Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - Rowling Joanne Kathleen - Страница 13

“Oh, I’m—I’m sorry.”

As she moved forward into the room, Mrs. Tonks’s resemblance to her sister Bellatrix became much less pronounced: Her hair was a light, soft brown and her eyes were wider and kinder. Nevertheless, she looked a little haughty after Harry’s exclamation.

“What happened to our daughter?” she asked. “Hagrid said you were ambushed; where is Nymphadora?”

“I don’t know,” said Harry. “We don’t know what happened to anyone else.”

She and Ted exchanged looks. A mixture of fear and guilt gripped Harry at the sight of their expressions, if any of the others had died, it was his fault, all his fault. He had consented to the plan, given them his hair…

“The Portkey,” he said, remembering all of a sudden. “We’ve got to get back to the Burrow and find out—then we’ll be able to send you word, or—or Tonks will, once she’s—”

“Dora’ll be okay, ’Dromeda,” said Ted. “She knows her stuff, she’s been in plenty of tight spots with the Aurors. The Portkey’s through here,” he added to Harry. “It’s supposed to leave in three minutes, if you want to take it.”

“Yeah, we do,” said Harry. He seized his rucksack, swung it onto his shoulders. “I—”

He looked at Mrs. Tonks, wanting to apologize for the state of fear in which he left her and for which he felt so terribly responsible, but no words occurred to him that he did not seem hollow and insincere.

“I’ll tell Tonks—Dora—to send word, when she… Thanks for patching us up, thanks for everything, I—”

He was glad to leave the room and follow Ted Tonks along a short hallway and into a bedroom. Hagrid came after them, bending low to avoid hitting his head on the door lintel.

“There you go, son. That’s the Portkey.”

Mr. Tonks was pointing to a small, silver-backed hairbrush lying on the dressing table.

“Thanks,” said Harry, reaching out to place a finger on it, ready to leave.

“Wait a moment,” said Hagrid, looking around. “Harry, where’s Hedwig?”

“She… she got hit,” said Harry.

The realization crashed over him: He felt ashamed of himself as the tears stung his eyes. The owl had been his companion, his one great link with the magical world whenever he had been forced to return to the Dursleys.

Hagrid reached out a great hand and patted him painfully on the shoulder.

“Never mind,” he said gruffly, “Never mind. She had a great old life—”

“Hagrid!” said Ted Tonks warningly, as the hairbrush glowed bright blue, and Hagrid only just got his forefinger to it in time.

With a jerk behind the navel as though an invisible hook and line had dragged him forward, Harry was pulled into nothingness, spinning uncontrollably, his finger glued to the Portkey as he and Hagrid hurtled away from Mr. Tonks. Second later, Harry’s feet slammed onto hard ground and he fell onto his hands and knees in the yard of the Burrow. He heard screams. Throwing aside the no longer glowing hairbrush, Harry stood up, swaying slightly, and saw Mrs. Weasley and Ginny running down the steps by the back door as Hagrid, who had also collapsed on landing, clambered laboriously to his feet.

“Harry? You are the real Harry? What happened? Where are the others?” cried Mrs. Weasley.

“What d’you mean? Isn’t anyone else back?” Harry panted.

The answer was clearly etched in Mrs. Weasley’s pale face.

“The Death Eaters were waiting for us,” Harry told her, “We were surrounded the moment we took off—they knew it was tonight—I don’t know what happened to anyone else, four of them chased us, it was all we could do to get away, and then Voldemort caught up with us—”

He could hear the self-justifying note in his voice, the plea for her to understand why he did not know what had happened to her sons, but—

“Thank goodness you’re all right,” she said, pulling him into a hug he did not feel he deserved.

“Haven’t go’ any brandy, have yeh, Molly?” asked Hagrid a little shakily, “Fer medicinal purposes?”

She could have summoned it by magic, but as she hurried back toward the crooked house, Harry knew that she wanted to hide her face. He turned to Ginny and she answered his unspoken plea for information at once.

“Ron and Tonks should have been back first, but they missed their Portkey, it came back without them,” she said, pointing at a rusty oil can lying on the ground nearby. “And that one,” she pointed at an ancient sneaker, “should have been Dad and Fred’s, they were supposed to be second. You and Hagrid were third and,” she checked her watch, “if they made it, George and Lupin ought to be back in about a minute.”

Mrs. Weasley reappeared carrying a bottle of brandy, which she handed to Hagrid. He uncorked it and drank it straight down in one.

“Mum!” shouted Ginny pointing to a spot several feet away.

A blue light had appeared in the darkness: It grew larger and brighter, and Lupin and George appeared, spinning and then falling. Harry knew immediately that there was something wrong: Lupin was supporting George, who was unconscious and whose face was covered in blood.

Harry ran forward and seized George’s legs. Together, he and Lupin carried George into the house and through the kitchen to the living room, where they laid him on the sofa. As the lamplight fell across George’s head, Ginny gasped and Harry’s stomach lurched: One of George’s ears was missing. The side of his head and neck were drenched in wet, shockingly scarlet blood.

No sooner had Mrs. Weasley bent over her son that Lupin grabbed Harry by the upper arm and dragged him, none too gently, back into the kitchen, where Hagrid was still attempting to ease his bulk through the back door.

“Oi!” said Hagrid indignantly, “Le’ go of him! Le’ go of Harry!”

Lupin ignored him.

“What creature sat in the corner the first time that Harry Potter visited my office at Hogwarts?” he said, giving Harry a small shake. “Answer me!”

“A—a Grindylow in a tank, wasn’t it?”

Lupin released Harry and fell back against a kitchen cupboard.

“Wha’ was tha’ about?” roared Hagrid.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I had to check,” said Lupin tersely. “We’ve been betrayed. Voldemort knew that you were being moved tonight and the only people who could have told him were directly involved in the plan. You might have been an impostor.”

“So why aren’ you checkin’ me?” panted Hagrid, still struggling with the door.

“You’re half-giant,” said Lupin, looking up at Hagrid. “The Polyjuice Potion is designed for human use only.”

“None of the Order would have told Voldemort we were moving tonight,” said Harry. The idea was dreadful to him, he could not believe it of any of them. “Voldemort only caught up with me toward the end, he didn’t know which one I was in the beginning. If he’d been in on the plan he’d have known from the start I was the one with Hagrid.”

“Voldemort caught up with you?” said Lupin sharply. “What happened? How did you escape?”

Harry explained how the Death Eaters pursuing them had seemed to recognize him as the true Harry, how they had abandoned the chase, how they must have summoned Voldemort, who had appeared just before he and Hagrid had reached the sanctuary of Tonks’s parents.

“They recognized you? But how? What had you done?”

“I…” Harry tried to remember; the whole journey seemed like a blur of panic and confusion. “I saw Stan Shunpike… You know, the bloke who was the conductor on the Knight Bus? And I tried to Disarm him instead of—well, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, does he? He must be Imperiused!”

Lupin looked aghast.

“Harry, the time for Disarming is past! These people are trying to capture and kill you! At least Stun if you aren’t prepared to kill!”

“We were hundreds of feet up! Stan’s not himself, and if I Stunned him and he’d fallen, he’d have died the same as if I’d used Avada Kedavra! Expelliarmus saved me from Voldemort two years ago,” Harry added defiantly. Lupin was reminding him of the sneering Hufflepuff Zacharias Smith, who had jeered at Harry for wanting to teach Dumbledore’s Army how to Disarm.