ТОП авторов и книг ИСКАТЬ КНИГУ В БИБЛИОТЕКЕ
. . to find out ever y
thing. . . .
The silence was shattered as the be d room door flew open with a wall-shaking crash. Hermione shrieked and dropped
Secrets of the Darkest Art ; Crookshanks streaked under the bed, hissing indi
g nantly; Ron jumped off the bed, skidded on a di
s
carded Chocolate Frog wrapper, and smacked his head on the opposite wall; and Harry instinctively dived for his wand before realizing that he was loo k
ing up at Mrs. Weasley, whose hair was disheveled and whose face was contorted with rage.
“IТ m so sorry to break up this cozy little gathe r ing,” she said, her voice trembling. “IТ
m sure you all need your rest . . . but there are wedding presents stacked in my room that need sorting out and I was under the impre s
sion that you had agreed to help.”
“Oh yes,” said Hermione, looking terrified as she leapt to her feet, sending books flying in every dire c
tion. “we will . . . weТ re sorry . . .”
With an anguished look at Harry and Ron, Hermione hurried out of the room after Mrs. Weasley.
“itТ s like being a house-elf,” complained Ron in an undertone, still massaging his head as he and Harry followed. “Except without the job satisfaction. The sooner this weddingТ s over, the ha
p pier, IТ ll be.”
“Yeah,” said Harry, “then weТ ll have nothing to do except find Horcruxes. . . . ItТ ll be like a holiday, wonТ t it?”
Ron started to laugh, but at the sight of the eno r mous pile of wedding presents wai
t ing for them in Mrs. WeasleyТ s room, stopped quite abruptly.
The Delacours arrived the following morning at eleven oТ clock. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were feeling quite resen t
ful toward FleurТ s family by this time; and it was with ill grace that Ron stumped back upstairs to put on matching socks, and Harry a
t tempted to flatten his hair. O
nce they had all been deemed smart enough, they trooped out into the sunny backyard to await the vis i tors.
Harry had never seen the place looking so tidy. The rusty cauldrons and old We l
lington boots that usually littered the steps by the back door were gone, replaced by two new Flutterby bushes standing either side of the door in large pots; though there was no breeze, the leaves waved lazily, giving an attra
c tive rippling e f
fect. The chickens had been shut away, the yard had been swept, and the nearby garden had been pruned, plucked, and generally spruced up, a
l though Harry, who liked it in its overgrown state, thought that it looked rather forlorn without its usual conti
n gent of capering gnomes.
He had lost track of how many security enchan t ments had been
placed upon the Burrow by both the Order and the Ministry; all he knew was that it was no longer possible for anybody to travel by magic d i
rectly into the place. Mr. Weasley had therefore gone to meet the Del a
cours on top of a nearby hill, where they were to arrive by Portkey. The first sound of their a p
proach was an unusually high-pitched laugh, which turned out to be coming from Mr. Weasley, who appeared at the gate moments later, laden with luggage and leading a beautiful blonde woman in long, leaf green robes, who could be FleurТ s mother.
“Maman!” cried Fleur, rushing forward to e m brace her. “Papa!”
Monsieur Delacour was nowhere near as attra c tive as his wife; he was a head shorter and e
x tremely plumb, with a little, pointed black beard. However, he looked good-natured. Bouncing t
o wards Mrs. Weasley on high-heeled boots, he kissed her twice on each cheek, lea
v ing her flustered.
“You С ave been so much trouble,” he said in a deep voice. “Fleur tells us you С ave been working very С ard.”
“Oh, itТ s been nothing, nothing!” trilled Mrs. Weasley. “No trouble at all!”
Ron relieved his feelings by aiming a kick at a gnome who was peering out from b e
hind one of the new Flutterby bushes.
“Dear lady!” said Monsieur Delacour, still hol d ing Mrs. WeasleyТ s hand between h
is own two plump ones and beaming. “We are most honored at the a p
proaching union of our two families! Let me present my wife, Apo l line.”
Madame Delacour glided forward and stooped to kiss Mrs. Weasley too.
“ Enchantйe ,” she said. “Your С usband С as been telling us such amusing stories!”
Mr. Weasley gave a maniacal laugh; Mrs. Weasley threw him a look, upon which he became immediately silent and assumed an expression appr o
priate to the sickbed of a close friend.
“And, of course, you С ave met my leetle daughter, Gabrielle!” said Monsieur Delacour. Gabr i
elle was Fleur in miniature; eleven years old, with waist-length hair of pure, silvery blonde, she gave Mrs. Weasley a dazzling smile and hugged her, then threw Harry a glowing look, batting her eyelashes. Ginny cleared her throat loudly.
“Well, come in, do!” said Mrs. Weasley brightly, and she ushered the Del a cours into the house, with many “
No, please!”s and “After you!”s and “Not at all!”s.
The Delacours, it soon transpired, were helpful, pleasant guests. They were pleased with ever y
thing and keen to assist with the preparations for the we d ding. Monsieur Delacour pr
o nounced everything from the seating plan to the bridesmaidsТ shoes “
Cha r mant!
” Madame Delacour was most acco m
plished at household spells and had the oven properly cleaned in a trice; Gabrielle followed her elder sister around, tr y
ing to assist in any way she could and jabbe r
ing away in rapid French.
On the downside, the Burrow was not built to a c commodat
e so many people. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were now sleeping in the sitting room, having shouted down Monsieur and Madame Del a
courТ s protests and insisted they take their bedroom. Gabrielle was slee p
ing with Fleur in PercyТ s old room, and Bill would be sharing with Charlie, his best man, once Charlie a r
rived from Romania. Opportunities to make plans t o
gether became virtually nonexistent, and it was in desperation that Harry, Ron and Hermione took to voluntee r
ing to feed the chickens just to escape the overcrowded house.
“But she still wonТ t leave us alone!” snarled Ron, and their second attempt at a mee
t ing in the yard was foiled by the appearance of Mrs. Weasley carr
y ing a large basket of laundry in her arms.
“Oh, good, youТ ve fed the chickens,” she called as she approached them. “WeТ d better shut them away again before the men arrive t o
morrow . . . to put up the tent for the wedding,” she explained, pausing to lean against the henhouse. She looked e
x hausted. “MillamantТ s Magic Marquees . . . theyТ re very good. BillТ
s escorting them. . . . YouТ d better stay inside while theyТ re here, Harry. I must say it does compl i
cate organizing a wedding, having all these security spells around the place.”
“IТ m sorry,” said Harry humbly.
“Oh, donТ t be silly, dear!” said Mrs. Weasley at once. “I didnТ t mean Ц well, your safetyТ s much more important! Actually, IТ ve been wanting to ask you how you want to celebrate your birthday, Harry. Se
v enteen, after all, itТ s an important day. . . .”
“I donТ t want a fuss,” said Harry quickly, envi s
aging the additional strain this would put on them all. “Really, Mrs. Weasley, just a normal dinner would be fine. . . . ItТ s the day before the wedding. . . .”
“Oh, well, if youТ re sure, dear. IТ ll invite Remus and Tonks, shall I? And how about Hagrid?”
“ThatТ d be great,” said Harry. “But please, donТ t go to loads of trouble.”
“Not at all, not at all . . . ItТ s no tro u ble. . . .”
She looked at him, a long, searching look, then smiled a little sadly, straightened up, and walked away. Harry watched as s
he waved her wand near the washing line, and the damp clothes rose into the air to hang themselves up, and suddenly he felt a great wave of remorse for the inco n
venience and the pain he was giving her.
Chapter Seven The Will of Albus Du
m bledore
He was walking along a mountain road in the cool blue light of dawn. Far below, swathed in mist, was the shadow of a small town. Was the man he sought down there, the man he needed so badly he could think of little else, the man who held the a
n swer, the a n
swer to his problem...?
"Oi, wake up."
Harry opened his eyes. He was lying again on the camp bed in Ron's dingy attic room. The sun had not yet risen and the room was still shadowy. Pigwi d
geon was asleep with his head under his tiny wing. The scar on Harry's forehead was prickling.
"You were muttering in your sleep."
"Was I?"
"Yeah. 'Gregorovitch.' You kept saying 'Gregorovitch.'"
Harry was not wearing his glasses; Ron's face a p peared slightly blurred.
"Who's Gregorovitch?"
"I dunno, do I?" You were the one sa y ing it."
Harry rubbed his forehead, thinking. He had a vague idea he had heard the name before, but he could not think where.
"I think Voldemort's looking for him."
"Poor bloke," said Ron fervently.
Harry sat up, still rubbing his scar, now wide awake. He tried to remember e x
actly what he had seen in the dream, but all that came back was a mou n
tainous horizon and the outline of the little village cradled in a deep valley.
"I think he's abroad."
"Who, Gregorovitch?"
"Voldemort. I think he's somewhere abroad, loo k ing for Gregorovitch. It didn't look like anywhere in Britain.
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1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19
thing. . . .
The silence was shattered as the be d room door flew open with a wall-shaking crash. Hermione shrieked and dropped
Secrets of the Darkest Art ; Crookshanks streaked under the bed, hissing indi
g nantly; Ron jumped off the bed, skidded on a di
s
carded Chocolate Frog wrapper, and smacked his head on the opposite wall; and Harry instinctively dived for his wand before realizing that he was loo k
ing up at Mrs. Weasley, whose hair was disheveled and whose face was contorted with rage.
“IТ m so sorry to break up this cozy little gathe r ing,” she said, her voice trembling. “IТ
m sure you all need your rest . . . but there are wedding presents stacked in my room that need sorting out and I was under the impre s
sion that you had agreed to help.”
“Oh yes,” said Hermione, looking terrified as she leapt to her feet, sending books flying in every dire c
tion. “we will . . . weТ re sorry . . .”
With an anguished look at Harry and Ron, Hermione hurried out of the room after Mrs. Weasley.
“itТ s like being a house-elf,” complained Ron in an undertone, still massaging his head as he and Harry followed. “Except without the job satisfaction. The sooner this weddingТ s over, the ha
p pier, IТ ll be.”
“Yeah,” said Harry, “then weТ ll have nothing to do except find Horcruxes. . . . ItТ ll be like a holiday, wonТ t it?”
Ron started to laugh, but at the sight of the eno r mous pile of wedding presents wai
t ing for them in Mrs. WeasleyТ s room, stopped quite abruptly.
The Delacours arrived the following morning at eleven oТ clock. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were feeling quite resen t
ful toward FleurТ s family by this time; and it was with ill grace that Ron stumped back upstairs to put on matching socks, and Harry a
t tempted to flatten his hair. O
nce they had all been deemed smart enough, they trooped out into the sunny backyard to await the vis i tors.
Harry had never seen the place looking so tidy. The rusty cauldrons and old We l
lington boots that usually littered the steps by the back door were gone, replaced by two new Flutterby bushes standing either side of the door in large pots; though there was no breeze, the leaves waved lazily, giving an attra
c tive rippling e f
fect. The chickens had been shut away, the yard had been swept, and the nearby garden had been pruned, plucked, and generally spruced up, a
l though Harry, who liked it in its overgrown state, thought that it looked rather forlorn without its usual conti
n gent of capering gnomes.
He had lost track of how many security enchan t ments had been
placed upon the Burrow by both the Order and the Ministry; all he knew was that it was no longer possible for anybody to travel by magic d i
rectly into the place. Mr. Weasley had therefore gone to meet the Del a
cours on top of a nearby hill, where they were to arrive by Portkey. The first sound of their a p
proach was an unusually high-pitched laugh, which turned out to be coming from Mr. Weasley, who appeared at the gate moments later, laden with luggage and leading a beautiful blonde woman in long, leaf green robes, who could be FleurТ s mother.
“Maman!” cried Fleur, rushing forward to e m brace her. “Papa!”
Monsieur Delacour was nowhere near as attra c tive as his wife; he was a head shorter and e
x tremely plumb, with a little, pointed black beard. However, he looked good-natured. Bouncing t
o wards Mrs. Weasley on high-heeled boots, he kissed her twice on each cheek, lea
v ing her flustered.
“You С ave been so much trouble,” he said in a deep voice. “Fleur tells us you С ave been working very С ard.”
“Oh, itТ s been nothing, nothing!” trilled Mrs. Weasley. “No trouble at all!”
Ron relieved his feelings by aiming a kick at a gnome who was peering out from b e
hind one of the new Flutterby bushes.
“Dear lady!” said Monsieur Delacour, still hol d ing Mrs. WeasleyТ s hand between h
is own two plump ones and beaming. “We are most honored at the a p
proaching union of our two families! Let me present my wife, Apo l line.”
Madame Delacour glided forward and stooped to kiss Mrs. Weasley too.
“ Enchantйe ,” she said. “Your С usband С as been telling us such amusing stories!”
Mr. Weasley gave a maniacal laugh; Mrs. Weasley threw him a look, upon which he became immediately silent and assumed an expression appr o
priate to the sickbed of a close friend.
“And, of course, you С ave met my leetle daughter, Gabrielle!” said Monsieur Delacour. Gabr i
elle was Fleur in miniature; eleven years old, with waist-length hair of pure, silvery blonde, she gave Mrs. Weasley a dazzling smile and hugged her, then threw Harry a glowing look, batting her eyelashes. Ginny cleared her throat loudly.
“Well, come in, do!” said Mrs. Weasley brightly, and she ushered the Del a cours into the house, with many “
No, please!”s and “After you!”s and “Not at all!”s.
The Delacours, it soon transpired, were helpful, pleasant guests. They were pleased with ever y
thing and keen to assist with the preparations for the we d ding. Monsieur Delacour pr
o nounced everything from the seating plan to the bridesmaidsТ shoes “
Cha r mant!
” Madame Delacour was most acco m
plished at household spells and had the oven properly cleaned in a trice; Gabrielle followed her elder sister around, tr y
ing to assist in any way she could and jabbe r
ing away in rapid French.
On the downside, the Burrow was not built to a c commodat
e so many people. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were now sleeping in the sitting room, having shouted down Monsieur and Madame Del a
courТ s protests and insisted they take their bedroom. Gabrielle was slee p
ing with Fleur in PercyТ s old room, and Bill would be sharing with Charlie, his best man, once Charlie a r
rived from Romania. Opportunities to make plans t o
gether became virtually nonexistent, and it was in desperation that Harry, Ron and Hermione took to voluntee r
ing to feed the chickens just to escape the overcrowded house.
“But she still wonТ t leave us alone!” snarled Ron, and their second attempt at a mee
t ing in the yard was foiled by the appearance of Mrs. Weasley carr
y ing a large basket of laundry in her arms.
“Oh, good, youТ ve fed the chickens,” she called as she approached them. “WeТ d better shut them away again before the men arrive t o
morrow . . . to put up the tent for the wedding,” she explained, pausing to lean against the henhouse. She looked e
x hausted. “MillamantТ s Magic Marquees . . . theyТ re very good. BillТ
s escorting them. . . . YouТ d better stay inside while theyТ re here, Harry. I must say it does compl i
cate organizing a wedding, having all these security spells around the place.”
“IТ m sorry,” said Harry humbly.
“Oh, donТ t be silly, dear!” said Mrs. Weasley at once. “I didnТ t mean Ц well, your safetyТ s much more important! Actually, IТ ve been wanting to ask you how you want to celebrate your birthday, Harry. Se
v enteen, after all, itТ s an important day. . . .”
“I donТ t want a fuss,” said Harry quickly, envi s
aging the additional strain this would put on them all. “Really, Mrs. Weasley, just a normal dinner would be fine. . . . ItТ s the day before the wedding. . . .”
“Oh, well, if youТ re sure, dear. IТ ll invite Remus and Tonks, shall I? And how about Hagrid?”
“ThatТ d be great,” said Harry. “But please, donТ t go to loads of trouble.”
“Not at all, not at all . . . ItТ s no tro u ble. . . .”
She looked at him, a long, searching look, then smiled a little sadly, straightened up, and walked away. Harry watched as s
he waved her wand near the washing line, and the damp clothes rose into the air to hang themselves up, and suddenly he felt a great wave of remorse for the inco n
venience and the pain he was giving her.
Chapter Seven The Will of Albus Du
m bledore
He was walking along a mountain road in the cool blue light of dawn. Far below, swathed in mist, was the shadow of a small town. Was the man he sought down there, the man he needed so badly he could think of little else, the man who held the a
n swer, the a n
swer to his problem...?
"Oi, wake up."
Harry opened his eyes. He was lying again on the camp bed in Ron's dingy attic room. The sun had not yet risen and the room was still shadowy. Pigwi d
geon was asleep with his head under his tiny wing. The scar on Harry's forehead was prickling.
"You were muttering in your sleep."
"Was I?"
"Yeah. 'Gregorovitch.' You kept saying 'Gregorovitch.'"
Harry was not wearing his glasses; Ron's face a p peared slightly blurred.
"Who's Gregorovitch?"
"I dunno, do I?" You were the one sa y ing it."
Harry rubbed his forehead, thinking. He had a vague idea he had heard the name before, but he could not think where.
"I think Voldemort's looking for him."
"Poor bloke," said Ron fervently.
Harry sat up, still rubbing his scar, now wide awake. He tried to remember e x
actly what he had seen in the dream, but all that came back was a mou n
tainous horizon and the outline of the little village cradled in a deep valley.
"I think he's abroad."
"Who, Gregorovitch?"
"Voldemort. I think he's somewhere abroad, loo k ing for Gregorovitch. It didn't look like anywhere in Britain.
Это ознакомительный отрывок книги. Данная книга защищена авторским правом. Для получения полной версии книги обратитесь к нашему партнеру - распространителю легального контента "ЛитРес":
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19