe. There was a long pause, broken only by the mournful creak of the floorboards below Harry's feet.

‘What is this place, anyway?’ he shot at Ron and Hermione.

‘Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix,’ said Ron at once.

‘Is anyone going to bother telling me what the Order of the Phoenix—?’

‘It's a secret society,’ said Hermione quickly. ‘Dumbledore's in charge, he founded it. It's the people who fought against You-Know-Who last time.’

‘Who's in it?’ said Harry coming to a halt with his hands in his pockets.

‘Quite a few people—’

‘We've met about twenty of them,’ said Ron, ‘but we think there are more.’

Harry glared at them.

‘Well?’ he demanded, looking from one to the other.

‘Er,’ said Ron. ‘Well what?’

‘Voldemort!’ said Harry furiously, and both Ron and Hermione winced. ‘What's happening? What's he up to? Where is he? What are we doing to stop him?’

‘We've told you, the Order don't let us in on their meetings,’ said Hermione nervously. ‘So we don't know the details—but we've got a general idea—’ she added hastily, seeing the look on Harry's face.

‘Fred and George have invented Extendable Ears, see,’ said Ron. ‘They're really useful.’

‘Extendable—?’

‘Ears, yeah. Only we've had to stop using them lately because Mum found out and went berserk. Fred and George had to hide them all to stop Mum binning them. But we got a good bit of use out of them before Mum realised what was going on. We know some of the Order are following known Death Eaters, keeping tabs on them, you know—’

‘—some of them are working on recruiting more people to the Order—’ said Hermione.

‘—and some of them are standing guard over something,’ said Ron. ‘They're always talking about guard duty.’

‘Couldn't have been me, could it?’ said Harry sarcastically.

‘Oh, yeah,’ said Ron, with a look of dawning comprehension.

Harry snorted. He walked around the room again, looking anywhere but at Ron and Hermione. ‘So, what have you two been doing, if you're not allowed in meetings?’ he demanded. ‘You said you'd been busy.’

‘We have,’ said Hermione quickly. ‘We've been decontaminating this house, it's been empty for ages and stuff's been breeding in here. We've managed to clean out the kitchen, most of the bedrooms and I think we're doing the drawing room tomo—AARGH!’

With two loud cracks, Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers, had materialised out of thin air in the middle of the room. Pigwidgeon twittered more wildly than ever and zoomed off to join Hedwig on top of the wardrobe.

‘Stop doing that!’ Hermione said weakly to the twins, who were as vividly red-haired as Ron, though stockier and slightly shorter.

‘Hello, Harry’ said George, beaming at him. ‘We thought we heard your dulcet tones.’

‘You don't want to bottle up your anger like that, Harry, let it all out,’ said Fred, also beaming. ‘There might be a couple of people fifty miles away who didn't hear you.’

‘You two passed your Apparation tests, then?’ asked Harry grumpily.

‘With distinction,’ said Fred, who was holding what looked like a piece of very long, flesh-coloured string.

‘It would have taken you about thirty seconds longer to walk down the stairs,’ said Ron.

‘Time is Galleons, little brother,’ said Fred. ‘Anyway, Harry, you're interfering with reception. Extendable Ears,’ he added in response to Harry's raised eyebrows, and held up the string which Harry now saw was trailing out on to the landing. ‘We're trying to hear what's going on downstairs.’

‘You want to be careful,’ said Ron, staring at the Ear, ‘if Mum sees one of them again...’

‘It's worth the risk, that's a major meeting they're having,’ said Fred.

The door opened and a long mane of red hair appeared.

‘Oh, hello, Harry!’ said Ron's younger sister, Ginny, brightly. ‘I thought I heard your voice.’

Turning to Fred and George, she said, ‘It's no-go with the Extendable Ears, she's gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door.’

‘How d'you know?’ said George, looking crestfallen.

‘Tonks told me how to find out,’ said Ginny. ‘You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can't make contact the door's been Imperturbed. I've been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there's no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap.’

Fred heaved a deep sigh.

‘Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape's been up to.’

‘Snape!’ said Harry quickly. ‘Is he here?’

‘Yeah,’ said George, carefully closing the door and sitting down on one of the beds; Fred and Ginny followed. ‘Giving a report. Top secret.’

‘Git,’ said Fred idly.

‘He's on our side now,’ said Hermione reprovingly.

Ron snorted. ‘Doesn't stop him being a git. The way he looks at us when he sees us....’

‘Bill doesn't like him, either,’ said Ginny, as though that settled the matter.

Harry was not sure his anger had abated yet; but his thirst for information was now overcoming his urge to keep shouting. He sank on to the bed opposite the others.

‘Is Bill here?’ he asked. ‘I thought he was working in Egypt?’

‘He applied for a desk job so he could come home and work for the Order,’ said Fred. ‘He says he misses the tombs, but,’ he smirked, ‘there are compensations....’

‘What d'you mean?’

‘Remember old Fleur Delacour?’ said George. ‘She's got a job at Gringotts to eemprove ‘er Eeenglish—’

‘—and Bill's been giving her a lot of private lessons,’ sniggered Fred.

‘Charlie's in the Order, too,’ said George, ‘but he's still in Romania. Dumbledore wants as many foreign wizards brought in as possible, so Charlie's trying to make contacts on his days off.’

‘Couldn't Percy do that?’ Harry asked. The last he had heard, the third Weasley brother was working in the Department of International Magical Co-operation at the Ministry of Magic.

At Harry's words, all the Weasleys and Hermione exchanged darkly significant looks.

‘Whatever you do, don't mention Percy in front of Mum and Dad,’ Ron told Harry in a tense voice.

‘Why not?’

‘Because every time Percy's name's mentioned, Dad breaks whatever he's holding and Mum starts crying,’ Fred said.

‘It's been awful,’ said Ginny sadly.

‘I think we're well shot of him,’ said George, with an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face.

‘What's happened?’ Harry said.

‘Percy and Dad had a row,’ said Fred. ‘I've never seen Dad row with anyone like that. It's normally Mum who shouts....’

‘It was the first week back after term ended,’ said Ron. ‘We were about to come and join the Order. Percy came home and told us he'd been promoted.’

‘You're kidding?’ said Harry.

Though he knew perfectly well that Percy was highly ambitious, Harry's impression was that Percy had not made a great success of his first job at the Ministry of Magic. Percy had committed the fairly large oversight of failing to notice that his boss was being controlled by Lord Voldemort (not that the Ministry had believed it—they all thought Mr. Crouch had gone mad).

‘Yeah, we were all surprised,’ said George, ‘because Percy got into a load of trouble about Crouch, there was an inquiry and everything. They said Percy ought to have realised Crouch was off his rocker and informed a superior. But you know Percy, Crouch left him in charge, he wasn't going to complain....’

‘So how come they promoted him?’

‘That's exactly what we wondered,’ said Ron, who seemed very keen to keep normal conversation going now that Harry had stopped yelling. ‘He came home really pleased with himself—even more pleased than usual, if you can imagine that—and told Dad he'd been offered a position in Fudge's own office. A really good one for someone only a year out of Hogwarts—Junior Assistant to the Minister. He expected Dad to be all impressed, I think.’

‘Only Dad wasn't,’ said Fred grimly.

‘Why not?’ said Harry.

‘Well, apparently Fudge has been storming round the Ministry checking that nobody's having any contact with Dumbledore,’ said George.

‘Dumbledore's name is mud with the Ministry these days, see,’ said Fred. ‘They all think he's just making trouble saying You-Know-Who's back.’

‘Dad says Fudge has made it clear that anyone who's in league with Dumbledore can clear out their desks,’ said George.

‘Trouble is, Fudge suspects Dad, he knows he's friendly with Dumbledore, and he's always thought Dad's a bit of a weirdo because of his Muggle obsession.’

‘But what's that got to do with Percy?’ asked Harry, confused.

‘I'm coming to that. Dad reckons Fudge only wants Percy in his office because he wants to use him to spy on the family—and Dumbledore.’

Harry let out a low whistle.

‘Bet Percy loved that.’

Ron laughed in a hollow sort of way.

‘He went completely berserk. He said—well, he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he's been having to struggle against Dad's lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad's got no ambition and that's why we've always been—you know—not had a lot of money, I mean—’

‘What?’ said Harry in disbelief, as Ginny made a noise like an angry cat.

‘I know,’ said Ron in a low voice. ‘And it got worse. He said Dad was an idiot to run around with Dumbledore, that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble and Dad was going to go down with him, and that he—Percy—knew where his loyalty lay and it was with the Ministry. And if Mum and Dad were going to become traitors to the Ministry he was going to make sure everyone knew he didn't belong to our family any more. And he packed his bags the same night and left. He's living here in London now.’

Harry swore under his breath. He had always liked Percy least of Ron's brothers, but he had never imagined he would say such things to Mr. Weasley.

‘Mum's been in a right state,’ said Ron dully. ‘You know—crying and stuff. She came up to London to try and talk to Percy but he slammed the door in her face. I dunno what he does if he meets Dad at work—ignores him, I s'pose.’

‘But Percy must know Voldemort's back,’ said Harry slowly. ‘He's not stupid, he must know your mum and dad wouldn't risk everything without proof—’

‘Yeah, well, your name got dragged into the row,’ said Ron, shooting Harry a furtive look. ‘Percy said the only evidence was your word and ... I dunno ... he didn't think it was good enough.’

‘Percy takes the Daily Prophet seriously,’ said Hermione tartly, and the others all nodded.

‘What are you talking about?’ Harry asked, looking around at them all. They were all regarding him warily.

‘Haven't—haven't you been getting the Daily Prophet?’ Hermione asked nervously.

‘Yeah, I have!’ said Harry.

‘Have you—er— been reading it thoroughly?’ Hermione asked, still more anxiously.

‘Not cover to cover,’ said Harry defensively. ‘If they were going to report anything about Voldemort it would be headline news, wouldn't it?’

The others flinched at the sound of the name. Hermione hurried on, ‘Well, you'd need to read it cover to cover to pick it up, but they—um—they mention you a couple of times a week.’

‘But I'd have seen—’

‘Not if you've only been reading the front page, you wouldn't,’ said Hermione, shaking her head. ‘I'm not talking about big articles. They just slip you in, like you're a standing joke.’

‘What d'you—?’

‘It's quite nasty, actually,’ said Hermione in a voice of forced calm. ‘They're just building on Rita's stuff.’

‘But she's not writing for them any more, is she?’

‘Oh, no, she's kept her promise—not that she's got any choice,’ Hermione added with satisfaction. ‘But she laid the foundation for what they're trying to do now.’

‘Which is what?’ said Harry impatiently.

‘OK, you know she wrote that you were collapsing all over the place and saying your scar was hurting and all that?’

‘Yeah,’ said Harry, who was not likely to forget Rita Skeeter's stories about him in a hurry.

‘Well, they're writing about you as though you're this deluded, attention-seeking person who thinks he's a great tragic hero or something,’ said Hermione, very fast, as though it would be less unpleasant for Harry to hear these facts quickly. ‘They keep slipping in snide comments about you. If some far-fetched story appears, they say something like, “A tale worthy of Harry Potter", and if anyone has a funny accident or anything it's, “Let's hope he hasn't got a scar on his forehead or we'll be asked to worship him next"—’

‘I don't want anyone to worship—’ Harry began hotly.

‘I know you don't,’ said Hermione quickly, looking frightened. ‘I know, Harry. But you see what they're doing? They want to turn you into someone nobody will believe. Fudge is behind it, I'll bet anything. They want wizards on the street to think you're just some stupid boy who's a bit of a joke, who tells ridiculous tall stories because he loves being famous and wants to keep it going.’

‘I didn't ask— I didn't want— Voldemort killed my parents!’ Harry spluttered. ‘I got famous because he murdered my family but couldn't kill me! Who wants to be famous for that? Don't they think I'd rather it'd never—’

‘We know, Harry,’ said Ginny earnestly.

‘And of course, they didn't report a word about the dementors attacking you,’ said Hermione. ‘Someone's told them to keep that quiet. That should've been a really big story, out-of-control dementors. They haven't even reported that you broke the International Statute of Secrecy. We thought they would, it would be in so well with this image of you as some stupid show-off. We think they're biding their time until you're expelled, then they're really going to go to town— I mean, if you're expelled, obviously,’ she went on hastily. ‘You really shouldn't be, not if they abide by their own laws, there's no case against you.’

They were back on the hearing and Harry did not want to think about that. He cast around for another change of subject, but was saved the necessity of finding one by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

‘Uh oh.’

Fred gave the Extendable Ear a hearty tug; there was another loud crack and he and George vanished. Seconds later, Mrs. Weasley appeared in the bedroom doorway.

‘The meeting's over, you can come down and have dinner now. Everyone's dying to see you, Harry. And who's left all those Dungbombs outside the kitchen door?’

‘Crookshanks,’ said Ginny unblushingly. ‘He loves playing with them.’

‘Oh,’ said Mrs Weasley, ‘I thought it might have been Kreacher, he keeps doing odd things like that. Now don't forget to keep your voices down in the hall. Ginny, your hands are filthy, what have you been doing? Go and wash them before dinner, please....’

Ginny grimaced at the others and followed her mother out of the room, leaving Harry alone with Ron and Hermione. Both of them were watching him apprehensively, as though they feared he would start shouting again now that everyone else had gone. The sight of them looking so nervous made him feel slightly ashamed.

‘Look...’ he muttered, but Ron shook his head, and Hermione said quietly, ‘We knew you'd be angry, Harry, we really don't blame you, but you've got to understand, we did try to persuade Dumbledore—’

‘Yeah, I know,’ said Harry grudgingly.

He cast around for a topic that didn't involve his headmaster, because the very thought of Dumbledore made Harry's insides burn with anger again.

‘Who's Kreacher?’ he asked.

‘The house-elf who lives here,’ said Ron. ‘Nutter. Never met one like him.’

Hermione frowned at Ron.

‘He's not a nutter, Ron—’

‘His life's ambition is to have his head cut off and stuck up on plaque just like his mother,’ said Ron irritably. ‘Is that normal, Hermione?’

‘Well—well, if he is a bit strange, it's not his fault—’

Ron rolled his eyes at Harry.

‘Hermione still hasn't given up on spew.’

‘It's not “spew"!’ said Hermione heatedly. ‘It's the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. And it's not just me, Dumbledore says we should be kind to Kreacher too—’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Ron. ‘C'mon, I'm starving.’

He led the way out of the door and on to the landing, but before they could descend the stairs— ‘Hold it!’ Ron breathed, flinging out an arm to stop Harry and Hermione walking any further. ‘They're still in the hall, we might be able to hear something—’

The three of them looked cautiously over the banisters. The gloomy hallway below was packed with witches and wizards, including all of Harry's guard. They were whispering excitedly together. In the very centre of the group Harry saw the dark, greasy-haired head and prominent nose of his least favourite teacher at Hogwarts, Professor Snape. Harry leant further over the banisters. He was very interested in what Snape was doing for the Order of the Phoenix....

A thin piece of flesh-coloured string descended in front of Harry's eyes. Looking up, he saw Fred and George on the landing above, cautiously lowering the Extendable Ear towards the dark knot of people below. A moment later, however, they all began to move towards the front door and out of sight.

‘Dammit,’ Harry heard Fred whisper, as he hoisted the Extendable Ear back up again.

They heard the front door open, then close.

‘Snape never eats here,’ Ron told Harry quietly. ‘Thank God. C'mon.’

‘And don't forget to keep your voice down in the hall, Harry,’ Hermione whispered.

As they passed the row of house-elf heads on the wall, they saw Lupin, Mrs. Weasley, and Tonks at the front door, magically sealing its many locks and bolts behind those who had just left.

‘We're eating down in the kitchen,’ Mrs. Weasley whispered, meeting them at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Harry, dear, if you'll just tiptoe across the hall it's through this door here—’

CRASH.

‘Tonks!’ cried Mrs. Weasley in exasperation, turning to look behind her.

‘I'm sorry!’ wailed Tonks, who was lying flat on the floor. ‘It's that stupid umbrella stand, that's the second time I've tripped over—’

But the rest of her words were drowned by a horrible, ear-splitting, blood-curdling screech.

The moth-eaten velvet curtains Harry had passed earlier had flown apart, but there was no door behind them. For a split second, Harry thought he was looking through a window, a window behind which an old woman in a black cap was screaming and screaming as though she were being tortured—then he realised it was simply a life-size portrait, but the most realistic, and the most unpleasant, he had ever seen in his life.

The old woman was drooling, her eyes were rolling, the yellowing skin of her face stretched taut as she screamed, and all along the hall behind them, the other portraits awoke and began to yell, too, so that Harry actually screwed up his eyes at the noise and clapped his hands over his ears.

Lupin and Mrs Weasley darted forward and tried to tug the curtains shut over the old woman, but they would not close and she screeched louder than ever, brandishing clawed hands as though trying to tear at their faces.

‘Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers—’

Tonks apologised over and over again, dragging the huge, heavy troll's leg back off the floor; Mrs. Weasley abandoned the attempt to close the curtains and hurried up and down the hall, Stunning all the other portraits with her wand; and a man with long black hair came charging out of a door facing Harry.

‘Shut up, you horrible old hag, shut UP!’ he roared, seizing the curtain Mrs. Weasley had abandoned.

The old woman's face blanched.

‘Yoooou!’ she howled, her eyes popping at the sight of the man. ‘Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!’

‘I said—shut—UP!’ roared the man, and with a stupendous effort he and Lupin managed to force the curtains closed again.

The old woman's screeches died and an echoing silence tell. Panting slightly and sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes, Harry's godfather Sirius turned to face him.

‘Hello, Harry,’ he said grimly, ‘I see you've met my mother.’

格里莫广场12号

    “什么是凤——　？”哈利刚要发问。

    “别在这儿说，孩子！”穆迪厉声吼道，“等我们进去再说！”

    他抽走了哈利手里的那张羊皮纸，用魔杖头把它点燃了。纸片卷曲着燃烧起来，飘落到地上。哈利抬头打量着周围的房屋，他们此时站在11号外面。他望望左边，看见的是10号，望望右边，却是13号。

    “可是怎么不见——　？”

    “想想你刚才记住的话。”卢平轻声说。

    哈利专心地想着，刚想到格里莫广场12号，就有一扇破破烂烂的门在11号和13号之问凭空冒了出来，接着肮脏的墙壁和阴森森的窗户也出现了，看上去就好像一座额外的房子突然膨胀起来，把两边的东西都挤开了。哈利看得目瞪口呆。11号的立体声音响还在沉闷地响着，显然住在里面的麻瓜们什么也没有感觉到。

    “走吧，快点儿。”穆迪粗声吼道，捅了一下哈利的后背。

    哈利一边走上破烂的石头台阶，一边睁大眼睛望着刚变出来的房门。门上的黑漆都剥落了，布满左一道右一道的划痕。银制的门环是一条盘曲的大蛇形状。门上没有钥匙孔，也没有信箱。

    卢平抽出魔杖，在门上敲了一下。哈利听见许多金属撞击的响亮声音，以及像链条发出的哗啦哗啦声。门吱吱呀呀地打开了。

    “快点进去，哈利，”卢平小声说，“但是别往里走得太远，别碰任何东西。”

    哈利跨过门槛，走进几乎一片漆黑的门厅。他闻到了湿乎乎、灰扑扑的气味，还有一股甜滋滋的腐烂昧儿。这地方给人的感觉像是一座废弃的空房子。他扭头望望后面，看见其他人正跟着鱼贯而入。卢平和唐克斯抬着他的箱子，拎着海德薇的笼子。穆迪站在外面最上面一级台阶上，把刚才熄灯器从路灯上偷来的一个个光球释放出来。光球一个接一个地跳进了各自的灯泡，转眼间广场又被橙黄色灯光照得通亮了。穆迪一瘸一拐地走了进来，关上前门，这下子门厅更是黑得伸手不见五指了。

    “这儿——　”　他用魔杖重重地敲了一下哈利的脑袋。这次哈利觉得仿佛有一股热乎乎的东西顺着后背流淌下去，他知道幻身咒被解除了。“好了，大家都待着别动，我给这里弄出点儿亮光。”穆迪轻声说。

    听到别人这样压低声音说话，哈利产生了一种奇怪的不祥之感，就好像他们走进了一座快要死人的房子。他听见了一阵窸窸的声音，然后墙上一排老式气灯都亮了起来，投下一片晃晃悠悠的不真实的亮光，照着长长的阴森森的门厅里剥落的墙纸和磨光绽线的地毯。头顶上一盏蛛网状的枝形吊灯闪烁着微光，墙上歪歪斜斜地挂着一些因年深日久而发黑的肖像。哈利听见壁脚板后面有什么东西急匆匆跑过。枝形吊灯和旁边一张摇摇晃晃的桌子上的枝形烛台都做成了大蛇的形状。

    随着一阵匆匆的脚步声，罗恩的母亲韦斯莱夫人从门厅另一端的一扇门里走了出来。她三步并作两步地朝他们走来，脸上洋溢着热情的笑容，不过哈利注意到，她比他上回见到她时消瘦和苍白了许多。

    “哦，哈利，见到你真是太高兴了！”她低声说，一把将他搂到怀里，差点儿把他的肋骨都挤断了，然后又把他推开一点，仔仔细细地端详着他。“你看上去瘦了；你需要多吃点东西，不过恐怕你得等一会儿才能吃晚饭。”

    她转向哈利身后的那伙巫师，口气急促地小声说：“他刚来，会议已经开始了。”

    哈利身后的巫师们都发出了关注和兴奋的声音，开始从他身边朝韦斯莱夫人刚才出来的那扇门走去。哈利正要跟着卢平过去，韦斯莱夫人把他拉住了。

    “不行，哈利，只有凤凰社的成员才能参加会议。罗恩和赫敏都在楼上呢，你可以跟他们一起等到会议结束，然后我们就吃晚饭。在门厅里说话要压低声音。”她又用急迫的语气小声说。

    “为什么？”

    “我不想吵醒任何东西。”

    “你说什——　？”

    “我待会儿再给你解释，现在我得赶紧过去了，我应该在会上的——　我来告诉你睡在什么地方。”

    她用一根手指压在嘴唇上，领着哈利蹑手蹑脚地走过两道长长的、布满虫眼的窗帘——　哈利猜想那后面一定是另外一扇门，接着他们绕过一个看上去是用巨怪的一条断腿做成的大伞架，然后顺着黑暗的楼梯往上走，旁边墙上的饰板上聚着一排皱巴巴的脑袋。哈利仔细一看，发现那都是些家养小精灵的脑袋。他们都长着同样难看的大鼻子。

    哈利每走一步，内心的困惑就更多一层。他们在这座看上去属于最邪恶的黑巫师的房子里做什么呢？“韦斯莱夫人，为什么——　？”

    “罗恩和赫敏会把一切都给你解释清楚的，亲爱的，我真的得赶紧过去了，”韦斯莱夫人心烦意乱地小声说，“到了——　”他们来到了楼梯第二层平台，“——　你在右边的第二个门。会开完了我来叫你们。”

    说完，她就急匆匆地又下楼去了。

    哈利走过昏暗的楼梯平台，转动了一下蛇头形状的卧室门把手，把门打开了。

    他只匆匆扫了一眼这个光线昏暗的房间，高高的天花板，并排放着的两张单人床，就听见一阵刺耳的吱吱叫声，既而是一声更尖厉的惊叫，接着他的视线就被一大堆毛茸茸、乱糟糟的头发完全挡住了。赫敏猛地扑到他身上，差点儿把他撞得仰面摔倒，罗恩的那只小猫头鹰小猪，兴奋地在他们头顶上一圈一圈飞个不停。

    “哈利！罗恩，他来了，哈利来了！我们没有听见你进来！哦，你怎么样？你一切都好吧？你是不是生我们的气了？肯定生气了。我知道我们的信都是没用的废话——　但是我们什么也不能告诉你，邓布利多要我们发誓什么都不说的，哦，我们有太多事情要告诉你啊，你也有好多事情要告诉我们——　摄魂怪！当我们听说——　还有那个到魔法部受审的事儿——　真是太不像话了。我仔细查过了，他们不能开除你，绝对不能，《对未成年巫师加以合理约束法》里规定在生命受到威胁的情况下可以使用魔法——　”

    “让他喘口气吧，赫敏。”罗恩一边说一边微笑着在哈利身后把门关上。在他-43　？们分开的这个月里，他似乎又长高了几英寸，这使他比以前显得更瘦长、更笨拙了，不过那个长鼻子、那头火红色的头发，还有那一脸的雀斑仍然和以前一模一样。

    赫敏放开了哈利，仍然满脸喜色，但没等她再说什么，就听见传来一阵轻微的呼呼声，一个白色的东西从黑黑的衣柜顶上飞过来，轻捷地落在哈利肩头。“海德薇！”哈利抚摸着这只雪白的猫头鹰的羽毛，它的嘴巴发出咔哒咔哒的声音，爱怜地轻轻啄着哈利的耳朵。“它一直烦躁不安，”罗恩说，“它捎来你最后那两封信时，差点把我们啄个半死，你看看这个——　”　他举起右手的食指给哈利看，上面有一个已经快要愈合、但显然很深的伤口。“哎呀，”哈利说，“真是对不起，但我想得到答复，你知道——　”

    “我们也想给你答复啊，哥们儿，”罗恩说，“赫敏担忧得要命，她不停地说，如果你一直困在那里，得不到一点儿消息，你肯定会做出什么傻事来的。但邓布利多逼着我们——　”

    “　——　发誓不告诉我，”哈利说，“是啊，赫敏已经说过了。”

    见到两个最要好朋友时的那种热乎乎的喜悦现在慢慢熄灭了，一股冷冰冰的东西涌进了他的内心深处。突然之间——　虽然整整一个月眼巴巴地渴望见到他们——　他却觉得情愿罗恩和赫敏走开，让他独自待着。

    一阵令人紧张的沉默，哈利机械地抚摸着海德薇，眼睛连看都不看他们俩。“他似乎觉得这样做最合适，”赫敏呼吸有点急促地说，“我指的是邓布利多。”“是啊。”哈利说。他注意到赫敏的手上也留着被海德薇啄伤的疤痕，而他却没有丝毫歉意。“我想，他大概认为你跟麻瓜待在一起是最安全的——　”罗恩说道。

    “是吗？”哈利扬起眉毛反问道，“你们这个暑假里谁遭到摄魂怪的袭击啦？”

    “噢，没有——　正因为那样，他才派了凤凰社的人随时跟踪你呀——　”

    哈利感到心里猛地忽悠一下，好像下楼梯时一脚踏空了一样。这么说大家都知道他被人跟踪，只有他一个人蒙在鼓里。

    “看来并不怎么管用，是不是？”哈利说，拼命使声音保持平稳，“我还是得自己保护自己，是不是？”

    “他气极了，”赫敏用一种几乎战战兢兢的口吻说，“邓布利多。我们看见他了。当他弄清蒙顿格斯不到换岗时间就擅自离开时，他那副样子简直吓人。”

    “噢，我倒巴不得他离开呢。”哈利冷冰冰地说，“如果他不离开，我就不会使用魔法，邓布利多大概会让我整个暑假都待在女贞路吧。”

    “你对于？？对于到魔法部受审不感到担心吗？”赫敏轻声问。

    “不。”哈利倔强地没说实话。他从他们身边走开了，四下打量着，海德薇心满意足地歇在他的肩头，但这个房间似乎并不能使他的情绪有所好转。这里阴暗、潮湿。墙皮剥落的墙面上空荡荡的，只有一张空白的油画布镶在一个华丽的镜框里。哈利从它旁边经过时，仿佛听见有谁躲在暗处轻声发笑。

    “那么，邓布利多为什么这样热心地把我蒙在鼓里呢？”哈利问，仍然竭力保持着淡漠的声音，“你们——　嗯——　有没有费心问问他呢？”

    他一抬头，正好瞥见他们俩交换了一个眼神，似乎在说他的表现正像他们所担心的一样。这并没有使他的情绪好转一点。

    “我们对邓布利多说，我们很想告诉你到底发生了什么事情，”罗恩说，“我们真的这么做了，哥们儿。但他现在忙得要命，我们到这里之后只见过他两次。他没有多少时间，他只是叫我们保证写信时不把重要的事情告诉你，他说猫头鹰可能会被人半路截走。”

    “如果他真的愿意，还是可以把消息告诉我的。”哈利粗暴地说，“难道除了猫头鹰，他就不知道还有其他送信的办法吗？”

    赫敏扫了一眼罗恩，然后说道：“这点我也想过。但他就是不想让你知道任何事情。”

    “也许他认为我不可信任。”哈利一边说一边观察着他们的表情。

    “别说傻话啦。”罗恩说，显得有点儿惊慌失措。

    “或者认为我不能照顾好自己。”

    “他当然不是这么想的！”赫敏焦急地说。

    “那么我为什么不得不留在德思礼家，而你们俩却参与了这里发生的每件事情？”他的话一句接一句地喷了出来，声音越来越高，“为什么你们俩就允许知道所有发生的事情？”

    “不是这样！”罗恩打断了他，“妈妈不让我们走进他们开会的地方，她说我们年纪太小——　”

    哈利不知不觉地喊了起来。

    “这么说你们没能参加会议，真是太遗憾了！但你们一直待在这里，是不是？你们一直待在一起！而我呢，我被因在德思礼家整整一个月！可我经历过的事情比你们俩都多，邓布利多明明知道这一点——　是谁保住了魔法石？是谁除掉了里德尔？是谁从摄魂怪手里救了你们两个人的命？”

    过去一个月里哈利有过的每一个痛苦、怨恨的想法现在都一股脑儿地涌了出来：得不到消息时的焦虑不安，得知他们一直待在一起、惟独把他撇在一边时的委屈，被人跟踪、自己却蒙在鼓里的愤怒——　所有这些令他感到屈辱的感觉，终于像决堤的洪水一样冲了出来。海德薇被他的声音吓坏了，抖抖翅膀飞回到衣柜顶上去了。小猪惊慌地吱吱叫着，在他们头顶上嗖嗖地越飞越快。

    “是谁去年不得不穿越火龙和斯芬克司以及其他每一种令人恶心的东西？是谁亲眼看见那家伙复活？是谁不得不逃脱他的魔爪？是我！”　罗恩站在那里，半张着嘴巴，目瞪口呆，完全不知道该说什么，赫敏看上去快要哭了。“可是，我凭什么知道现在的情况呢？别人凭什么要费心告诉我正在发生什么事情呢？”“哈利，我们是想告诉你来着，我们真的——　”赫敏急切地说。“大概也不是特别想吧，不然你们就会派一只猫头鹰给我送信了，可是邓布利多叫你们发誓——　”　“是啊，他确实——　”　“我被困在女贞路整整四个星期，从垃圾箱里捡报纸看，就为了弄清情况到底怎么——　”　“我们想——　”

    “我想你们一定开心得要命，是不是，舒舒服服地一块儿藏在这里——　”　“不，说老实话——　”　“哈利，我们真的很抱歉！”赫敏不顾一切地说，眼睛里已经闪着泪花，“你说得非常对，哈利——　换了我也会生气的！”

    哈利气冲冲地瞪着她，仍然急促地喘着粗气，然后一转身离开了他们俩，在房间里踱来踱去。海德薇在衣柜顶上闷闷不乐地尖叫着。一阵长长的沉默，只有哈利脚下的地板发出哀怨的嘎吱声。

    “这里到底是什么地方？”他向罗恩和赫敏抛出这个问题。“凤凰社。”罗恩毫不迟疑地回答。“有没有谁能行行好，告诉我什么是凤凰社——　”　“这是一个秘密社团，”赫敏赶紧说道，“由邓布利多负责，是他创建的。都是上次同神秘人作斗争的一些人。”“里面都有谁？”哈利停住脚步，双手插在口袋里。“有好些人呢——　”

    “我们见过其中二十来个，”罗恩说，“但肯定不止这些。”　哈利向他投去愤怒的目光。“然后呢？”他问道，目光从一个转向另一个。“嗯，”罗恩说，“然后什么？”“伏地魔！”哈利气愤地喊道，罗恩和赫敏都吓得缩起了脖子，“发生了什么事？他想干什么？他在哪儿？我们采取什么办法阻止他？”

    “我们已经对你说过了，凤凰社不让我们参加他们的会议，”赫敏不安地说，“所以一些具体细节我们也不清楚——　不过我们好歹知道一点儿大概。”看到哈利脸上的表情，她赶紧补充道。

    “弗雷德和乔治发明了伸缩耳，明白吗，”罗恩说，“真的很管用。”

    “伸缩——　？”

    “伸缩耳，对呀。可是我们最近只好不用它们了，因为妈妈发现了，气得要命。弗雷德和乔治只好把它们藏了起来，免得妈妈把它们扔到垃圾箱里去。不过在妈妈发现是怎么回事之前，我们可用它们派了大用场呢。我们知道凤凰社的一些成员正在跟踪那些已暴露身份的食死徒，密切注意他们的行踪，你知道——　”

    “他们当中有些人正在吸收更多的人加入凤凰社——　”赫敏说。

    “还有些人正在为什么事情站岗放哨，”罗恩说，“他们一直在谈论什么警卫任务。”

    “不会是保护我吧，啊？”哈利讥讽地说。

    “哦，没错。”罗恩说，脸上露出了恍然大悟的神情。

    哈利轻蔑地哼了一声。他又在房间里一圈圈地踱起步来，看看这里看看那里，就是不看罗恩和赫敏。“那么你们俩最近在做什么呢，既然不让你们参加会议？”他问道。“你们说你们一直很忙。”

    “是很忙啊，”赫敏急忙说，“我们给这座房子来了个彻底大扫除，这房子已经空了许多年头，里面滋生繁殖了许多东西。我们总算把厨房和大部分卧室打扫干净了，我想明天该去对付客厅——　哎呀！”

    啪、啪，随着两声刺耳的爆响，罗恩的两个双胞胎哥哥——　弗雷德和乔治突然出现在房间中央。小猪吱吱地叫得更慌乱了，嗖地飞过去和海德薇一起歇在衣柜顶上。

    “不许这么做！”赫敏惊魂未定地对双胞胎说。他们和罗恩一样长着一头红得耀眼的头发，不过身材比罗恩壮实，个头比罗恩略矮一些。

    “你好，哈利，”乔治一边说一边朝哈利开心地笑着，“我们刚才好像听见你悦耳动听的演说了。”

    “你用不着那样压抑自己的怒火，哈利，把它都发泄出来吧，”弗雷德也是满脸带笑，“五十英里之外大概还有两个人听不见你的声音呢。”

    “这么说，你们俩通过幻影显形的考试啦？”哈利没好气地问。

    “成绩优异。”弗雷德说，他手里拿着一个东西，像是一根长长的肉色细绳。

    “从楼梯上下来也不过就多花三十秒钟。”罗恩说。

    “时间就是金加隆。”弗雷德说，“不管怎么说，哈利，你干扰接收了。伸缩耳，”他看到哈利扬起眉毛，又接着解释道，并举起了那根细绳，哈利这才看到它一直通到外面的楼梯平台上，“我们想听听楼下的动静。”

    “你们可得小心点儿，”罗恩盯着伸缩耳说，“如果又给妈妈看见了？？”

    “值得冒险，他们在开一个重要会议。”弗雷德说。

    门开了，露出一头火红的长发。

    “噢，你好，哈利！”罗恩的妹妹金妮高兴地说，“我好像听见你的声音了。”

    她又转向弗雷德和乔治，对他们说：“伸缩耳不管用了，妈妈竟然给厨房门念了个抗扰咒。”

    “你怎么知道的？”乔治问，一副垂头丧气的样子。

    “是唐克斯告诉我怎么验证的，”金妮说，“你只要往门上扔东西，如果东西碰不到门，就说明念了抗扰咒。我一直在楼梯顶上往门上扔大粪蛋，可它们全都避开门飞到了别处，所以伸缩耳根本不可能从门缝底下钻进去。”

    弗雷德长长地叹了口气。

    “可惜。我真想知道斯内普那老家伙想于什么。”

    “斯内普！”哈利立刻问道，“他也在这儿？”

    “是啊，”乔治说着小心地关上房门，坐在一张床上。弗雷德和乔治也跟了过来。“念一份报告。绝密的。”

    “蠢蛋。”弗雷德懒洋洋地说。

    “他现在是我们这边的人了。”赫敏责备地说。

    罗恩哼了一声。“那也不能说他就不是蠢蛋了。瞧他看着我们时的那副眼光。”

    “比尔也不喜欢他。”金妮说，似乎这就一锤定音了。

    哈利不知道自己的火气是不是熄灭了，但此刻他迫不及待地想知道更多的情况，这份渴望压过了他大叫大嚷的冲动。他一屁股坐在其他人对面的那张床上。

    “比尔也在这儿？”他问，“他不是在埃及工作吗？”

    “他申请了一个坐办公室的工作，这样就能回家，为凤凰社做事了。”弗雷德说。“他说他很想念那些古墓。不过，”他调皮地笑了，“也有所补偿啊。”

    “什么意思？”

    “还记得那个芙蓉德拉库尔吗？”乔治说，“她在古灵阁找了一份工作，为了提高英语——　”

    “比尔一直在给她许多个别辅导。”弗雷德咯咯笑着说。“查理也加入了凤凰社，”乔治说，“但他人还在罗马尼亚。邓布利多希望尽量多地吸收国外的巫师，所以查理在不上班的时候就与人广泛接触。”　“珀西不能那么做吗？”哈利问。据他上次所知道的情况，韦斯莱家的第三个儿子在魔法部的国际魔法合作司工作。

    听了哈利的话，韦斯莱家的几个兄妹和赫敏交换了一个忧郁的意味深长的眼神。

    “你可千万别在妈妈和爸爸面前提到珀西。”罗恩用紧张的口气对哈利说。

    “为什么呢？”

    “因为每次提到珀西的名字，爸爸就把手里拿的东西砸得粉碎，妈妈就放声大哭。”弗雷德说。

    “真是太可怕了。”金妮悲哀地说。

    “我想我们总算摆脱他了。”乔治说，脸上露出一副很难看到的怪相。

    “出什么事了？”哈利问。

    “珀西和爸爸大吵了一架。”弗雷德说，“我从没见过爸爸跟谁吵成那样。平常总是妈妈大吵大嚷。”

    “那是学期结束后的第一个星期，”罗恩说，“我们正准备来加入凤凰社。珀西回家了，告诉我们他被提升了。”

    “你开玩笑吧？”哈利说。

    哈利虽然很清楚珀西一直野心勃勃，但他有个印象，似乎珀西在魔法部的第一份工作干得不是很成功。珀西犯了比较严重的失察罪，他没有发现他的上司是受伏地魔控制的（就连魔法部也不相信——　他们都以为克劳奇先生疯了）。

    “是啊，我们也都感到很意外，”乔治说，“因为珀西在克劳奇的事情上惹了一大堆麻烦，后来又是调查又是什么的。他们说珀西应该意识到克劳奇精神失常，并及时向上级报告。但你是了解珀西的，克劳奇让他独当一面，他正巴不得呢。”

    “那他们怎么还会提拔他呢？”

    “我们也为这个感到纳闷呢。”罗恩说，看到哈利不再大叫大嚷，他似乎特别愿意让谈话正常地进行下去，“他回家时一副得意洋洋的样子——　比平常还要得意，你就想象一下吧——　他告诉爸爸，他们给了他一个福吉部长办公室里的职位。对于一个从霍格沃茨刚毕业一年的人来说，这真是一份求之不得的好差使：部长助理啊。我想，他大概指望爸爸会很高兴呢。”

    “可是爸爸没有。”弗雷德忧郁地说。“为什么呢？”哈利问。“嗯，似乎是因为福吉在部里大发雷霆，禁止任何人跟邓布利多有任何接触。”乔治说。“这些日子邓布利多在部里名声扫地，知道吗？”弗雷德说，“他们都认为他散布神秘人回来了的消息是故意制造事端。”“爸爸说福吉明确指出，凡是与邓布利多有任何瓜葛的人都不能再待在部里。”乔治说。“问题是，福吉怀疑到爸爸头上了。他知道爸爸跟邓布利多关系不错，而且福吉一直觉得爸爸有点儿古怪，居然对麻瓜那么着迷。”“可那跟珀西有什么关系呢？”哈利迷惑不解地问。“我正要说到这一点上呢。爸爸琢磨，福吉把珀西安排在自己的办公室，是想利用他监视我们家——　监视邓布利多。”哈利轻轻吹出一声口哨。“我猜珀西肯定很爱听这话。”罗恩发出空洞的笑声。“他简直气疯了。他说——　唉，他说了一大堆可怕的话。他说自从他进了部里，就一直不得不拼命挣扎，摆脱爸爸的坏名声；他还说爸爸没有一点抱负，害得我们一直过得——　你知道的——　我指的是一直没有多少钱——　”　“什么？”哈利不敢相信地说，金妮发出一种怒猫般的叫声。

    “我知道，”罗恩放低声音说，“后来更糟糕了。他说爸爸与邓布利多为伍真是蠢到了家，还说邓布利多眼看着就要有大麻烦了，爸爸会跟着他一块儿倒霉的，还说他——　珀西——　知道自己应该为谁效忠，他要忠于魔法部。他还说，如果妈妈和爸爸硬要背叛魔法部，他就要让每一个人知道他已经不再属于我们这个家了。当天晚上他就收拾行李走了。他眼下就住在伦敦这儿呢。”　哈利不出声地骂了几句。在罗恩几个哥哥中问，他一直最不喜欢珀西，但他压根儿也想不到珀西居然对韦斯莱先生说出那样的话。

    “妈妈一直烦躁不安，”罗恩说，“你知道，哭哭啼啼的。她赶到伦敦，想和珀西谈谈，但珀西当着她的面把门重重地关上了。我不知道他上班时碰见爸爸是怎么做的——　大概假装没看见吧。”

    “但是珀西肯定知道伏地魔回来了，”哈利慢慢地说，“他不是傻瓜，他肯定知道如果没有证据，你们的爸爸妈妈是不会轻易冒险的。"”是啊，后来，你的名字就被扯到争吵里来了，“罗恩说着偷偷瞥了哈利一眼。”珀西说，惟一的证据就是你说的话，而？？我也说不好？？他认为光凭这个是不够的。“

    “珀西把《预言家日报》当真了。”赫敏尖刻地说，其他人都点了点头。“你们在说什么呀？”哈利问，挨个儿看看他们每个人。他们都小心翼翼地注视着他。“你不是——　你不是一直收到《预言家日报》吗？”赫敏不安地问。“是啊，一直收到！”哈利说。“你有没有——　嗯——　没有仔细看它吗？”赫敏问，口气更加不安了。“没有从头到尾地看。”哈利敏感地说，“如果他们要报道伏地魔的事情，肯定是头版头条的新闻，是不是？”听到那个名字，其他人都吓得一缩脖子。赫敏急匆匆地说了下去。“噢，你需要从头到尾看一遍才会发现，他们——　嗯——　他们每星期都要提到你一两次呢。”

    “但我没有看见——　”

    “你如果光看第一版，是不会看到的。”赫敏说着摇了摇脑袋，“我说的不是大块文章。他们只是顺带着提你一笔，把你当成一个笑料。”

    “你说什——　？”

    “确实，这非常可恶，”赫敏强迫自己的声音保持平静，“他们的根据就是丽塔的那些胡言乱语。”

    “但她不是不再给他们写稿了吗，是不是？”

    “噢，不写了，她遵守了自己的诺言——　她也没有别的选择呀，”赫敏得意地解释道，“但是她为他们现在要做的事情打下了基础。”

    “他们要做什么？”哈利不耐烦地问。

    “是这样，你知道她在文章里说你到处惹是生非，嚷嚷你的伤疤疼什么的吗？”

    “是啊。”哈利说，他不太可能一下子就忘记丽塔斯基特编派他的那些鬼话。

    “现在他们在文章里提到你的时候，似乎你就是这样一个受愚弄的、千方百计引起别人注意的人，以为自己是个悲壮的大英雄什么的。”赫敏说，语速很快，似乎让哈利很快听到这些事实就会减少一些不快似的。“他们不断假装不经意地说几句关于你的刻毒评论。碰到一篇毫无根据的报道，他们就会说‘这只有哈利’波特才编得出来‘之类的话；如果有人出了点可笑的事故什么的，他们就会说’但愿他的额头上别弄出一道伤疤，不然接下来他就会要求我们崇拜他了‘——　”

    “我并不想得到任何人的崇拜——　”哈利气愤地说。

    “我知道你不想，”赫敏似乎吓坏了，赶紧说道，“我知道，哈利。但你明白他们在做什么吗？他们是想把你变成一个谁都不会相信的人。福吉是幕后操纵者，我敢打赌。他们想使外面的巫师都认为你只是一个蠢笨的男孩，是个笑料，尽说一些荒唐的无稽之谈，就为了使自己出人头地，使这种状况保持下去。”

    “我没有要求——　我不想——　伏地魔杀死了我的父母！”哈利气急败坏地说，“我出名是因为他杀死了我的亲人却没能杀死我！谁想为了这个出名？他们难道不知道，我宁愿从来没有——　”

    “我们知道的，哈利。”金妮情真意切地说。

    “当然啦，他们一个字也没有提到摄魂怪攻击你的事。”赫敏说，“准是有人叫他们对这件事隐瞒不报。不然那应该是一个轰动性的好题材啊。失控的摄魂怪！他们甚至没有报道你违反《国际保密法》的事。我们猜想他们肯定是愿意报道的，那太符合你作为一个爱出风头的傻瓜的形象了。我们认为他们是在等到你被开除的那一天，然后他们就真的可以肆无忌惮了——　我的意思是，万一你被开除，显然，”她急急忙忙地往下说，“实际上你不会，只要他们遵守他们自己的法律，情况就不会对你不利。”　他们又回到受审的话题上来了，而哈利不愿意去想这件事。他想重新换个话题，就在这时楼梯上传来了脚步声，他也就没必要费心去找话题了。“哎哟。”　弗雷德使劲扯了一下伸缩耳。随着又一声爆响，他和乔治都不见了。几秒钟后，韦斯莱夫人出现在卧室门口。“会开完了，现在你们可以下楼来吃晚饭了。哈利，大伙儿都渴望见到你呢。对了，谁在厨房门外丢了那么多大粪蛋？”　“克鲁克山。”金妮毫不脸红地说，“它最喜欢玩大粪蛋了。”

    “噢，”韦斯莱夫人说，“我还以为是克利切呢，他总是做出这种古怪的事情。好了，在门厅里别忘了压低声音说话。金妮，你怎么两只手这么脏，做什么去了？快去洗洗干净再吃晚饭。”

    金妮朝其他人做了个鬼脸，跟着妈妈走了出去，房间里只留下哈利和罗恩、赫敏。那两人都忧心仲忡地望着哈利，似乎担心其他人一走，他又会大吵大嚷起来。看到他们俩神情这么紧张，哈利觉得有点儿不好意思。

    “这个？？”他吞吞吐吐地说，但罗恩摇了摇头，赫敏轻声说道，“我们知道你会生气的，哈利，我们真的不怪你，但你一定要理解，我们确实试着说服邓布利多——　”

    “好啦，我知道了。”哈利烦躁地说。他想赶紧换一个与校长无关的话题，每次一想到邓布利多，哈利的内心就又呼呼地冒怒火。“克利切是谁？”他问。“一个住在这里的家养小精灵，”罗恩说，“一个疯子。从没见过像他这样的。”

    赫敏冲罗恩皱起眉头。

    “他不是疯子，罗恩。”

    “他人生的最大理想就是像他妈妈那样把脑袋割下来，粘在一块饰板上。”罗恩不耐烦地说，“那正常吗，赫敏？”

    “这个——　可是，就算他有点儿古怪，那也不是他的过错。”

    罗恩朝哈利翻翻眼睛。

    “赫敏仍然没有放弃她的‘呕吐’①呢。”

    “不是‘呕吐’！”赫敏恼火地说，“是家养小精灵权益促进会。而且不光是我，①家养小精灵权益促进会的英文字母缩写是”s.P.E.w.“　，与”呕吐“（spew）同音。

    开除，显然，“她急急忙忙地往下说，”实际上你不会，只要他们遵守他们自己的法律，情况就不会对你不利。“他们又回到受审的话题上来了，而哈利不愿意去想这件事。他想重新换个话题，就在这时楼梯上传来了脚步声，他也就没必要费心去找话题了。”哎哟。“弗雷德使劲扯了一下伸缩耳。随着又一声爆响，他和乔治都不见了。几秒钟后，韦斯莱夫人出现在卧室门口。”会开完了，现在你们可以下楼来吃晚饭了。哈利，大伙儿都渴望见到你呢。对了，谁在厨房门外丢了那么多大粪蛋？“”克鲁克山。“金妮毫不脸红地说，”它最喜欢玩大粪蛋了。“

    “噢，”韦斯莱夫人说，“我还以为是克利切呢，他总是做出这种古怪的事情。好了，在门厅里别忘了压低声音说话。金妮，你怎么两只手这么脏，做什么去了？快去洗洗干净再吃晚饭。”

    金妮朝其他人做了个鬼脸，跟着妈妈走了出去，房间里只留下哈利和罗恩、赫敏。那两人都忧心仲忡地望着哈利，似乎担心其他人一走，他又会大吵大嚷起来。看到他们俩神情这么紧张，哈利觉得有点儿不好意思。

    “这个？？”他吞吞吐吐地说，但罗恩摇了摇头，赫敏轻声说道，“我们知道你会生气的，哈利，我们真的不怪你，但你一定要理解，我们确实试着说服邓布利多——　”

    “好啦，我知道了。”哈利烦躁地说。他想赶紧换一个与校长无关的话题，每次一想到邓布利多，哈利的内心就又呼呼地冒怒火。“克利切是谁？”他问。“一个住在这里的家养小精灵，”罗恩说，“一个疯子。从没见过像他这样的。”

    赫敏冲罗恩皱起眉头。

    “他不是疯子，罗恩。”

    “他人生的最大理想就是像他妈妈那样把脑袋割下来，粘在一块饰板上。”罗恩不耐烦地说，“那正常吗，赫敏？”

    “这个——　可是，就算他有点儿古怪，那也不是他的过错。”

    罗恩朝哈利翻翻眼睛。

    “赫敏仍然没有放弃她的‘呕吐’呢。”

    “不是‘呕吐’！”赫敏恼火地说，“是家养小精灵权益促进会。而且不光是我，卢平和韦斯莱夫人三步并作两步冲了过去，想拉上帷幔，把老太太遮在里面，但怎么也拉不上。老太太的叫声越发刺耳了，她还挥动着利爪般的双手，好像要来抓他们的脸。

    “畜生！贱货！肮脏和罪恶的孽子！杂种，怪胎，丑八怪，快从这里滚出去！你们怎么敢玷污我祖上的家宅——　”

    唐克斯一个劲儿地道歉，一边把那条庞大而笨重的巨怪腿重新拖到原来的位置。韦斯莱夫人不再试着拉上帷幔了，而是转身匆匆朝门厅那头走去，一边用魔杖给其他肖像都念了昏迷咒。接着，一个留着一头黑色长发的男人从哈利对面的一扇门里冲了出来。

    “闭嘴，你这个可怕的老巫婆，闭嘴！”他吼道，一把抓住韦斯莱夫人刚才丢下的帷幔。

    老太太顿时脸色煞白。

“你一你！”她一看见那个男人就瞪大了双眼，厉声叫道。“败家子，家族的耻　辱，我生下的孽种！”“我说过了——　闭——　嘴！”那男人吼道，他和卢乎一起费了九牛二虎之力，总算把帷幔又拉上了。老太太的尖叫声消失了，接着是一片余音回荡的寂静。微微喘着粗气，撩开挡着眼睛的长长黑发，哈利的教父小天狼星转过身来看着哈利。“你好，哈利，”他板着脸说，“看来你已经见过我的母亲了。”

The Order Of The Phonenix

‘Your—?’

‘My dear old mum, yeah,’ said Sirius. ‘We've been trying to get her down for a month but we think she put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of the canvas. Let's get downstairs, quick, before they all wake up again.’

‘But what's a portrait of your mother doing here?’ Harry asked, bewildered, as they went through the door from the hall and led the way down a flight of narrow stone steps, the others just behind them.

‘Hasn't anyone told you? This was my parents’ house,’ said Sirius. ‘But I'm the last Black left, so it's mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for Headquarters—about the only useful thing I've been able to do.’

Harry, who had expected a better welcome, noted how hard and bitter Sirius's voice sounded. He followed his godfather to the bottom of the steps and through a door leading into the basement kitchen.

It was scarcely less gloomy than the hall above, a cavernous room with rough stone walls. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room. A haze of pipe smoke hung in the air like battle fumes, through which loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling. Many chairs had been crammed into the room for the meeting and a long wooden table stood in the middle of them, littered with rolls of parchment, goblets, empty wine bottles, and a heap of what appeared to be rags. Mr. Weasley and his eldest son Bill were talking quietly with their heads together at the end of the table.

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat. Her husband, a thin, balding, red-haired man who wore horn-rimmed glasses, looked around and jumped to his feet.

‘Harry!’ Mr. Weasley said, hurrying forward to greet him, and shaking his hand vigorously. ‘Good to see you!’

Over his shoulder Harry saw Bill, who still wore his long hair in a ponytail, hastily rolling up the lengths of parchment left on the table.

‘Journey all right, Harry?’ Bill called, trying to gather up twelve scrolls at once. ‘Mad-Eye didn't make you come via Greenland, then?’

‘He tried,’ said Tonks, striding over to help Bill and immediately toppling a candle on to the last piece of parchment. ‘Oh no—sorry—’

‘Here, dear,’ said Mrs. Weasley, sounding exasperated, and she repaired the parchment with a wave of her wand. In the flash of light caused by Mrs. Weasley's charm Harry caught a glimpse of what looked like the plan of a building.

Mrs. Weasley had seen him looking. She snatched the plan off the table and stuffed it into Bill's already overladen arms.

‘This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings,’ she snapped, before sweeping off towards an ancient dresser from which she started unloading dinner plates.

Bill took out his wand, muttered, ‘Evanesce!’ and the scrolls vanished.

‘Sit down, Harry’ said Sirius. ‘You've met Mundungus, haven't you?’

The thing Harry had taken to be a pile of rags gave a prolonged, grunting snore, then jerked awake.

‘Some'n say m'name?’ Mundungus mumbled sleepily. ‘I agree with Sirius....’ He raised a very grubby hand in the air as though voting, his droopy, bloodshot eyes unfocused.

Ginny giggled.

The meeting's over, Dung,’ said Sirius, as they all sat down around him at the table. ‘Harry's arrived.’

‘Eh?’ said Mundungus, peering bale fully at Harry through his matted ginger hair. ‘Blimey, so ‘e ‘as. Yeah ... you all right, ‘arry?’

‘Yeah,’ said Harry.

Mundungus fumbled nervously in his pockets, still staring at Harry, and pulled out a grimy black pipe. He stuck it in his mouth, ignited the end of it with his wand and took a deep pull on it. Great billowing clouds of greenish smoke obscured him within seconds.

‘Owe you a ‘pology,’ grunted a voice from the middle of the smelly cloud.

‘For the last time, Mundungus,’ called Mrs. Weasley, ‘will you please not smoke that thing in the kitchen, especially not when we're about to eat!’

‘Ah,’ said Mundungus. ‘Right. Sorry, Molly.’

The cloud of smoke vanished as Mundungus stowed his pipe back in his pocket, but an acrid smell of burning socks lingered.

‘And if you want dinner before midnight I'll need a hand,’ Mrs. Weasley said to the room at large. ‘No, you can stay where you are, Harry dear, you've had a long journey—’

‘What can I do, Molly?’ said Tonks enthusiastically, bounding forwards.

Mrs. Weasley hesitated, looking apprehensive.

‘Er—no, it's all right, Tonks, you have a rest too, you've done enough today.’

‘No, no, I want to help!’ said Tonks brightly, knocking over a chair as she hurried towards the dresser, from which Ginny was collecting cutlery.

Soon, a series of heavy knives were chopping meat and vegetables of their own accord, supervised by Mr. Weasley, while Mrs. Weasley stirred a cauldron dangling over the fire and the others took out plates, more goblets and food from the pantry. Harry was left at the table with Sirius and Mundungus, who was still blinking at him mournfully.

‘Seen old Figgy since?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Harry, ‘I haven't seen anyone.’

‘See, I wouldn't ‘ave left,’ said Mundungus, leaning forward, a pleading note in his voice, ‘but I ‘ad a business opportunity—’

Harry felt something brush against his knees and started, but it was only Crookshanks, Hermione's bandy-legged ginger cat, who wound himself once around Harry's legs, purring, then jumped on to Sirius's lap and curled up. Sirius scratched him absent-mindedly behind the ears as he turned, still grim-faced, to Harry.

‘Had a good summer so far?’

‘No, it's been lousy,’ said Harry.

For the first time, something like a grin flitted across Sirius's free.

‘Don't know what you're complaining about, myself.’

‘What?’ said Harry incredulously.

‘Personally, I'd have welcomed a dementor attack. A deadly struggle for my soul would have broken the monotony nicely. You think you've had it bad, at least you've been able to get out and about, stretch your legs, get into a few fights.... I've been stuck inside for a month.’

‘How come?’ asked Harry, frowning.

‘Because the Ministry of Magic's still after me, and Voldemort will know all about me being an Animagus by now, Wormtail will have told him, so my big disguise is useless. There's not much I can do for the Order of the Phoenix ... or so Dumbledore feels.’

There was something about the slightly flattened tone of voice in which Sirius uttered Dumbledore's name that told Harry that Sirius, too, was not very happy with the headmaster eithe. Harry felt a sudden upsurge of affection for his godfather.

‘At least you've known what's been going on,’ he said bracingly.

‘Oh yeah,’ said Sirius sarcastically. ‘Listening to Snape's reports, having to take all his snide hints that he's out there risking his life while I'm sat on my backside here having a nice comfortable time ... asking me how the cleaning's going—’

‘What cleaning?’ asked Harry.

‘Trying to make this place fit for human habitation,’ said Sirius, waving a hand around the dismal kitchen. ‘No one's lived here for ten years, not since my dear mother died, unless you count her old house-elf, and he's gone round the twist, hasn't cleaned anything in ages—’

‘Sirius,’ said Mundungus, who did not appear to have paid any attention to the conversation, but had been closely examining an empty goblet. ‘This solid silver, mate?’

‘Yes,’ said Sirius, surveying it with distaste. ‘Finest fifteenth-century goblin-wrought silver, embossed with the Black family crest.’

‘That'd come orf, though,’ muttered Mundungus, polishing it with his cuff.

‘Fred—George—NO, JUST CARRY THEM!’ Mrs. Weasley shrieked.

Harry, Sirius and Mundungus looked around and, within a split second, they had dived away from the table. Fred and George had bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of Butterbeer, and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with knife, to hurtle through the air towards them. The stew skidded the length of the table and came to a halt just before the end, leaving a long black burn on the wooden surface; the flagon of Butterbeer fell with a crash, spilling its contents everywhere; the bread knife slipped off the board and landed, point down and quivering ominously, exactly where Sirius's right hand had been seconds before.

‘FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!’ screamed Mrs. Weasley. ‘THERE WAS NO NEED— I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS— JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW, YOU DON'T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!’

‘We were just trying to save a bit of time!’ said Fred, hurrying forward to wrench the bread knife out of the table. ‘Sorry, Sirius, mate—didn't mean to—’

Harry and Sirius were both laughing; Mundungus, who had toppled backwards off his chair, was swearing as he got to his feet; Crookshanks had given an angry hiss and shot off under the dresser, from where his large yellow eyes glowed in the darkness.

‘Boys,’ Mr. Weasley said, lifting the stew back into the middle of the table, ‘your mother's right, you're supposed to show a sense of responsibility now you've come of age—’

‘—none of your brothers caused this sort of trouble!’ Mrs. Weasley raged at the twins as she slammed a fresh flagon of Butterbeer onto the table, and spilling almost as much again. ‘Bill didn't feel the need to Apparate every few feet! Charlie didn't charm everything he met! Percy—’

She stopped dead, catching her breath with a frightened look at her husband, whose expression was suddenly wooden.

‘Let's eat,’ said Bill quickly.

‘It looks wonderful, Molly,’ said Lupin, ladling stew on to a plate for her and handing it across the table.

For a few minutes there was silence but for the chink of plates and cutlery and the scraping of chairs as everyone settled down to their food. Then Mrs. Weasley turned to Sirius.

‘I've been meaning to tell you, Sirius, there's something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing room, it keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it could just be a boggart, but I thought we ought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out.’

‘Whatever you like,’ said Sirius indifferently.

‘The curtains in there are full of doxys, too,’ Mrs. Weasley went on. ‘I thought we might try and tackle them tomorrow.’

‘I look forward to it,’ said Sirius. Harry heard the sarcasm in his voice, but he was not sure that anyone else did.

Opposite Harry, Tonks was entertaining Hermione and Ginny by transforming her nose between mouthfuls. Screwing up her eyes each time with the same pained expression she had worn back in Harry's bedroom, her nose swelled to a beak-like protuberance that resembled Snape's, shrank to the size of a button mushroom and then sprouted a great deal of hair from each nostril. Apparently this was a regular mealtime entertainment, because Hermione and Ginny were soon requesting their favourite noses.

‘Do that one like a pig snout, Tonks...’

Tonks obliged, and Harry, looking up, had the fleeting impression that a female Dudley was grinning at him from across the table.

Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Lupin were having an intense discuss on about goblins.

‘They're not giving anything away yet,’ said Bill. ‘I still can't work out whether or not they believe he's back. Course, they might prefer not to take sides at all. Keep out of it.’

‘I'm sure they'd never go over to You-Know-Who,’ said Mr. Weasley, shaking his head. ‘They've suffered losses too; remember that goblin family he murdered last time, somewhere near Nottingham?’

‘I think it depends what they're offered,’ said Lupin. ‘And I'm not talking about gold. If they're offered the freedoms we've been denying them for centuries they're going to be tempted. Have you still not had any luck with Ragnok, Bill?’

‘He's feeling pretty anti-wizard at the moment,’ said Bill, ‘he hasn't stopped raging about the Bagman business, he reckons the Ministry did a cover-up, those goblins never got their gold from him, you know—’

A gale of laughter from the middle of the table drowned the rest of Bill's words. Fred, George, Ron, and Mundungus were rolling around in their seats.

‘...and then,’ choked Mundungus, tears running down his face, ‘and then, if you'll believe it, ‘e says to me, ‘e says, ” ‘Ere, Dung, where didja get all them toads from? ‘Cos some son of a Sludger's gone and nicked all mine!” And I says, “Nicked all your toads, Will, what next? So you'll be wanting some more, then?” And if you'll believe me, lads, the gormless gargoyle buys all ‘is own toads back orf me for a lot more'n what ‘e paid in the first place—’

‘I don't think we need to hear any more of your business dealings, thank you very much, Mundungus,’ said Mrs. Weasley sharply, as Ron slumped forwards on to the table, howling with laughter.

‘Beg pardon, Molly,’ said Mundungus at once, wiping his eyes and winking at Harry. ‘But, you know, Will nicked ‘em orf Warty Harris in the first place so I wasn't really doing nothing wrong—’

‘I don't know where you learned about right and wrong, Mundungus, but you seem to have missed a few crucial lessons,’ said Mrs. Weasley coldly.

Fred and George buried their faces in their goblets of Butterbeer; George was hiccoughing. For some reason, Mrs. Weasley threw a very nasty look at Sirius before getting to her feet and going to fetch a large rhubarb crumble for pudding. Harry looked round at his godfather.

‘Molly doesn't approve of Mundungus,’ said Sirius in an undertone.

‘How come he's in the Order?’ Harry said, very quietly.

‘He's useful,’ Sirius muttered. ‘Knows all the crooks—well, he would, seeing as he's one himself. But he's also very loyal to Dumbledore, who helped him out of a tight spot once. It pays to have someone like Dung around, he hears things we don't. But Molly thinks inviting him to stay for dinner is going too far. She hasn't forgiven him for slipping off duty when he was supposed to be tailing you.’

Three helpings of rhubarb crumble and custard later and the waistband on Harry's jeans was feeling uncomfortably tight (which was saying something as the jeans had once been Dudley's). As he laid down his spoon there was a lull in the general conversation. Mr. Weasley was leaning back in his chair, looking replete and relaxed, Tonks was yawning widely, her nose now back to normal, and Ginny, who had lured Crookshanks out from under the dresser, was sitting cross-legged on the floor, rolling Butterbeer corks for him to chase.

‘Nearly time for bed, I think,’ said Mrs. Weasley with a yawn.

‘Not just yet, Molly,’ said Sirius, pushing away his empty plate and turning to look at Harry. ‘You know, I'm surprised at you. I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort.’

The atmosphere in the room changed with the rapidity Harry associated with the arrival of dementors. Where seconds before it had been sleepily relaxed, it was now alert, even tense. A frisson had gone around the table at the mention of Voldemort's name. Lupin, who had been about to take a sip of wine, lowered his goblet slowly, looking wary.

‘I did!’ said Harry indignantly. ‘I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed in the Order, so—’

‘And they're quite right,’ said Mrs. Weasley. ‘You're too young.’

She was sitting bolt upright in her chair, her fists clenched an its arms, every trace of drowsiness gone.

‘Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?’ asked Sirius. ‘Harry's been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He's got the right to know what's been happen—’

‘Hang on!’ interrupted George loudly.

‘How come Harry gets his questions answered?’ said Fred angrily.

‘We've been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven't told us a single stinking thing!’ said George.

‘“You're too young, you're not in the Order,”’ said Fred, in a high-pitched voice that sounded uncannily like his mother's. ‘Harry's not even of age!’

‘It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's doing,’ said Sirius calmly, ‘that's your parents’ decision. Harry, on the other hand—’

‘It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry!’ said Mrs. Weasley sharply. The expression on her normally kind face looked dangerous. ‘You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?’

‘Which bit?’ Sirius asked politely, but with the air of a man readying himself for a fight.

‘The bit about not telling Harry more than he needs to know,’ said Mrs. Weasley, placing a heavy emphasis on the last three words.

Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George's heads swivelled from Sirius to Mrs. Weasley as though they were following a tennis rally. Ginny was kneeling amid a pile of abandoned Butterbeer corks, watching the conversation with her mouth slightly open. Lupin's eyes were fixed on Sirius.

‘I don't intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly,’ said Sirius. ‘But as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back’ (again, there was a collective shudder around the table at the name), ‘he has more right than most to—’

‘He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!’ said Mrs. Weasley. ‘He's only fifteen and— ’

‘—and he's dealt with as much as most in the Order,’ said Sirius, ‘and more than some—’

‘No one's denying what he's done!’ said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. ‘But he's still—’

‘He's not a child!’ said Sirius impatiently.

‘He's not an adult either!’ said Mrs. Weasley, the colour rising in her cheeks. ‘He's not James, Sirius!’

‘I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly,’ said Sirius coldly.

‘I'm not sure you are!’ said Mrs. Weasley. ‘Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!’

‘What's wrong with that?’ said Harry.

‘What's wrong, Harry, is that you are not your father, however much you might look like him!’ said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes still boring into Sirius. ‘You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!’

‘Meaning I'm an irresponsible godfather?’ demanded Sirius, his voice rising.

‘Meaning you have been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is why Dumbledore keeps reminding you to stay at home and—’

‘We'll leave my instructions from Dumbledore out of this, if you please!’ said Sirius loudly.

‘Arthur!’ said Mrs. Weasley rounding on her husband. ‘Arthur, back me up!’

Mr. Weasley did not speak at once. He took off his glasses and cleaned them slowly on his robes, not looking at his wife. Only when he had replaced them carefully on his nose did he reply.

‘Dumbledore knows the position has changed, Molly. He accepts that Harry will have to be filled in, to a certain extent, now that he is staying at headquarters—’

‘Yes, but there's a difference between that and inviting him to ask whatever he likes!’

‘Personally,’ said Lupin quietly, looking away from Sirius at last, as Mrs. Weasley turned quickly to him, hopeful that finally she was about to get an ally, ‘I think it better that Harry gets the facts—not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture—from us, rather than a garbled version from ... others.’

His expression was mild, but Harry felt sure Lupin, at least, knew that some Extendable Ears had survived Mrs. Weasley's purge.

‘Well,’ said Mrs Weasley, breathing deeply and looking around the table for support that did not come, ‘well ... I can see I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has Harry's best interests at heart—’

‘He's not your son,’ said Sirius quietly.

‘He's as good as,’ said Mrs. Weasley fiercely. ‘Who else has he got?’

‘He's got me!’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Weasley, her lip curling, ‘the thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?’

Sirius started to rise from his chair.

‘Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry,’ said Lupin sharply. ‘Sirius, sit down.’

Mrs. Weasleys lower lip was trembling. Sirius sank slowly back into his chair, his face white.

‘I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this,’ Lupin continued, ‘he's old enough to decide for himself.’

‘I want to know what's been going on,’ Harry said at once.

He did not look at Mrs. Weasley. He had been touched by what she had said about his being as good as a son, but he was also impatient with her mollycoddling. Sirius was right, he was not a child.

‘Very well,’ said Mrs. Weasley, her voice cracking. ‘Ginny—Ron—Hermione—Fred—George—I want, you out of this kitchen, now.’

There was instant uproar.

‘We're of age!’ Fred and George bellowed together.

‘If Harry's allowed, why can't I?’ shouted Ron.

‘Mum, I want to hear!’ wailed Ginny.

‘NO!’ shouted Mrs. Weasley, standing up, her eyes overbright. ‘I absolutely forbid—’

‘Molly you can't stop Fred and George,’ said Mr. Weasley wearily. ‘They are of age—’

‘They're still at school—’

‘But they're legally adults now,’ said Mr. Weasley, in the same tired voice.

Mrs. Weasley was now scarlet in the face.

‘I—oh, all right then, Fred and George can stay, but Ron—’

‘Harry'll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway!’ said Ron hotly. ‘Won't—won't you?’ he added uncertainly, meeting Harry's eyes.

For a split second, Harry considered telling Ron that he wouldn't tell him a single word, that he could try a taste of being kept in the dark and see how he liked it. But the nasty impulse vanished as they looked at each other.

‘Course I will,’ Harry said.

Ron and Hermione beamed.

‘Fine!’ shouted Mrs. Weasley. ‘Fine! Ginny—BED!’

Ginny did not go quietly. They could hear her raging and storming at her mother all the way up the stairs, and when she reached the hall Mrs. Blacks ear-splitting shrieks were added to the din. Lupin hurried off to the portrait to restore calm. It was only after he had returned, closing the kitchen door behind him and taking his seat at the table again, that Sirius spoke.

‘OK, Harry ... what do you want to know?’

Harry took a deep breath and asked the question that had obsessed him for the last month.

‘Where's Voldemort?’ he said, ignoring the renewed shudders and winces at the name. ‘What's he doing? I've been trying to watch the Muggle news, and there hasn't been anything that looks like him yet, no funny deaths or anything—’

‘That's because there haven't been any funny deaths yet,’ said Sirius, ‘not as far as we know, anyway.... And we know quite a lot.’

‘More than he thinks we do, anyway,’ said Lupin.

‘How come he's stopped killing people?’ Harry asked. He knew Voldemort had murdered more than once in the last year alone.

‘Because he doesn't want to draw attention to himself,’ said Sirius. ‘It would be dangerous for him. His comeback didn't come off quite the way he wanted it to, you see. He messed it up.’

‘Or rather, you messed it up for him,’ said Lupin, with a satisfied smile.

‘How?’ Harry asked, perplexed.

‘You weren't supposed to survive!’ said Sirius. ‘Nobody apart from his Death Eaters was supposed to know he'd come back. But you survived to bear witness.’

‘And the very last person he wanted alerted to his return the moment he got back was Dumbledore,’ said Lupin. ‘And you made sure Dumbledore knew at once.’

‘How has that helped?’ Harry asked.

‘Are you kidding?’ said Bill incredulously. ‘Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever scared of!’

‘Thanks to you, Dumbledore was able to recall the Order of the Phoenix about an hour after Voldemort returned,’ said Sirius.

‘So, what's the Order been doing?’ said Harry, looking around at them all.

‘Working as hard as we can to make sure Voldemort can't carry out his plans,’ said Sirius.

‘How d'you know what his plans are?’ Harry asked quickly.

‘Dumbledore's got a shrewd idea,’ said Lupin, ‘and Dumbledore's shrewd ideas normally turn out to be accurate.’

‘So what does Dumbledore reckon he's planning?’

‘Well, firstly, he wants to build up his army again,’ said Sirius. ‘In the old days he had huge numbers at his command: witches and wizards he'd bullied or bewitched into following him, his faithful Death Eaters, a great variety of Dark creatures. You heard him planning to recruit the giants; well, they'll be just one of the groups he's after. He's certainly not going to try and take on the Ministry of Magic with only a dozen Death Eaters.’

‘So you're trying to stop him getting more followers?’

‘We're doing our best,’ said Lupin.

‘How?’

‘Well, the main thing is to try and convince as many people as possible that You-Know-Who really has returned, to put them on their guard,’ said Bill. ‘It's proving tricky, though.’

‘Why?’

‘Because of the Ministry's attitude,’ said Tonks. ‘You saw Cornelius Fudge after You-Know-Who came back, Harry. Well, he hasn't shifted his position at all. He's absolutely refusing to believe it's happened.’

‘But why?’ said Harry desperately. ‘Why's he being so stupid? If Dumbledore—’

‘Ah, well, you've put your finger on the problem,’ said Mr. Weasley with a wry smile. ‘Dumbledore.’

‘Fudge is frightened of him, you see,’ said Tonks sadly.

‘Frightened of Dumbledore?’ said Harry incredulously.

‘Frightened of what he's up to,’ said Mr. Weasley. ‘Fudge thinks Dumbledore's plotting to overthrow him. He thinks Dumbledore wants to be Minister for Magic.’

‘But Dumbledore doesn't want—’

‘Of course he doesn't,’ said Mr. Weasley. ‘He's never wanted the Minister's job, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power instead, but he's never quite forgotten how much popular support Dumbledore had, even though Dumbledore never applied for the job.’

‘Deep down, Fudge knows Dumbledore's much cleverer than he is, a much more powerful wizard, and in the early days of his Ministry he was forever asking Dumbledore for help and advice,’ said Lupin. ‘But it seems he's become fond of power, and much more confident. He loves being Minister for Magic and he's managed to convince himself that he's the clever one and Dumbledore's simply stirring up trouble for the sake of it.’

‘How can he think that?’ said Harry angrily. ‘How can he think Dumbledore would just make it all up—that I'd make it all up?’

‘Because accepting that Voldermort's back would mean trouble like the Ministry hasn't had to cope with for nearly fourteen years,’ said Sirius bitterly. ‘Fudge just can't bring himself to face it. It's so much more comfortable to convince himself Dumbledore's lying to destabilise him.’

‘You see the problem,’ said Lupin. ‘While the Ministry insists there is nothing to fear from Voldemort it's hard to convince people he's back, especially as they really don't want to believe it in the first place. What's more, the Ministry's leaning heavily on the Daily Prophet not to report any of what they're calling Dumbledore's rumour-mongering, so most of the wizarding community are completely unaware anything's happened, and that makes them easy targets for the Death Eaters if they're using the Imperius Curse.’

‘But you're telling people, aren't you?’ said Harry, looking around at Mr. Weasley, Sirius, Bill, Mundungus, Lupin and Tonks. ‘You're letting people know he's back?’

They all smiled humourlessly.

‘Well, as everyone thinks I'm a mad mass-murderer and the Ministry's put a ten thousand Galleon price on my head, I can hardly stroll up the street and start handing out leaflets, can I?’ said Sirius restlessly.

‘And I'm not a very popular dinner guest with most of the community,’ said Lupin. ‘It's an occupational hazard of being a werewolf.’

‘Tonks and Arthur would lose their jobs at the Ministry if they started shooting their mouths off,’ said Sirius, ‘and it's very important for us to have spies inside the Ministry, because you can bet Voldemort will have them.’

‘We've managed to convince a couple of people, though,’ said Mr. Weasley. Tonks here, for one—she's too young to have been in the Order of the Phoenix last time, and having Aurors on our side is a huge advantage— Kingsley Shacklebolt's been a real asset, too; he's in charge of the hunt for Sirius, so he's been feeding the Ministry information that Sirius is in Tibet.’

‘But if none of you are putting the news out that Voldemort's back—’ Harry began.

‘Who said none of us are putting the news out?’ said Sirius. ‘Why d'you think Dumbledore's in such trouble?’

‘What d'you mean?’ Harry asked.

‘They're trying to discredit him,’ said Lupin. ‘Didn't you see the Daily Prophet last week? They reported that he'd been voted out of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards because he's getting old and losing his grip, but it's not true; he was voted out by Ministry wizards after he made a speech announcing Voldemort's return. They've demoted him from Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot—that's the Wizard High Court—and they're talking about taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class, too.’

‘But Dumbledore says he doesn't care what they do as long as they don't take him off the Chocolate Frog Cards,’ said Bill, grinning.

‘It's no laughing matter,’ said Mr. Weasley sharply. ‘If he carries on defying the Ministry like this he could end up in Azkaban, and the last thing we want is to have Dumbledore locked up. While You-Know-Who knows Dumbledore's out there and wise to what he's up to he's going to go cautiously. If Dumbledore's out of the way—well, You-Know-Who will have a clear field.’

‘But if Voldemort's trying to recruit more Death Eaters it's bound to get out that he's come back, isn't it?’ asked Harry desperately.

‘Voldemort doesn't march up to people's houses and bang on their front doors, Harry,’ said Sirius. ‘He tricks, jinxes and blackmails them. He's well-practised at operating in secret. In any case, gathering followers is only one thing he's interested in. He's got other plans too, plans he can put into operation very quietly indeed, and he's concentrating on those for the moment.’

‘What's he after apart from followers?’ Harry asked swiftly. He thought he saw Sirius and Lupin exchange the most fleeting of looks before Sirius answered, ‘Stuff he can only get by stealth.’

When Harry continued to look puzzled, Sirius said, ‘Like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time.’

‘When he was powerful before?’

‘Yes.’

‘Like what kind of weapon?’ said Harry. ‘Something worse than the Avada Kedavra—?’

‘That's enough!’

Mrs. Weasley spoke from the shadows beside the door. Harry hadn't noticed her return from taking Ginny upstairs. Her arms were crossed and she looked furious.

‘I want you in bed, now. All of you,’ she added, looking around at Fred, George, Ron and Hermione.

‘You can't boss us—’ Fred began.

‘Watch me,’ snarled Mrs. Weasley. She was trembling slightly as she looked at Sirius. ‘You've given Harry plenty of information. Any more and you might just as well induct him into the Order straightaway.’

‘Why not?’ said Harry quickly. ‘I'll join, I want to join, I want to fight.’

‘No.’

It was not Mrs Weasley who spoke this time, but Lupin.

‘The Order is comprised only of overage wizards,’ he said. ‘Wizards who have left school,’ he added, as Fred and George opened their mouths. ‘There are dangers involved of which you can have no idea, any of you... I think Molly's right, Sirius. We've said enough.’

Sirius half-shrugged but did not argue. Mrs. Weasley beckoned imperiously to her sons and Herrnione. One by one they stood up and Harry, recognising defeat, followed suit.

凤凰社

    “你的——？”

    “是啊，我亲爱的好妈妈。”小天狼星说，“一个月来，我们一直想把她弄下来，但她似乎在帆布后面念了一个永久粘贴咒。我们下楼去吧，快点儿，别等他们又醒过来。”

    “可是你母亲的肖像放在这里做什么？”哈利疑惑地问，这时他们已经穿过那扇门出了门厅，正顺着一道狭窄的石头台阶往下走，其他人都跟在后面。

    “没有人告诉过你吗？这是我父母的房子。”小天狼星说，“但布莱克家族就剩下我一个人了，所以这房子现在归我所有。我把它交给邓布利多当指挥部——　我能做的大概也就这点有用的事情了。”

    哈利原来以为他会得到比较热情的欢迎，却发现小天狼星说话的口气是那么生硬、冷漠。他跟着教父走到楼梯底下，穿过一道门，进入了地下室的厨房。

    这里几乎和上面的门厅里一样昏暗，一个洞穴般幽深的房间，四周是粗糙的-55　？石头墙壁。大部分光线都来自房间那头的一个大壁炉。管子里冒出的烟雾弥漫在空气中，如同战场上的硝烟，黑乎乎的天花板上挂下来的沉甸甸的铁锅铁盆，在烟雾中显得面目狰狞，阴森可怖。因为开会，房问里摆满了许多椅子，中间是一张长长的木头桌子，桌上散乱地放着羊皮纸卷、高脚酒杯、空酒瓶和一堆看上去像是破布的东西。韦斯莱先生和他的长子比尔坐在桌子那一头，脑袋凑在一起小声说着什么。

    韦斯莱夫人清了清嗓子。她的丈夫，一个秃顶、红发、戴着角质架眼镜的瘦男人抬头望了望，赶紧站了起来。

    “哈利！”韦斯莱先生说着，三步并作两步走过来迎接他，热情地同他握手，“见到你真是太高兴了！”

    哈利的目光越过他的肩头，看见比尔匆匆卷起留在桌上的羊皮纸，他脑袋后面仍然扎着长长的马尾辫。

    “路上还顺利吧，哈利？”比尔大声问道，同时试着一下子抱起了十二卷羊皮纸，“这么说，疯眼汉没有让你取道格陵兰岛过来？”

    “他想这么做来着，”唐克斯快步走过去想帮比尔一把，但转眼间就把一根蜡烛碰倒在最后一卷羊皮纸上，“哦，糟糕——　对不起——　”

    “没关系，亲爱的。”韦斯莱夫人说，声音显得有点恼火。她一挥魔杖，把羊皮纸修复好了。韦斯莱夫人念咒时闪过一道亮光，哈利瞥见那纸上好像是一座建筑物的平面图。

    韦斯莱夫人发现哈利在看，赶紧把平面图从桌上抓起来，塞进比尔已经不堪重负的怀里。

    “这些东西应该会议一结束就赶紧收起来。”她厉声地说，然后快步走向一个很古老的碗橱，从里面拿出晚餐的盘子。

    比尔抽出他的魔杖，低声说了一句：“消隐无踪！”那些羊皮纸卷一下子就不见了。

    “坐下吧，哈利，”小天狼星说，“你已经见过蒙顿格斯了，是不是？”

    哈利刚才以为是一堆破布的东西，这时发出一声长长的呼噜呼噜的鼾声，猛地惊醒过来。

    “谁在说我的名字？”蒙顿格斯迷迷糊糊地嘟哝道，“我同意小天狼星的？？”他高高举起一只脏兮兮的手，像是要投票表决，那双眼皮耷拉的、充血的眼睛茫然地瞪着。

    金妮略咯地笑了。

    “会议结束了，顿格①。”小天狼星说，他们都围着蒙顿格斯在桌旁坐下，“哈①蒙顿格斯的昵称。

    -56？利采了。“

    “嗯？”蒙顿格斯说着，目光透过乱糟糟的姜黄色头发痛苦地望着哈利，“天哪，他来了。没错？？你好吗，哈利？”

    “挺好的。”哈利说。

    蒙顿格斯局促不安地在几个口袋里摸索着，但眼睛仍然盯着哈利，最后他掏出一个满是污垢的黑烟斗。他把烟斗塞进嘴里，用魔杖把它点燃，深深地吸了一口。几秒钟后，大股大股泛着绿色的烟雾就把他包围了。

    “我得向你道歉。”一个声音从那团臭烘烘的烟雾中间嘟哝着说。“我最后再提醒你一次，蒙顿格斯，”韦斯莱夫人大声说道，“拜托，你能不能不要在厨房里抽那玩意儿，特别是我们马上就要吃饭了！”“啊，”蒙顿格斯说，“好的。对不起，莫丽。”蒙顿格斯把烟斗重新塞进口袋，烟雾散去了，但那股袜子烧焦的刺鼻气味儿迟迟没有散尽。“如果你们想在午夜之前吃到晚饭，就需要有人来帮我一把。”韦斯莱夫人对房间里所有的人说，“不，你坐在那里别动，啥利，亲爱的，你刚经过长途旅行。”“我能做点什么，莫丽？”唐克斯热情洋溢地说，跳起来冲了过去。韦斯莱夫人迟疑着，显得心有余悸。“嗯——　不用，没事儿，唐克斯，你也休息一会儿吧，今天你已经做了不少了。”“不，不，我想帮帮你！”唐克斯欢快地说，匆匆奔向金妮正在拿餐具的碗橱，不留神撞翻了一把椅子。

    很快，一套沉甸甸的刀子就在韦斯莱先生的监督下，开始自动切肉剁菜，韦斯莱夫人搅拌着一只悬挂在火上的大锅，其他人从食品储藏间拿出盘子、高脚酒杯和食物。哈利陪小天狼星和蒙顿格斯留在桌边，蒙顿格斯仍然悲哀地冲他眨巴着眼睛。

    “后来又看见费格老太了吗？”他问。

    “没有，”哈利说，“我谁也没看见。”

    “你看，我不应该离开的，”蒙顿格斯探着身子，声音里带着恳求，“但我有机会做成一笔大买卖——　”

    哈利感到什么东西正蹭着他的膝盖，不禁吓了一跳，原来是克鲁克山——　赫敏那只姜黄色的罗圈腿猫，它把身体绕在哈利的腿上，呼噜呼噜叫着，然后一下子跳到小天狼星的膝头，蜷做一团。小天狼星心不在焉地挠着它的耳根，同时转过脸来望着哈利，脸上表情仍然很沉重。

    “这个夏天过得还好吧？”

    “不，糟糕透了。”哈利说。

    -57　？小天狼星的脸上第一次掠过一丝若有若无的笑容。

    “我真不知道你还有什么可抱怨的。”

    “什么？”哈利不敢相信地说。

    “就我个人来说，我还巴不得摄魂怪来袭击我呢。为保卫我的灵魂而殊死搏斗，这多好啊，可以打破令人厌烦的单调生活。你以为你的日子很难熬，但你至少可以出门到处走动走动，伸展伸展腿脚，跟人打打架什么的？？我已经在屋里困了一个月了。”

    “怎么会呢？”哈利皱起眉头问道。

    “因为魔法部仍然在追捕我，伏地魔这会儿已经知道我是一个阿尼马格斯了，虫尾巴肯定告诉了他，所以我再怎么伪装也没有用了。我已经不能为凤凰社做多少事情——　至少邓布利多是这样感觉的。”

    小天狼星说出邓布利多的名字时声音显得有点儿消沉，这使哈利明白，小天狼星对校长也有点儿不满。哈利顿时对教父产生了一种亲切的情感。

    “至少你知道正在发生什么事情吧。”他安慰道。

    “哦，是啊，”小天狼星讥讽地说，“听斯内普的长篇报告，忍受他的冷嘲热讽，似乎他冒着生命危险，出生人死，而我却安坐在这里，舒舒服服地混日子？？他还问我大扫除搞得怎么样了——　”

    “什么大扫除？”哈利问。

    “把这个地方搞得可以住人，”小天狼星说，挥手指了指阴暗破败的厨房，“这里已经十年没有人居住，自从我亲爱的母亲去世之后就没人了，除非你算上她留下的家养小精灵，但那小精灵已经变得疯疯癫癫——　好长时间没做任何打扫了。”

    “小天狼星，”蒙顿格斯说话了，他似乎根本没注意他们在说什么，而是在细细地端详一只高脚酒杯，“这是纯银的吧，伙计？”“是的，”小天狼星厌恶地看了看杯子，说道，“十五世纪小妖精制造的最精美银器，上面还刻着布莱克家族的饰章。”“那倒真是好东西。”蒙顿格斯含混地说，用袖口把杯子擦亮。“弗雷德——　乔治——　别这样，把它们端起来！”韦斯莱夫人尖叫道。

    哈利、小天狼星和蒙顿格斯扭头一看，说时迟那时快，三个人赶紧一猫腰，从桌子旁躲开了。弗雷德和乔治动用魔法把一大锅炖菜、一大铁壶黄油啤酒、一块沉重的切面包板，外加一把刀子，一股脑儿地朝他们猛抛过来。那锅炖菜哧溜溜滑过整个桌面，正好在桌子边缘停住了，木头桌面上留下了一长条烧焦发黑的痕迹。那壶黄油啤酒哗啦一声翻倒了，啤酒洒得到处都是。切面包的刀子从板上掉下来，刀尖朝下扎进了桌子，凶险地微颤着，那正好是几秒钟前小天狼星的右手放着的地方。

    -58？“看在老天的分儿上！”韦斯莱夫人大声嚷道，“没必要这么做——　这一套我受够了——　就算现在允许你们使用魔法了，你们也用不着做每件鸡毛蒜皮的小事都挥动魔杖吧！”

    “我们只是为了节约一点儿时间！”弗雷德说着匆忙赶过来，把切面包的刀子拔出桌面，“对不起，小天狼星，哥们儿——　不是故意的——　”

    哈利和小天狼星都放声大笑。蒙顿格斯刚才向后栽下了椅子，这会儿正骂骂咧咧地爬起身来。克鲁克山愤怒地嘶嘶叫了一声，箭一般地钻到碗橱底下去了，那双黄澄澄的大眼睛在黑暗中闪闪发亮。

    “儿子们，”韦斯莱先生把那锅炖菜重新端到桌子中央，说道，“你们的妈妈说得对，你们现在已经长大成人，应该表现出一点责任感了——　”

    “你们的几个哥哥就从没闹出这种乱子！”韦斯莱夫人一边朝双胞胎儿子吼道，一边把另一壶黄油啤酒重重地放在桌上，洒出的啤酒几乎跟上一壶一样多。“比尔觉得没必要几步路就幻影移形！查理不会碰到什么东西都施魔法！珀西——　”

    她猛地停住话头，屏住呼吸，惊慌地望了丈夫一眼，韦斯莱先生的表情突然僵住了。“我们吃饭吧。”比尔赶紧说道。“看上去很不错啊，莫丽。”卢平说着替她盛了一些炖菜在盘子里，隔着桌子递了过去。几分钟没有人说话，只有大家坐下来就餐时盘子和餐具发出的碰撞声，还有椅子的摩擦声。然后，韦斯莱夫人转脸望着小天狼星。

    “小天狼星，我一直想告诉你，客厅的那张写字台里面关着什么东西，它不停地摇晃，发出咯啦啦的声音。也许只是一个博格特，但我想我们还是先请阿拉斯托来看看再把它放出来。”

    “随便吧。”小天狼星兴味索然地说。“还有，那儿的窗帘里都是狐猸子①，”韦斯莱夫人接着说道，“我想明天我们得想办法把它们处理一下。”　“我正巴不得呢。”小天狼星说。哈利听出了他声音里的讽刺意味，但不知道其他人有没有听出来。

    在哈利对面，唐克斯一边吃饭一边给她的鼻子变形，逗赫敏和金妮开心。每次她都紧紧地闭上眼睛，露出她在哈利卧室里时露出的那种痛苦表情，她的鼻子忽而肿胀得像鸟嘴一样，看上去活脱脱是斯内普的鼻子，忽而又缩回去，变成圆球蘑菇一般大小，然后每个鼻孔里都冒出一大堆鼻毛。这显然是吃饭时的固定①关于狐猸子的详细描写，请见《神奇动物在哪里》一书。人民文学出版社。2001年lO月ll版。

    -59？娱乐节目，因为很快赫敏和金妮就要求她变出她们最喜欢的鼻子。

    “变出一只猪鼻子来，唐克斯。”

    唐克斯照办了，哈利抬起头，刹那间，他还以为一个女达力正隔着桌子朝他咧嘴微笑呢。

    韦斯莱先生、比尔和卢平正在进行一场关于妖精的激烈讨沦。“他们还是滴水不漏，什么也不肯说，”比尔说，“我仍然弄不清楚他们是不是相信他回来了。当然，他们大概不想支持任何一方，不想卷到这里头来。”“我相信他们决不会倒向神秘人那边，”韦斯莱先生摇着头说道，“他们的损失也很惨重。还记得他上次杀害的那一家妖精吗，就在诺丁汉附近？”

    “我想，那得看人家给他们开出了什么价码，”卢平说，“我说的不是金子。如果有人向他们提供我们几个世纪以来不肯给他们的自由，他们就会抵挡不住诱惑。比尔，拉格诺那边还是没有丝毫转机吗？”

    “他目前在感情上对巫师还是挺排斥的，”比尔说，“他现在还为巴格曼的那档子事儿气得要命呢，觉得魔法部掩盖了真相。你们知道，那些妖精始终没能从他手里拿到他们的金子——　”

    桌子中央传来一阵大笑，淹没了比尔没说完的话。弗雷德、乔治、罗恩和蒙顿格斯在椅子上笑得前仰后合。

    “？？后来，”蒙顿格斯笑得喘不过气来，眼泪直顺着他的面颊往下流，他说，“后来，信不信由你们吧，他对我说，他说：”咦，顿格，这些癞蛤蟆你是从哪儿弄来的？不知道哪个杂种把我的癞蛤蟆全偷走了！‘我就说了：“把你的癞蛤蟆全偷走了，是威尔于的，那怎么办呢？所以你才需要再买一些呀，对不对？’你们信不信吧，孩子们，那个没头脑的丑八怪居然从我手里把他自己的癞蛤蟆全都买了回去，价钱比他原先买的时候还要高得多——　”

    “我们不需要听你唠叨这些生意经，蒙顿格斯，非常感谢。”韦斯莱夫人严厉地说。罗恩扑在桌子上，放声大笑。

    “对不起，莫丽，”蒙顿格斯立刻说道，他擦擦眼泪，朝哈利眨了眨眼睛。“可是，你知道，是威尔把它们从瓦提-海里斯那里偷出来的，所以我其实并没有做什么坏事。”

    “我不知道你的是非观念是从哪儿学到的，蒙顿格斯，但你似乎漏掉了最关键的几课。”韦斯莱夫人冷冷地说。

    弗雷德和乔治把脸埋在盛着黄油啤酒的高脚酒杯上，乔治笑得直打嗝。不知为什么，韦斯莱夫人狠狠地白了小天狼星一眼，然后起身拿来一大堆大黄面包屑做甜点。哈利扭头望着他的教父。

    “莫丽不大赞成蒙顿格斯。”小天狼星压低声音说。

    “那他怎么会加入凤凰社的？”哈利悄声地问。

    -60？“他有用啊，”小天狼星小声嘀咕道，“认识所有的骗子毛贼——　哼，这也难怪，他自己就是那一类货色。不过他对邓布利多倒是忠心耿耿，有一次还帮助邓布利多摆脱了困境。弄一个顿格这样的人在身边也有好处，他能听到我们听不到的东西。但莫丽认为请他留下来吃晚饭太过分了。莫丽还没有原谅他在应该跟踪你的时候擅离职守。”

    三份大黄面包屑，接着又是蛋奶糕，哈利牛仔裤的裤腰紧得难受了（这是很能说明问题的，因为那条牛仔裤本来是达力的）。哈利放下勺子时，饭桌上的谈话逐渐平静了下来。韦斯莱先生靠在椅子背上，一副吃饱喝足、身心放松的样子。唐克斯张着大嘴打哈欠，她的鼻子已经恢复了正常。金妮把克鲁克山从碗橱下面引了出来，这会儿正盘腿坐在地上，把一些黄油啤酒的软木塞滚来滚去，让克鲁克山追着玩儿。

    “差不多该上床睡觉了，我想。”韦斯莱夫人打着哈欠说。

    “还没有呢，莫丽。”小天狼星把面前的空盘子推到一边，转脸望着哈利，“知道吗，我真为你感到吃惊呢。我以为你到这里的第一件事就是询问关于伏地魔的情况。”

    屋里的气氛突然变了，速度如此之快，哈利还以为是摄魂怪来了。几秒钟前还是那样轻松悠闲，令人昏昏欲睡，现在却变得警觉，甚至是紧张了。听到伏地魔的名字，饭桌周围掠过一阵战栗。卢平刚才端起杯子正要喝酒，这时慢慢放下酒杯，露出警惕的神情。

    “我问了！”哈利气愤地说，“我问了罗恩和赫敏，但他们说我们没被批准加入凤凰社，所以——　”　“他们说得对呀，”韦斯莱夫人说，“你们年纪还太小。”　她笔直地坐在椅子上，两个拳头捏得紧紧的抱在怀里，睡意消失得无影无踪。“从什么时候开始，我们必须先加人凤凰社才能提问题？”小天狼星问。“哈利在那个麻瓜家里困了整整一个月。他有权利知道发生了什么——　”　“等一等！”乔治大声打断了他。“为什么哈利的问题就能得到答复？”弗雷德气呼呼地问。“一个月来我们一直想从你们嘴里问出点什么来，但你们什么也不肯告诉我们！”乔治说。

    “你们年纪太小了，你们没有加入凤凰社，”弗雷德说，那又尖又细的声音活脱脱就是他母亲的，听着简直不可思议，“而哈利甚至还没有成年呢！”

    “没有人告诉你们凤凰社在做什么，这可不能怪我呀，”小天狼星平静地说，“那是你父母的决定。而哈利则不同——　”

    “用不着你来决定怎么对哈利有好处！”韦斯莱夫人厉声说，平日和蔼亲切的-61　？脸上此刻露出的表情很吓人，“我想，你没有忘记邓布利多说的话吧？”“哪一部分？”小天狼星不失礼貌地问，但神情却像一个准备迎战的人。“就是不告诉哈利他不需要知道的。”韦斯莱夫人说，着重强调了最后几个字。

    罗恩、赫敏、弗雷德和乔治的脑袋在小天狼星和韦斯莱夫人之间转来转去，仿佛在观看网球场上的来回对打。金妮跪在一堆丢弃的黄油啤酒软木塞中问，呆呆地望着他们谈话，嘴巴微微张着。卢平眼睛一眨不眨地盯着小天狼星。

    “我只打算告诉哈利他需要知道的，莫丽，”小天狼星说，“但当时是他看见伏地魔复活的，”（听到这个名字，饭桌周围的人又是一阵战栗）“他比大多数人都更有权利——　”

    “他还不是凤凰社的成员呢！”韦斯莱夫人说，“他才只有十五岁，而且——　”　“但他经历的事情不比风凰社的大多数人少，”小天狼星说，“甚至比有些人还多呢。”“没有人否认他做过的事情！”韦斯莱夫人说，声音越来越高，放在椅子扶手上的拳头在微微颤抖，“但他仍然——　”　“他不是个孩子了！”小天狼星不耐烦地说。“但他也不是个成年人！”韦斯莱夫人说，血液冲上了她的面颊，“他不是詹姆，小天狼星！”“谢谢，我很清楚他是谁，莫丽。”小天狼星冷冷地说。“我看不一定！”韦斯莱夫人说，“有时你谈起他时的语气，就好像你以为你最好的朋友又回来了似的！”“那又有什么错呢？”哈利说。“错就错在你不是你的父亲，哈利，不管你长得多么像他！”韦斯莱夫人说，眼睛仍然死死地盯着小天狼星，“你还在上学，对你负责任的成年人不应该忘记这一点！”“你是说我是个不负责任的教父？”小天狼星问道，声音提高了。“我是说大家都知道你做事情莽撞，小天狼星，所以邓布利多才不断提醒你待在家里——　”　“对不起，希望我们的谈话不要扯进邓布利多对我的指教。”小天狼星大声说。“亚瑟！”韦斯莱夫人说，突然转向了她的丈夫，“亚瑟，你支持我一下！”韦斯莱先生没有马上说话，而是摘下眼镜，在长袍上慢慢地擦着镜片，眼睛也不看自己的妻子。他小心翼翼地把眼镜重新戴好，才开了口。“邓布利多知道情况有了变化，莫丽。他同意在一定程度上必须把最新消息告诉给哈利，既然哈利现在已经住在指挥部了。”

    -62　？“没错，但那跟鼓励他随便发问还是有区别的！”

    “就我个人来说，”卢平终于把目光从小天狼星身上移开，轻声细语地说话了，韦斯莱夫人立刻转向他，满心指望自己总算有了一个支持者，“我认为最好让哈利从我们这里了解到事实真相——　不是所有的事实，莫丽，而是一个大致的情况，免得他从？？别人那里得到一些混乱不清的说法。”

    他的表情很温和，但哈利可以肯定，至少卢平是知道有几只伸缩耳逃脱了韦斯莱夫人的清洗扫荡。

    “好吧，”韦新莱夫人说，深深吸了口气，扫视了一圈饭桌，指望能够得到支持，但没有人响应，“好吧？？看来我的意见是要被否决了。我只想说一句：邓布利多不想让哈利知道得太多肯定有他的道理，我作为一个关心哈利切身利益的人——　”

    “他不是你的儿子。”小天狼星轻声说。

    “但和我的儿子差不多。”韦斯莱夫人恼怒地说，“他还有谁？”

    “他有我！”

    “是啊，”韦斯莱夫人撇着嘴说，“问题是，你自己被关在阿兹卡班，根本就难以照顾他，是不是？”

    小天狼星忍不住要从椅子上跳起来。

    “莫丽，这张桌子旁关心哈利的人不止你一个。”卢平严厉地说，“小天狼星，坐下。”韦斯莱夫人的下嘴唇颤抖着，小天狼星缓缓跌回椅子上，脸色煞白。“我认为这件事最好允许哈利发表意见，”卢平接着说，“他年纪不小了，可以自己决定了。”“我想知道到底发生了什么事情。”哈利立刻说道。

    他没有看韦斯莱夫人。刚才韦斯莱夫人说他就像她的亲生儿子一样，他很受感动，但同时他也被韦斯莱夫人对自己的过分溺爱弄得很不耐烦。小天狼星说得对，他已经不是一个小孩子了。

    “很好，”韦斯莱夫人说，伤心得声音都哑了，“金妮——　罗恩——　赫敏——　弗雷德——　乔治——　我要你们离开这问厨房，马上。”

    立刻，屋子里像炸了窝一样。

    “我们已经成年了！”弗雷德和乔治同时嚷道。

    “哈利能知道，为什么我就不能？”罗恩大叫。

    “妈妈，我也想听听！”金妮尖声喊。

    “不行！”韦斯莱夫人大吼一声，腾地站起来，眼睛里放出奇亮的光芒，“我绝对不允许——　”

    “莫丽，你不能阻拦弗雷德和乔治，”韦斯莱先生疲倦地说，“他们已经成-63　？年了。”“他们还在上学。”“但他们是合法的成年人了。”韦斯莱先生还是用那疲倦的声音说。韦斯莱夫人的脸这时涨得通红。“我——　哦，好吧，弗雷德和乔治可以留下，但是罗恩——　”　“反正哈利会把你们说的一切都告诉我和赫敏的！”罗恩愤愤不平地说，“你——　会吗？”他迎住哈利的目光，没有把握地追问了一句。

    刹那间，哈利想对罗恩说他一个字也不会告诉他，也让他尝尝披蒙在鼓里的滋味，看看好受不好受。但是当两人目光相对时，他那种小心眼的冲动一下子就消失了。

    “我当然会的。”哈利说。

    罗恩和赫敏顿时喜上眉梢。

    “很好！”韦斯莱夫人大声喝道，“很好！金妮——　上床睡觉！”

    金妮并不是乖乖离开的。他们听见她上楼时一路冲她妈妈连喊带叫，大发脾气。到了门厅里，布莱克夫人又发出震耳欲聋的尖叫，使喧闹声变得更加无法忍受。卢平赶紧冲到那幅肖像前去使它恢复了平静。等他回来返身关上厨房的门，重新在桌子旁坐下后，小天狼星这才开口说话。

    “好吧，哈利？？你想知道什么？”

    哈利深深吸了口气，问出了最近一个月来一直困扰着他的那个问题。

    “伏地魔在哪儿？”他问，别人听到这个名字又是一阵战栗和畏缩，但他只当没看见，“他在做什么？我一直在想办法看麻瓜的新闻，但没有发现他的一点蛛丝马迹，没有人蹊跷地死去，什么也没有发生。”

    “那是因为到现在为止还没有人蹊跷地死去，”小天狼星说，“反正据我们所知是这样？？而我们知道不少情况。”

    “至少他没想到我们会知道得这么多。”卢平说。

    “他怎么会停止杀人呢？”哈利问。他知道伏地魔光是去年就不止一次地杀过人。

    “因为他不想引起别人对他的注意，”小天狼星说，“那对他来说是很危险的。你知道，他这次回来并不像他所希望的那样顺利。他的安排被打乱了。”

    “或者说，是你打乱了他的安排。”卢平说着，脸上露出满意的微笑。

    “怎么会呢？”哈利困惑不解地问。

    “你本来不应该活下来的！”小天狼星说，“除了他的食死徒，谁都不应该知道他已经回来了。而你活下来成了证人。”

    “他最不希望他一回来就对他保持警惕的人是邓布利多，”卢平说，“而你确保了邓布利多立刻就知道了这件事。”

    “那又有什么用呢？”哈利问。“你在开玩笑吗？”比尔不敢相信地说，“邓布利多是神秘人有生以来惟一害怕的人！”“多亏了你，邓布利多才能够在伏地魔回来后不到一小时就重新召集了凤凰社。”小天狼星说。“那么，凤凰社一直在做些什么呢？”哈利问道，挨个几望着大家。

    “尽我们最大的努力，确保伏地魔无法实施他的计划。”小天狼星说。

    “你们怎么知道他的汁划是什么呢？”哈利立刻问道。

    “邓布利多有一个敏锐的感觉，”卢平说，“而邓布利多的敏锐感觉一般都被证明是准确的。”

    “那么邓布利多认为他的计划是什么呢？”

    “是这样，首先，他想重新纠集他的人马。”小天狼星说，“过去，他有一大批人听他指挥：那些迫于他的淫威或受他蒙蔽而跟随他的巫师，那些忠心耿耿的食死徒，还有黑势力的形形色色的妖魔鬼怪。你还听说他打算把巨人也拉拢过去。其实，他们只是他想纠集的大批人马中的一部分。他显然不会只带着十几个食死徒就来跟魔法部较量。”

    “这么说你们想阻止他得到更多的追随者？”

    “我们在尽力而为。”卢平说。

    “怎么做呢？”

    “是这样，尽量让更多的人相信神秘人真的回来了，让他们保持警惕，”比尔说，“不过这件事做起来很棘手。”

    “为什么呢？”

    “因为魔法部的态度。。”唐克斯说，“哈利，神秘人回来后，你是见过康奈利福吉的。哼，他丝毫也没有改变立场。他死活不肯相信这件事真的发生了。”

    “可是为什么呢？”哈利烦躁地问，“他为什么这样愚蠢？既然邓布利多——　”

    “啊，好了，你指出了问题的关键，”韦斯莱先生苦笑着说，“邓布利多。”

    “福吉害怕他，明白吗？”唐克斯悲哀地说。

    “害怕邓布利多？”哈利不敢相信地问。

    “害怕他想做的事情。”韦斯莱先生说，“福吉认为邓布利多在密谋推翻他。他认为邓布利多自己想当魔法部长。”

    “可是邓布利多并不想——　”

    “他当然不想，”韦斯莱先生说，“他从来没想过要当部长，尽管米里森巴格诺退休时，许多人想让他接替部长职位。后来福吉掌了大权，但他一直没有忘记曾经有多少人支持邓布利多，虽说邓布利多从来没有申请过这个职位。”

    “在内心深处，福吉知道邓布利多比他有智慧得多，巫师的法术也比他厉害得多。他刚开始当部长的时候，还三天两头地向邓布利多讨教、求助。”卢平说，“但是后来他似乎喜欢上了权力，信心也增强了。他迷恋当魔法部长的感觉，而且他使自己相信，他才是有智慧的人，邓布利多只是为此故意制造事端。”

    “他怎么能那么想呢？”哈利生气地说，“他怎么能认为邓布利多会凭空编造——　我会凭空编造呢？”

    “因为如果承认伏地魔回来了，就意味着有大麻烦，这种麻烦魔法部已经有将近十四年没有碰到了。”小天狼星尖刻地说，“福吉只是没有勇气面对这件事。他让自己相信邓布利多是在散布谣言，破坏他的稳定地位，这样一想就轻松多了。”

    “你说到点子上了。”卢平说，“既然魔法部坚持说用不着担心伏地魔，我们就很难让人们相信他回来了，特别是在人们其实也不愿意相信这个事实的情况下。还有，魔法部一直在对《预言家日报》施加压力，不让他们报道有关的任何消息，他们现在称这些消息为邓布利多的谣言，因此，巫师界的大部分人都完全不知道有事情发生了，这样他们很容易成为食死徒的攻击目标，如果食死徒使用夺魂咒的话。”

    “可是你们在告诉人们真相，是不是？”哈利说，轮番看着韦斯莱先生、小天狼星、比尔、蒙顿格斯、卢平和唐克斯，“你们在让人们知道他已经回来了？”

    他们全都毫无生趣地苦笑着。

    “唉，所有的人都认为我是一个杀人不眨眼的疯子，魔法部悬赏一万加隆取我的人头，所以我不可能溜溜达达地在大街上散发传单，是不是？”小天狼星焦躁不安地说。

    “在大多数巫师的眼里，我不是一个很受欢迎的晚宴贵宾。”卢平说，“身为狼人，真是一种职业性的危害。”

    “唐克斯和亚瑟如果信口开河，随便乱说，就会丢掉他们在魔法部的工作。”小天狼星说，“而我们在部里安插内线是很重要的，伏地魔肯定也有他们自己的奸细。”

    “不过我们还是说服了几个人，”书斯莱先生说，“比如这位唐克斯——　她年纪太轻，上次没能加入凤凰社，能把傲罗争取到我们这边是一个很大的优势——　金斯莱沙克尔也是一个无价之宝。他负责追捕小天狼星，所以他一直向部里提供信息说小天狼星在西藏。”

    “但是你们谁也没有公布伏地魔回来的消息——　”哈利话没说完。

    “谁说我们没有公布这个消息？”小天狼星说，“你认为邓布利多为什么会陷入这样的麻烦境地吗？”

    “你这话是什么意思？”哈利问。

    “他们拼命想败坏他的名声，”卢平说，“你没看上个星期的《预言家日报》吗？他们报道说他的国际魔法师联合会主席的职位丢了，因为他已经年迈，力不从心，但那根本不是事实。他发表了一篇讲话，宣布伏地魔回来了，之后魔法部的巫师们就投票使他落选了。他们给他降了级，他不再是威森加摩——　就是最高巫师法庭——　的首席魔法师，他们还在讨论收回他的梅林①爵士团一级勋章。”

    “可是邓布利多说，只要不把他从巧克力蛙的卡片中撤下来，他们做什么他都不在乎。”比尔咧嘴笑着说。

    “这不是什么好笑的事情。”韦斯莱先生严厉地说，“如果他一直这样公然与魔法部对着于，最后他可能会被关进阿兹卡班的，而我们最不希望看到的就是邓布利多被关起来。既然神秘人知道邓布利多在哪里并且清楚他打算做什么，他就必须谨慎行事。如果邓布利多被清除了——　唉，神秘人就可以肆意妄为了。”

    “但是，如果伏地魔想吸收更多的人成为食死徒，他回来的消息肯定会传出去的，是不是？”哈利急躁地问。

    “伏地魔并不是大摇大摆地走到别人家门口，砰砰地敲他们的门，哈利，”小天狼星说，“他对他们施魔法，念恶咒，威逼利诱。他搞秘密活动是很有一套的。不管怎么说，网罗追随者只是他感兴趣的事情之一。他还有其他计划，他可以神不知鬼不觉地实施的计划，眼下他的全部注意力都在那上面。”

    “除了追随者以外，他还想得到什么呢？”哈利反应敏捷地问。他仿佛看到小天狼星和卢平飞快地交换了一下目光，然后小天狼星才做出了回答。“某种只有偷偷摸摸才能得到的东西。”　看到哈利还是一脸的迷惑，小天狼星说：“比如一件武器。他上次所没有的东西。”

    “他以前得势的时候？”

    “是的。”

    “　比如什么样的武器呢？”　哈利说，“　比阿瓦达索命咒还要厉害——　？”　“够了！”　韦斯莱夫人站在门旁的阴影里说。哈利没有注意到她送金妮上楼已经回来了。她抱着双臂，满脸怒气。“我希望你们赶紧上床睡觉。大家都去！”她补充了一句，挨个儿扫视着弗雷德、乔治、罗恩和赫敏。“你不能对我们发号施令——　”弗雷德想反抗。

    “你小心点儿！”韦斯莱夫人吼道。她身体微微颤抖，　望着小天狼星。“你告诉哈利的情况够多的了。再说下去，　你就可以马上吸收他加入凤凰社了。”

    “为什么不呢？”　哈利立刻问道。“　我想参加，我愿意参加。我希望参加①关于著名巫师梅林的情况，请见《哈利波特的魔法世界》一书，人民文学出版社，2002年1月版。

    战斗。“

    “不行。”

    这次说话的不是韦斯莱夫人，而是卢平。

    “凤凰社的成员只能是达到一定年龄的巫师。”他说。“已经从学校毕业的巫师。”他看到弗雷德和乔治张嘴想要说什么，便又补充说，“这里头有很多危险，你们根本就不可能知道，你们谁也不知道，我认为莫丽说得对，小天狼星。我们说得够多的了。”

小天狼星微微耸了耸肩膀，但没有再说什么。韦斯莱夫人盛气凌人地招呼着她的几个儿子和赫敏。他们一个接一个地站起身，哈利看到没什么希望了，也只好跟着站了起来。

The Noble And Most Ancient House Of Black

Mrs. Weasley followed them upstairs looking grim.

‘I want you all to go straight to bed, no talking,’ she said as they reached the first landing, ‘we've got a busy day tomorrow. I expect Ginny's asleep,’ she added to Hermione, ‘so try not to wake her up.’

‘Asleep, yeah, right,’ said Fred in an undertone, after Hermione bade them goodnight and they were climbing to the next floor. ‘If Ginny's not lying awake waiting for Hermione to tell her everything they said downstairs then I'm a Flobberworm....’

‘All right, Ron, Harry,’ said Mrs. Weasley on the second landing, pointing them into their bedroom. ‘Off to bed with you.’

’ ‘Night,’ Harry and Ron said to the twins.

‘Sleep tight,’ said Fred, winking.

Mrs. Weasley closed the door behind Harry with a sharp snap. The bedroom looked, if anything, even danker and gloomier than it had on first sight. The blank picture on the wall was now breathing very slowly and deeply, as though its invisible occupant was asleep. Harry put on his pyjamas, took off his glasses, and climbed into his chilly bed while Ron threw Owl Treats up on top of the wardrobe to pacify Hedwig and Pigwidgeon, who were clattering around and rustling their wings restlessly.

‘We can't let them out to hunt every night,’ Ron explained as he pulled on his maroon pyjamas. ‘Dumbledore doesn't want too many owls swooping around the square, thinks it'll look suspicious. Oh yeah ... I forgot....’

He crossed to the door and bolted it.

‘What're you doing that for?’

‘Kreacher,’ said Ron as he turned off the light. ‘First night I was here he came wandering in at three in the morning. Trust me, you don't want to wake up and find him prowling around your room. Anyway...’ He got into his bed, settled down under the covers, then turned to look at Harry in the darkness. Harry could see his outline by the moonlight filtering in through the grimy window, ‘what d'you reckon?’

Harry didn't need to ask what Ron meant.

‘Well, they didn't tell us much we couldn't have guessed, did they?’ he said, thinking of all that had been said downstairs. ‘I mean, all they've really said is that the Order's trying to stop people joining Vol—’

There was a sharp intake of breath from Ron.

—demort,’ said Harry firmly. ‘When are you going to start using his name? Sirius and Lupin do.’

Ron ignored this last comment.

‘Yeah, you're right,’ he said, ‘we already knew nearly everything they told us, from using the Extendable Ears. The only new bit was—’

Crack.

‘OUCH!’

‘Keep your voice down, Ron, or Mum'll be back up here.’

‘You two just Apparated on my knees!’

‘Yeah, well, it's harder in the dark—’

Harry saw the blurred outlines of Fred and George leaping down from Ron's bed. There was a groan of bedsprings and Harry's mattress descended a few inches as George sat down near his feet.

‘So, got there yet?’ said George eagerly.

‘The weapon Sirius mentioned?’ said Harry.

‘Let slip, more like,’ said Fred with relish, now sitting next to Ron. ‘We didn't hear about that on the old Extendables, did we?’

‘What d'you reckon it is?’ said Harry.

‘Could be anything,’ said Fred.

‘But there can't be anything worse than the Avada Kedavra curse, can there?’ said Ron. ‘What's worse than death?’

‘Maybe it's something that can kill loads of people at once,’ suggested George.

‘Maybe it's some particularly painful way of killing people,’ said Ron learfully.

‘He's got the Cruciatus Curse for causing pain,’ said Harry, ‘he doesn't need anything more efficient than that.’

There was a pause and Harry knew that the others, like him, were wondering what horrors this weapon could perpetrate.

‘So who d'you think's got it now?’ asked George.

‘I hope it's our side,’ said Ron, sounding slightly nervous.

‘If it is, Dumbledore's probably keeping it,’ said Fred.

‘Where?’ said Ron quickly. ‘Hogwarts?’

‘Bet it is!’ said George. That's where he hid the Philosopher's Stone.’

‘A weapon's going to be a lot bigger than the Stone, though!’ said Ron.

‘Not necessarily,’ said Fred.

‘Yeah, size is no guarantee of power,’ said George. ‘Look at Ginny.’

‘What d'you mean?’ said Harry.

‘You've never been on the receiving end of one of her Bat-Bogey Hexes, have you?’

‘Shhh!’ said Fred, half-rising from the bed. ‘Listen!’

They fell silent. Footsteps were coming up the stairs.

‘Mum,’ said George and without further ado there was a loud crack and Harry felt the weight vanish from the end of his bed. A few seconds later, they heard the floorboard creak outside their door; Mrs. Weasley was plainly listening to check whether or not they were talking.

Hedwig and Pigwidgeon hooted dolefully. The floorboard creaked again and they heard her heading upstairs to check on Fred and George.

‘She doesn't trust us at all, you know,’ said Ron regretfully.

Harry was sure he would not be able to fall asleep; the evening had been so packed with things to think about that he fully expected to lie awake for hours mulling it all over. He wanted to continue talking to Ron, but Mrs. Weasley was now creaking back downstairs again, and once she had gone he distinctly heard others making their way upstairs.... In fact, many-legged creatures were cantering softly up and down outside the bedroom door, and Hagrid, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, was saying, ‘Beauties, aren't they, eh, Harry? We'll be studyin’ weapons this term....’ and Harry saw that the creatures had cannons for heads and were wheeling to face him.... He ducked....

The next thing he knew, he was curled into a warm ball under his bedclothes and George's loud voice was filling the room.

‘Mum says get up, your breakfast is in the kitchen and then she needs you in the drawing room, there are loads more doxys than she thought and she's found a nest of dead puffskeins under the sofa.’

Half an hour later, Harry and Ron, who had dressed and breakfasted quickly, entered the drawing room, a long, high-ceilinged room on the first floor with olive-green walls covered in dirty tapestries. The carpet exhaled little clouds of dust every time someone put their foot on it and the long, moss-green velvet curtains were buzzing as though swarming with invisible bees. It was around these that Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George were grouped, all looking rather peculiar as they had each tied a cloth over their nose and mouth. Each of them was also holding a large bottle of black liquid with a nozzle at the end.

‘Cover your faces and take a spray,’ Mrs. Weasley said to Harry and Ron the moment she saw them, pointing to two more bottles of black liquid standing on a spindle-legged table. ‘It's Doxycide. I've never seen an infestation this bad—what that house-elf's been doing for the last ten years—’

Hermione's face was half concealed by a tea towel but Harry distinctly saw her throw a reproachful look at Mrs. Weasley.

‘Kreacher's really old, he probably couldn't manage—’

‘You'd be surprised what Kreacher can manage when he wants to, Hermione,’ said Sirius, who had just entered the room carrying a bloodstained bag of what appeared to be dead rats. ‘I've just been feeding Buckbeak,’ he added, in reply to Harry's enquiring look. ‘I keep him upstairs in my mother's bedroom. Anyway ... this writing desk...’

He dropped the bag of rats into an armchair, then bent over to examine the locked cabinet which, Harry now noticed for the first time, was shaking slightly.

‘Well, Molly, I'm pretty sure this is a boggart,’ said Sirius, peering through the keyhole, ‘but perhaps we ought to let Mad-Eye have a shifty at it before we let it out—knowing my mother, it could be something much worse.’

‘Right you are, Sirius,’ said Mrs. Weasley.

They were both speaking in carefully light, polite voices that told Harry quite plainly that neither had forgotten their disagreement of the night before.

A loud, clanging bell sounded from downstairs, followed at once by the cacophony of screams and wails that had been triggered the previous night by Tonks knocking over the umbrella stand.

‘I keep telling them not to ring the doorbell!’ said Sirius exasperatedly, hurrying out of the room. They heard him thundering clown the stairs as Mrs. Black's screeches echoed up through the house once more: ‘Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of flith...’

‘Close the door, please, Harry,’ said Mrs. Weasley.

Harry took as much time as he dared to close the drawing-room door; he wanted to listen to what was going on downstairs. Sirius had obviously managed to shut the curtains over his mothers portrait because she had stopped screaming. He heard Sirius walking down the hall, then the clattering of the chain on the front door, and then a deep voice he recognised as Kingsley Shacklebolt's saying, ‘Hestia's just relieved me, so she's got Moody's Cloak now, thought I'd leave a report for Dumbledore....’

Feeling Mrs Weasley's eyes on the back of his head, Harry regretfully closed the drawing-room door and rejoined the doxy party.

Mrs. Weasley was bending over to check the page on doxys in Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests, which was lying open on the sofa.

‘Right, you lot, you need to be careful, because doxys bite and their teeth are poisonous. I've got a bottle of antidote here, but I'd rather nobody needed it.’

She straightened up, positioned herself squarely in front of the curtains and beckoned them all forward.

‘When I say the word, start spraying immediately,’ she said. ‘They'll come flying out at us, I expect, but it says on the sprays one good squirt will paralyse them. When they're immobilized, just throw them in this bucket.’

She stepped carefully out of their line of fire, and raised her own spray.

‘All right—squirt!’

Harry had been spraying only a few seconds when a fully-grown doxy came soaring out of a fold in the material, shiny beetle-like wings whirring, tiny needle-sharp teeth bared, its fairy-like body covered with thick black hair and its four tiny fists clenched with fury. Harry caught it full in the face with a blast of Doxycide; it froze in midair and fell, with a surprisingly loud thunk, on to the worn carpet below. Harry picked it up and threw it in the bucket.

‘Fred, what are you doing?’ said Mrs. Weasley sharply. ‘Spray that at once and throw it away!’

Harry looked round. Fred was holding a struggling doxy between his forefinger and thumb.

‘Right-o,’ Fred said brightly, spraying the doxy quickly in the face so that it fainted, but the moment Mrs. Weasley's back was turned he pocketed it with a wink.

‘We want to experiment with doxy venom for our Skiving Snackboxes,’ George told Harry under his breath.

Deftly spraying two doxys at once as they soared straight for his nose, Harry moved closer to George and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, ‘What are Skiving Snackboxes?’

‘Range of sweets to make you ill,’ George whispered, keeping a wary eye on Mrs. Weasley's back. ‘Not seriously ill, mind, just ill enough to get you out of a class when you feel like it. Fred and I have been developing them this summer. They're double-ended, colour-coded chews. If you eat the orange half of the Puking Pastilles, you throw up. Moment you've been rushed out of the lesson for the hospital wing, you swallow the purple half—’

‘"—which restores you to full fitness, enabling you to pursue the leisure activity of your own choice during an hour that would otherwise have been devoted to unprofitable boredom.” That's what we're putting in the adverts, anyway,’ whispered Fred, who had edged over out of Mrs. Weasley's line of vision and was now sweeping a few stray doxys from the floor and adding them to his pocket. ‘But they still need a bit of work. At the moment our testers are having a bit of trouble stopping themselves puking long enough to swallow the purple end.’

‘Testers?’

‘Us,’ said Fred. ‘We take it in turns. George did the Fainting Fancies—we both tried the Nosebleed Nougat—’

‘Mum thought we'd been duelling,’ said George.

‘Joke shop still on, then?’ Harry muttered, pretending to be adjusting the nozzle on his spray.

‘Well, we haven't had a chance to get premises yet,’ said Fred, dropping his voice even lower as Mrs. Weasley mopped her brow with her scarf before returning to the attack, ‘so we're running it as a mail-order service at the moment. We put advertisements in the Daily Prophet last week.’

‘All thanks to you, mate,’ said George. ‘But don't worry ... Mum hasn't got a clue. She won't read the Daily Prophet any more, ‘cause of it telling lies about you and Dumbledore.’

Harry grinned. He had forced the Weasley twins to take the thousand-Galleon prize money he had won in the Triwizard Tournament to help them realise their ambition to open a joke shop, but he was still glad to know that his part in furthering their plans was unknown to Mrs. Weasley. She did not think running a joke shop was a suitable career for two of her sons.

The de-doxying of the curtains took most of the morning. It was past midday when Mrs. Weasley finally removed her protective scarf, sank into a sagging armchair, and sprang up again with a cry of disgust, having sat on the bag of dead rats. The curtains were no longer buzzing; they hung limp and damp from the intensive spraying; unconscious doxys lay crammed in the bucket at the foot of them beside a bowl of their black eggs, at which Crookshanks was now sniffing and Fred and George were shooting covetous looks.

‘I think we'll tackle those after lunch.’

Mrs. Weasley pointed at the dusty glass-fronted cabinets standing on either side of the mantelpiece. They were crammed with an odd assortment of objects: a selection of rusty daggers, claws, a coiled snakeskin, a number of tarnished silver boxes inscribed with languages Harry could not understand and, least pleasant of all, an ornate crystal bottle with a large opal set into the stopper, full of what Harry was quite sure was blood.

The clanging doorbell rang again. Everyone looked at Mrs. Weasley.

‘Stay here,’ she said firmly, snatching up the bag of rats as Mrs. Blacks screeches started up again from down below. ‘I'll bring up some sandwiches.’

She left the room, closing the door carefully behind her. At once, everyone dashed over to the window to look down on the doorstep. They could see the top of an unkempt gingery head and a stack of precariously balanced cauldrons.

‘Mundungus!’ said Hermione. ‘What's he brought all those cauldrons for?’

‘Probably looking for a safe place to keep them,’ said Harry. ‘Isn't that what he was doing the night he was supposed to be tailing me? Picking up dodgy cauldrons?’

‘Yeah, you're right!’ said Fred, as the front door opened; Mundungus heaved his cauldrons through it and disappeared from view. ‘Blimey, Mum won't like that....’

He and George crossed to the door and stood beside it, listening closely. Mrs. Black's screaming had stopped.

‘Mundungus is talking to Sirius and Kingsley,’ Fred muttered, frowning with concentration. ‘Can't hear properly ... d'you reckon we can risk the Extendable Ears?’

‘Might be worth it,’ said George. ‘I could sneak upstairs and get a pair—’

But at that precise moment there was an explosion of sound from downstairs that rendered Extendable Ears quite unnecessary. All of them could hear exactly what Mrs. Weasley was shouting at the top of her voice.

‘WE ARE NOT RUNNING A HIDEOUT FOR STOLEN GOODS!’

‘I love hearing Mum shouting at someone else,’ said Fred, with a satisfied smile on his face as he opened the door an inch or so to allow Mrs. Weasley's voice to permeate the room better, ‘it makes such a nice change.’

‘—COMPLETELY IRRESPONSIBLE, AS IF WE HAVEN'T GOT ENOUGH TO WORRY ABOUT WITHOUT YOU DRAGGING STOLEN CAULDRONS INTO THE HOUSE—’

‘The idiots are letting her get into her stride,’ said George, shaking his head. ‘You've got to head her off early otherwise she builds up a head of steam and goes on for hours. And she's been dying to have a go at Mundungus ever since he sneaked off when he was supposed to be following you, Harry—and there goes Sirius's mum again.’

Mrs. Weasley's voice was lost amid fresh shrieks and screams from the portraits in the hall.

George made to shut the door to drown the noise, but before he could do so, a house-elf edged into the room.

Except for the filthy rag tied like a loincloth around its middle, it was completely naked. It looked very old. Its skin seemed to be several times too big for it and, though it was bald like all house-elves, there was a quantity of white hair growing out of its large, batlike ears. Its eyes were a bloodshot and watery grey and its fleshy nose was large and rather snoutlike.

The elf took absolutely no notice of Harry and the rest. Acting as though it could not see them, it shuffled hunchbacked, slowly and doggedly, towards the far end of the room, all the while muttering under its breath in a hoarse, deep voice like a bullfrog's, ‘...smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, but she's no better, nasty old blood traitor with her brats messing up my mistress's house, oh, my poor mistress, if she knew, if she knew the scum they've let into her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh, the shame of it, Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do....’

‘Hello, Kreacher,’ said Fred very loudly, closing the door with a snap.

The house-elf froze in his tracks, stopped muttering, and gave a very pronounced and very unconvincing start of surprise.

‘Kreacher did not see Young Master,’ he said, turning around and bowing to Fred. Still lacing the carpet, he added, perfectly audibly, ‘Nasty little brat of a blood traitor it is.’

‘Sorry?’ said George. ‘Didn't catch that last bit.’

‘Kreacher said nothing,’ said the elf, with a second bow to George, adding in a clear undertone, ‘and there's its twin, unnataral little beasts they are.’

Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not. The elf straightened up, eyeing them all malevolently, and apparently convinced that they could not hear him as he continued to mutter.

‘...and there's the Mudblood, standing there bold as brass, oh if my mistress knew, oh, how she'd cry, and there's a new boy, Kreacher doesn't know his name. What is he doing here? Kreacher doesn't know...’

‘This is Harry, Kreacher,’ said Hermione tentatively. ‘Harry Potter.’

Kreacher's pale eyes widened and he muttered faster and more furiously than ever.

‘The Mudblood is talking to Kreacher as though she is my friend, if Kreacher's mistress saw him in such company, oh, what would she say—’

‘Don't call her a Mudblood!’ said Ron and Ginny together, very angrily.

‘It doesn't matter,’ Hermione whispered, ‘he's not in his right mind, he doesn't know what he's—’

‘Don't kid yourself, Hermione, he knows exactly what he's saying,’ said Fred, eyeing Kreacher with great dislike.

Kreacher was still muttering, his eyes on Harry.

‘Is it true? Is it Harry Potter? Kreacher can see the scar, it must be true, that's the boy who stopped the Dark Lord, Kreacher wonders how he did it—’

‘Don't we all, Kreacher,’ said Fred.

‘What do you want, anyway?’ George asked.

Kreacher's huge eyes darted towards George.

‘Kreacher is cleaning,’ he said evasively.

‘A likely story,’ said a voice behind Harry.

Sirius had come back; he was glowering at the elf from the doorway. The noise in the hall had abated; perhaps Mrs. Weasley and Mundungus had moved their argument down into the kitchen.

At the sight of Sirius, Kreacher flung himself into a ridiculously low bow that flattened his snoutlike nose on the floor.

‘Stand up straight,’ said Sirius impatiently. ‘Now, what are you up to?’

‘Kreacher is cleaning,’ the elf repeated. ‘Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black—’

‘—and it's getting blacker every day, it's filthy,’ said Sirius.

‘Master always liked his little joke,’ said Kreacher, bowing again, and continuing in an undertone, ‘Master was a nasty ungrateful swine who broke his mother's heart—’

‘My mother didn't have a heart, Kreacher,’ snapped Sirius. ‘She kept herself alive out of pure spite.’

Kreacher bowed again as he spoke.

‘Whatever Master says,’ he muttered furiously. ‘Master is not fit to wipe slime from his mother's boots, oh, my poor mistress, what would she say if she saw Kreacher serving him, how she hated him, what a disappointment he was—’

‘I asked you what you were up to,’ said Sirius coldly. ‘Every time you show up pretending to be cleaning, you sneak something off to your room so we can't throw it out.’

‘Kreacher would never move anything from its proper place in Master's house,’ said the elf, then muttered very fast, ‘Mistress would never forgive Kreacher if the tapestry was thrown out, seven centuries it's been in the family, Kreacher must save it, Kreacher will not let Master and the blood traitors and the brats destroy it—’

‘I thought it might be that,’ said Sirius, casting a disdainful look at the opposite wall. ‘She'll have put another Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of it, I don't doubt, but if I can get rid of it I certainly will. Now go away, Kreacher.’

It seemed that Kreacher did not dare disobey a direct order; nevertheless, the look he gave Sirius as he shuffled out past him was full of deepest loathing and he muttered all the way out of the room.

‘—comes back from Azkaban ordering Kreacher around, oh, my poor mistress, what would she say if she saw the house now, scum living in it, her treasures thrown out, she swore he was no son of hers and he's back, they say he's a murderer too—’

‘Keep muttering and I will be a murderer!’ said Sirius irritably as he slammed the door shut on the elf.

‘Sirius, he's not right in the head,’ Hermione pleaded, ‘I don't think he realises we can hear him.’

‘He's been alone too long,’ said Sirius, ‘taking mad orders from my mother's portrait and talking to himself, but he was always a foul little—’

‘If you could just set him free,’ said Hermione hopefully, ‘maybe—’

‘We can't set him free, he knows too much about the Order,’ said Sirius curtly. ‘And anyway, the shock would kill him. You suggest to him that he leaves this house, see how he takes it.’

Sirius walked across the room to where the tapestry Kreacher had been trying to protect hung the length of the wall. Harry and the others followed.

The tapestry looked immensely old; it was faded and looked as though doxys had gnawed it in places. Nevertheless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show them a sprawling family tree dating back (as far as Harry could tell) to the Middle Ages. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read:

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black'Toujours pur’

‘You're not on here!’ said Harry, after scanning the bottom of the tree closely.

‘I used to be there,’ said Sirius, pointing at a small, round, charred hole in the tapestry, rather like a cigarette burn. ‘My sweet old mother blasted me off after I ran away from home— Kreacher's quite fond of muttering the story under his breath.’

‘You ran away from home?’

‘When I was about sixteen,’ said Sirius. ‘I'd had enough.’

‘Where did you go?’ asked Harry, staring at him.

‘Your dad's place,’ said Sirius. ‘Your grandparents were really good about it; they sort of adopted me as a second son. Yeah, I camped out at your dad's in the school holidays, and then when I was seventeen I got a place of my own, my Uncle Alphard had left me a decent bit of gold—he's been wiped off here too, that's probably why—anyway, after that I looked after myself. I was always welcome at Mr. and Mrs. Potters for Sunday lunch, though.’

‘But ... why did you...?’

‘Leave?’ Sirius smiled bitterly and ran his fingers through his long, unkempt hair. ‘Because I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal ... my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them ... that's him.’

Sirius jabbed a finger at the very bottom of the tree, at the name ‘Regulus Black'. A date of death (some fifteen years previously) followed the date of birth.

‘He was younger than me,’ said Sirius, ‘and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded.’

‘But he died,’ said Harry.

‘Yeah,’ said Sirius. ‘Stupid idiot ... he joined the Death Eaters.’

‘You're kidding!’

‘Come on, Harry, haven't you seen enough of this house to tell what kind of wizards my family were?’ said Sirius testily.

‘Were—were your parents Death Eaters as well?’

‘No, no, but believe me, they thought Voldemort had the right idea, they were all for the purification of the wizarding race, getting rid of Muggle-borns and having pure-bloods in charge. They weren't alone, either, there were quite a few people, before Voldemort showed his true colours, who thought he had the right idea about things.... They got cold feet when they saw what he was prepared to do to get power, though. But I bet my parents thought Regulus was a right little hero for joining up at first.’

‘Was he killed by an Auror?’ Harry asked tentatively.

‘Oh, no,’ said Sirius. ‘No, he was murdered by Voldemort. Or on Voldemort's orders, more likely; I doubt Regulus was ever important enough to be killed by Voldemort in person. From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don't just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It's a lifetime of service or death.’

‘Lunch,’ said Mrs Weasley's voice.

She was holding her wand high in front of her, balancing a huge tray loaded with sandwiches and cake on its tip. She was very red in the face and still looked angry. The others moved over to her, eager for some food, but Harry remained with Sirius, who had bent closer to the tapestry.

‘I haven't looked at this for years. There's Phineas Nigellus ... my great-great-grandfather, see? Least popular headmaster Hogwarts ever had ... and Araminta Meliflua ... cousin of my mother's ... tried to force through a Ministry Bill to make Muggle-hunting legal ... and dear Aunt Elladora ... she started the family tradition of beheading house-elves when they got too old to carry tea trays ... of course, any time the family produced someone halfway decent they were disowned. I see Tonks isn't on here. Maybe that's why Kreacher won't take orders from her—he's supposed to do whatever anyone in the family asks him....’

‘You and Tonks are related?’ Harry asked, surprised.

‘Oh, yeah, her mother Andromeda was my favourite cousin, said Sirius, examining the tapestry closely. ‘No, Andromeda's not on here either, look—’

He pointed to another small round burn mark between two names, Bellatrix and Narcissa.

‘Andromeda's sisters are still here because they made lovely, respectable pure-blood marriages, but Andromeda married a Muggle-born, Ted Tonks, so—’

Sirius mimed blasting the tapestry with a wand and laughed sourly. Harry, however, did not laugh; he was too busy staring at the names to the right of Andromeda's burn mark. A double line of gold embroidery linked Narcissa Black with Lucius Malfoy and a single vertical gold line from their names led to the name Draco.

‘You're related to the Malfoys!’

‘The pure-blood families are all interrelated,’ said Sirius. ‘If you're only going to let your sons and daughters marry pure-bloods our choice is very limited; there are hardly any of us left. Molly and I are cousins by marriage and Arthur's something like my second cousin once removed. But there's no point looking for them on here—if ever a family was a bunch of blood traitors it's the Weasleys.’

But Harry was now looking at the name to the left of Andromeda's burn: Bellatrix Black, which was connected by a double line to Rodolphus Lestrange.

‘Lestrange...’ Harry said aloud. The name had stirred something in his memory; he knew it from somewhere, but for a moment he couldn't think where, though it gave him an odd, creeping sensation in the pit of his stomach.

‘They're in Azkaban,’ said Sirius shortly.

Harry looked at him curiously.

‘Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus came in with Barty Crouch, Junior,’ said Sirius, in the same brusque voice. ‘Rodolphus's brother Rabastan was with them, too.’

Then Harry remembered: He had seen Bellatrix Lestrange inside Dumbledore's Pensieve, the strange device in which thoughts and memories could be stored: a tall dark woman with heavy-lidded eyes, who had stood at her trial and proclaimed her continuing allegiance to Lord Voldemort, her pride that she had tried to find him after his downfall and her conviction that she would one day be rewarded for her loyalty.

‘You never said she was your—’

‘Does it matter if she's my cousin?’ snapped Sirius. ‘As far as I'm concerned, they're not my family. She's certainly not my family. I haven't seen her since I was your age, unless you count a glimpse of her coming into Azkaban. D'you think I'm proud of having a relative like her?’

‘Sorry,’ said Harry quickly, ‘I didn't mean—I was just surprised, that's all—’

‘It doesn't matter, don't apologise,’ Sirius mumbled. He turned away from the tapestry, his hands deep in his pockets. ‘I don't like being back here,’ he said, staring across the drawing room. ‘I never thought I'd be stuck in this house again.’

Harry understood completely. He knew how he would feel, when he was grown up and thought he was free of the place for ever, to return and live at number four, Privet Drive.

‘It's ideal for headquarters, of course,’ Sirius said. ‘My father put every security measure known to wizardkind on it when he lived here. It's unplottable, so Muggles could never come and call—as if they'd ever have wanted to—and now Dumbledore's added his protection, you'd be hard put to find a safer house anywhere. Dumbledore's Secret-Keeper for the Order, you know—nobody can find Headquarters unless he tells them personally where it is—that note Moody showed you last night, that was from Dumbledore....’ Sirius gave a short, bark-like laugh. ‘If my parents could see the use their house was being put to now ... well, my mothers portrait should give you some idea.’

He scowled for a moment, then sighed.

‘I wouldn't mind if I could just get out occasionally and do something useful. I've asked Dumbledore whether I can escort you to your hearing—as Snuffles, obviously—so I can give you a bit of moral support, what d'you think?’

Harry felt as though his stomach had sunk through the dusty carpet. He had not thought about the hearing once since dinner the previous evening; in the excitement of being back with the people he liked best, and hearing everything that was going on, it had completely flown his mind. At Sirius's words, however, the crushing sense of dread returned to him. He stared at Hermione and the Weasleys, all tucking into their sandwiches, and thought how he would feel if they went back to Hogwarts without him.

‘Don't worry,’ Sirius said. Harry looked up and realised that Sirius had been watching him. ‘I'm sure they'll clear you, there's definitely something in the International Statute of Secrecy about being allowed to use magic to save your own life.’

‘But if they do expel me,’ said Harry quietly, ‘can I come back here and live with you?’

Sirius smiled sadly.

‘We'll see.’

‘I'd feel a lot better about the hearing if I knew I didn't have to go back to the Dursleys,’ Harry pressed him.

‘They must be bad if you prefer this place,’ said Sirius gloomily.

‘Hurry up, you two, or there won't be any food left,’ Mrs. Weasley called.

Sirius heaved another great sigh, cast a dark look at the tapestry, then he and Harry went to join the others.

Harry tried his best not to think about the hearing while he emptied the glass-fronted cabinets that afternoon. Fortunately for him, it was a job that required a lot of concentration, as many of the objects in there seemed very reluctant to leave their dusty shelves. Sirius sustained a bad bite from a silver snuffbox; within seconds his bitten hand had developed an unpleasant crusty covering like a tough brown glove.

‘It's OK,’ he said, examining the hand with interest before tapping it lightly with his wand and restoring its skin to normal, ‘must be Wartcap powder in there.’

He threw the box aside into the sack where they were depositing the debris from the cabinets; Harry saw George wrap his own hand carefully in a cloth moments later and sneak the box into his already doxy-filled pocket.

They found an unpleasant-looking silver instrument, something like a many-legged pair of tweezers, which scuttled up Harry's arm like a spider when he picked it up, and attempted to puncture his skin. Sirius seized it and smashed it with a heavy book entitled Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. There was a musical box that emitted a faintly sinister, tinkling tune when wound, and they all found themselves becoming curiously weak and sleepy, until Ginny had the sense to slam the lid shut; a heavy locket that none of them could open; a number of ancient seals; and, in a dusty box, an Order of Merlin, First Class, that had been awarded to Sirius's grandfather for ‘services to the Ministry'.

‘It means he gave them a load of gold,’ said Sirius contemptuously throwing the medal into the rubbish sack.

Several times Kreacher sidled into the room and attempted to smuggle things away under his loincloth, muttering horrible curses every time they caught him at it. When Sirius wrested a large golden ring bearing the Black crest from his grip, Kreacher actually burst into furious tears and left the room sobbing under his breath and calling Sirius names Harry had never heard before.

‘It was my father's,’ said Sirius, throwing the ring into the sack. ‘Kreacher wasn't quite as devoted to him as to my mother, but I still caught him snogging a pair of my father's old trousers last week.’

Mrs. Weasley kept them all working very hard over the next few days. The drawing room took three days to decontaminate. Finally, the only undesirable things left in it were the tapestry of the Black family tree, which resisted all their attempts to remove it from the wall, and the rattling writing desk. Moody had not dropped by headquarters yet, so they could not be sure what was inside it.

They moved from the drawing room to a dining room on the ground floor where they found spiders as large as saucers lurking in the dresser (Ron left the room hurriedly to make a cup of tea and did not return for an hour and a half). The china, which bore the Black crest and motto, was all thrown unceremoniously into a sack by Sirius, and the same fate met a set of old photographs in tarnished silver frames, all of whose occupants squealed shrilly as the glass covering them smashed.

Snape might refer to their work as ‘cleaning', but in Harry's opinion they were really waging war on the house, which was putting up a very good fight, aided and abetted by Kreacher. The house-elf kept appearing wherever they were congregated, his muttering becoming more and more offensive as he attempted to remove anything he could from the rubbish sacks. Sirius went as far as to threaten him with clothes, but Kreacher fixed him with a watery stare and said, ‘Master must do as Master wishes,’ before turning away and muttering very loudly, ‘but Master will not turn Kreacher away, no, because Kreacher knows what they are up to, oh yes, he is plotting against the Dark Lord, yes, with these Mudblood and traitors and scum....’

At which Sirius, ignoring Hermione's protests, seized Kreacher by the back of his loincloth and threw him bodily from the room.

The doorbell rang several times a day, which was the cue for Sirius's mother to start shrieking again, and for Harry and the others to attempt to eavesdrop on the visitor, though they gleaned very little from the brief glimpses and snatches of conversation they were able to sneak before Mrs. Weasley recalled them to their tasks. Snape flitted in and out of the house several times more, though to Harry's relief they never came face to face; Harry also caught sight of his Transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall, looking very odd in a Muggle dress and coat, and she also seemed too busy to linger. Sometimes, however, the visitors stayed to help. Tonks joined them for a memorable afternoon in which they found a murderous old ghoul lurking in an upstairs toilet, and Lupin, who was staying in the house with Sirius but who left it for long periods to do mysterious work for the Order, helped them repair a grandfather clock that had developed the unpleasant habit of shooting heavy bolts at passers-by. Mundungus redeemed himself slightly in Mrs. Weasley's eyes by rescuing Ron from an ancient set of purple robes that had tried to strangle him when he removed them from their wardrobe.

Despite the fact that he was still sleeping badly, still having dreams about corridors and locked doors that made his scar prickle, Harry was managing to have fun for the first time all summer. As long as he was busy he was happy; when the action abated, however, whenever he dropped his guard, or lay exhausted in bed watching blurred shadows move across the ceiling, the thought of the looming Ministry hearing returned to him. Fear jabbed at his insides like needles as he wondered what was going to happen to him if he was expelled. The idea was so terrible that he did not dare voice it aloud, not even to Ron and Hermione, who, though he often saw them whispering together and casting anxious looks in his direction, followed his lead in not mentioning it. Sometimes, he could not prevent his imagination showing him a faceless Ministry official who was snapping his wand in two and ordering him back to the Dursleys’ ... but he would not go. He was determined on that. He would come back here to Grimmauld Place and live with Sirius.

He felt as though a brick had dropped into his stomach when Mrs. Weasley turned to him during dinner on Wednesday evening and said quietly, ‘I've ironed your best clothes for tomorrow morning, Harry, and I want you to wash your hair tonight, too. A good first impression can work wonders.’

Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny all stopped talking and looked over at him. Harry nodded and tried to keep eating his chop, but his mouth had become so dry he could not chew.

‘How am I getting there?’ he asked Mrs. Weasley, trying to sound unconcerned.

‘Arthur's taking you to work with him,’ said Mrs. Weasley gently.

Mr. Weasley smiled encouragingly at Harry across the table.

‘You can wait in my office until it's time for the hearing,’ he said.

Harry looked over at Sirius, but before he could ask the question, Mrs. Weasley had answered it.

‘Professor Dumbledore doesn't think it's a good idea for Sirius to go with you, and I must say I—’

‘—think he's quite right,’ said Sirius through clenched teeth.

Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips.

‘When did Dumbledore tell you that?’ Harry said, staring at Sirius.

‘He came last night, when you were in bed,’ said Mr. Weasley.

Sirius stabbed moodily at a potato with his fork. Harry lowered his own eyes to his plate. The thought that Dumbledore had been in the house on the eve of his hearing and not asked to see him made him feel, if it were possible, even worse.

高贵的最古老的布莱克家族

    韦斯莱夫人跟着他们上楼，脸板得叫人害怕。

    “我希望你们每个人立刻上床睡觉，不许说话。”他们走到二楼的楼梯平台时，她说道，“明天我们有许多事情要做。我想金妮已经睡着了。”她又对赫敏说：“尽量不要把她吵醒。”

    “睡着了，是啊，没错。”弗雷德压低声音说，这时赫敏已经向他们道了晚安，他们正继续往楼上走去。“金妮肯定醒着，等待赫敏把他们在楼下说的话原原本本地告诉她，如果不是这样，我就是一只弗洛伯毛虫？？”

    “好了，罗恩，哈利，”韦斯莱夫人在三楼的楼梯平台上说，看着他们走进卧室，“快上床睡觉吧。”“晚安。”哈利和罗恩对两个双胞胎说。“睡个好觉。”弗雷德眨了眨眼睛说。

    韦斯莱夫人在哈利身后重重地把门关上了。卧室看上去要说有什么不一样的话，倒是比第一次见到时更加昏暗、更加阴森了。墙上那幅空白油画此刻缓缓地、一起一伏地呼吸着，似乎住在里头的那个看不见的人已经进入了梦乡。哈利换上睡衣，摘下眼镜，爬到冰凉的床上；罗恩往衣柜顶上扔了一些猫头鹰食，安抚一下海德薇和小猪，它们不停地咂着嘴，焦躁地扑扇着翅膀。

    “我们不能每天晚上放它们出去捕食。”罗恩一边穿上他的褐紫红色睡衣，一边解释说，“邓布利多不想让太多的猫头鹰在广场上飞来飞去，认为那样会显得很可疑。哦，对了？？我忘记了？？”

    他走过去把门闩上了。

    “为什么要这么做？”

    “克利切，”罗恩一边关灯一边说道，“我来这里的第一天夜里，他凌晨三点钟摸进了我的房间。相信我，你总不愿意醒过来看见他在你的房间里鬼鬼祟祟地转悠吧。不管怎么说？？”他爬到床上，钻进被窝，转过脸在黑暗中望着哈利。哈利就着从肮脏的窗户中透进来的月光，勉强能够分辨出罗恩的轮廓。“你是怎么想的？”

    哈利不需要询问罗恩的问话是什么意思。

    “哦，他们告诉我们的情况，我们基本上都能猜得出来，是不是？”他说，想着刚才他们在楼下说过的所有那些话，“我的意思是，实际上他们只说了一点，就是凤凰社正在竭力阻止人们加入伏——　”

    罗恩呼地倒抽了一口冷气。

    “——　地魔，”哈利坚决地说，“你什么时候才能对他直呼其名呢？小天狼星和卢平就能做到。”

    罗恩假装没听见最后这句话。

    “是啊，你说得对，”他说，“他们告诉我们的事情，我们使用伸缩耳差不多都已经知道了。惟一的新消息就是——　”

    砰！“哎哟！”

    “你声音小点儿，罗恩，不然妈妈又该跑回来了。”

    “你们俩幻影移形，正好落在我的膝盖上了！”

    “是啊，没办法，摸着黑总是不太容易。”

    哈利看见弗雷德和乔治的模糊身影从罗恩的床上跳了下来。乔治一屁股坐在哈利脚边，哈利床垫的弹簧发出一阵呻吟，床垫往下陷了几英寸。

    “怎么样，明白了吧？”乔治急切地问。

    “小天狼星提到的那件武器？”哈利说。

    “估计是不小心说漏了嘴，”弗雷德兴趣很浓地说，他已坐在了罗恩身边，“我们以前用伸缩耳可没听到这一点，是不是？”

    “你们想那会是什么呢？”哈利问。“什么都有可能。”弗雷德说。“但是不可能有比阿瓦达索命咒还厉害的东西了，是不是？”罗恩说，“还有什么比死亡更可怕呢？”

    “也许是一种可以一下子杀死好多人的东西。”乔治猜测道。“也许是一种特别痛苦的杀人办法。”罗恩恐惧地说。“他已经有了可以让人痛苦的钻心咒，”哈利说，“他不再需要比那个更加有效的东西。”一阵沉默，哈利知道其他人像他一样，都在猜想这件秘密武器能给人带来怎样长久的恐惧。“那么你们说，这武器如今在谁手里昵？”乔治问。

    “我希望在我们这边。”罗恩说，声音里微微透着紧张。“如果是这样，准是由邓布利多保管着。”弗雷德说。“在哪儿？”罗恩立刻问道，“在霍格沃茨？”

    “肯定没错！”乔治说，“当年他就把魔法石藏在了那儿。”　“　可是，一件武器肯定要比魔法石大得多呀！”　罗恩说。“不一定。”弗雷德说。

    “是啊，威力大小不在于个头。”乔治说，“看看金妮吧。”　“你这是什么意思？”哈利说。“你从来没有领教过她的蝙蝠精魔咒吧，是不是？”“嘘！”弗雷德说着从床上欠起身子，“听！”他们屏住呼吸。有脚步声从楼梯上传来。“妈妈。”乔治说，说时迟那时快，随着啪的一声爆响，哈利觉得压在他床上的重量突然消失了。几秒钟后，他们听见门外的地板吱吱嘎嘎地响了起来，韦斯莱夫人显然在听他们是不是还在说话。海德薇和小猪闷闷不乐地叫着。地板又吱吱嘎嘎地响了，他们听见她在继续往楼上走，检查弗雷德和乔治去了。“你看，她根本就不相信我们。”罗恩懊丧地说。哈利肯定自己是睡不着了。这一晚上发生的事情太多了，他需要好好想想，他满心希望自己可以躺在床上，翻来覆去地寻思几个小时。他很想继续跟罗恩说说话，但韦斯莱夫人又吱吱嘎嘎地走下楼来了。她刚一走远，哈利又清清楚楚地听见其他人在往楼梯上走？？实际上，那是一些多腿的动物在卧室门外悄没声儿地跑来跑去，保护神奇生物课的老师海格在说：“它们多漂亮啊，是不是，哈利？我们这学期要学习武器？？”哈利突然看见那些动物的脑袋变成了一门门大炮，正转过来对准了他？？他闪身躲藏？？接下来，他发现自己在被窝里蜷缩成一个温暖的球，乔治响亮的声音在房间里回荡。

    “妈妈说该起床了，你们的早饭在厨房里，然后她要你们都到客厅去，那里的狐猸子比她原来想的还要多得多，她还在沙发下面发现了一窝死蒲绒绒①。”

    半个小时后，哈利和罗恩三下五除二地穿好衣服，吃过早饭，来到了客厅。这是二楼的一个长长的、天花板很高的房问，橄榄绿色的墙壁上挂着肮脏的挂毯。每次有人把脚踩在地毯上，就会扬起一小股灰尘，长长的、黄绿色的天鹅绒窗帘嗡嗡作响，好像里面飞着许多看不见的蜜蜂。韦斯莱夫人、赫敏、金妮、弗雷德和乔治正围在窗帘前面，每人脸上都围着一块布，掩住了鼻子和嘴巴，样子显得特别滑稽。他们每个人手里都拿着一大瓶黑色的液体，瓶口有一个喷嘴。

    “把脸蒙住，拿一瓶喷雾剂，”韦斯莱夫人一看见哈利和罗恩就说，一边指着一张细长腿桌子上的两瓶黑色液体，“这是狐猸子灭剂。我从没有见过害虫这样泛滥成灾的——　那个家养小精灵这十年来都做什么了——　”

    赫敏的脸被一块茶巾遮去了一半，但哈利清清楚楚地看见她朝韦斯莱夫人投去了不满的一瞥。“克利切已经很老了，他大概不能做一”

    “克利切只要想做，他能做的事情准会使你大吃一惊，赫敏。”小天狼星说，他刚刚走进房间，手里拎着一只血迹斑斑的口袋，里面装的像是死耗子。“我刚才在喂巴克比克，”看到哈利脸上询问的神色，他解释道，“我把它关在了楼上我母亲的卧室里。不管怎么说？？这张写字台？？”

    他把那袋死耗子扔进了一张扶手椅，俯身查看那个锁着的柜子，哈利这才第一次注意到那柜子在微微颤动。

    “没错，莫丽，我可以肯定这是一个博格特，”小天狼星从钥匙孔里往里瞅着说道，“但或许我们最好还是先让疯眼汉给它变变形再把它放出来——　它认识我母亲，可能是个厉害得多的家伙。”

    “你说得对，小天狼星。”韦斯莱夫人说。两人说话都小心翼翼，客客气气，哈利明白他们俩都还没有忘记前一天晚上的争吵。楼下传来丁丁当当刺耳的门铃声，紧接着是昨天晚上唐克斯撞翻伞架时触发的那种凄厉的尖叫哀号。

    “我告诉他们多少次了，不要摁门铃！”小天狼星恼火地说，匆匆离开了房间。他们听见他脚步声很重地跑下楼去，而布莱克夫人的尖叫声又一次在整个房子里回荡起来：①关于蒲绒绒的详细描写，请见《神奇动物在哪里》一书，人民文学出敝社，2001年10月版。

    接下来，他发现自己在被窝里蜷缩成一个温暖的球，乔治响亮的声音在房间里回荡。

    “妈妈说该起床了，你们的早饭在厨房里，然后她要你们都到客厅去，那里的狐猸子比她原来想的还要多得多，她还在沙发下面发现了一窝死蒲绒绒①。”

    半个小时后，哈利和罗恩三下五除二地穿好衣服，吃过早饭，来到了客厅。这是二楼的一个长长的、天花板很高的房问，橄榄绿色的墙壁上挂着肮脏的挂毯。每次有人把脚踩在地毯上，就会扬起一小股灰尘，长长的、黄绿色的天鹅绒窗帘嗡嗡作响，好像里面飞着许多看不见的蜜蜂。韦斯莱夫人、赫敏、金妮、弗雷德和乔治正围在窗帘前面，每人脸上都围着一块布，掩住了鼻子和嘴巴，样子显得特别滑稽。他们每个人手里都拿着一大瓶黑色的液体，瓶口有一个喷嘴。

    “把脸蒙住，拿一瓶喷雾剂，”韦斯莱夫人一看见哈利和罗恩就说，一边指着一张细长腿桌子上的两瓶黑色液体，“这是狐猸子灭剂。我从没有见过害虫这样泛滥成灾的——　那个家养小精灵这十年来都做什么了——　”

    赫敏的脸被一块茶巾遮去了一半，但哈利清清楚楚地看见她朝韦斯莱夫人投去了不满的一瞥。“克利切已经很老了，他大概不能做一”

    “克利切只要想做，他能做的事情准会使你大吃一惊，赫敏。”小天狼星说，他刚刚走进房间，手里拎着一只血迹斑斑的口袋，里面装的像是死耗子。“我刚才在喂巴克比克，”看到哈利脸上询问的神色，他解释道，“我把它关在了楼上我母亲的卧室里。不管怎么说？？这张写字台？？”

    他把那袋死耗子扔进了一张扶手椅，俯身查看那个锁着的柜子，哈利这才第一次注意到那柜子在微微颤动。

    “没错，莫丽，我可以肯定这是一个博格特，”小天狼星从钥匙孔里往里瞅着说道，“但或许我们最好还是先让疯眼汉给它变变形再把它放出来——　它认识我母亲，可能是个厉害得多的家伙。”

    “你说得对，小天狼星。”韦斯莱夫人说。两人说话都小心翼翼，客客气气，哈利明白他们俩都还没有忘记前一天晚上的争吵。楼下传来丁丁当当刺耳的门铃声，紧接着是昨天晚上唐克斯撞翻伞架时触发的那种凄厉的尖叫哀号。

    “我告诉他们多少次了，不要摁门铃！”小天狼星恼火地说，匆匆离开了房间。他们听见他脚步声很重地跑下楼去，而布莱克夫人的尖叫声又一次在整个房子里回荡起来：

    ①关于蒲绒绒的详细描写，请见《神奇动物在哪里》一书，人民文学出敝社，2001年10月版。

    是紫色的。如果你吃下这种吐吐糖那橘黄色的一半，你就会呕吐。等你冲出教室到医院去时，你再吞下那紫色的一半——　“

    “‘——　它又让你变得活蹦乱跳，使你能够在那一个小时里进行你喜欢的休闲活动，不然那一小时肯定是枯燥乏味、无利可图的。’反正我们的广告词就是这么说的，”他侧着身子移到了韦斯莱夫人看不见的地方，把掉在地上的几只狐猸子划拉到一起，装进了口袋，“但是还需要再做一些工作。目前，我们的试验者吐起来没完没了，无法歇口气吞下紫色的那一半。”

    “试验者？”

    “我们，”弗雷德说，“我们轮流试验。弗雷德试验昏迷花糖——　我们俩还共同试验鼻血牛扎糖——　”

    “妈妈还以为我们在决斗呢。”乔洽说。

    “那么，笑话商店还开着吧？”哈利小声问，一边假装调整喷雾器的喷嘴。

    “唉，我们还没有机会去找房子呢，”弗雷德说，把声音压得更低了，这时韦斯莱夫人用围巾擦了擦额头上的汗，又返身投入战斗，“所以我们目前还只是办理邮购业务。上个星期我们在《预言家日报》上登了广告。”

    “还得感谢你呢，哥们儿。”乔治说，“不用担心？？妈妈什么也不知道。她再也不肯看《预言家日报》了，因为报上尽给你和邓布利多造谣。”

    哈利咧嘴笑了。他曾经硬要韦斯莱家的这对双胞胎收下他在三强争霸赛中得到的一千加隆，以帮助他们实现开一个笑话商店的雄心壮志，不过让他仍然感到很欣慰的是韦斯莱夫人不知道他资助了双胞胎的计划。韦斯莱夫人认为，对。她的两个儿子来说，开一家笑话商店不是一个适合的职业。

    消灭窗帘里的狐猸子花了几乎一上午的时间。一直到过了中午，韦斯莱夫人才摘掉防护的围巾，一屁股坐进一张中间凹陷的扶手椅里，紧接着又厌恶地大叫一声，跳了起来——　她坐在那一袋死耗子上了。窗帘不再发出嗡嗡的响声了，它们软绵绵地垂着，因为喷了太多的药水而湿漉漉的。在它们的下面，失去知觉的狐猸子密密麻麻地躺在桶里，旁边一只碗里是它们黑色的卵，克鲁克山用鼻子嗅来嗅去，弗雷德和乔治眼热地朝它们望着。

    “我想，我们吃过午饭后再来对付那些吧。”韦斯莱夫人指着壁炉架两边布满灰尘的玻璃门柜子，那里面塞满了各种各样的古怪玩意儿：一批锈迹斑斑的短剑、动物的脚爪，一条盘起来的蛇皮，还有一大堆颜色暗淡发乌的银盒子，上面刻着哈利看不懂的文字，最让人不喜欢的是一个装饰用的水晶瓶，塞子上嵌着一块很大的蛋白石，瓶子里盛满了哈利肯定是血的东西。

    门铃又丁丁当当地响了起来。大伙儿都望着韦斯莱夫人。“待在这儿，”她不容置疑地说，一边一把抓起那袋死耗子，下面又传来了布莱克夫人凄厉刺耳的尖叫声，“我会带一些三明治上来。”

    她走出房间，回手把门小心地关上了。立刻，大家都冲到窗口，朝下面的前门台阶望去。他们看见是一个乱蓬蓬的姜黄色头顶，还有一大摞东倒西歪、限看就要倒下来的坩埚。

    “蒙顿格斯！”赫敏说，“　他把那么多坩埚带来做什么？”　“大概想找个安全的地方藏起来吧。”哈利说，“他本该跟踪我的那天晚上，去办的不就是这件事吗？抢购来路不明的坩埚？”“没错，你说得对！”弗雷德说，这时前门打开了，蒙顿格斯费力地搬着那些坩埚进了门，从他们的视野中消失了。“天哪，妈妈肯定不高兴？？”他和乔治走过去站在房门旁，仔细地听着。布莱克夫人的叫声已经停止了。“蒙顿格斯在跟小天狼星和金斯莱说话，”弗雷德小声说，同时皱紧眉头专心地听着，“听不太清楚？？你说我们可不可以冒险用一次伸缩耳？”

    “值得一试，”乔治说，“我可以悄悄上楼拿一副——　”

    可是就在这个时候，楼下传来爆炸般的声响，伸缩耳变得完全没有必要了。每个人都能清清楚楚地听见韦斯莱夫人扯足嗓子的叫嚷。

    “我们这里不是窝藏赃物的地方！”

    “我真喜欢听妈妈冲别人嚷嚷，”弗雷德脸上带着满足的微笑说道，他把门打开了一两英寸，好让韦斯莱夫人的声音更清楚地传进屋里，“换换口味真不赖。”

    “——　完全不负责任，好像我们的烦心事儿还不够多似的，你还要把这一大堆偷来的坩埚拖进屋子——　”

    “那些傻瓜怎么会让她由着性子发火呢。”乔治摇摇头说，“必须趁早转移她的注意力，不然她的火气会越来越大，接连几小时嚷嚷个没完没了。哈利，自从蒙顿格斯在应该跟踪你的时候偷偷溜走之后，妈妈就一直盼着狠狠地教训他一顿——　哦，小天狼星的妈妈又叫起来了。”

    韦斯莱夫人的声音几乎被淹没在了门厅里那些肖像发出的一片尖厉刺耳的叫声中。

    乔治想关上房门，把声音挡在外面，但没等他来得及这么做，一个家养小精灵侧身闪了进来。

    除了腰上围了一条脏兮兮的破布，像热带国家男子用来遮体的腰布，他全身几乎一丝不挂。他的模样很老了，皮肤似乎比他的身体实际需要的多出了好几倍，虽然他的脑袋像所有家养小精灵一样光秃秃的，但那两只蝙蝠般的大耳朵里却长出了一大堆白毛。他两眼充血，水汪汪灰蒙蒙的，肉乎乎的鼻子很大，简直像猪的鼻子一样。

    小精灵根本没有注意哈利和其他人。他就像看不见他们似的，弓着背，拖着脚，慢慢地、一步一步地朝房问那头走去，一边用牛蛙般沙哑、低沉的声音不停地轻声念叨着。

    “闻着就像阴沟和罪犯的气味。她也好不到哪儿去，讨厌的老败家子，领着她的小崽子糟蹋我女主人的房子。哦，我可怜的女主人啊，如果她地下有知，如果她知道他们把什么样的渣滓弄进了她的家门，她会对老克利切说些什么呢。哦，真丢人啊，泥巴种、狼人、骗子和小偷，可怜的老克利切，他能怎么办呢？？”

    “你好，克利切。”弗雷德声音很大地说，一边重重地把门关上了。

    家养小精灵顿时僵住了，嘴里不再念念有词，而是做出非常明显但很令人怀疑的吃惊样子。

    “克利切刚才没有看见年轻的主人。”他说，转身朝弗雷德鞠了一躬。他的脸仍然对着地毯，又用别人完全能够听见的声音说道：“是老败类的讨厌的小崽子。”

    “对不起？”乔治说，“最后那句话我没听清。”

    “克利切什么也没说，”小精灵又朝乔治鞠了一躬，然后用虽然很轻、但清清楚楚的声音说，“这是他的双胞胎兄弟，一对古怪的小野崽子。”

    哈利不知道要不要放声大笑。小精灵直起身，用恶毒的目光望了望他们大家，显然相信他们都听不见他的话，因为他又继续念叨开了。

    “还有那个泥巴种，大大咧咧、肆无忌惮地站在那里，如果我的女主人知道，哦，她该哭得多么伤心啊，这里又新来了一个男孩，克利切不知道他叫什么名字。他在这里做什么呢？克利切不知道？？”

    “克利切，这是哈利，”赫敏怯生生地说，“哈利波特。”　克利切那两只浅色的眼睛突然睁大了，嘴里念叨得比以前更快更充满火气了。“那泥巴种居然跟克利切说话，就好像她是我的朋友，如果克利切的女主人看见他跟这样的人在一起，哦，她会说什么呢——　”

    “不许叫她泥巴种！”罗恩和金妮非常生气地同时说道。

    “没关系，”赫敏小声说，“他脑子不正常，不知道自己在说——　”

    “你别自欺欺人了，赫敏，他很清楚自己在说什么。”弗雷德一边说一边非常厌恶地瞪着克利切。

    克利切嘴里仍然念念有词，眼睛望着哈利。

    “这是真的吗？真的是哈利波特？克利切看见伤疤了，肯定是真的，就是那个阻止了黑魔头的男孩，克利切不知道他是怎么做到的——　”

    “我们都知道，克利切。”弗雷德说。

    “你到底想要什么呀？”乔治问。

    克利切的一对大眼睛猛地朝乔治望去。

    “克利切在打扫卫生。”他躲躲闪闪地说。

    “说得倒很像是真的。”哈利身后的一个声音说。

    小天狼星回来了，他在门口怒气冲冲地瞪着小精灵，门厅里的声音平息了，也许韦斯莱夫人和蒙顿格斯把他们的争吵转移到厨房里去了。克利切一看见小天狼星立刻深鞠一躬，身子低得简直滑稽可笑，猪鼻子一般的大鼻子压扁在地上。

    “快站起来，”小天狼星不耐烦地说，“好了，你想做什么？”

    “克利切在打扫卫生，”小精灵又说了一遍，“克利切终生为高贵的布莱克家族效力——　”

    “可是房子一天比一天黑暗，它太脏了。”小天狼星说。“少爷总是喜欢开点儿小玩笑，”克利切说着又鞠了一躬，随即压低声音念叨开了，“少爷是个讨厌的、忘恩负义的下流坯，伤透了他母亲的心——　”　“我母亲没有心，克利切，”小天狼星没好气地说，“她完全是靠怨恨维持生命的。”

    克利切说话时又鞠了一躬。

    “不管少爷怎么说，”他愤愤不平地嘟哝道，“少爷连给他母亲擦鞋底都不配，哦，我可怜的女主人啊，如果他看见克利切在服侍少爷会怎么说呢，女主人是多么恨他啊，他多么令人失望——　”

    “我问你到底打算做什么。”小天狼星冷冷地说，“每次你出来假装打扫卫生，可是把什么东西都偷偷拿到你的房间，不让我们扔掉。”

    “克利切永远不会把少爷家里的任何东西从合适的地方拿走。”小精灵说，然后又很快地念叨起来，“如果挂毯被扔掉了，女主人永远都不会原谅克利切的，挂毯在这个家里已经有七个世纪了，克利切一定要保住它，克利切决不让少爷，还有那些杂种、败类和小崽子把挂毯毁掉——　”

    “我就知道是这么回事。”小天狼星说，朝对面墙上投去轻蔑的一瞥，“她会在挂毯后面再念一个永久粘贴咒，对此我毫不怀疑，但是如果我能够摆脱它，我决不会犹豫。好了，你走吧，克利切。”

    克利切似乎不敢违抗直接的命令，不过，当他拖着两只脚走出去时，他投给小天狼星的目光充满了刻骨铭心的憎恨，而且他走出房间时嘴里一直念念有词。

    “——　从阿兹卡班回来，倒对克利切指手画脚了，哦，我可怜的女主人。如果她看到房子变成这样，会说什么呢，卑鄙小人住了进来，她的宝贝被扔了出去，她发誓不认他这个儿子的，如今他又回来了，据说他还是个杀人犯——　”

    “你再念叨，我就真的要杀人啦！”小天狼星烦躁地说，对着小精灵把门重重地关上了。

    “小天狼星，他的脑子不正常，”赫敏恳求道，“我想他并不知道我们能听见他的话。”

    “他独自待的时问太长了，”小天狼星说，“从我母亲的肖像里接受了一些疯疯癫癫的命令，自己对自己说话，不过他以前就是一个可恶的小——　”　“如果你放他自由呢，”赫敏抱有希望地说，“说不定——　”

    “我们不能放他自由，他对凤凰社的事情知道得太多了。”小天狼星粗暴地说，“而且，不管怎么说，那份惊吓也会要了他的命。你突然对他提出要他离开这个家，看看他会有什么反应。”

    小天狼星走到房间那头，克利切千方百计要保护的那个挂毯覆盖着整面墙壁。哈利和其他人跟了过去。

    挂毯看上去很旧很旧了，颜色已经暗淡，似乎狐猸子把好几处都咬坏了。不过，上面绣的金线仍然闪闪发亮，他们清楚地看到了一幅枝枝蔓蔓的家谱图，一直可以追溯到（就哈利所知）中世纪。挂毯顶上绣着几个大字：高贵的最古老的布莱克家族永远纯洁‘“你不在上面！”哈利看了看家谱最底下一行说道。

    “曾经在上面的。”小天狼星说着指了指挂毯上一个焦黑的小圆洞，像是被香烟烧焦的痕迹，“我从家里逃走之后，我亲爱的老母亲就把我销毁了——　克利切很喜欢低声念叨这个故事。”

    “你从家里逃走？”

    “那年我大约十六岁，”小天狼星说，“我受够了。”

    “你去了哪儿？”哈利盯着他问道。

    “你爸爸家里，”小天狼星说，“你的爷爷奶奶非常善解人意，他们差不多把我当成了第二个儿子。是啊，学校放假时，我就暂时住在你爸爸家里，到了十七岁，我就自己找了个地方。我叔叔阿尔法德给我留下了数量可观的金子——　他也从这里被清除出去了，大概就是因为这个——　反正，从那以后，我就自己照顾自己了，不过，波特先生和夫人总是欢迎我每个星期六到他们家吃饭。”

    “可是你为什么？”

    “离家出走？”小天狼星苦笑一下，用手梳理着他乱蓬蓬的长发，“因为我讨厌他们所有的人。我的父母，疯狂地痴迷纯正血统，他们相信，身为布莱克家的人，天生就是高贵的？？我那个傻瓜弟弟，性情太软弱，居然相信了他们的话？？那就是他。”

    小天狼星伸出一个手指，指了指家谱图最下面的一个名字：雷古勒斯布莱克。在出生日期后面有一个死亡日期（大约在十五年前）。

    “他比我小，”小天狼星说，“不断地有人提醒我，他这个儿子比我强得多。”

    “可是他死了。”哈利说。

    “是啊，”小天狼星说，“愚蠢的白痴？？他加入了食死徒的行列。”

    “你在开玩笑吧！”

    “听我说，哈利，你看了这个房子的情形，难道还不明白我的家人都是什么样的巫师吗？”小天狼星不耐烦地说。

    “你的——　你的父母也是食死徒吗？”

    “不，不是，可是相信我，他们认为伏地魔的主张是正确的，他们都赞成维护巫师血统的纯正，摆脱麻瓜出身的人，让纯血统的人掌握大权。他们并不是独一无二的，在伏地魔露出他的真实面孔之前，许多人都认为他对一些事情的主张是正确的？？不过，当他们发现他为了获得权势而不择手段时，他们都胆怯、退缩了。但我想我的父母一定认为雷古勒斯一开始就加入其中，算得上一个勇敢的小英雄。”

    “他是被傲罗杀死的吗？”哈利不很确定地问。

    “哦，不是，”小天狼星说，“不是，他是被伏地魔杀害的。或者，更有可能是在伏地魔的指使下被害的。我怀疑雷古勒斯还没有那么重要，需要伏地魔亲手去于掉他。从他死后我了解的情况看，他已经陷得很深，然后他对别人要他做的事情感到恐惧，就想退出。唉，你不可能向伏地魔递一份辞职报告就算完事。要么卖命终身，要么死路一条。”

    “吃饭了。”韦斯莱夫人的声音说道。

    她把魔杖高高地举在面前，魔杖尖上顶着一只托盘，里面堆着许多三明治和蛋糕。韦斯莱夫人的脸涨得通红，仍然一副怒气冲冲的样子。其他人都向她围拢过去，争先恐后地拿东西吃，哈利留在小天狼星身边没有动。小天狼星弯腰更仔细地看着挂毯。

    “我已经好几年没有看这个东西了。这是菲尼亚斯奈杰勒斯？？我的曾曾祖父，看见了吗？？？是霍格沃茨历史上最不受欢迎的校长？？还有阿拉明塔　梅利弗伦？？我母亲的堂妹？？试图强行通过一条魔法部法令，使捕杀麻瓜的行为合法化？？还有我亲爱的埃拉朵拉婶婶？？家养小精灵老得端不动盘子时就砍下他们的脑袋，这个家族传统就是她开创的？？当然啦，每当家族中产生一个还算正派的人物时，他们就声明与他断绝关系。我看到唐克斯也不在上面。也许就是因为这个，克利切才不听从她的命令呢——　克利切应该对家族里所有的人都俯首听命的——　”

    “你和唐克斯是亲戚？”哈利吃惊地问。

    “哦，是啊，她的母亲安多米达是我最喜欢的堂姐，”小天狼星一边说一边认真地研究家谱图，“没有，安多米达也不在上面，你看——　”

    他指着贝拉特里克斯和纳西莎两个名字之问的另一个烧糊的小圆斑。

    “安多米达的姐妹们都在上面，因为她们嫁给了可爱的、值得尊敬的纯血统巫师，只有安多米达嫁给了一个麻瓜出身的人，泰德唐克斯，所以——　”

    小天狼星用魔杖做了一个向挂毯射击的动作，苦涩地笑了几声。但哈利没有笑，他正目不转睛地盯着安多米达的焦痕右边的几个名字。一根双股的金线把纳西莎布莱克与卢修斯马尔福连接在了一起，然后一根单股的垂直金线从他们的名字上连向了德拉科的名字。

    “你跟马尔福一家是亲戚！”

    “纯血统的家庭之间互相都有亲戚关系。”小天狼星说，“如果你只想让你的儿女同纯血统的人结婚，那你的选择余地就非常有限了。我们这种人已经所剩无几了。莫丽和我是有姻亲关系的表姐弟，亚瑟大概算是我叔伯祖父的曾外孙吧。但在这上面寻找他们是没有用的——　如果有哪个家里都是一伙玷污血统的败类，那准是韦斯莱一家了。”

    哈利这时又望着安多米达的焦痕左边的那个名字：贝拉特里克斯布莱克，一根双股金线将它与罗道夫斯莱斯特兰奇的名字连接在一起。

    “莱斯特兰奇？？”哈利大声说。这名字触动了他记忆中的某个东西，他在什么地方见过它，现在一时半会儿想不起是在哪儿，但是他内心深处产生了一种奇怪的、阴森森的感觉。

    “他们被关在了阿兹卡班。”小天狼星简短地说。

    哈利好奇地望着他。

    “贝拉特里克斯和她丈夫罗道夫斯是和小巴蒂克劳奇一起进去的。”小天狼星还是用那种简慢生硬的声音说，“鲁道夫斯的弟弟拉巴斯坦也和他们在一起。”

    哈利想起来了。他在邓布利多的冥想盆里见过贝拉特里克斯莱斯特兰奇。冥想盆是一个储存思想和记忆的奇特装置。贝拉特里克斯是一个高个子的黑皮肤女人，厚厚的眼睑耷拉着，她当时在接受审判，她声明她继续为伏地魔效忠，并说她为她在伏地魔失势后想方设法寻找他而感到骄傲，还说她坚信她总有一天会因自己的忠诚而得到回报。

    “你从没说过她是你的——　”

    “就算她是我的堂姐又有什么关系呢？”小天狼星没好气地说，“就我而言，他们根本就不是我的亲人。她当然更不能算我的亲人，我从你这么大以后就再没有见过她，除非你算上我看见她被关进阿兹卡班时的匆匆一瞥。你认为我会因为有她这样一个亲戚而感到自豪吗？”

    “对不起，”哈利赶紧说道，“我不是这个意思——　我只是感到很意外，没别的——　”

    “没关系，用不着道歉。”小天狼星轻声嘀咕道。他转身离开了挂毯，两只手深深插在口袋里。“我真不愿意回到这里，”他一边说一边朝客厅那头走去，“我从来没想过我会又困在这所房子里。”

    哈利完全能够理解。他知道，如果他长大成人，以为永远摆脱女贞路4号了，结果又回到那个地方生活，那会是一种什么感觉。

    “当然，用它做指挥部再适合不过了。”小天狼星说，“我父亲住在这里时，给它装上了巫师界所知道的所有保密措施。这房子无法在地图上标绘出来，因此麻瓜们不可能登门拜访——　就好像有谁愿意来似的——　现在邓布利多又增加了一些他的保护措施，你简直不可能在别处找到一处比这里更安全的房子了。知道吗，邓布利多是凤凰社的保密人——　谁也不可能找到指挥部，除非他亲自告诉他们地址——　就是昨天晚上穆迪给你看的那张纸条，是从邓布利多那里拿来的？？”小天狼星发出一声短促、刺耳的笑声，“如果我父母看见他们的房子现在派上了这样的用场？？唉，我母亲的肖像应该给了你一些印象？？”

    他板着脸沉默了一会儿，叹了一口气。

    “如果我能偶尔出去一下，做一些有用的事情就好了。我问过邓布利多，我能不能陪你去参加受审——　当然是以伤风的身份——　这样我能给你一些精神支持，你说呢？”

    哈利觉得他的心似乎一下子沉到肮脏的地毯下面去了。自从前一天晚上吃完饭之后，他就再没有想过受审的事。他终于回到了他最喜欢的人身边，听人们讲述着正在发生的事情，这使他非常兴奋，早就把这件事忘到了九霄云外。现在听了小天狼星的话，那种万念俱灰的恐惧感又回来了。他呆呆地望着正在狼吞虎咽吃三明治的赫敏和韦斯莱兄弟，想着如果自己不能跟他们一起回霍格沃茨，该是一种什么滋味。

    “别担心。”小天狼星说。哈利抬起头，这才发现小天狼星一直在注视着自己。“我相信他们一定会宣告你无罪的，《国际保密法》里肯定有允许人们为了保全性命而使用魔法的条款。”

    “但如果他们真的开除了我，”哈利小声问，“我能回到这里跟你住在一起吗？”

    小天狼星露出忧伤的笑容。

    “到时候看吧。”

    “如果我知道用不着回到德思礼家去，我就不那么害怕受审了。”哈利央求道。

    “你竟然宁愿住在这里，他们肯定对你很坏。”小天狼星忧郁地说。

    “快点，你们两个，不然就什么吃的也没有了。”韦斯莱夫人喊道。

    小天狼星又沉重地长叹了一声，朝挂毯投去悲哀的一瞥，便和哈利一起来到其他人身边。

    那天下午，他们清除玻璃门柜子时，哈利尽量克制住自己不去想受审的事。幸好，这项工作需要注意力非常集中，因为柜子里的许多东西似乎很不情愿离开落满灰尘的搁板。小天狼星被一只银鼻烟盒狠狠地咬了一口，不出几秒钟，被咬的那只手就结了一层难看的硬壳，好像戴了一只粗糙的褐色手套。

    “没事儿。”他一边说一边很有兴趣地查看那只手，然后用魔杖轻轻一点，手上的皮肤又恢复了正常，“里面一定是肉瘤粉。”

    他把鼻烟盒扔进了专门放柜里垃圾的袋子里。片刻之后，哈利看见乔治小心地用一块布包着手，偷偷把盒子塞进了他那已经装满狐猸子的口袋里。

    他们发现了一个样子特别难看的银器具，像是一把多脚的镊子。哈利刚把它拿起来，它就像蜘蛛一样飞快地顺着哈利的胳膊往上爬，而且还想刺破他的皮肤。小天狼星一把抓了过去，用一本名为《生而高贵：巫师家谱》的书把它拍死了。还有一个音乐盒，一拧发条，就隐隐约约地发出丁丁冬冬的不祥乐曲，接着他们都发现自己莫名其妙地变得虚弱无力，昏昏欲睡，幸亏金妮脑子还算清楚，赶紧将盖子关上了。还有一个谁也打不开的沉甸甸的纪念品盒。一大堆古色古香的印章。此外，在一个灰扑扑的盒子里，放着一枚梅林一级勋章，是授予小天狼星的祖父的，奖励他“为魔法部做出的贡献”。

    “就是说他给了他们一大堆金子。”小天狼星轻蔑地说，把勋章扔进了装垃圾的袋子。

    壳利切好几次偷偷溜进房间，想把一些东西藏在他的腰布下面带走；每次被人抓住时，他都会说出许多非常难听的脏话。当小天狼星把一个刻着布莱克家族饰章的大金戒指从他手里硬夺过来时，克利切居然气得流出了眼泪，小声啜泣着走出房间，一边用哈利从来没听过的字眼诅咒小天狼星。

    “这是我父亲的东西，”小天狼星说着把戒指扔进了袋子，“克利切对他不像对我母亲那样忠心耿耿，但我上个星期还是看见他亲吻了我父亲的一条旧裤子。”

    接下来的几天，韦斯莱夫人让他们干得非常辛苦。给客厅消毒花了三天时间。最后，房间里还剩下两件令人不快的东西，一个就是那块布莱克家谱图的挂毯，他们想尽各种办法都不能把它从墙上弄下来，还有就是那个咔啦啦作响的写字台。穆迪还没有顺路来指挥部，所以他们不敢肯定那里面到底是什么东西。

    他们从客厅转移到底层的一个餐厅，发现那儿的碗橱里藏着大得像茶托一般的蜘蛛（罗恩急急忙忙地跑出房间去给自己倒杯茶喝，一个半小时都没有回来）。那些印着布莱克家族饰章和铭词的瓷器都被小天狼星马马虎虎地扔进了一只袋子。装在褪色银相框里的一些老照片也遭到了同样的命运，当玻璃稀里哗啦地碎裂时，相框里的人都发出凄厉的尖叫。

    斯内普大概喜欢把他们的工作称为“大扫除”，但在哈利看来，他们实际上是在对老房子发动一场战争，老房子在克利切的帮助下，进行着十分顽强的抵抗。这个家养小精灵总是出现在他们集中干活的地方，千方百计想从装垃圾的口袋里拿走一些东西，同时嘴里念叨的话越来越难听。小天狼星最后甚至威胁说要给他衣服穿，克利切用水汪汪的眼睛盯着他说：“少爷愿意做什么就做什么。”但不等转身，他又大声念叨说：“可是少爷不会把克利切打发走的，不会的，因为克利切知道他们想干什么，噢，是的，他在密谋反抗黑魔头，是的，带着这些泥巴种、败类和渣滓？？”

    听了这话，小天狼星不理睬赫敏的抗议，一把从后面揪住克利切的腰布，把他扔到了房间外面。

    每天门铃都要响几次，一听到铃声，小天狼星的母亲就开始刺耳地尖叫，哈利和其他人则努力想偷听来访者的谈话，但每次只能匆匆瞥上几眼，听到几句零散的对话，就被韦斯莱夫人叫回去干活了，根本没有捞到多少有用的情报。斯内普又蜻蜓点水般地来了几次，不过让哈利感到欣慰的是，他们一直没有正面碰见过。哈利还看见了他的变形术老师麦格教授，她穿着麻瓜的衣服和外套，显得十分古怪。她似乎也非常忙碌，来去匆匆。不过，有的时候来访者也会留下来帮忙。唐克斯和他们一起度过了一个难忘的下午，他们在楼上的一间厕所里发现了一只凶恶残忍的老食尸鬼。卢平本来是和小天狼星一起住在房子里的，最近离开了很长时间，为凤凰社做一项秘密工作，但他帮助他们修好了一台老爷钟，那钟不知怎地染上了一个令人讨厌的坏毛病：朝过路人发射硬邦邦的螺丝钉。蒙顿格斯稍微挽回了一些自己在韦斯莱夫人心目中的形象，他把罗恩从一套古怪的紫色长袍里救了出来。当罗恩把袍子从衣柜里拿出来时，袍子缠住了他，要把他勒死。

    哈利尽管夜里还是睡得不踏实，梦境里仍然会出现那些长长的走廊和紧锁的房门，引起伤疤的阵阵刺痛，但在整个暑假里他总算第一次感到开心了。只要手里有活儿干，他就高兴。而当活儿告一段落、他松懈下来或精疲力竭地躺在床上望着模糊的阴影在天花板上移动时，他就又会想起即将到魔法部受审的可怕事情。他一想到如果他被开除他会怎么办，恐惧就像无数根尖针一样刺着他的心。这个想法太可怕了，他不敢大声把它说出来，就连对罗恩和赫敏也不敢说，而他们俩呢，尽管哈利经常看见他们凑在一起嘀嘀咕咕，并不时朝他这边投来担忧的目光，却也跟他一样，对这件事只字不提。有时，他忍不住会展开想象：面前出现了一个面目不清的魔法部官员，咔嚓一声把他的魔杖撅成了两截，命令他回到德思礼家去？？他是绝对不会去的。在这一点上他已拿定主意。他要到格里莫广场这儿来跟小天狼星住在一起。

    星期三晚上吃饭的时候，韦斯莱夫人转过脸来轻声对他说：“我已经把你最好的衣服熨好了，你明天早晨穿上，哈利，我希望你今晚再把头发洗洗。好的第一印象是会创造奇迹的。”哈利昕了这话，觉得就像一块砖头砸进了他心里。罗恩、赫敏、弗雷德、乔治和金妮都停止了谈话，朝他这边望着。哈利点点头，还想继续吃他的排骨，但嘴里突然变得很干，简直嚼不动了。“我怎么去呢？”他问韦斯莱夫人，努力使声音听上去显得不太在乎。“亚瑟上班时带你一起去。”韦斯莱夫人温和地说。

    韦斯莱先生隔着桌子朝哈利鼓励地微笑着。“你可以先待在我的办公室，等受审的时间到了再去。”他说。哈利朝小天狼星望去，但没等他发问，韦斯莱夫人就回答了。

    “邓布利多教授认为小天狼星陪你一起去不太合适，我必须说我——　”

    “　——　认为他非常正确。”小天狼星从紧咬的牙缝中说。韦斯莱夫人噘起了嘴巴。“邓布利多是什么时候对你说这个话的？”哈利问，眼睛望着小天狼星。

    “他昨夜来了一趟，那时你已经睡着了。”韦斯莱先生说。

小天狼星闷闷不乐地把叉子扎进了一个土豆。哈利垂眼望着自己的盘子。邓布利多在他受审的前夜来过这所房子，却没有提出来要见他，想到这一点，他原本就糟糕透顶的心情更加恶劣了。

The Ministry Of Magic

Harry awoke at half-past five the next morning as abruptly and completely as if somebody had yelled in his ear. For a few moments he lay immobile as the prospect of the disciplinary hearing filled every tiny particle of his brain, then, unable to bear it, he leapt out of bed and put on his glasses. Mrs. Weasley had laid out his freshly laundered jeans and T-shirt at the foot of his bed. Harry scrambled into them. The blank picture on the wall sniggered.

Ron was lying sprawled on his back with his mouth wide open, fast asleep. He did not stir as Harry crossed the room, stepped out on to the landing and closed the door softly behind him. Trying not to think of the next time he would see Ron, when they might no longer be fellow students at Hogwarts, Harry walked quietly down the stairs, past the heads of Kreacher's ancestors, and down into the kitchen.

He had expected it to be empty, but when he reached the door he heard the soft rumble of voices on the other side. He pushed it open and saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Sirius, Lupin, and Tonks sitting there almost as though they were waiting for him. All were fully dressed except Mrs. Weasley, who was wearing a quilted purple dressing gown. She leapt to her feet the moment Harry entered.

‘Breakfast,’ she said as she pulled out her wand and hurried over to the fire.

‘M-m-morning, Harry,’ yawned Tonks. Her hair was blonde and curly this morning. ‘Sleep all right?’

‘Yeah,’ said Harry.

‘I've b-b-been up all night,’ she said, with another shuddering yawn. ‘Come and sit down....’

She drew out a chair, knocking over the one beside it in the process.

‘What do you want, Harry?’ Mrs. Weasley called. ‘Porridge? Muffins? Kippers? Bacon and eggs? Toast?’

‘Just—just toast, thanks,’ said Harry.

Lupin glanced at Harry, then said to Tonks, ‘What were you saying about Scrimgeour?’

‘Oh ... yeah ... well, we need to be a bit more careful, he's been asking Kingsley and me funny questions....’

Harry felt vaguely grateful that he was not required to join in the conversation. His insides were squirming. Mrs. Weasley placed a couple of pieces of toast and marmalade in front of him; he tried to eat, but it was like chewing carpet. Mrs Weasley sat down on his other side and started fussing with his T-shirt, tucking in the label and smoothing out the creases across his shoulders. He wished she wouldn't.

‘...and I'll have to tell Dumbledore I can't do night duty tomorrow, I'm just t-t-too tired,’ Tonks finished, yawning hugely again.

‘I'll cover for you,’ said Mr. Weasley. ‘I'm OK, I've got a report to finish anyway....’

Mr. Weasley was not wearing wizards’ robes but a pair of pinstriped trousers and an old bomber jacket. He turned from Tonks to Harry.

‘How are you feeling?’

Harry shrugged.

‘It'll all be over soon,’ Mr. Weasley said bracingly. ‘In a few hours’ time you'll be cleared.’

Harry said nothing.

‘The hearing's on my floor, in Amelia Bones's office. She's Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and she's the one who'll be questioning you.’

‘Amelia Bones is OK, Harry,’ said Tonks earnestly. ‘She's fair, she'll hear you out.’

Harry nodded, still unable to think of anything to say.

‘Don't lose your temper,’ said Sirius abruptly. ‘Be polite and stick to the facts.’

Harry nodded again.

‘The law's on your side,’ said Lupin quietly. ‘Even underage wizards are allowed to use magic in life-threatening situations.’

Something very cold trickled down the back of Harry's neck; for a moment he thought someone was putting a Disillusionment Charm on him, then he realised that Mrs. Weasley was attacking his hair with a wet comb. She pressed hard on the top of his head.

‘Doesn't it ever lie flat?’ she said desperately.

Harry shook his head.

‘Mr. Weasley checked his watch and looked up at Harry. I think we'll go now,’ he said. ‘We're a bit early, but I think you'll be better off at the Ministry than hanging around here.’

‘OK,’ said Harry automatically, dropping his toast and getting to his feet.

‘You'll be all right, Harry,’ said Tonks, patting him on the arm.

‘Good luck,’ said Lupin. ‘I'm sure it will be fine.’

‘And if it's not,’ said Sirius grimly, ‘I'll see to Amelia Bones for you....’

Harry smiled weakly. Mrs. Weasley hugged him.

‘We've all got our fingers crossed,’ she said.

‘Right,’ said Harry. ‘Well ... see you later then.’

He followed Mr. Weasley upstairs and along the hall. He could hear Sirius's mother grunting in her sleep behind her curtains. Mr. Weasley unbolted the door and they stepped out into the cold, grey dawn.

‘You don't normally walk to work, do you?’ Harry asked him, as they set off briskly around the square.

‘No, I usually Apparate,’ said Mr. Weasley, ‘but obviously you can't, and I think it's best we arrive in a thoroughly non-magical fashion ... makes a better impression, given what you're being disciplined for....’

Mr. Weasley kept his hand inside his jacket as they walked. Harry knew it was clenched around his wand. The run-down streets were almost deserted, but when they arrived at the miserable little underground station they found it already lull of early-morning commuters. As ever when he found himself in close proximity to Muggles going about their daily business, Mr. Weasley was hard put to contain his enthusiasm.

‘Simply fabulous,’ he whispered, indicating the automatic ticket machines. ‘Wonderfully ingenious.’

‘They're out of order,’ said Harry, pointing at the sign.

‘Yes, but even so...’ said Mr. Weasley, beaming at them fondly.

They bought their tickets instead from a sleepy-looking guard (Harry handled the transaction, as Mr. Weasley was not very good with Muggle money) and five minutes later they were boarding an underground train that rattled them off towards the centre of London. Mr. Weasley kept anxiously checking and re-checking the Underground Map above the windows.

‘Four stops, Harry ... three stops left now ... two stops to go, Harry...’

They got off at a station in the very heart of London, and were swept from the train in a tide of besuited men and women carrying briefcases. Up the escalator they went, through the ticket barrier (Mr. Weasley delighted with the way the stile swallowed his ticket), and emerged on to a broad street lined with imposing-looking buildings and already full of traffic.

‘Where are we?’ said Mr. Weasley blankly, and for one heart-stopping moment Harry thought they had got off at the wrong station despite Mr. Weasley's continual references to the map; but a second later he said, ‘Ah yes ... this way, Harry,’ and led him down a side road.

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but I never come by train and it all looks rather different from a Muggle perspective. As a matter of fact, I've never even used the visitors’ entrance before.’

The further they walked, the smaller and less imposing the buildings became, until finally they reached a street that contained several rather shabby-looking offices, a pub and an overflowing skip. Harry had expected a rather more impressive location for the Ministry of Magic.

‘Here we are,’ said Mr. Weasley brightly, pointing at an old red telephone box, which was missing several panes of glass and stood before a heavily graffitied wall. ‘After you, Harry.’

He opened the telephone-box door.

Harry stepped inside, wondering what on earth this was about. Mr. Weasley folded himself in beside Harry and closed the door. It was a tight fit; Harry was jammed against the telephone apparatus, which was hanging crookedly from the wall as though a vandal had tried to rip it off. Mr. Weasley reached past Harry for the receiver.

‘Mr. Weasley, I think this might be out of order, too,’ Harry said.

‘No, no, I'm sure its fine,’ said Mr. Weasley, holding the receiver above his head and peering at the dial. ‘Let's see ... six...’ he dialled the number, ‘two ... four ... and another four ... and another two...’

As the dial whirred smoothly back into place, a cool female voice sounded inside the telephone box, not from the receiver in Mr. Weasley's hand, but as loudly and plainly as though an invisible woman were standing right beside them.

‘Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.’

‘Er...’ said Mr. Weasley, clearly uncertain whether or not he should talk into the receiver. He compromised by holding the mouthpiece to his ear, ‘Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, here to escort Harry Potter, who has been asked to attend a disciplinary hearing....’

‘Thank you,’ said the cool female voice. ‘Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes.’

There was a click and a rattle, and Harry saw something slide out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared. He picked it up: it was a square silver badge with Harry Potter, Disciplinary Hearing on it. He pinned it to the front of his T-shirt as the female voice spoke again.

‘Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium ’

The floor of the telephone box shuddered. They were sinking slowly into the ground. Harry watched apprehensively as the pavement seemed to rise up past the glass windows of the telephone box until darkness closed over their heads. Then he could see nothing at all; he could hear only a dull grinding noise as the telephone box made its way down through the earth. After about a minute, though it felt much longer to Harry, a chink of golden light illuminated his feet and, widening, rose up his body, until it hit him in the face and he had to blink to stop his eyes watering.

‘The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day,’ said the woman's voice.

The door of the telephone box sprang open and Mr. Weasley stepped out of it, followed by Harry, whose mouth had fallen open.

They were standing at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor. The peacock blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that kept moving and changing like some enormous heavenly noticeboard. The wall's on each side were panelled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds a witch or wizard would emerge from one of the left-hand fireplaces with a soft whoosh; on the right-hand side, short queues were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart.

Halfway down the hall was a fountain. A group of golden statues, larger than life-size, stood in the middle of a circular pool. Tallest of them all was a noble-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin and a house-elf. The last three were all looking adoringly up at the witch and wizard. Glittering jets of water were flying from the ends of the two wands, the point of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat, and each of the house-elf's ears, so that the tinkling hiss of falling water was added to the pops and cracks of the Apparators and the clatter of footsteps as hundreds of witches and wizards, most of whom were wearing glum, early-morning looks, strode towards a set of golden gates at the far end of the hall.

‘This way,’ said Mr. Weasley.

They joined the throng, wending their way between the Ministry workers, some of whom were carrying tottering piles of parchment, others battered briefcases, still others were reading the Daily Prophet while they walked. As they passed the fountain Harry saw silver Sickles and bronze Knuts glinting up at him from the bottom of the pool. A small smudged sign beside it read:

All proceeds from the fountain of magical brethren will be given to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

If I'm not expelled from Hogwarts, I'll put in ten Galleons, Harry found himself thinking desperately.

‘Over here, Harry,’ said Mr. Weasley, and they stepped out of the stream of Ministry employees heading for the golden gates. Seated at a desk to the left, beneath a sign saying SECURITY, a badly-shaven wizard in peacock-blue robes looked up as they approached and put down his Daily Prophet.

‘I'm escorting a visitor,’ said Mr. Weasley, gesturing towards Harry.

‘Step over here,’ said the wizard in a bored voice.

Harry walked closer to him and the wizard held up a long golden rod, thin and flexible as a car aerial, and passed it up and down Harry's front and back.

‘Wand,’ grunted the security wizard at Harry, putting down the golden instrument and holding out his hand.

Harry produced his wand. The wizard dropped it on to a strange brass instrument, which looked something like a set of scales with only one dish. It began to vibrate. A narrow strip of parchment came speeding out of a slit in the base. The wizard tore this off and read the writing on it.

‘Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use four years. That correct?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry nervously.

‘I keep this,’ said the wizard, impaling the slip of parchment on a small brass spike. ‘You get this back,’ he added, thrusting the wand at Harry.

‘Thank you.’

‘Hang on....’ said the wizard slowly.

His eyes had darted from the silver visitor's badge on Harry's chest to his forehead.

‘Thank you, Eric,’ said Mr. Weasley firmly, and grasping Harry by the shoulder he steered him away from the desk and back into the stream of wizards and witches walking through the golden gates.

Jostled slightly by the crowd, Harry followed Mr. Weasley through the gates into the smaller hall beyond, where at least twenty lifts stood behind wrought golden grilles. Harry and Mr. Weasley joined the crowd around one of them. Nearby, stood a big bearded wizard holding a large cardboard box which was emitting rasping noises.

‘All right, Arthur?’ said the wizard, nodding at Mr. Weasley.

‘What've you got there, Bob?’ asked Mr. Weasley, looking at the box.

‘We're not sure,’ said the wizard seriously. ‘We thought it was a bog-standard chicken until it started breathing fire. Looks like a serious breach of the Ban on Experimental Breeding to me.’

With a great jangling and clattering a lift descended in front of them; the golden grille slid back and Harry and Mr. Weasley stepped into the lift with the rest of the crowd and Harry found himself jammed against the back wall. Several witches and wizards were looking at him curiously; he stared at his feet to avoid catching anyone's eye, flattening his fringe as he did so. The grilles slid shut with a crash and the lift ascended slowly, chains rattling, while the same cool female voice Harry had heard in the telephone box rang out again.

‘Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club and Ludicrous Patents Office.’

The lift doors opened; Harry glimpsed an untidy-looking corridor, with various posters of Quidditch teams tacked lopsidedly on the walls. One of the wizards in the lift, who was carrying an armful of broomsticks, extricated himself with difficulty and disappeared down the corridor. The doors closed, the lift juddered upwards again and the woman's voice announced:

‘Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparation Test Centre.’

Once again the lift doors opened and four or five witches and wizards got out; at the same time, several paper aeroplanes swooped into the lift. Harry stared up at them as they flapped idly around above his head; they were a pale violet colour and he could see MINISTRY OF MAGIC stamped along the edge of their wings.

‘Just inter-departmental memos,’ Mr. Weasley muttered to him. ‘We used to use owls, but the mess was unbelievable ... droppings all over the desks...’

As they clattered upwards again the memos flapped around the lamp swaying from the lift's ceiling.

‘Level Five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats.’

When the doors opened, two of the memos zoomed out with a few more of the witches and wizards, but several more memos zoomed in, so that the light from the lamp flickered and flashed overhead as they darted around it.

‘Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau.

’ ‘S'cuse,’ said the wizard carrying the fire-breathing chicken and he left the lift pursued by a little flock of memos. The doors clanged shut yet again.

‘Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.’

Everybody left the lift on this floor except Mr. Weasley, Harry, and a witch who was reading an extremely long piece of parchment that was trailing on the floor. The remaining memos continued to soar around the lamp as the lift juddered upwards again, then the doors opened and the voice made its announcement.

‘Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services.’

‘This is us, Harry,’ said Mr. Weasley, and they followed the witch out of the lift into a corridor lined with doors. ‘My office is on the other side of the floor.’

‘Mr. Weasley,’ said Harry, as they passed a window through which sunlight was streaming, ‘aren't we still underground?’

‘Yes, we are,’ said Mr. Weasley. ‘Those are enchanted windows. Magical Maintenance decide what weather we'll get every day. We had two months of hurricanes last time they were angling for a pay rise.... Just round here, Harry.’

They turned a corner, walked through a pair of heavy oak doors and emerged in a cluttered open area divided into cubicles, which was buzzing with talk and laughter. Memos were zooming in and out of cubicles like miniature rockets. A lopsided sign on the nearest cubicle read AUROR HEADQUARTERS.

Harry looked surreptitiously through the doorways as they passed. The Aurors had covered their cubicle walls with everything From pictures of wanted wizards and photographs of their families, to posters of their favourite Quidditch teams and articles from the Daily Prophet. A scarlet-robed man with a ponytail longer than Bill's was sitting with his boots up on his desk, dictating a report to his quill. A little further along, a witch with a patch over one eye was talking over the top of her cubicle wall to Kingsley Shacklebolt.

‘Morning, Weasley,’ said Kingsley carelessly, as they drew nearer. ‘I've been wanting a word with you, have you got a second?’

‘Yes, if it really is a second,’ said Mr. Weasley, ‘I'm in rather a hurry.’

They were talking as though they hardly knew each other and when Harry opened his mouth to say hello to Kingsley, Mr. Weasly stood on his foot. They followed Kingsley along the row and into the very last cubicle.

Harry received a slight shock; blinking down at him from every direction was Sirius's face. Newspaper cuttings and old photographs—even the one of Sirius being best man at the Potters’ wedding—papered the walls. The only Sirius-free space was a map of the world in which little red pins were glowing like jewels.

‘Here,’ said Kingsley brusquely to Mr. Weasley, shoving a sheaf of parchment into his hand. ‘I need as much information as possible on flying Muggle vehicles sighted in the last twelve months. We've received information that Black might still be using his old motorcycle.’

Kingsley tipped Harry an enormous wink and added, in a whisper, ‘Give him the magazine, he might find it interesting.’ Then he said in normal tones, ‘And don't take too long, Weasley, the delay on that firelegs report held our investigation up for a month.’

‘If you had read my report you would know that the term is “firearms",’ said Mr. Weasley coolly. ‘And I'm afraid you'll have to wait for information on motorcycles; we're extremely busy at the moment.’ He dropped his voice and said, ‘If you can get away before seven, Molly's making meatballs.’

He beckoned to Harry and led him out of Kingsley's cubicle, through a second set of oak doors, into another passage, turned left, marched along another corridor, turned right into a dimly lit and distinctly shabby corridor, and finally reached a dead end, where a door on the left stood ajar, revealing a broom cupboard, and a door on the right bore a tarnished brass plaque reading Misuse of Muggle Artefacts.

Mr. Weasley's dingy office seemed to be slightly smaller than the broom cupboard. Two desks had been crammed inside it and there was barely space to move around them because of all the overflowing filing cabinets lining the walls, on top of which were tottering piles of files. The little wall space available bore witness to Mr. Weasley's obsessions; there were several posters of cars, including one of a dismantled engine, two illustrations of postboxes he seemed to have cut out of Muggle children's books, and a diagram showing how to wire a plug.

Sitting on top of Mr. Weasley's overflowing in-tray was an old toaster that was hiccoughing in a disconsolate way and a pair of empty leather gloves that were twiddling their thumbs. A photograph of the Weasley family stood beside the in-tray. Harry noticed that Percy appeared to have walked out of it.

‘We haven't got a window,’ said Mr. Weasley apologetically, taking off his bomber jacket and placing it on the back of his chair. ‘We've asked, but they don't seem to think we need one. Have a seat, Harry, doesn't look as if Perkins is in yet.’

Harry squeezed himself into the chair behind Perkins's desk while Mr. Weasley riffled through the sheaf of parchment Kingsley Shacklebolt had given him.

‘Ah,’ he said, grinning, as he extracted a copy of a magazine entitled The Quibbler from its midst, ‘yes...’ He flicked through it. ‘Yes, he's right, I'm sure Sirius will find that very amusing—oh dear, what's this now?’

A memo had just zoomed in through the open door and fluttered to rest on top of the hiccoughing toaster. Mr. Weasley unfolded it and read aloud, ‘"Third regurgitating public toilet reported in Bethnal Green, kindly investigate immediately.” This is getting ridiculous ...’

‘A regurgitating toilet?’

‘Anti-Muggle pranksters,’ said Mr. Weasley, frowning. ‘We had two last week, one in Wimbledon, one in Elephant and Castle. Muggles are pulling the flush and instead of everything disappearing—well, you can imagine. The poor things keep calling in those—pumbles, I think they're called—you know, the ones who mend pipes and things.’

‘Plumbers?’

‘—exactly, yes, but of course they're flummoxed. I only hope we can catch whoever's doing it.’

‘Will it be Aurors who catch them?’

‘Oh no, this is too trivial for Aurors, it'll be the ordinary Magical Law Enforcement Patrol—ah, Harry, this is Perkins.’

A stooped, timid-looking old wizard with fluffy white hair had just entered the room, panting.

‘Oh, Arthur!’ he said desperately, without looking at Harry. ‘Thank goodness, I didn't know what to do for the best, whether to wait here for you or not. I've just sent an owl to your home but you've obviously missed it—an urgent message came ten minutes ago—’

‘I know about the regurgitating toilet,’ said Mr. Weasley.

‘No, no, it's not the toilet, it's the Potter boy's hearing—they've changed the time and venue—it starts at eight o'clock now and it's down in old Courtroom Ten—’

‘Down in old— but they told me—Merlin's beard—’

Mr. Weasley looked at his watch, let out a yelp and leapt from his chair.

‘Quick, Harry, we should have been there five minutes ago!’

Perkins flattened himself against the filing cabinets as Mr. Weasley left the office at a run, Harry close on his heels.

‘Why have they changed the time?’ Harry said breathlessly, as they hurtled past the Auror cubicles; people poked out their heads and stared as they streaked past. Harry felt as though he had left all his insides back at Perkins's desk.

‘I've no idea, but thank goodness we got here so early, if you'd missed it, it would have been catastrophic!’

Mr. Weasley skidded to a halt beside the lifts and jabbed impatiently at the ‘down’ button.

‘Come ON!’

The lift clattered into view and they hurried inside. Every time it stopped Mr. Weasley cursed furiously and pummelled the number nine button.

‘Those courtrooms haven't been used in years,’ said Mr. Weasley angrily. ‘I can't think why they're doing it down there—unless—but no...’

A plump witch carrying a smoking goblet entered the lift at that moment, and Mr. Weasley did not elaborate.

‘The Atrium,’ said the cool female voice and the golden grilles slid open, showing Harry a distant glimpse of the golden statues in the fountain. The plump witch got out and a sallow-skinned wizard with a very mournful face got in.

‘Morning, Arthur,’ he said in a sepulchral voice as the lift began to descend. ‘Don't often see you down here....’

‘Urgent business, Bode,’ said Mr. Weasley, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet and throwing anxious looks over at Harry.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Bode, surveying Harry unblinkingly. ‘Of course.’

Harry barely had emotion to spare for Bode, but his unfaltering gaze did not make him feel any more comfortable.

‘Department of Mysteries,’ said the cool female voice, and left it at that.

‘Quick, Harry,’ said Mr. Weasley as the lift doors rattled open, and they sped up a corridor that was quite different from those above. The walls were bare; there were no windows and no doors apart from a plain black one set at the very end of the corridor. Harry expected them to go through it, but instead Mr. Weasley seized him by the arm and dragged him to the left, where there was an opening leading to a flight of steps.

‘Down here, down here,’ panted Mr. Weasley, taking two steps at a time. ‘The lift doesn't even come down this far ... why they're doing it down there...’

They reached the bottom of the steps and ran along yet another corridor, which bore a great resemblance to the one that led to Snape's dungeon at Hogwarts, with rough stone walls and torches in brackets. The doors they passed here were heavy wooden ones with iron bolts and keyholes.

‘Courtroom ... ten ... I think ... we're nearly ... yes.’

Mr. Weasley stumbled to a halt outside a grimy dark door with an immense iron lock and slumped against the wall, clutching at a stitch in his chest.

‘Go on,’ he panted, pointing his thumb at the door. ‘Get in there.’

‘Aren't—aren't you coming with—?’

‘No, no, I'm not allowed. Good luck!’

Harry's heart was beating a violent tattoo against his Adam's apple. He swallowed hard, turned the heavy iron door handle and stepped inside the courtroom.

魔法部

    第二天早晨五点半，哈利猛地一下完全清醒过来，就好像有人冲他耳朵里大喊了一声。他一动不动地躺在那里，慢慢地，要去魔法部受审的事充满了他大脑的每个细胞。他再也无法忍受了，就从床上跳下来，戴上了眼镜。韦斯莱夫人已经把洗熨一新的牛仔裤和T恤衫放在了他的床脚边。哈利摸索着穿上它们。墙上那幅空白的画纸在吃吃发笑。

    罗恩四肢舒展地仰面躺在床上，嘴巴张得大大的，睡得正香。哈利穿过房间，来到门外的楼梯平台上，反手把门轻轻关上，罗恩一直没有动弹。哈利竭力不去想当他下次再见到罗恩时，他们可能已经不再是霍格沃茨的同学了。他轻手轻脚地走下楼梯，经过克利切祖先的那些脑袋，来到下面的厨房里。

    他本来以为厨房里没有人，可他刚走到门口，就听见门后传来一片低低的说话声。他推开门，看见韦斯莱先生、韦斯莱夫人、小天狼星、卢平和唐克斯都坐在那里，好像正在等他似的。他们都穿得整整齐齐，只有韦斯莱夫人穿的是一件紫-85　？色的夹晨衣。哈利一进去，她就立刻站了起来。

    “吃早饭。”她一边说一边抽出魔杖，匆匆地朝火炉走去。

    “早一早一早上好，哈利。”唐克斯打着哈欠说。今天早晨她的头发是金黄色的，打着卷儿。“睡得好吗？”

    “挺好。”哈利说。

    “我一夜没一没一没睡。”她说，又浑身颤抖着打了一个大哈欠，“过来坐下吧？？”她拖出一把椅子，结果把旁边一把椅子推翻了。“你想吃什么，哈利？”韦斯莱夫人大声问，“粥？松饼？熏鱼？火腿和鸡蛋？面包？”“就一就来面包好了，谢谢。”哈利说。卢平看了一眼哈利，然后对唐克斯说：“你刚才说斯克林杰怎么啦？”“哦？？对了？？是这样，我们需要更小心点儿了，他开始问我和金斯莱一些古怪的问题？？”

    他们没有要求哈利加入谈话，他感到松了口气。他心里一直局促不安。韦斯莱夫人把两片面包和橘子酱放在他面前，他费力地吃着，味同嚼蜡。韦斯莱夫人在他的另一边坐了下来，开始格外细致地关心他的T恤衫，一会儿把标签塞进去，一会儿又把肩膀上的接缝抹平。哈利真希望她不要这么做。

    “？？我得跟邓布利多说说，我明天可不能再值夜班了，我太一太一太累啦。”唐克斯说着，又打了一个大大的哈欠。

    “我来替你吧，”韦斯莱先生说，“我没事儿，反正要赶一份报告？？”

    韦斯莱先生没有穿巫师长袍，而是穿着一条细条裤子和一件旧的短夹克衫。他把目光从唐克斯身上转向哈利。

    “你感觉怎么样？”

    哈利耸了耸肩。

    “很快就会结束的。”韦斯莱先生给他打气说，“再过几个小时，你就什么事儿都没有了。”

    哈利什么也没说。

    “受审就在我那层楼，在阿米莉亚博恩斯的办公室。她是魔法部法律执行司的司长，到时候就由她来向你提问。”“阿米莉亚博恩斯挺好的，哈利，”唐克斯真心诚意地说，“她很公正，会听你把话说完的。”哈利点点头，仍然想不出一句话来说。“不要发脾气，”小天狼星突然说，“态度要彬彬有礼，实事求是。”哈利又点点头。

    “法律会支持你的。”卢平轻声说，“即使是未成年巫师，也应该允许在生命受到威胁的情况下使用魔法。”

    一股凉飕飕的东西正顺着哈利的脖子后面往下淌，他一时间还以为有人在给他施幻身咒，接着才发现是韦斯莱夫人在用一把湿梳子对付他的头发。她用力按压着他的头顶。

    “它有没有可能伏帖下来呢？”她绝望地说。

    哈利摇了摇头。

    韦斯莱先生看了看表，抬头望着哈利。

    “我想我们现在就走吧，”他说，“稍微早了点儿，但我想你与其在这儿闲待着，还不如就动身去魔法部吧。”

    “好吧。”哈利不假思索地说，放下面包，站了起来。

    “你不会有事的，哈利。”唐克斯说着拍了拍他的胳膊。

    “祝你好运。”卢平说，“我相信一切都会很顺利的。”

    “如果不是，”小天狼星沉着脸说，“我就替你去找阿米莉亚博恩斯算账？？”

    哈利勉强笑了笑。韦斯莱夫人使劲拥抱了他一下。

    “我们都交叉手指为你祈祷。”她说。

    “好的，”哈利说，“那么？？待会儿再见吧。”

    他跟着韦斯莱先生上了楼，走过门厅。他可以听见帷幔后面小天狼星的母亲在睡梦中喃喃低语。韦斯莱先生拔掉门闩，两人出门来到外面。天刚刚破晓，天色灰蒙蒙的，带着寒意。

    “你一般不是走着去上班的，是吗？”他们步履轻快地绕过广场时，哈利问他。

    “是的，我通常是幻影移形，”韦斯莱先生说，“但显然你不会，而且我们最好通过非魔法的方式去那里？？给别人一个比较好的印象，要知道你受审是因为？？”

    韦斯莱先生走路时一只手插在夹克衫里，哈利知道那手里一定攥着魔杖。破败的街道上几乎一个人也没有，可是当他们走进寒酸的、不起眼的地铁车站时，发现里面已经挤满了早晨上班的乘客。韦斯莱先生难以抑制内心的浓厚兴趣，他每次发现自己与正在处理日常事务的麻瓜们近在咫尺时都是这样。

    “真是不可思议，”他小声说，指的是自动售票机，“太奇妙了。”

    “已经坏了。”哈利指着告示牌。

    “是吗，但即使这样？？”韦斯莱先生说，满心喜爱、笑眯眯地望着那些售票机。

    他们还是从一个睡眼惺忪的管理员手里买了地铁票（这笔交易是哈利完成的，因为韦斯莱先生不太搞得清麻瓜的货币），五分钟后，他们登上了地铁。地铁载着他们哐啷哐啷地朝伦敦市中心驶去。韦斯莱先生紧张地一遍遍核对窗户上面的地铁路线图。

    “还有四站，哈利现在还有三站？？还有两站，哈利？？”

    他们在伦敦市中心的一站下了车，人流如潮，他们被无数衣冠楚楚、提着公文包的男男女女推挤着出了地铁。他们上了自动扶梯，通过检票处（韦斯莱先生看到旋转栅门那样灵巧地吞下他的车票，显得非常高兴），来到一条宽阔的街道上，两边都是威严壮观的建筑物，街上已经是车水马龙。

    “这是什么地方？”韦斯莱先生茫然地问，哈利以为尽管韦斯莱先生那样频繁地核对地铁路线图，他们还是下错了车站，顿时吓得心脏都停止了跳动。可是紧接着韦斯莱先生又说：“啊，对了？？这边走，哈利。”转身领着哈利拐进了一条岔道。

    “对不起，”他说，“我从来没有乘地铁过来，而且用麻瓜的眼光看起来，一切就完全不同了。说实在的，我以前一次也没有使用过来宾人口。”

    他们往前走着，街道两边的建筑物渐渐不像刚才那样威严壮观了。最后他们来到一条凄凉的小街上，只有几间看上去破破烂烂的办公室、一家小酒馆和一辆满得快要溢出来的翻斗车。哈利原以为魔法部是在～一个气派得多的地方呢。

    “到了。”韦斯莱先生高兴地说，指着一问破旧的红色电话亭——　上面好几块玻璃都不见了，后面紧贴着一堵被涂抹得一塌糊涂的墙壁，“你先进去，哈利。”

    他打开电话亭的门。

    哈利走了进去，心里纳闷这到底是怎么回事。韦斯莱先生挤进来站在哈利身边，反手把门关上了。这里面真挤啊，哈利被挤得贴在了电话设备上。那电话歪歪斜斜地从墙上挂下来，似乎曾经有个破坏公物的家伙想用力把它扯掉。韦斯莱先生隔着哈利伸手拿起了话筒。

    “韦斯莱先生，我想这电话可能也坏了。，‘哈利说。

    “不，没有，我相信它没有坏。”韦斯莱先生说着把话筒举过头顶，眼睛望着拨号盘，“让我想想”他拨了这个号码，“又是一个，又是——　个”

    随着拨号盘呼呼地转回到原来的位置，电话亭里响起了一个女人冷漠的声音，但那声音并不是从韦斯莱先生拿着的话筒里传出来的，它响亮而清晰，仿佛一个看不见的女人就站在他们身边。

    “欢迎来到魔法部，请说出您的姓名和来办事宜。”

    “嗯？？”韦斯莱先生说，显然拿不准是不是应该对着话筒说话。最后他做了让步，把送话口贴在了耳朵上，“亚瑟韦斯莱，禁止滥用麻瓜物品司，是陪哈利波特来的，部里要求他来受审。”

    “谢谢，”那个女人冷漠的声音说，“来宾，请拿起徽章，别在您的衣服前。”

    丁零零，哗啦啦，哈利看见什么东西从平常用来退出硬币的金属斜槽里滑了出来。他把它拿了起来：是一个方方正正的银色徽章，上面写着：哈利波特，受审。他把徽章别在T恤衫前，那个女人的声音又响起来。

    “魔法部的来宾，您需要在安检台接受检查，并登记您的魔杖。安检台位于正厅的尽头。”

    电话亭的地面突然颤抖起来。他们慢慢沉入了地下。哈利惊恐地看着电话亭玻璃窗外的人行道越升越高，最后他们头顶上一片黑暗。他什么也看不见了，只能听见电话亭陷入地下时发出的单调、刺耳的摩擦声。过了大约一分钟，但哈利感觉要长得多，一道细细的金光照到他的脚上，随后金光逐渐变宽，扩大到他的身体上，最后直射他的面孔，他不得不使劲眨着眼睛，以免眼泪流出来。

    “魔法部希望您今天过得愉快。”那个女人的声音说。电话亭的门猛地打开了，韦斯莱先生走了出去，哈利跟在后面，惊讶得嘴巴都合不拢了。

    他们站在一个很长的金碧辉煌的大厅一头，地上是擦得光亮鉴人的深色木地板。孔雀蓝的天花板上镶嵌着闪闪发光的金色符号，不停地活动着、变化着，像是一个巨大的高空布告栏。四面的墙壁都镶着乌黑油亮的深色木板，许多镀金的壁炉嵌在木板里。每过几秒钟，随着噗的一声轻响，就有一个巫师从左边某个壁炉里突然冒出来。而在右边，每个壁炉前都有几个人在排队等着离开。

    门厅中间是一个喷泉。一个圆形的水潭中闯竖立着一组纯金雕像，比真人还大。其中最高的是一个风度高贵的男巫，高举着魔杖，直指天空。围在他周围的是一个美丽的女巫、一个马人、一个妖精和一个家养小精灵。马人、妖精和家养小精灵都无限崇拜地抬头望着那两个巫师。一道道闪亮的水柱从巫师的魔杖顶端，从马人的箭头上，从妖精的帽子尖，从家养小精灵的两只耳朵里喷射出来。四下里有丁冬丁冬、哗啦哗啦的水声，有幻影移形的人发出的噗、啪的声音，还有几百个男女巫师杂乱的脚步声。他们脸上挂着早晨特有的死气沉沉的表情，大步流星地朝门厅那头的一排金色大门走去。

    “这边走。”韦斯莱先生说。

    他们加入了人群，挤在魔法部工作人员中间往前走。他们有些人怀里抱着一堆堆摇摇欲坠的羊皮纸，有些人提着破破烂烂的公文包，还有些人边走边读《预言家日报》。经过喷泉时，哈利看见水潭底下有许多闪闪发光的银西可和铜纳特，旁边一个污迹斑斑的小牌子上写着：魔法兄弟喷泉的所有收益均捐献给圣芒戈魔法伤病医院。如果不把我从霍格沃茨开除，我就放十个加隆进去，哈利发现自己这样绝望地想道。

    “这边走，哈利。”韦斯莱先生说，他们离开了那些朝金色大门走去的魔法部职员的人流。在左边的一张桌子旁，在一个写着“安全检查”的牌子下，坐着一个穿孔雀蓝长袍、胡子刮得很不干净的巫师。他们走近时，他抬起头，放下了手里的《预言家日报》。

    “我带了一位来宾。”韦斯莱先生说着指了指哈利。

    “到这边来。”那巫师用没精打采的口吻说。

    哈利走近他面前，那巫师举起一根长长的金棒，像汽车的天线一样细细的，很有韧性，他用它在哈利的前胸后背从上到下扫了一遍。

    “魔杖。”安检巫师朝哈利啷哝了一声，放下那个金色的玩意儿，伸出手来。

    哈利把魔杖交了出去。那巫师把它扔在一个怪模怪样的、像是一个单盘天平的黄铜机器上。机器开始微微振动。一条窄窄的羊皮纸从底部的一道口子里飞快地吐了出来。那巫师把纸扯了下来，读着上面的字。

    “十一英寸，杖芯是凤凰羽毛，用了四年。对吗？”

    “没错。”哈利紧张不安地说。

    “这个我留着，”巫师说着把那张羊皮纸条戳在一根小小的黄铜钉子上。“你把这个拿回去。”他把魔杖塞进了哈利手里。

    “谢谢。”

    “等一等，”那巫师慢吞吞地说。

    他的目光从哈利胸前的银色来宾徽章移向了哈利的额头。“谢谢你，埃里克。”韦斯莱先生果断地说，一把抓住哈利的肩膀带着他离开了桌子，回到走向金色大门的巫师潮流中。

    哈利被人群推挤着，跟韦斯莱先生穿过大门，来到那边一个较小的大厅里。那儿至少有二十部电梯，被精制的金色栅栏门挡着。哈利和韦斯莱先生走到围着一部电梯前的人群中。旁边站着一个胡子拉碴的大个子巫师，怀里抱着一个大纸板箱，里面发出刺耳的摩擦声。

    “还好吧，亚瑟？”　那巫师说着冲韦斯莱先生点了点头。

    “你那里头是什么东西，鲍勃？”韦斯莱先生望着那纸板箱问道。

    “还不能肯定。”那巫师一本正经地说，“我们原以为是一只普普通通的鸡，没想到它喷出火来了。在我看来，这似乎严重违反了《禁止动物培育实验》的法令。”

    随着丁丁当当、咔啦咔啦的一阵响动，一个电梯降落到他们面前。金色的栅栏门轻轻滑开，哈利和韦斯莱先生与那伙人一起走进电梯，哈利发现自己被挤得贴在了后面的墙上。几个巫师好奇地打量着他。他低头望着脚尖，避免与别人的目光相对，一边用手抹平额前的刘海。栅栏门哗啦一声关上了，电梯慢慢上升，链条咔啦啦作响，哈利在电话亭里听见过的那个冷漠的女人声音又响了起来。

    “七层，魔法体育运动司，包含英国和爱尔兰魁地奇联盟指挥部、官方高布石俱乐部和滑稽产品专利办公室。”

    电梯的门开了，哈利瞥见一条杂乱无章的走廊，墙上东倒西歪地贴着各种各样的魁地奇球队的海报。电梯里一位抱着一把飞天扫帚的巫师费力地挤了出去，在走廊上消失了。门关上了，电梯微微晃动着继续上升，那女人的声音宣布道：“第六层，魔法交通司，包含飞路网管理局、飞天扫帚管理控制局、门钥匙办公室和幻影显形测试中心。”

    电梯的门又一次被打开了，四五个巫师走了出去。与此同时，几架纸飞机嗖嗖地飞进了电梯。哈利抬头注视着它们绕着他的头顶慢悠悠地飞行，它们的颜色是一种浅紫色，哈利还看见机翼边上盖着“魔法部”的戳记。

    “那是部门之间传递消息的字条。”韦斯莱先生低声告诉他，“以前用的是猫头鹰，可是那份脏乱简直不可思议，办公桌上到处都是粪便。”

    电梯咔啦咔啦又往上升了，那些字条围着从电梯天花板上悬挂下来的那盏灯飞舞。

    “第五层，国际魔法合作司，包含国际魔法贸易标准协会、国际魔法法律办公室和国际魔法师联合会英国席。”

    门开了，两张字条随着几个巫师嗖嗖地飞了出去，但又有几张字条嗖嗖地飞了进来，绕着他们头顶的那盏灯飞来飞去，弄得灯光闪烁不定。

    “第四层，神奇动物管理控制司，包含野兽、异类和幽灵办公室、妖精联络处和害虫咨询处。”

    “对不起，请让一下。”捧着喷火鸡的巫师说。他走出了电梯。一小群字条跟着飞了出去。电梯的门又哐啷啷关上了。

    “第三层，魔法事故和灾害司，包含逆转偶发事件小组、记忆注销指挥部和麻瓜问题调解委员会。”

    到了这一层，几乎所有的人都出去了，电梯里只剩下韦斯莱先生、哈利和一个女巫。那个女巫正在读一张长得要命、一直拖到地上的羊皮纸。电梯再次微微摇晃着往上走，剩下来的几张字条继续围着灯打转，然后门开了，那个声音宣布道：“第二层，魔法法律执行司。包含禁止滥用魔法司、傲罗指挥部和威森加摩管理机构。”

    “我们到了，哈利，”韦斯莱先生说，他们跟着那女巫走出了电梯，来到一条两边都是房门的走廊上。“我的办公室在这层楼的另一边。”

    “韦斯莱先生，”他们走过一个窗户，明亮的阳光洒了进来。哈利问道，“我们不是还在地底下吧？”

    “是啊，没错。”韦斯莱先生说，“这些是施了魔法的窗户。魔法维修保养处决定我们每天是什么天气。上次我们这里刮了两个月的飓风，因为他们想涨工资？？差不多就在这里，哈利。”

    他们转过一个拐角，穿过两扇沉重的栎木大门，进入了一片凌乱嘈杂、被分成许多小隔间的开放区域，里面谈笑风生，热闹异常。传递消息的字条从小隔间里飞出飞进，像一枚枚微型火箭。最近的一个小隔间上歪歪斜斜地挂着一个牌子：傲罗指挥部。

    他们走过时，哈利偷偷朝门里望了望。傲罗们在他们小隔间的墙上贴满了东西，从被通缉的巫师的头像，到他们家人的照片，再到他们喜欢的魁地奇球队的海报，还有《预言家日报》上剪下来的文章，真是五花八门，包罗万象。一个穿紫色长袍的男人，脑袋后面的马尾辫比比尔的还长，他把靴子高高地翘在桌子上，正在给他的羽毛笔口授一篇报告。再往前走一点，一位一只眼睛蒙着眼罩的女巫正隔着小隔间的挡板跟金斯莱沙克尔说话呢。

    “早上好，韦斯莱，”看到他们走进来，金斯莱大大咧咧地说，“我一直想跟你说一句话，你能给我一秒钟时间吗？”“行啊，如果真是一秒钟的话，”韦斯莱先生说，“我现在很忙。”

    他们像是互相不怎么熟悉似的谈起话来，哈利张嘴刚想向金斯莱问好，韦斯莱先生踩了一下他的脚。他们跟着金斯莱走过一排小隔间，走进最尽头的一个小隔间里。

    哈利微微吃了一惊。从四面八方朝他眨巴眼睛的正是小天狼星的脸。挡板上密密麻麻地贴着剪报和旧照片——　包括小天狼星在波特婚礼上当男傧相的那张。仅有的一块没被小天狼星遮住的地方贴着一张世界地图，上面的一个个小红图钉像宝石一样闪闪发亮。

    “给。”金斯莱生硬地对韦斯莱先生说，同时把一卷羊皮纸塞进了他手里，“关于最近十二个月有人看见麻瓜交通工具在天上飞的事，我需要尽可能多地了解情况。我们接到情报，布莱克可能仍在使用他那辆旧摩托车。”

    金斯莱朝哈利使劲眨了一下眼睛，压低声音说：“把这份杂志给他，他大概会觉得很有趣的。”然后他又用正常的声音说，“拖的时间不要太长，韦斯莱，那份闪光腿的报告交迟了，害得我们的调查耽搁了一个月。”

    “你如果读过我的报告，就会知道那个词是闪光臂。”韦斯莱先生冷冷地说，“恐怕你关于摩托车的情报要等一等了，我们目前忙得要命。”他又压低声音说道：“你争取在七点钟前离开，莫丽在做肉丸子呢。”

    他朝哈利示意，领着他走出金斯莱的小隔间，穿过第二道栎木大门，走进另一条过道，然后向左一拐，来到另一条走廊上，再往右一拐，走进一条光线昏暗、-92　？破旧不堪的走廊，最后来到走廊尽头，再也不能往前走了。左边有一扇门微微开了条缝，可以看出里面是一个扫帚间，右边的门上有个褪色的黄铜标牌：禁止滥用麻瓜物品司。

    韦斯莱先生的办公室昏暗寒酸，似乎比扫帚间还要略小一些。两张桌子挤在里面，周围沿墙排着一溜满得都快溢出来的文件柜，柜顶上还堆着一包包摇摇欲坠的文件，桌子旁边简直没有地方让人放开手脚活动。从墙上仅有的一点点能够利用的空间来看，可以看出韦斯莱先生情有独钟的东西：几张汽车广告，其中一张画着拆开的发动机；两张信箱的插图画，看样子是他从麻瓜儿童图书上剪下来的；还有一张如何安装插座的示意图。

    韦斯莱先生的收文篮里满满当当，位于最上面的是个上了年纪的祝酒人，正在闷闷不乐地打嗝，此外还有两只空空的皮手套，正在摆弄着两个大拇指。收文篮旁边是一张韦斯莱一家的全家福照片，哈利注意到珀西似乎已从照片上走了出去。

    “这里没有窗户。”韦斯莱先生抱歉地说，一边脱下短夹克衫搭在椅子背上，“我们提出过要求，但他们似乎认为我们并不需要。坐下吧，哈利，看样子珀金斯还没有来。”

    哈利勉强挤进珀金斯办公桌后的那张椅子，这时韦斯莱先生飞快地翻查着金斯莱沙克尔刚才给他的那扎羊皮纸。

    “啊，”他咧嘴笑着说，从羊皮纸中间抽出一本名为《唱唱反调》的杂志，“是的？？”他草草地翻看着。“是的，他说得没错，我敢肯定小天狼星会觉得非常有意思的——　哦，天哪，这又是怎么啦？”

    一张字条嗖地飞进了敞开的门，慢悠悠地落在那个不断打嗝的祝酒人头上。韦斯莱先生打开字条，大声念道：“‘据报告，在贝斯纳绿地发生了第三例公共厕所污水回涌事件，请火速前去调查。’这可真是见鬼了？？”

    “厕所污水回涌？”

    “反麻瓜的恶作剧分子干的，”韦斯莱先生皱着眉头说，“上个星期就有过两次，一次是在温布尔顿，另一次是在象堡。麻瓜一冲厕所，结果脏东西不仅没消失——　哎，你自己想象一下吧。可怜的人们不停地叫那些——　管子人，我想他们是这么说的吧——　你知道的，就是那些修理管子之类东西的入。”

    “管子工？”

    “对啦，就是这个，但是当然啦，他们也毫无办法。我只希望我们能抓住干这种勾当的人。”

    “傲罗不会去抓他们吗？”

    “噢，不，这种区区小事不需要傲罗出动，普通的魔法法律执行侦察队就能对付——　啊，哈利，这位是珀金斯。”

    一个弯腰驼背、神情有些腼腆、～头松软的花白头发的老巫师微微喘着粗气走进了房间。

    “啊，亚瑟！”他没有看哈利，只是着急地说道，“谢天谢地，我本来正发愁该怎么办才好呢，不知道要不要在这里等你们。我刚才打发一只猫头鹰给你家里送信，但你显然没有收到——　十分钟前来了一条紧急消息——　”

    “厕所污水回涌的事我已经知道了。”韦斯莱先生说。

    “不，不，不是厕所的事，是波特那孩子的受审——　他们把时间、地点给改了——　改成了八点钟在下面那问旧的第十审判室——　”

    “在下面那间——　可是他们告诉我说——　我的天哪！”

    韦斯莱先生看了看表，惊呼了一声，从椅子上一跃而起。

    “快点儿，哈利，我们应该五分钟前就到那里的！”

    珀金斯把身体贴在文件柜上让出道来，韦斯莱先生飞跑出办公室，哈利紧跟在后面。

    “他们为什么要改时间呢？”哈利气喘吁吁地问。他们一溜烟地跑过傲罗的那些小隔间，人们纷纷探出头来，惊讶地望着他们飞奔而过。哈利觉得他似乎把自己的五脏六腑都留在珀金斯的办公桌后面了。

    “真不明白，幸亏我们这么早就来了。如果你错过了，那可就大祸临头了！”

    韦斯莱先生在电梯旁刹住脚步，不耐烦地敲打着“向下”的按钮。

    “快点儿！”

    电梯咔啦咔啦地出现了，他们闪身进了电梯。每次电梯一停，韦斯莱先生都要气愤地咒骂几句，并用拳头使劲击打九层的按钮。

    “那些审判室已经好多年没有使用了，”韦斯莱先生气呼呼地说，“我真不明白他们为什么要选择在那里——　除非——　不，不会——　”

    这个时候，一个胖胖的女巫端着一只冒烟的高脚酒杯走进了电梯，韦斯莱先生也没有心思去问个究竟。

    “正厅。”那个冷冷的女人声音说道，金色的栅栏门滑开了，哈利远远地看见了喷泉中的那几尊黄金雕像。胖胖的女巫走了出去，一个满面菜色的巫师愁眉苦脸地走了进来。

    “早上好，亚瑟，”电梯开始下降时，他用忧郁低沉的声音说，“最近不怎么看见你下来。”

    “我有急事，博德。”韦斯莱先生说，一边心急火燎地踮着脚尖，并不时用焦急的目光望望哈利。

    “啊，是吗，”博德眼睛一眨不眨地打量着哈利，说道，“当然是这样。”

    哈利几乎没有心情理睬博德，但他那目不转睛的凝视仍使他感到很不舒服。

    “神秘事务司。”那个冷冷的女人声音说完就陷入了沉默。

    “快点儿，哈利。”电梯的门晔啦啦地打开了，韦斯莱先生催促道。他们飞快地跑过一道走廊。这道走廊与上面的那些走廊完全不同，墙上空荡荡的，没有门也没有窗户，只是走廊的尽头有一一扇简简单单的黑门，哈利以为他们会走这扇门，不料韦斯莱先生抓住他的胳膊把他拉到左边，这里有一个豁口通向一道阶梯。

    “下来，下来，”韦斯莱先生气喘吁吁地说，一步跨下两个台阶，“连电梯都下不到这么深的地方？？他们为什么要弄到这里来，我真？？”

    他们下到阶梯底下，又顺着一道走廊往前跑，这里跟霍格沃茨的那些通向斯内普地下教室的走廊简直一模一样：粗糙的石头墙壁，托架上插着一支支火把。他们在这里经过的门都是沉重的木门，上面嵌着铁门闩和钥匙孔。

    “第十？？审判室？？我想？？我们差不多到了？？没错，”　在一扇阴森森的挂着一把大铁锁的黑门前。韦斯莱先生跌跌撞撞地停下脚步，精疲力竭地靠在墙上，揪着胸前的衣服直喘粗气。

    “走吧，”他喘着气说，用大拇指点着那扇门，“进去吧。”

    “你不——　你不和我一起——　”

    “哦，不行。我不能进去。祝你好运！”

哈利狂跳的心脏扑通扑通地撞击着他的喉结。他费力地咽了口唾沫，拧了一下门上沉重的铁把手，走进了审判室。

The Hearing

Harry gasped; he could not help himself. The large dungeon he had entered was horribly familiar. He had not only seen it before, he had been here before. This was the place he had visited inside Dumbledore's Pensieve, the place where he had watched the Lestranges sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban.

The walls were made of dark stone, dimly lit by torches. Empty benches rose on either side of him, but ahead, in the highest benches of all, were many shadowy figures. They had been talking in low voices, but as the heavy door swung closed behind Harry an ominous silence fell.

A cold male voice rang across the courtroom.

‘You're late.’

‘Sorry,’ said Harry nervously. ‘I—I didn't know the time had been changed.’

‘That is not the Wizengamot's fault,’ said the voice. ‘An owl was sent to you this morning. Take your seat.’

Harry dropped his gaze to the chair in the centre of the room, the arms of which were covered in chains. He had seen those chains spring to life and bind whoever sat between them. His footsteps echoed loudly as he walked across the stone floor. When he sat gingerly on the edge of the chair the chains clinked threateningly, but did not bind him. Feeling rather sick, he looked up at the people seated at the bench above.

There were about fifty of them, all, as far as he could see, wearing plum-coloured robes with an elaborately worked silver ‘W’ on the left-hand side of the chest and all staring down their noses at him, some with very austere expressions, others looks of frank curiosity.

In the very middle of the front row sat Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic. Fudge was a portly man who often sported a lime-green bowler hat, though today he had dispensed with it; he had dispensed too with the indulgent smile he had once worn when he spoke to Harry. A broad, square-jawed witch with very short grey hair sat on Fudges left; she wore a monocle and looked forbidding. On Fudges right was another witch, but she was sitting so far back on the bench that her face was in shadow.

‘Very well,’ said Fudge. ‘The accused being present—finally—let us begin. Are you ready?’ he called down the row.

‘Yes, sir,’ said an eager voice Harry knew. Ron's brother Percy was sitting at the very end of the front bench. Harry looked at Percy, expecting some sign of recognition from him, but none came. Percy's eyes, behind his horn-rimmed glasses, were fixed on his parchment, a quill poised in his hand.

‘Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August,’ said Fudge in a ringing voice, and Percy began taking notes at once, ‘into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.

‘Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley—’

‘—Witness for the defence, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,’ said a quiet voice from behind Harry, who turned his head so fast he cricked his neck.

Dumbledore was striding serenely across the room wearing long midnight-blue robes and a perfectly calm expression. His long silver beard and hair gleamed in the torchlight as he drew level with Harry and looked up at Fudge through the half-moon spectacles that rested halfway down his very crooked nose.

The members of the Wizengamot were muttering. All eyes were now on Dumbledore. Some looked annoyed, others slightly frightened; two elderly witches in the back row, however, raised their hands and waved in welcome.

A powerful emotion had risen in Harry's chest at the sight of Dumbledore, a fortified, hopeful feeling rather like that which phoenix song gave him. He wanted to catch Dumbledore's eye, but Dumbledore was not looking his way; he was continuing to look up at the obviously flustered Fudge.

‘Ah,’ said Fudge, who looked thoroughly disconcerted. ‘Dumbledore. Yes. You—er—got our—er— message that the time and—er—place of the hearing had been changed, then?’

‘I must have missed it,’ said Dumbledore cheerfully. ‘However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done.’

‘Yes—well—I suppose we'll need another chair—I—Weasley, could you—?’

‘Not to worry, not to worry,’ said Dumbledore pleasantly; he took out his wand, gave it a little flick, and a squashy chintz armchair appeared out of nowhere next to Harry. Dumbledore sat down, put the tips of his long fingers together and surveyed Fudge over them with an expression of polite interest. The Wizengamot was still muttering and fidgeting restlessly; only when Fudge spoke again did they settle down.

‘Yes,’ said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. ‘Well, then. So. The charges. Yes.’

He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read out, ‘The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on the second of August at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offence under Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statute of Secrecy.

‘You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?’ Fudge said, glaring at Harry over the top of his parchment.

‘Yes,’ Harry said.

‘You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?’ said Fudge.

‘Yes,’ said Harry, ‘but—’

‘Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic outside school while you are under the age of seventeen?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry angrily, ‘but I only used it because we were—’

The witch with the monocle cut across him in a booming voice.

‘You produced a fully-fledged Patronus?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry, ‘because—’

‘A corporeal Patronus?’

‘A—what?’ said Harry.

‘Your Patronus had a clearly defined form? I mean to say, it was more than vapour or smoke?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry, feeling both impatient and slightly desperate, ‘it's a stag, it's always a stag.’

‘Always?’ boomed Madam Bones. ‘You have produced a Patronus before now?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry, ‘I've been doing it for over a year.’

‘And you are fifteen years old?’

‘Yes, and—’

‘You learned this at school?’

‘Yes, Professor Lupin taught me in my third year, because of the—’

‘Impressive,’ said Madam Bones, staring down at him, ‘a true Patronus at his age ... very impressive indeed.’

Some of the wizards and witches around her were muttering again; a few nodded, but others were frowning and shaking their heads.

‘It's not a question of how impressive the magic was,’ said Fudge in a testy voice, ‘in fact, the more impressive the worse it is, I would have thought, given that the boy did it in plain view of a Muggle!’

Those who had been frowning now murmured in agreement, but it was the sight of Percy's sanctimonious little nod that goaded Harry into speech.

‘I did it because of the dementors!’ he said loudly, before anyone could interrupt him again.

He had expected more muttering, but the silence that fell seemed to be somehow denser than before.

‘Dementors?’ said Madam Bones after a moment, her thick eyebrows rising until her monocle looked in danger of falling out. ‘What do you mean, boy?’

‘I mean there were two dementors down that alleyway and they went for me and my cousin!’

‘Ah,’ said Fudge again, smirking unpleasantly as he looked around at the Wizengamot, as though inviting them to share the joke. ‘Yes. Yes, I thought we'd be hearing something like this.’

‘Dementors in Little Whinging?’ Madam Bones said, in a tone of great surprise. ‘I don't understand—’

‘Don't you, Amelia?’ said Fudge, still smirking. ‘Let me explain. He's been thinking it through and decided dementors would make a very nice little cover story, very nice indeed. Muggles can't see dementors, can they, boy? Highly convenient, highly convenient ... so it's just your word and no witnesses....’

‘I'm not lying!’ said Harry loudly, over another outbreak of muttering from the court. ‘There were two of them, coming from opposite ends of the alley everything went dark and cold and my cousin felt them and ran for it—’

‘Enough, enough!’ said Fudge, with a very supercilious look on his face. ‘I'm sorry to interrupt what I'm sure would have been a very well-rehearsed story—’

Dumbledore cleared his throat. The Wizengamot fell silent again.

‘We do, in fact, have a witness to the presence of dementors in that alleyway,’ he said, ‘other than Dudley Dursley, I mean.’

Fudge's plump face seemed to slacken, as though somebody had let air out of it. He stared down at Dumbledore for a moment or two, then, with the appearance of a man pulling himself back together, said, ‘We haven't got time to listen to more tarradiddles, I'm afraid, Dumbledore. I want this dealt with quickly—’

‘I may be wrong,’ said Dumbledore pleasantly, ‘but I am sure that under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, the accused has the right to present witnesses for his or her case? Isn't that the policy of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Bones?’ he continued, addressing the witch in the monocle.

‘True,’ said Madam Bones. ‘Perfectly true.’

‘Oh, very well, very well,’ snapped Fudge. ‘Where is this person?’

‘I brought her with me,’ said Dumbledore. ‘She's just outside the door. Should I—?’

‘No—Weasley, you go,’ Fudge barked at Percy, who got up at once, ran down the stone steps from the judge's balcony and hurried past Dumbledore and Harry without glancing at them.

A moment later, Percy returned, followed by Mrs. Figg. She looked scared and more batty than ever. Harry wished she had thought to change out of her carpet slippers.

Dumbledore stood up and gave Mrs. Figg his chair, conjuring a second one for himself.

‘Full name?’ said Fudge loudly, when Mrs. Figg had perched herself nervously on the very edge of her seat.

‘Arabella Doreen Figg,’ said Mrs. Figg in her quavery voice.

‘And who exactly are you?’ said Fudge, in a bored and lofty voice.

‘I'm a resident of Little Whinging, close to where Harry Potter lives,’ said Mrs. Figg.

‘We have no record of any witch or wizard living in Little Whinging, other than Harry Potter,’ said Madam Bones at once. ‘That situation has always been closely monitored, given ... given past events.’

‘I'm a Squib,’ said Mrs. Figg. ‘So you wouldn't have me registered, would you?’

‘A Squib, eh?’ said Fudge, eyeing her closely. ‘We'll be checking that. You'll leave details of your parentage with my assistant, Weasley. Incidentally, can Squibs see dementors?’ he added, looking left and right along the bench.

‘Yes, we can!’ said Mrs. Figg indignantly.

Fudge looked back down at her, his eyebrows raised. ‘Very well,’ he said aloofly. ‘What is your story?’

‘I had gone out to buy cat food from the corner shop at the end of Wisteria Walk, around about nine o'clock, on the evening of the second of August,’ gabbled Mrs. Figg at once, as though she had learned what she was saying by heart, ‘when I heard a disturbance down the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. On approaching the mouth of the alleyway I saw dementors running—’

‘Running?’ said Madam Bones sharply. ‘Dementors don't run, they glide.’

‘That's what I meant to say,’ said Mrs. Figg quickly, patches of pink appearing in her withered cheeks. ‘Gliding along the alley towards what looked like two boys.’

‘What did they look like?’ said Madam Bones, narrowing her eyes so that the edge of the monocle disappeared into her flesh.

‘Well, one was very large and the other one rather skinny—’

‘No, no,’ said Madam Bones impatiently. ‘The dementors ... describe them.’

‘Oh,’ said Mrs Figg, the pink flush creeping up her neck now. ‘They were big. Big and wearing cloaks.’

Harry felt a horrible sinking in the pit of his stomach. Whatever Mrs. Figg might say, it sounded to him as though the most she had ever seen was a picture of a dementor, and a picture could never convey the truth of what these beings were like: the eerie way they moved, hovering inches over the ground, or the rotting smell of them, or that terrible rattling noise they made as they sucked on the surrounding air....

In the second row, a dumpy wizard with a large black moustache leaned close to whisper in the ear of his neighbour, a frizzy-haired witch. She smirked and nodded.

‘Big and wearing cloaks,’ repeated Madam Bones coolly, while Fudge snorted derisively. ‘I see. Anything else?’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Figg. ‘I felt them. Everything went cold, and this was a very warm summer's night, mark you. And I felt ... as though all happiness had gone from the world ... and I remembered ... dreadful things....’

Her voice shook and died.

Madam Bones's eyes widened slightly. Harry could see red marks under her eyebrow where the monocle had dug into it.

‘What did the dementors do?’ she asked, and Harry felt a rush of hope.

‘They went for the boys,’ said Mrs. Figg, her voice stronger and more confident now, the pink flush ebbing away from her face. ‘One of them had fallen. The other was backing away, trying to repel the dementor. That was Harry. He tried twice and produced only silver vapour. On the third attempt, he produced a Patronus, which charged down the first dementor and then, with his encouragement, chased the second one away from his cousin. And that ... that is what happened,’ Mrs. Figg finished, somewhat lamely.

Madam Bones looked down at Mrs. Figg in silence. Fudge was not looking at her at all, but fidgeting with his papers. Finally, he raised his eyes and said, rather aggressively, ‘That's what you saw, is it?’

‘That is what happened,’ Mrs. Figg repeated.

‘Very well,’ said Fudge. ‘You may go.’

Mrs. Figg cast a frightened look from Fudge to Dumbledore, then got up and shuffled off towards the door. Harry heard it thud shut behind her.

‘Not a very convincing witness,’ said Fudge loftily.

‘Oh, I don't know,’ said Madam Bones, in her booming voice. ‘She certainly described the effects of a dementor attack very accurately. And I can't imagine why she would say they were there if they weren't.’

‘But dementors wandering into a Muggle suburb and just happening to come across a wizard?’ snorted Fudge. The odds on that must be very, very long. Even Bagman wouldn't have bet—’

‘Oh, I don't think any of us believe the dementors were there by coincidence,’ said Dumbledore lightly.

The witch sitting to the right of Fudge, with her face in shadow, moved slightly but everyone else was quite still and silent.

‘And what is that supposed to mean?’ Fudge asked icily.

‘It means that I think they were ordered there,’ said Dumbledore.

‘I think we might have a record of it if someone had ordered a pair of dementors to go strolling through Little Whinging!’ barked Fudge.

‘Not if the dementors are taking orders from someone other than the Ministry of Magic these days,’ said Dumbledore calmly. ‘I have already given you my views on this matter, Cornelius.’

‘Yes, you have,’ said Fudge forcefully, ‘and I have no reason to believe that your views are anything other than bilge, Dumbledore. The dementors remain in place in Azkaban and are doing everything we ask them to.’

‘Then,’ said Dumbledore, quietly but clearly, ‘we must ask ourselves why somebody within the Ministry ordered a pair of dementors into that alleyway on the second of August.’

In the complete silence that greeted these words, the witch to the right of Fudge leaned forwards so that Harry saw her for the first time.

He thought she looked just like a large, pale toad. She was rather squat with a broad, flabby face, as little neck as Uncle Vernon and a very wide, slack mouth. Her eyes were large, round and slightly bulging. Even the little black velvet bow perched on top of her short curly hair put him in mind of a large fly she was about to catch on a long sticky tongue.

‘The Chair recognises Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister,’ said Fudge.

The witch spoke in a fluttery, girlish, high-pitched voice that took Harry aback; he had been expecting a croak.

‘I'm sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor Dumbledore,’ she said, with a simper that left her big, round eyes as cold as ever. ‘So silly of me. But it sounded for a teensy moment as though you were suggesting that the Ministry of Magic had ordered an attack on this boy!’

She gave a silvery laugh that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up. A few other members of the Wizengamot laughed with her. It could not have been plainer that not one of them was really amused.

‘If it is true that the dementors are taking orders only from the Ministry of Magic, and it is also true that two dementors attacked Harry and his cousin a week ago, then it follows logically that somebody at the Ministry might have ordered the attacks,’ said Dumbledore politely. ‘Of course, these particular dementors may have been outside Ministry control—’

‘There are no dementors outside Ministry control!’ snapped Fudge, who had turned brick red.

Dumbledore inclined his head in a little bow.

‘Then undoubtedly the Ministry will be making a full inquiry into why two dementors were so very far from Azkaban and why they attacked without authorisation.’

‘It is not for you to decide what the Ministry of Magic does or does not do, Dumbledore!’ snapped Fudge, now a shade of magenta of which Uncle Vernon would have been proud.

‘Of course it isn't,’ said Dumbledore mildly. ‘I was merely expressing my confidence that this matter will not go uninvestigated.’

He glanced at Madam Bones, who readjusted her monocle and stared back at him, frowning slightly.

‘I would remind everybody that the behaviour of these dementors, if indeed they are not figments of this boy's imagination, is not the subject of this hearing!’ said Fudge. ‘We are here to examine Harry Potter's offences under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery!’

‘Of course we are,’ said Dumbledore, ‘but the presence of dementors in that alleyway is highly relevant. Clause Seven of the Decree states that magic may be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances, and as those exceptional circumstances include situations which threaten the life of the wizard or witch himself, or any witches, wizards or Muggles present at the time of the—’

‘We are familiar with Clause Seven, thank you very much!’ snarled Fudge.

‘Of course you are,’ said Dumbledore courteously. ‘Then we are in agreement that Harry's use of the Patronus Charm in these circumstances falls precisely into the category of exceptional circumstances the clause describes?’

‘If there were dementors, which I doubt.’

‘You have heard it from an eyewitness,’ Dumbledore interrupted.

‘If you still doubt her truthfulness, call her back, question her again. I am sure she would not object.’

‘I—that—not—’ blustered Fudge, fiddling with the papers before him. ‘It's—I want this over with today, Dumbledore!’

‘But naturally, you would not care how many times you heard from a witness, if the alternative was a serious miscarriage of justice,’ said Dumbledore.

‘Serious miscarriage, my hat!’ said Fudge at the top of his voice. ‘Have you ever bothered to tot up the number of cock-and-bull stories this boy has come out with, Dumbledore, while trying to cover up his flagrant misuse of magic out of school? I suppose you've forgotten the Hover Charm he used three years ago—’

‘That wasn't me, it was a house-elf!’ said Harry.

‘YOU SEE?’ roared Fudge, gesturing flamboyantly in Harry's direction. ‘A house-elf! In a Muggle house! I ask you—’

‘The house-elf in question is currently in the employ of Hogwarts School,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I can summon him here in an instant to give evidence if you wish.’

‘I—not—I haven't got time to listen to house-elves! Anyway, that's not the only—he blew up his aunt, for God's sake!’ Fudge shouted, banging his fist on the judge's bench and upsetting a bottle of ink.

‘And you very kindly did not press charges on that occasion, accepting, I presume, that even the best wizards cannot always control their emotions,’ said Dumbledore calmly, as Fudge attempted to scrub the ink off his notes.

‘And I haven't even started on what he gets up to at school—’

‘But, as the Ministry has no authority to punish Hogwarts students for misdemeanours at school, Harry's behaviour there is not relevant to this hearing,’ said Dumbledore, as politely as ever, but now with a suggestion of coolness behind his words.

‘Oho!’ said Fudge. ‘Not our business what he does at school, eh? You think so?’

‘The Ministry does not have the power to expel Hogwarts students, Cornelius, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Nor does it have the right to confiscate wands until charges have been successfully proven, again, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August, in your admirable haste to ensure that the law is upheld, you appear, inadvertently I am sure, to have overlooked a few laws yourself.’

‘Laws can be changed,’ said Fudge savagely.

‘Of course they can,’ said Dumbledore, inclining his head. ‘And you certainly seem to be making many changes, Cornelius. Why, in the few short weeks since I was asked to leave the Wizengamot, it has already become the practice to hold a full criminal trial to deal with a simple matter of underage magic!’

A few of the wizards above them shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Fudge turned a slightly deeper shade of puce. The toadlike witch on his right, however, merely gazed at Dumbledore, her face quite expressionless.

‘As far as I am aware,’ Dumbledore continued, ‘there is no law yet in place that says this court's job is to punish Harry for every bit of magic he has ever performed. He has been charged with a specific offence and he has presented his defence. All he and I can do now is to await your verdict.’

Dumbledore put his fingertips together again and said no more. Fudge glared at him, evidently incensed. Harry glanced sideways at Dumbledore, seeking reassurance; he was not at all sure that Dumbledore was right in telling the Wizengamot, in effect, that it was about time they made a decision. Again, however, Dumbledore seemed oblivious to Harry's attempt to catch his eye. He continued to look up at the benches where the entire Wizengamot had fallen into urgent, whispered conversations.

Harry looked at his feet. His heart, which seemed to have swollen to an unnatural size, was thumping loudly under his ribs. He had expected the hearing to last longer than this. He was not at all sure that he had made a good impression. He had not really said very much. He ought to have explained more fully about the dementors, about how he had fallen over, about how both he and Dudley had nearly been kissed....

Twice he looked up at Fudge and opened his mouth to speak, but his swollen heart was now constricting his air passages and both times he merely took a deep breath and looked back down at his shoes.

Then the whispering stopped. Harry wanted to look up at the judges, but found that it was really much, much easier to keep examining his laces.

‘Those in favour of clearing the witness of all charges?’ said Madam Boness booming voice.

Harry's head jerked upwards. There were hands in the air, many of them ... more than half! Breathing very fast, he tried to count, but before he could finish, Madam Bones had said, ‘And those in favour of conviction?’

Fudge raised his hand; so did half a dozen others, including the witch on his right and the heavily-moustached wizard and the frizzy-haired witch in the second row.

Fudge glanced around at them all, looking as though there was something large stuck in his throat, then lowered his own hand. He took two deep breaths and said, in a voice distorted by suppressed rage, ‘Very well, very well ... cleared of all charges.’

‘Excellent,’ said Dumbledore briskly, springing to his feel, pulling out his wand and causing the two chintz armchairs to vanish. ‘Well, I must be getting along. Good day to you all.’

And without looking once at Harry, he swept from the dungeon.