None of them answered him. Uncle Vernon was still staring appalled at the bulge in Dedalus’s waistcoat pocket.
“Perhaps we should wait outside in the hall, Dedalus,” murmured Hestia. She clearly felt that it would be tactless for them to remain the room while Harry and the Dursleys exchanged loving, possibly tearful farewells.
“There’s no need,” Harry muttered, but Uncle Vernon made any further explanation unnecessary by saying loudly, “Well, this is good-bye then boy.”
He swung his right arm upward to shake Harry’s hand, but at the last moment seemed unable to face it, and merely closed his fist and began swinging it backward and forward like a metronome.
“Ready, Duddy?” asked Petunia, fussily checking the clasp of her handbag so as to avoid looking at Harry altogether.
Dudley did not answer but stood there with his mouth slightly ajar, reminding Harry a little of the giant, Grawp.
“Come along, then,” said Uncle Vernon.
He had already reached the living room door when Dudley mumbled, “I don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand, popkin?” asked Petunia looking up at her son.
Dudley raised a large, hamlike hand to point at Harry.
“Why isn’t he coming with us?”
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia froze when they stood staring at Dudley as though he had just expressed a desire to become a ballerina.
“What?” said Uncle Vernon loudly.
“Why isn’t he coming too?” asked Dudley.
“Well, he – doesn’t want to,” said Uncle Vernon, turning to glare at Harry and adding, “You don’t want to, do you?”
“Not in the slightest,” said Harry.
“There you are,” Uncle Vernon told Dudley. “Now come on we’re off.”
He marched out of the room. They heard the front door open, but Dudley did not move and after a few faltering steps Aunt Petunia stopped too.
“What now?” barked Uncle Vernon, reappearing in the doorway.
It seemed that Dudley was struggling with concepts too difficult to put into words. After several moments of apparently painful internal struggle he said, “But where’s he going to go?”
Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked at each other. It was clear that Dudley was frightening them. Hestia Jones broke the silence.
“But… surely you know where your nephew is going?” she asked looking bewildered.
“Certainly we know,” said Vernon Dursley. “He’s off with some of your lot, isn’t he? Right, Dudley, let’s get in the car, you heard the man, we’re in a hurry.”
Again, Vernon Dursley marched as far as the front door, but Dudley did not follow.
“Off with some of our lot?”
Hestia looked outraged. Harry had met this attitude before Witches and wizards seemed stunned that his closed living relatives took so little interest in the famous Harry Potter.
“It’s fine,” Harry assured her. “It doesn’t matter, honestly.”
“Doesn’t matter?” repeated Hestia, her voice rising considerably.
“Don’t these people realize what you’ve been through? What danger you are in? The unique position you hold in the hearts of the anti Voldemort movement?”
“Er – no, they don’t,” said Harry. “They think I’m a waste of space, actually but I’m used to – ”
“I don’t think you’re a waste of space”
If Harry had not seen Dudley’s lips move, he might not have believed it. As it was, he stared at Dudley for several seconds before accepting that it must have been his cousin who had spoken; for one thing, Dudley had turned red. Harry was embarrassed and astonished himself.
“Well… er… thanks, Dudley.”
Again, Dudley appeared to grapple with thoughts too unwieldy for expression before mumbling, “You saved my life,”
“Not really,” said Harry. “It was your soul the dementor would have taken…”
He looked curiously at his cousin. They had had virtually no contact during this summer or last, as Harry had come back to Privet Drive so briefly and kept to his room so much. It now dawned on Harry, however, that the cup of cold tea on which he had trodden that morning might not have been a booby trap at all. Although rather touched he was nevertheless quite relieved that Dudley appeared to have exhausted his ability to express his feelings. After opening his mouth once or twice more, Dudley subsided into scarlet-faced silence.
Aunt Petunia burst into tears. Hestia Jones gave her an approving look that changed to outrage as Aunt Petunia ran forward and embraced Dudley rather than Harry. “S-so sweet, Dudders…” she sobbed into his massive chest. “S-such a lovely b-boy… s-saying thank you…”
“But he hasn’t said thank you at all!” said Hestia indignantly. “He only said he didn’t think Harry was a waste of space!”
“Yea but coming from Dudley that’s like ‘I love you,’” said Harry, torn between annoyance and a desire to laugh as Aunt Petunia continued to clutch at Dudley as if he had just saved Harry from a burning building.
“Are we going or not?” roared Uncle Vernon, reappearing yet again at the living room door. “I thought we were on a tight schedule!”
“Yes –yes, we are,” said Dedalus Diggle, who had been watching these exchanged with an air of bemusement and now seemed to pull himself together. “We really must be off. Harry – ”
He tripped forward and wrung Harry’s hand with both of his own.
“ – good luck. I hope we meet again. The hopes of the Wizarding world rest upon your shoulders.”
“Oh,” said Harry, “right. Thanks.”
“Farwell, Harry,” said Hestia also clasping his hand. “Our thoughts go with you.”
“I hope everything’s okay,” said Harry with a glance toward Aunt Petunia and Dudley.
“Oh I’m sure we shall end up the best of chums,” said Diggle slightly, waving his hat as he left the room. Hestia followed him.
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Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
“Well, although I did not see the Riddle
“Well, although I did not see the Riddle who came out of the diary, what you described to me was a phenomenon I had never witnessed. A mere memory starting to act and
think for itself? A mere memory, sapping the life out of the girl into whose hands it had fallen? No, something much more sinister had lived inside that book. ... a
fragment of soul, I was almost sure of it. The diary had been a Horcrux. But this raised as many questions as it answered. What intrigued and alarmed me most was that
that diary had been intended as a weapon as much as a safeguard.”
“I still don't understand,” said Harry.
“Well, it worked as a Horcrux is supposed to work—in other words, the fragment of soul concealed inside it was kept safe and had undoubtedly played its part in
preventing the death of its owner. But there could be no doubt that Riddle really wanted that diary read, wanted the piece of his soul to inhabit or possess somebody
else, so that Slytherin's monster would be unleashed again.”
“Well, he didn't want his hard work to be wasted,” said Harry. “He wanted people to know he was Slytherin's heir, because he couldn't take credit at the time.”
“Quite correct,” said Dumbledore, nodding. “But don't you see, Harry, that if he intended the diary to be passed to, or planted on, some future Hogwarts student, he
was being remarkably blasé about that precious fragment of his soul concealed within it. The point of a Horcrux is, as Professor Slughorn explained, to keep part of the
self hidden and safe, not to fling it into somebody else's path and run the risk that they might destroy it—as indeed happened: that particular fragment of soul is no
more; you saw to that.
“The careless way in which Voldemort regarded this Horcrux seemed most ominous to me. It suggested that he must have made—or had been planning to make—more
Horcruxes, so that the loss of his first would not be so detrimental. I did not wish to believe it, but nothing else seemed to make sense. Then you told me, two years
later, that on the night that Voldemort returned to his body, he made a most illuminating and alarming statement to his Death Eaters. ’I who have gone further than
anybody along the path that leads to immortality.’ That was what you told me he said. ’Further than anybody!’ And I thought I knew what that meant, though the Death
Eaters did not. He was referring to his Horcruxes, Horcruxes in the plural, Harry, which I don't believe any other wizard has ever had. Yet it fitted: Lord Voldomort
has seemed to grow less human with the passing years, and the transformation he had undergone seemed to me to be only explainable if his soul was mutilated beyond the
realms of what we might call usual evil...”
“So he's made himself impossible to kill by murdering other people?” said Harry. “Why couldn't he make a Sorcerer's Stone, or steal one, if he was so interested in
immortality?”
“Well, we know that he tried to do just that, five years ago,” said Dumbledore. “But there are several reasons why, I think, a Sorcerer's Stone would appeal less
than Horcruxes to Lord Voldemort.
“While the Elixir of Life does indeed extend life, it must be drunk regularly, for all eternity, if the drinker is to maintain the immortality. Therefore, Voldemort
would be entirely dependant on the Elixir, and if it ran out, or was contaminated, or if the Stone was stolen, he would die just like any other man. Voldemort likes to
operate alone, remember. I believe that he would have found the thought of being dependent, even on the Elixir, intolerable. Of course he was prepared to drink it if it
would take him out of the horrible part-life to which he was condemned after attacking you, but only to regain a body. Thereafter, I am convinced, he intended to
continue to rely on his Horcruxes. He would need nothing more, if only he could regain a human form. He was already immortal, you see ... or as close to immortal as any
man can be.
“But now, Harry, armed with this information, the crucial memory you have succeeded in procuring for us, we are closer to the secret of finishing Lord Voldemort than
anyone has ever been before. You heard him, Harry: ‘Wouldn't it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more piece... isn't seven the most powerfully
magical numbe...’ Isn't seven the most powerfully magical number. Yes, I think the idea of a seven-part soul would greatly appeal to Lord Voldemort.”
“He made seven Horcruxes?” said Harry, horror-struck, while several of the portraits on the walls made similar noises of shock and outrage. “But they could be
anywhere in the world—hidden—buried or invisible —”
think for itself? A mere memory, sapping the life out of the girl into whose hands it had fallen? No, something much more sinister had lived inside that book. ... a
fragment of soul, I was almost sure of it. The diary had been a Horcrux. But this raised as many questions as it answered. What intrigued and alarmed me most was that
that diary had been intended as a weapon as much as a safeguard.”
“I still don't understand,” said Harry.
“Well, it worked as a Horcrux is supposed to work—in other words, the fragment of soul concealed inside it was kept safe and had undoubtedly played its part in
preventing the death of its owner. But there could be no doubt that Riddle really wanted that diary read, wanted the piece of his soul to inhabit or possess somebody
else, so that Slytherin's monster would be unleashed again.”
“Well, he didn't want his hard work to be wasted,” said Harry. “He wanted people to know he was Slytherin's heir, because he couldn't take credit at the time.”
“Quite correct,” said Dumbledore, nodding. “But don't you see, Harry, that if he intended the diary to be passed to, or planted on, some future Hogwarts student, he
was being remarkably blasé about that precious fragment of his soul concealed within it. The point of a Horcrux is, as Professor Slughorn explained, to keep part of the
self hidden and safe, not to fling it into somebody else's path and run the risk that they might destroy it—as indeed happened: that particular fragment of soul is no
more; you saw to that.
“The careless way in which Voldemort regarded this Horcrux seemed most ominous to me. It suggested that he must have made—or had been planning to make—more
Horcruxes, so that the loss of his first would not be so detrimental. I did not wish to believe it, but nothing else seemed to make sense. Then you told me, two years
later, that on the night that Voldemort returned to his body, he made a most illuminating and alarming statement to his Death Eaters. ’I who have gone further than
anybody along the path that leads to immortality.’ That was what you told me he said. ’Further than anybody!’ And I thought I knew what that meant, though the Death
Eaters did not. He was referring to his Horcruxes, Horcruxes in the plural, Harry, which I don't believe any other wizard has ever had. Yet it fitted: Lord Voldomort
has seemed to grow less human with the passing years, and the transformation he had undergone seemed to me to be only explainable if his soul was mutilated beyond the
realms of what we might call usual evil...”
“So he's made himself impossible to kill by murdering other people?” said Harry. “Why couldn't he make a Sorcerer's Stone, or steal one, if he was so interested in
immortality?”
“Well, we know that he tried to do just that, five years ago,” said Dumbledore. “But there are several reasons why, I think, a Sorcerer's Stone would appeal less
than Horcruxes to Lord Voldemort.
“While the Elixir of Life does indeed extend life, it must be drunk regularly, for all eternity, if the drinker is to maintain the immortality. Therefore, Voldemort
would be entirely dependant on the Elixir, and if it ran out, or was contaminated, or if the Stone was stolen, he would die just like any other man. Voldemort likes to
operate alone, remember. I believe that he would have found the thought of being dependent, even on the Elixir, intolerable. Of course he was prepared to drink it if it
would take him out of the horrible part-life to which he was condemned after attacking you, but only to regain a body. Thereafter, I am convinced, he intended to
continue to rely on his Horcruxes. He would need nothing more, if only he could regain a human form. He was already immortal, you see ... or as close to immortal as any
man can be.
“But now, Harry, armed with this information, the crucial memory you have succeeded in procuring for us, we are closer to the secret of finishing Lord Voldemort than
anyone has ever been before. You heard him, Harry: ‘Wouldn't it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more piece... isn't seven the most powerfully
magical numbe...’ Isn't seven the most powerfully magical number. Yes, I think the idea of a seven-part soul would greatly appeal to Lord Voldemort.”
“He made seven Horcruxes?” said Harry, horror-struck, while several of the portraits on the walls made similar noises of shock and outrage. “But they could be
anywhere in the world—hidden—buried or invisible —”
Slughorn looked deeply troubled now
Slughorn looked deeply troubled now: he was gazing at Riddle as though he had never seen him plainly before, and Harry could tell that he was regretting entering into
the conversation at all.
“Of course,” he muttered, “this is all hypothetical, what we're discussing, isn't it? All academic...”
“Yes, sir, of course,” said Riddle quickly.
“But all the same, Tom... keep it quiet, what I've told—that's to say, what we've discussed. People wouldn't like to think we've been chatting about Horcruxes. It's a
banned subject at Hogwarts, you know... Dumbledore's particularly fierce about it...”
“I won't say a word, sir,” said Riddle, and he left, but not before Harry had glimpsed his face, which was full of that same wild happiness it had worn when he had
first found out that he was a wizard, the sort of happiness that did not enhance his handsome features, but made them, somehow, less human...
“Thank you, Harry,” said Dumbledore quietly. “Let us go...”
When Harry landed back on the office floor Dumbledore was already sitting down behind his desk. Harry sat too and waited for Dumbledore to speak.
“I have been hoping for this piece of evidence for a very long time,” said Dumbledore at last. “It confirms the theory on which I have been working, it tells me that
I am right, and also how very far there is still to go...”
Harry suddenly noticed that every single one of the old headmasters and headmistresses in the portraits around the walls was awake and listening in on their
conversation. A corpulent, red nosed wizard had actually taken out an ear trumpet.
“Well, Harry,” said Dumbledore, “I am sure you understood the significance of what we just heard. At the same age as you are now, give or take a few months, Tom
Riddle was doing all he could to find out how to make himself immortal.”
“You think he succeeded then, sir?” asked Harry. “He made a Horcrux? And that's why he didn't die when he attacked me? He had a Horcrux hidden somewhere? A bit of
his soul was safe?”
“A bit... or more,” said Dumbledore. “You heard Voldemort, what he particularly wanted from Horace was an opinion on what would happen to the wizard who created more
than one Horcrux, what would happen to the wizard so determined to evade death that he would be prepared to murder many times, rip his soul repeatedly, so as to store
it in many, separately concealed Horcruxes. No book would have given him that information. As far as I know—as far, I am sure, as Voldemort knew—no wizard had ever
done more than tear his soul in two.”
Dumbledore paused for a moment, marshaling his thought, and then said, “Four years ago, I received what I considered certain proof that Voldemort had split his soul.”
“Where?” asked Harry. “How?”
“You handed it to me, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “The diary, Riddle's diary, the one giving instructions on how to reopen the Chamber of Secrets.”
“I don't understand, sir,” said Harry.
the conversation at all.
“Of course,” he muttered, “this is all hypothetical, what we're discussing, isn't it? All academic...”
“Yes, sir, of course,” said Riddle quickly.
“But all the same, Tom... keep it quiet, what I've told—that's to say, what we've discussed. People wouldn't like to think we've been chatting about Horcruxes. It's a
banned subject at Hogwarts, you know... Dumbledore's particularly fierce about it...”
“I won't say a word, sir,” said Riddle, and he left, but not before Harry had glimpsed his face, which was full of that same wild happiness it had worn when he had
first found out that he was a wizard, the sort of happiness that did not enhance his handsome features, but made them, somehow, less human...
“Thank you, Harry,” said Dumbledore quietly. “Let us go...”
When Harry landed back on the office floor Dumbledore was already sitting down behind his desk. Harry sat too and waited for Dumbledore to speak.
“I have been hoping for this piece of evidence for a very long time,” said Dumbledore at last. “It confirms the theory on which I have been working, it tells me that
I am right, and also how very far there is still to go...”
Harry suddenly noticed that every single one of the old headmasters and headmistresses in the portraits around the walls was awake and listening in on their
conversation. A corpulent, red nosed wizard had actually taken out an ear trumpet.
“Well, Harry,” said Dumbledore, “I am sure you understood the significance of what we just heard. At the same age as you are now, give or take a few months, Tom
Riddle was doing all he could to find out how to make himself immortal.”
“You think he succeeded then, sir?” asked Harry. “He made a Horcrux? And that's why he didn't die when he attacked me? He had a Horcrux hidden somewhere? A bit of
his soul was safe?”
“A bit... or more,” said Dumbledore. “You heard Voldemort, what he particularly wanted from Horace was an opinion on what would happen to the wizard who created more
than one Horcrux, what would happen to the wizard so determined to evade death that he would be prepared to murder many times, rip his soul repeatedly, so as to store
it in many, separately concealed Horcruxes. No book would have given him that information. As far as I know—as far, I am sure, as Voldemort knew—no wizard had ever
done more than tear his soul in two.”
Dumbledore paused for a moment, marshaling his thought, and then said, “Four years ago, I received what I considered certain proof that Voldemort had split his soul.”
“Where?” asked Harry. “How?”
“You handed it to me, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “The diary, Riddle's diary, the one giving instructions on how to reopen the Chamber of Secrets.”
“I don't understand, sir,” said Harry.
It was very well done,
It was very well done, thought Harry, the hesitancy, the casual tone, the careful flattery, none of it overdone. He, Harry, had had too much experience of trying to
wheedle information out of reluctant people not to recognize a master at work. He could tell that Riddle wanted the information very, very much; perhaps had been
working toward this moment for weeks.
“Well,” said Slughorn, not looking at Riddle, but fiddling with the ribbon on top of his box of crystallized pineapple, “well, it can't hurt to give you an overview,
of course. Just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul.”
“I don't quite understand how that works, though, sir,” said Riddle.
His voice was carefully controlled, but Harry could sense his excitement.
“Well, you split your soul, you see,” said Slughorn, “and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one
cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But of course, existence in such a form ...”
Slughorn's face crumpled and Harry found himself remembering words he had heard nearly two years before:
“I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost... but still, I was alive.”
“... few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable.”
But Riddle's hunger was now apparent; his expression was greedy, he could no longer hide his longing.
“How do you split your soul?”
“Well,” said Slughorn uncomfortably, “you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against
nature.”
“But how do you do it?”
“By an act of evil—the supreme act of evil. By commiting murder. Killing rips the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his
advantage: he would encase the torn portion —”
“Encase? But how—?”
“There is a spell, do not ask me, I don't know!” said Slughoin shaking his head like an old elephant bothered by mosquitoes. “Do I look as though I have tried it—do
I look like a killer?”
“No, sir, of course not,” said Riddle quickly. “I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to offend...”
“Not at all, not at all, not offended,” said Slughorn gruffly, “It is natural to feel some curiosity about these things... wizards of a certain caliber have always
been drawn to that aspect of magic...”
“Yes, sir,” said Riddle. “What I don't understand, though—just out of curiosity. I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn't
it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces, I mean, for instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven—?”
“Merlin's beard, Tom!” yelped Slughorn. “Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case... bad enough to divide the soul... but to rip it
into seven pieces...”
wheedle information out of reluctant people not to recognize a master at work. He could tell that Riddle wanted the information very, very much; perhaps had been
working toward this moment for weeks.
“Well,” said Slughorn, not looking at Riddle, but fiddling with the ribbon on top of his box of crystallized pineapple, “well, it can't hurt to give you an overview,
of course. Just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul.”
“I don't quite understand how that works, though, sir,” said Riddle.
His voice was carefully controlled, but Harry could sense his excitement.
“Well, you split your soul, you see,” said Slughorn, “and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one
cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But of course, existence in such a form ...”
Slughorn's face crumpled and Harry found himself remembering words he had heard nearly two years before:
“I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost... but still, I was alive.”
“... few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable.”
But Riddle's hunger was now apparent; his expression was greedy, he could no longer hide his longing.
“How do you split your soul?”
“Well,” said Slughorn uncomfortably, “you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against
nature.”
“But how do you do it?”
“By an act of evil—the supreme act of evil. By commiting murder. Killing rips the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his
advantage: he would encase the torn portion —”
“Encase? But how—?”
“There is a spell, do not ask me, I don't know!” said Slughoin shaking his head like an old elephant bothered by mosquitoes. “Do I look as though I have tried it—do
I look like a killer?”
“No, sir, of course not,” said Riddle quickly. “I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to offend...”
“Not at all, not at all, not offended,” said Slughorn gruffly, “It is natural to feel some curiosity about these things... wizards of a certain caliber have always
been drawn to that aspect of magic...”
“Yes, sir,” said Riddle. “What I don't understand, though—just out of curiosity. I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn't
it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces, I mean, for instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven—?”
“Merlin's beard, Tom!” yelped Slughorn. “Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case... bad enough to divide the soul... but to rip it
into seven pieces...”
Thursday, November 25, 2010
“Good afternoon,” said Dumbledore, holding out his hand.
“Good afternoon,” said Dumbledore, holding out his hand.
Mrs. Cole simply gaped.
“My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today.”
Mrs. Cole blinked. Apparently deciding that Dumbledore was not a hallucination, she said feebly, “Oh yes. Well—well then—you'd better come into my room. Yes.”
She led Dumbledore into a small room that seemed part sitting room, part office. It was as shabby as the hallway and the furniture was old and mismatched. She invited
Dumbledore to sit on a rickety chair and seated herself behind a cluttered desk, eyeing him nervously.
“I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and arrangements for his future,” said Dumbledore.
“Are you family?” asked Mrs. Cole.
“No, I am a teacher,” said Dumbledore. “I have come to offer Tom a place at my school.”
“What school's this, then?”
“It is called Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore.
“And how come you're interested in Tom?”
“We believe he has qualities we are looking for.”
“You mean he's won a scholarship? How can he have done? He's never been entered for one.”
“Well, his name has been down for our school since birth —”
“Who registered him? His parents?”
There was no doubt that Mrs. Cole was an inconveniently sharp woman. Apparently Dumbledore thought so too, for Harry now saw him slip his wand out of the pocket of his
velvet suit, at the same time picking up a piece of perfectly blank paper from Mrs. Cole's desktop.
“Here,” said Dumbledore, waving his wand once as he passed her the piece of paper, “I think this will make everything clear.”
Mrs. Cole's eyes slid out of focus and back again as she gazed intently at the blank paper for a moment.
“That seems perfectly in order,” she said placidly, handing it back. Then her eyes fell upon a bottle of gin and two glasses that had certainly not been present a few
seconds before.
“Er—may I offer you a glass of gin?” she said in an extra-refined voice.
“Thank you very much,” said Dumbledore, beaming.
It soon became clear that Mrs. Cole was no novice when it came to gin drinking. Pouring both of them a generous measure, she drained her own glass in one gulp. Smacking
her lips frankly, she smiled at Dumbledore for the first time, and he didn't hesitate to press his advantage.
“I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history? I think he was born here in the orphanage?”
“That's right,” said Mrs. Cole, helping herself to more gin. “I remember it clear as anything, because I'd just started here myself. New Year's Eve and bitter cold,
snowing, you know. Nasty night. And this girl, not much older than I was myself at the time, came staggering up the front steps. Well, she wasn't the first. We took her
in, and she had the baby within the hour. And she was dead in another hour.”
Mrs. Cole simply gaped.
“My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today.”
Mrs. Cole blinked. Apparently deciding that Dumbledore was not a hallucination, she said feebly, “Oh yes. Well—well then—you'd better come into my room. Yes.”
She led Dumbledore into a small room that seemed part sitting room, part office. It was as shabby as the hallway and the furniture was old and mismatched. She invited
Dumbledore to sit on a rickety chair and seated herself behind a cluttered desk, eyeing him nervously.
“I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and arrangements for his future,” said Dumbledore.
“Are you family?” asked Mrs. Cole.
“No, I am a teacher,” said Dumbledore. “I have come to offer Tom a place at my school.”
“What school's this, then?”
“It is called Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore.
“And how come you're interested in Tom?”
“We believe he has qualities we are looking for.”
“You mean he's won a scholarship? How can he have done? He's never been entered for one.”
“Well, his name has been down for our school since birth —”
“Who registered him? His parents?”
There was no doubt that Mrs. Cole was an inconveniently sharp woman. Apparently Dumbledore thought so too, for Harry now saw him slip his wand out of the pocket of his
velvet suit, at the same time picking up a piece of perfectly blank paper from Mrs. Cole's desktop.
“Here,” said Dumbledore, waving his wand once as he passed her the piece of paper, “I think this will make everything clear.”
Mrs. Cole's eyes slid out of focus and back again as she gazed intently at the blank paper for a moment.
“That seems perfectly in order,” she said placidly, handing it back. Then her eyes fell upon a bottle of gin and two glasses that had certainly not been present a few
seconds before.
“Er—may I offer you a glass of gin?” she said in an extra-refined voice.
“Thank you very much,” said Dumbledore, beaming.
It soon became clear that Mrs. Cole was no novice when it came to gin drinking. Pouring both of them a generous measure, she drained her own glass in one gulp. Smacking
her lips frankly, she smiled at Dumbledore for the first time, and he didn't hesitate to press his advantage.
“I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history? I think he was born here in the orphanage?”
“That's right,” said Mrs. Cole, helping herself to more gin. “I remember it clear as anything, because I'd just started here myself. New Year's Eve and bitter cold,
snowing, you know. Nasty night. And this girl, not much older than I was myself at the time, came staggering up the front steps. Well, she wasn't the first. We took her
in, and she had the baby within the hour. And she was dead in another hour.”
She was greatly weakened by long suffering
She was greatly weakened by long suffering and she never had your mother's courage. And now, if you will stand ...”
“Where are we going?” Harry asked, as Dumbledore joined him at the front of the desk.
“This time,” said Dumbledore, “we are going to enter my memory. I think you will find it both rich in detail and satisfyingly accurate. After you, Harry ...”
Harry bent over the Pensieve; his face broke the cool surface of the memory and then he was falling through darkness again... Seconds later, his feet hit firm ground;
he opened his eyes and found that he and Dumbledore were standing in a bustling, old-fashioned London street.
“There I am,” said Dumbledore brightly, pointing ahead of them to a tall figure crossing the road in front of a horse-drawn milk cart.
This younger Albus Dumbledore's long hair and beard were auburn. Having reached their side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many curious glances
due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing.
“Nice suit, sir,” said Harry, before he could stop himself, but Dumbledore merely chuckled as they followed his younger self a short distance, finally passing through
a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard that fronted a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings. He mounted the few steps leading to the front door
and knocked once. After a moment or two, the door was opened by a scruffy girl wearing an apron.
“Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs. Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?”
“Oh,” said the bewildered-looking girl, taking in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. “Um... just a mo... MRS. COLE!” she bellowed over her shoulder.
Harry heard a distant voice shouting something in response. The girl turned back to Dumbledore.
“Come in, she's on ‘er way.”
Dumbledore stepped into a hallway tiled in black and white; the whole place was shabby but spotlessly clean. Harry and the older Dumbledore followed. Before the front
door had closed behind them, a skinny, harassed-looking woman came scurrying toward them. She had a sharp-featured face that appeared more anxious than unkind, and she
was talking over her shoulder to another aproned helper as she walked toward Dumbledore.
“... and take the iodine upstairs to Martha, Billy Stubbs has been picking his scabs and Eric Whalley's oozing all over his sheets—chicken pox on top of everything
else,” she said to nobody in particular, and then her eyes fell upon Dumbledore and she stopped dead in her tracks, looking as astonished as if a giraffe had just
crossed her threshold.
“Where are we going?” Harry asked, as Dumbledore joined him at the front of the desk.
“This time,” said Dumbledore, “we are going to enter my memory. I think you will find it both rich in detail and satisfyingly accurate. After you, Harry ...”
Harry bent over the Pensieve; his face broke the cool surface of the memory and then he was falling through darkness again... Seconds later, his feet hit firm ground;
he opened his eyes and found that he and Dumbledore were standing in a bustling, old-fashioned London street.
“There I am,” said Dumbledore brightly, pointing ahead of them to a tall figure crossing the road in front of a horse-drawn milk cart.
This younger Albus Dumbledore's long hair and beard were auburn. Having reached their side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many curious glances
due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing.
“Nice suit, sir,” said Harry, before he could stop himself, but Dumbledore merely chuckled as they followed his younger self a short distance, finally passing through
a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard that fronted a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings. He mounted the few steps leading to the front door
and knocked once. After a moment or two, the door was opened by a scruffy girl wearing an apron.
“Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs. Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?”
“Oh,” said the bewildered-looking girl, taking in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. “Um... just a mo... MRS. COLE!” she bellowed over her shoulder.
Harry heard a distant voice shouting something in response. The girl turned back to Dumbledore.
“Come in, she's on ‘er way.”
Dumbledore stepped into a hallway tiled in black and white; the whole place was shabby but spotlessly clean. Harry and the older Dumbledore followed. Before the front
door had closed behind them, a skinny, harassed-looking woman came scurrying toward them. She had a sharp-featured face that appeared more anxious than unkind, and she
was talking over her shoulder to another aproned helper as she walked toward Dumbledore.
“... and take the iodine upstairs to Martha, Billy Stubbs has been picking his scabs and Eric Whalley's oozing all over his sheets—chicken pox on top of everything
else,” she said to nobody in particular, and then her eyes fell upon Dumbledore and she stopped dead in her tracks, looking as astonished as if a giraffe had just
crossed her threshold.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Chapter 1 The Other Minister
Chapter 1 The Other Minister
It was nearing midnight and the Prime Minister was sitting alone in his office, reading a long memo that was slipping through his brain without leaving the slightest trace of meaning behind. He was waiting for a call from the President of a far distant country, and between wondering when the wretched man would telephone, and trying to suppress unpleasant memories of what had been a very long, tiring, and difficult week, there was not much space in his head for anything else. The more he attempted to focus on the print on the page before him, the more clearly the Prime Minister could see the gloating face of one of his political opponents. This particular opponent had appeared on the news that very day, not only to enumerate all the terrible things that had happened in the last week (as though anyone needed reminding) but also to explain why each and every one of them was the government's fault.
The Prime Minister's pulse quickened at the very thought of these accusations, for they were neither fair nor true. How on earth was his government supposed to have stopped that bridge collapsing? It was outrageous for anybody to suggest that they were not spending enough on bridges. The bridge was fewer than ten years old, and the best experts were at a loss to explain why it had snapped cleanly in two, sending a dozen cars into the watery depths of the river below. And how dare anyone suggest that it was lack of policemen that had resulted in those two very nasty and well-publicized murders? Or that the government should have somehow foreseen the freak hurricane in the West Country that had caused so much damage to both people and property? And was it his fault that one of his Junior Ministers, Herbert Chorley, had chosen this week to act so peculiarly that he was now going to be spending a lot more time with his family?
“A grim mood has gripped the country,” the opponent had concluded, barely concealing his own broad grin.
And unfortunately, this was perfectly true. The Prime Minister felt it himself; people really did seem more miserable than usual. Even the weather was dismal; all this chilly mist in the middle of July... it wasn't right, it wasn't normal...
He turned over the second page of the memo, saw how much longer it went on, and gave it up as a bad job. Stretching his arms above his head he looked around his office mournfully. It was a handsome room, with a fine marble fireplace facing the long sash windows, firmly closed against the unseasonable chill. With a slight shiver, the Prime Minister got up and moved over to the window, looking out at the thin mist that was pressing itself against the glass. It was then, as he stood with his back to the room, that he heard a soft cough behind him.
He froze, nose to nose with his own scared-looking reflection in the dark glass. He knew that cough. He had heard it before. He turned very slowly to face the empty room.
“Hello?” he said, trying to sound braver than he felt.
For a brief moment he allowed himself the impossible hope that nobody would answer him. However, a voice responded at once, a crisp, decisive voice that sounded as though it were reading a prepared statement. It was coming—as the Prime Minister had known at the first cough— from the froglike little man wearing a long silver wig who was depicted in a small, dirty oil painting in the far corner of the room.
“To the Prime Minister of Muggles. Urgent we meet. Kindly respond immediately. Sincerely, Fudge.”
The man in the painting looked inquiringly at the Prime Minister.
“Er,” said the Prime Minister, “listen... it's not a very good time for me... I'm waiting for a telephone call, you see... from the president of—”
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It was nearing midnight and the Prime Minister was sitting alone in his office, reading a long memo that was slipping through his brain without leaving the slightest trace of meaning behind. He was waiting for a call from the President of a far distant country, and between wondering when the wretched man would telephone, and trying to suppress unpleasant memories of what had been a very long, tiring, and difficult week, there was not much space in his head for anything else. The more he attempted to focus on the print on the page before him, the more clearly the Prime Minister could see the gloating face of one of his political opponents. This particular opponent had appeared on the news that very day, not only to enumerate all the terrible things that had happened in the last week (as though anyone needed reminding) but also to explain why each and every one of them was the government's fault.
The Prime Minister's pulse quickened at the very thought of these accusations, for they were neither fair nor true. How on earth was his government supposed to have stopped that bridge collapsing? It was outrageous for anybody to suggest that they were not spending enough on bridges. The bridge was fewer than ten years old, and the best experts were at a loss to explain why it had snapped cleanly in two, sending a dozen cars into the watery depths of the river below. And how dare anyone suggest that it was lack of policemen that had resulted in those two very nasty and well-publicized murders? Or that the government should have somehow foreseen the freak hurricane in the West Country that had caused so much damage to both people and property? And was it his fault that one of his Junior Ministers, Herbert Chorley, had chosen this week to act so peculiarly that he was now going to be spending a lot more time with his family?
“A grim mood has gripped the country,” the opponent had concluded, barely concealing his own broad grin.
And unfortunately, this was perfectly true. The Prime Minister felt it himself; people really did seem more miserable than usual. Even the weather was dismal; all this chilly mist in the middle of July... it wasn't right, it wasn't normal...
He turned over the second page of the memo, saw how much longer it went on, and gave it up as a bad job. Stretching his arms above his head he looked around his office mournfully. It was a handsome room, with a fine marble fireplace facing the long sash windows, firmly closed against the unseasonable chill. With a slight shiver, the Prime Minister got up and moved over to the window, looking out at the thin mist that was pressing itself against the glass. It was then, as he stood with his back to the room, that he heard a soft cough behind him.
He froze, nose to nose with his own scared-looking reflection in the dark glass. He knew that cough. He had heard it before. He turned very slowly to face the empty room.
“Hello?” he said, trying to sound braver than he felt.
For a brief moment he allowed himself the impossible hope that nobody would answer him. However, a voice responded at once, a crisp, decisive voice that sounded as though it were reading a prepared statement. It was coming—as the Prime Minister had known at the first cough— from the froglike little man wearing a long silver wig who was depicted in a small, dirty oil painting in the far corner of the room.
“To the Prime Minister of Muggles. Urgent we meet. Kindly respond immediately. Sincerely, Fudge.”
The man in the painting looked inquiringly at the Prime Minister.
“Er,” said the Prime Minister, “listen... it's not a very good time for me... I'm waiting for a telephone call, you see... from the president of—”
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Monday, November 22, 2010
Ah, you shall hear....
Ah, you shall hear.... We apologize in due form: we are in despair, we entreat forgiveness for the unfortunate misunderstanding. The government clerk with the sausages begins to melt, but he, too, desires to express his sentiments, and as soon as ever he begins to express them, he begins to get hot and say nasty things, and again I'm obliged to trot out all my diplomatic talents. I allowed that their conduct was bad, but I urged him to take into consideration their heedlessness, their youth; then, too, the young men had only just been lunching together. 'You understand. They regret it deeply, and beg you to overlook their misbehavior.' The government clerk was softened once more. 'I consent, count, and am ready to overlook it; but you perceive that my wife--my wife's a respectable woman --his been exposed to the persecution, and insults, and effrontery of young upstarts, scoundrels....' And you must understand, the young upstarts are present all the while, and I have to keep the peace between them. Again I call out all my diplomacy, and again as soon as the thing was about at an end, our friend the government clerk gets hot and red, and his sausages stand on end with wrath, and once more I launch out into diplomatic wiles."
"Ah, he must tell you this story!" said Betsy, laughing, to a lady to came into her box. "He has been making me laugh so."
"Well, bonne chance!" she added, giving Vronsky one finger of the hand in which she held her fan, and with a shrug of her shoulders she twitched down the bodice of her gown that had worked up, so as to be duly naked as she moved forward towards the footlights into the light of the gas, and the sight of all eyes.
Vronsky drove to the French theater, where he really had to see the colonel of his regiment, who never missed a single performance there. He wanted to see him, to report on the result of his mediation, which had occupied and amused him for the last three days. Petritsky, whom he liked, was implicated in the affair, and the other culprit was a capital fellow and first-rate comrade, who had lately joined the regiment, the young Prince Kedrov. And what was most important, the interests of the regiment were involved in it too.
Both the young men were in Vronsky's company. The colonel of the regiment was waited upon by the government clerk, Venden, with a complaint against his officers, who had insulted his wife. His young wife, so Venden told the story--he had been married half a year--was at church with her mother, and suddenly overcome by indisposition, arising from her interesting condition, she could not remain standing, she drove home in the first sledge, a smart-looking one, she came across. On the spot the officers set off in pursuit of her; she was alarmed, and feeling still more unwell, ran up the staircase home. Venden himself, on returning from his office, heard a ring at their bell and voices, went out, and seeing the intoxicated officers with a letter, he had turned them out. He asked for exemplary punishment.
"Yes, it's all very well," said the colonel to Vronsky, whom he had invited to come and see him. "Petritsky's becoming impossible. Not a week goes by without some scandal. This government clerk won't let it drop, he'll go on with the thing."
Vronsky saw all the thanklessness of the business, and that there could be no question of a duel in it, that everything must be done to soften the government clerk, and hush the matter up. The colonel had called in Vronsky just because he knew him to be an honorable and intelligent man, and, more than all, a man who cared for the honor of the regiment. They talked it over, and decided that Petritsky and Kedrov must go with Vronsky to Venden's to apologize. The colonel and Vronsky were both fully aware that Vronsky's name and rank would be sure to contribute greatly to softening of the injured husband's feelings.
And these two influences were not in fact without effect; though the result remained, as Vronsky had described, uncertain.
On reaching the French theater, Vronsky retired to the foyer with the colonel, and reported to him his success, or non-success. The colonel, thinking it all over, made up his mind not to pursue the matter further, but then for his own satisfaction proceeded to cross-examine Vronsky about his interview; and it was a long while before he could restrain his laughter, as Vronsky described how the government clerk, after subsiding for a while, would suddenly flare up again, as he recalled the details, and how Vronsky, at the last half word of conciliation, skillfully maneuvered a retreat, shoving Petritsky out before him.
"It's a disgraceful story, but killing. Kedrov really can't fight the gentleman! Was he so awfully hot?" he commented, laughing. "But what do you say to Claire today? She's marvelous," he went on, speaking of a new French actress. "However often you see her, every day she's different. It's only the French who can to that."
"Ah, he must tell you this story!" said Betsy, laughing, to a lady to came into her box. "He has been making me laugh so."
"Well, bonne chance!" she added, giving Vronsky one finger of the hand in which she held her fan, and with a shrug of her shoulders she twitched down the bodice of her gown that had worked up, so as to be duly naked as she moved forward towards the footlights into the light of the gas, and the sight of all eyes.
Vronsky drove to the French theater, where he really had to see the colonel of his regiment, who never missed a single performance there. He wanted to see him, to report on the result of his mediation, which had occupied and amused him for the last three days. Petritsky, whom he liked, was implicated in the affair, and the other culprit was a capital fellow and first-rate comrade, who had lately joined the regiment, the young Prince Kedrov. And what was most important, the interests of the regiment were involved in it too.
Both the young men were in Vronsky's company. The colonel of the regiment was waited upon by the government clerk, Venden, with a complaint against his officers, who had insulted his wife. His young wife, so Venden told the story--he had been married half a year--was at church with her mother, and suddenly overcome by indisposition, arising from her interesting condition, she could not remain standing, she drove home in the first sledge, a smart-looking one, she came across. On the spot the officers set off in pursuit of her; she was alarmed, and feeling still more unwell, ran up the staircase home. Venden himself, on returning from his office, heard a ring at their bell and voices, went out, and seeing the intoxicated officers with a letter, he had turned them out. He asked for exemplary punishment.
"Yes, it's all very well," said the colonel to Vronsky, whom he had invited to come and see him. "Petritsky's becoming impossible. Not a week goes by without some scandal. This government clerk won't let it drop, he'll go on with the thing."
Vronsky saw all the thanklessness of the business, and that there could be no question of a duel in it, that everything must be done to soften the government clerk, and hush the matter up. The colonel had called in Vronsky just because he knew him to be an honorable and intelligent man, and, more than all, a man who cared for the honor of the regiment. They talked it over, and decided that Petritsky and Kedrov must go with Vronsky to Venden's to apologize. The colonel and Vronsky were both fully aware that Vronsky's name and rank would be sure to contribute greatly to softening of the injured husband's feelings.
And these two influences were not in fact without effect; though the result remained, as Vronsky had described, uncertain.
On reaching the French theater, Vronsky retired to the foyer with the colonel, and reported to him his success, or non-success. The colonel, thinking it all over, made up his mind not to pursue the matter further, but then for his own satisfaction proceeded to cross-examine Vronsky about his interview; and it was a long while before he could restrain his laughter, as Vronsky described how the government clerk, after subsiding for a while, would suddenly flare up again, as he recalled the details, and how Vronsky, at the last half word of conciliation, skillfully maneuvered a retreat, shoving Petritsky out before him.
"It's a disgraceful story, but killing. Kedrov really can't fight the gentleman! Was he so awfully hot?" he commented, laughing. "But what do you say to Claire today? She's marvelous," he went on, speaking of a new French actress. "However often you see her, every day she's different. It's only the French who can to that."
Chapter 39
Chapter 39
"This is rather indiscreet, but it's so good it's an awful temptation to tell the story," said Vronsky, looking at her with his laughing eyes. "I'm not going to mention any names." "But I shall guess, so much the better."
"Well, listen: two festive young men were driving-"
"Officers of your regiment, of course?"
"I didn't say they were officers,--two young men who had been lunching."
"In other words, drinking."
"Possibly. They were driving on their way to dinner with a friend in the most festive state of mind. And they beheld a pretty woman in a hired sledge; she overtakes them, looks round at them, and, so they fancy anyway, nods to them and laughs. They, of course, follow her. They gallop at full speed. To their amazement, the fair one alights at the entrance of the very house to which they were going. The fair one darts upstairs to the top story. They get a glimpse of red lips under a short veil, and exquisite little feet."
"You describe it with such feeling that I fancy you must be one of the two."
"And after what you said, just now! Well, the young men go in to their comrade's; he was giving a farewell dinner. There they certainly did drink a little too much, as one always does at farewell dinners. And at dinner they inquire who lives at the top in that house. No one knows; only their host's valet, in answer to their inquiry whether any 'young ladies' are living on the top floor, answered that there were a great many of them about there. After dinner the two young men go into their host's study, and write a letter to the unknown fair one. They compose an ardent epistle, a declaration in fact, and they carry the letter upstairs themselves, so as to elucidate whatever might appear not perfectly intelligible in the letter."
"Why are you telling me these horrible stories? Well?"
"They ring. A maidservant opens the door, they hand her the letter, and assure the maid that they're both so in love that they'll die on the spot at the door. The maid, stupefied, carries in their messages. All at once a gentleman appears with whiskers like sausages, as red as a lobster, announces that there is no one living in the flat except his wife, and sends them both about their business."
"How do you know he had whiskers like sausages, as you say?"
"Ah, you shall hear. I've just been to make peace between them."
"Well, and what then?"
"That's the most interesting part of the story. It appears that it's a happy couple, a government clerk and his lady. The government clerk lodges a complaint, and I became a mediator, and such a mediator!... I assure you Talleyrand couldn't hold a candle to me."
"Why, where was the difficulty?"
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Chapter 2
Stepan Arkadyevitch was a truthful man in his relations with himself. He was incapable of deceiving himself and persuading himself that he repented of his conduct. He could not at this date repent of the fact that he, a handsome, susceptible man of thirty-four, was not in love with his wife, the mother of five living and two dead children, and only a year younger than himself. All he repented of was that he had not succeeded better in hiding it from his wife. But he felt all the difficulty of his position and was sorry for his wife, his children, and himself. Possibly he might have managed to conceal his sins better from his wife if he had anticipated that the knowledge of them would have had such an effect on her. He had never clearly thought out the subject, but he had vaguely conceived that his wife must long ago have suspected him of being unfaithful to her, and shut her eyes to the fact. He had even supposed that she, a worn-out woman no longer young or good-looking, and in no way remarkable or interesting, merely a good mother, ought from a sense of fairness to take an indulgent view. It had turned out quite the other way.
"Oh, it's awful! oh dear, oh dear! awful!" Stepan Arkadyevitch kept repeating to himself, and he could think of nothing to be done. "And how well things were going up till now! how well we got on! She was contented and happy in her children; I never interfered with her in anything; I let her manage the children and the house just as she liked. It's true it's bad HER having been a governess in our house. That's bad! There's something common, vulgar, in flirting with one's governess. But what a governess!" (He vividly recalled the roguish black eyes of Mlle. Roland and her smile.) "But after all, while she was in the house, I kept myself in hand. And the worst of it all is that she's already...it seems as if ill-luck would have it so! Oh, oh! But what, what is to be done?"
"Oh, it's awful! oh dear, oh dear! awful!" Stepan Arkadyevitch kept repeating to himself, and he could think of nothing to be done. "And how well things were going up till now! how well we got on! She was contented and happy in her children; I never interfered with her in anything; I let her manage the children and the house just as she liked. It's true it's bad HER having been a governess in our house. That's bad! There's something common, vulgar, in flirting with one's governess. But what a governess!" (He vividly recalled the roguish black eyes of Mlle. Roland and her smile.) "But after all, while she was in the house, I kept myself in hand. And the worst of it all is that she's already...it seems as if ill-luck would have it so! Oh, oh! But what, what is to be done?"
Most unpleasant of all was the first minute when
Most unpleasant of all was the first minute when, on coming, happy and good-humored, from the theater, with a huge pear in his hand for his wife, he had not found his wife in the drawing-room, to his surprise had not found her in the study either, and saw her at last in her bedroom with the unlucky letter that revealed everything in her hand.
She, his Dolly, forever fussing and worrying over household details, and limited in her ideas, as he considered, was sitting perfectly still with the letter in her hand, looking at him with an expression of horror, despair, and indignation.
"What's this? this?" she asked, pointing to the letter.
And at this recollection, Stepan Arkadyevitch, as is so often the case, was not so much annoyed at the fact itself as at the way in which he had met his wife's words.
There happened to him at that instant what does happen to people when they are unexpectedly caught in something very disgraceful. He did not succeed in adapting his face to the position in which he was placed towards his wife by the discovery of his fault. Instead of being hurt, denying, defending himself, begging forgiveness, instead of remaining indifferent even--anything would have been better than what he did do--his face utterly involuntarily (reflex spinal action, reflected Stepan Arkadyevitch, who was fond of physiology)--utterly involuntarily assumed its habitual, good-humored, and therefore idiotic smile.
This idiotic smile he could not forgive himself. Catching sight of that smile, Dolly shuddered as though at physical pain, broke out with her characteristic heat into a flood of cruel words, and rushed out of the room. Since then she had refused to see her husband.
"It's that idiotic smile that's to blame for it all," thought Stepan Arkadyevitch.
"But what's to be done? What's to be done?" he said to himself in despair, and found no answer
She, his Dolly, forever fussing and worrying over household details, and limited in her ideas, as he considered, was sitting perfectly still with the letter in her hand, looking at him with an expression of horror, despair, and indignation.
"What's this? this?" she asked, pointing to the letter.
And at this recollection, Stepan Arkadyevitch, as is so often the case, was not so much annoyed at the fact itself as at the way in which he had met his wife's words.
There happened to him at that instant what does happen to people when they are unexpectedly caught in something very disgraceful. He did not succeed in adapting his face to the position in which he was placed towards his wife by the discovery of his fault. Instead of being hurt, denying, defending himself, begging forgiveness, instead of remaining indifferent even--anything would have been better than what he did do--his face utterly involuntarily (reflex spinal action, reflected Stepan Arkadyevitch, who was fond of physiology)--utterly involuntarily assumed its habitual, good-humored, and therefore idiotic smile.
This idiotic smile he could not forgive himself. Catching sight of that smile, Dolly shuddered as though at physical pain, broke out with her characteristic heat into a flood of cruel words, and rushed out of the room. Since then she had refused to see her husband.
"It's that idiotic smile that's to blame for it all," thought Stepan Arkadyevitch.
"But what's to be done? What's to be done?" he said to himself in despair, and found no answer
Chapter 1
Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
Everything was in confusion in the Oblonskys' house. The wife had discovered that the husband was carrying on an intrigue with a French girl, who had been a governess in their family, and she had announced to her husband that she could not go on living in the same house with him. This position of affairs had now lasted three days, and not only the husband and wife themselves, but all the members of their family and household, were painfully conscious of it. Every person in the house felt that there was so sense in their living together, and that the stray people brought together by chance in any inn had more in common with one another than they, the members of the family and household of the Oblonskys. The wife did not leave her own room, the husband had not been at home for three days. The children ran wild all over the house; the English governess quarreled with the housekeeper, and wrote to a friend asking her to look out for a new situation for her; the man-cook had walked off the day before just at dinner time; the kitchen-maid, and the coachman had given warning.
Three days after the quarrel, Prince Stepan Arkadyevitch Oblonsky--Stiva, as he was called in the fashionable world-- woke up at his usual hour, that is, at eight o'clock in the morning, not in his wife's bedroom, but on the leather-covered sofa in his study. He turned over his stout, well-cared-for person on the springy sofa, as though he would sink into a long sleep again; he vigorously embraced the pillow on the other side and buried his face in it; but all at once he jumped up, sat up on the sofa, and opened his eyes.
"Yes, yes, how was it now?" he thought, going over his dream. "Now, how was it? To be sure! Alabin was giving a dinner at Darmstadt; no, not Darmstadt, but something American. Yes, but then, Darmstadt was in America. Yes, Alabin was giving a dinner on glass tables, and the tables sang, Il mio tesoro--not Il mio tesoro though, but something better, and there were some sort of little decanters on the table, and they were women, too," he remembered.
Stepan Arkadyevitch's eyes twinkled gaily, and he pondered with a smile. "Yes, it was nice, very nice. There was a great deal more that was delightful, only there's no putting it into words, or even expressing it in one's thoughts awake." And noticing a gleam of light peeping in beside one of the serge curtains, he cheerfully dropped his feet over the edge of the sofa, and felt about with them for his slippers, a present on his last birthday, worked for him by his wife on gold-colored morocco. And, as he had done every day for the last nine years, he stretched out his hand, without getting up, towards the place where his dressing-gown always hung in his bedroom. And thereupon he suddenly remembered that he was not sleeping in his wife's room, but in his study, and why: the smile vanished from his face, he knitted his brows.
"Ah, ah, ah! Oo!..." he muttered, recalling everything that had happened. And again every detail of his quarrel with his wife was present to his imagination, all the hopelessness of his position, and worst of all, his own fault.
"Yes, she won't forgive me, and she can't forgive me. And the most awful thing about it is that it's all my fault--all my fault, though I'm not to blame. That's the point of the whole situation," he reflected. "Oh, oh, oh!" he kept repeating in despair, as he remembered the acutely painful sensations caused him by this quarrel.
Everything was in confusion in the Oblonskys' house. The wife had discovered that the husband was carrying on an intrigue with a French girl, who had been a governess in their family, and she had announced to her husband that she could not go on living in the same house with him. This position of affairs had now lasted three days, and not only the husband and wife themselves, but all the members of their family and household, were painfully conscious of it. Every person in the house felt that there was so sense in their living together, and that the stray people brought together by chance in any inn had more in common with one another than they, the members of the family and household of the Oblonskys. The wife did not leave her own room, the husband had not been at home for three days. The children ran wild all over the house; the English governess quarreled with the housekeeper, and wrote to a friend asking her to look out for a new situation for her; the man-cook had walked off the day before just at dinner time; the kitchen-maid, and the coachman had given warning.
Three days after the quarrel, Prince Stepan Arkadyevitch Oblonsky--Stiva, as he was called in the fashionable world-- woke up at his usual hour, that is, at eight o'clock in the morning, not in his wife's bedroom, but on the leather-covered sofa in his study. He turned over his stout, well-cared-for person on the springy sofa, as though he would sink into a long sleep again; he vigorously embraced the pillow on the other side and buried his face in it; but all at once he jumped up, sat up on the sofa, and opened his eyes.
"Yes, yes, how was it now?" he thought, going over his dream. "Now, how was it? To be sure! Alabin was giving a dinner at Darmstadt; no, not Darmstadt, but something American. Yes, but then, Darmstadt was in America. Yes, Alabin was giving a dinner on glass tables, and the tables sang, Il mio tesoro--not Il mio tesoro though, but something better, and there were some sort of little decanters on the table, and they were women, too," he remembered.
Stepan Arkadyevitch's eyes twinkled gaily, and he pondered with a smile. "Yes, it was nice, very nice. There was a great deal more that was delightful, only there's no putting it into words, or even expressing it in one's thoughts awake." And noticing a gleam of light peeping in beside one of the serge curtains, he cheerfully dropped his feet over the edge of the sofa, and felt about with them for his slippers, a present on his last birthday, worked for him by his wife on gold-colored morocco. And, as he had done every day for the last nine years, he stretched out his hand, without getting up, towards the place where his dressing-gown always hung in his bedroom. And thereupon he suddenly remembered that he was not sleeping in his wife's room, but in his study, and why: the smile vanished from his face, he knitted his brows.
"Ah, ah, ah! Oo!..." he muttered, recalling everything that had happened. And again every detail of his quarrel with his wife was present to his imagination, all the hopelessness of his position, and worst of all, his own fault.
"Yes, she won't forgive me, and she can't forgive me. And the most awful thing about it is that it's all my fault--all my fault, though I'm not to blame. That's the point of the whole situation," he reflected. "Oh, oh, oh!" he kept repeating in despair, as he remembered the acutely painful sensations caused him by this quarrel.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
But not even the users of the Snackboxes
But not even the users of the Snackboxes could compete with that master of chaos, Peeves, who seemed to have taken Fred's parting words deeply to heart. Cackling madly, he soared through the school, upending tables, bursting out of blackboards, toppling statues and vases; twice he shut Mrs. Norris inside a suit of armour, from which she was rescued, yowling loudly, by the furious caretaker. Peeves smashed lanterns and snuffed out candles, juggled burning torches over the heads of screaming students, caused neatly stacked piles of parchment to topple into fires or out of windows; flooded the second floor when he pulled off all the taps in the bathrooms, dropped a bag of tarantulas in the middle of the Great Hall during breakfast and, whenever he fancied a break, spent hours at a time floating along after Umbridge and blowing loud raspberries every time she spoke.
None of the staff but Filch seemed to be stirring themselves to help her. Indeed, a week after Fred and George's departure Harry witnessed Professor McGonagall walking right past Peeves, who was determinedly loosening a crystal chandelier, and could have sworn he heard her tell the poltergeist out of the corner of her mouth, ‘It unscrews the other way.’
To cap matters, Montague had still not recovered from his sojourn in the toilet; he remained confused and disorientated and his parents were to be observed one Tuesday morning striding up the front drive, looking extremely angry.
‘Should we say something?’ said Hermione in a worried voice, pressing her cheek against the Charms window so that she could see Mr. and Mrs. Montague marching inside. ‘About what happened to him? In case it helps Madam Pomfrey cure him?’
‘Course not, he'll recover,’ said Ron indifferently.
‘Anyway, more trouble for Umbridge, isn't it?’ said Harry in a satisfied voice.
He and Ron both tapped the teacups they were supposed to be charming with their wands. Harry's spouted four very short legs that could not reach the desk and wriggled pointlessly in midair. Ron's grew four very thin spindly legs that hoisted the cup off the desk with great difficulty, trembled for a few seconds, then folded, causing the cup to crack into two.
‘Reparo,’ said Hermione quickly, mending Ron's cup with a wave of her wand. ‘That's all very well, but what if Montague's permanently injured?’
‘Who cares?’ said Ron irritably, while his teacup stood up drunkenly again, trembling violently at the knees. ‘Montague shouldn't have tried to take all those points from Gryffindor, should he? If you want to worry about anyone, Hermione, worry about me!’
‘You?’ she said, catching her teacup as it scampered happily away across the desk on four sturdy little willow-patterned legs, and replacing it in front of her. ‘Why should I be worried about you?’
‘When Mum's next letter finally gets through Umbridge's screening process,’ said Ron bitterly, now holding his cup up while its frail legs tried feebly to support its weight, ‘I'm going to be in deep trouble. I wouldn't be surprised if she's sent another Howler.’
‘But—’
‘It'll be my fault Fred and George left, you wait,’ said Ron darkly. ‘She'll say I should've stopped them leaving, I should've grabbed the ends of their brooms and hung on or something ... yeah, it'll be all my fault.’
None of the staff but Filch seemed to be stirring themselves to help her. Indeed, a week after Fred and George's departure Harry witnessed Professor McGonagall walking right past Peeves, who was determinedly loosening a crystal chandelier, and could have sworn he heard her tell the poltergeist out of the corner of her mouth, ‘It unscrews the other way.’
To cap matters, Montague had still not recovered from his sojourn in the toilet; he remained confused and disorientated and his parents were to be observed one Tuesday morning striding up the front drive, looking extremely angry.
‘Should we say something?’ said Hermione in a worried voice, pressing her cheek against the Charms window so that she could see Mr. and Mrs. Montague marching inside. ‘About what happened to him? In case it helps Madam Pomfrey cure him?’
‘Course not, he'll recover,’ said Ron indifferently.
‘Anyway, more trouble for Umbridge, isn't it?’ said Harry in a satisfied voice.
He and Ron both tapped the teacups they were supposed to be charming with their wands. Harry's spouted four very short legs that could not reach the desk and wriggled pointlessly in midair. Ron's grew four very thin spindly legs that hoisted the cup off the desk with great difficulty, trembled for a few seconds, then folded, causing the cup to crack into two.
‘Reparo,’ said Hermione quickly, mending Ron's cup with a wave of her wand. ‘That's all very well, but what if Montague's permanently injured?’
‘Who cares?’ said Ron irritably, while his teacup stood up drunkenly again, trembling violently at the knees. ‘Montague shouldn't have tried to take all those points from Gryffindor, should he? If you want to worry about anyone, Hermione, worry about me!’
‘You?’ she said, catching her teacup as it scampered happily away across the desk on four sturdy little willow-patterned legs, and replacing it in front of her. ‘Why should I be worried about you?’
‘When Mum's next letter finally gets through Umbridge's screening process,’ said Ron bitterly, now holding his cup up while its frail legs tried feebly to support its weight, ‘I'm going to be in deep trouble. I wouldn't be surprised if she's sent another Howler.’
‘But—’
‘It'll be my fault Fred and George left, you wait,’ said Ron darkly. ‘She'll say I should've stopped them leaving, I should've grabbed the ends of their brooms and hung on or something ... yeah, it'll be all my fault.’
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
‘It must have been the aftermath of the vision,
‘It must have been the aftermath of the vision, that's all,’ said Sirius. ‘You were still thinking of the dream or whatever it was and—’
‘It wasn't that,’ said Harry, shaking his head, ‘it was like something rose up inside me, like there's a snake inside me.’
‘You need to sleep,’ said Sirius firmly. ‘You're going to have breakfast, then go upstairs to bed, and after lunch you can go and see Arthur with the others. You're in shock, Harry; you're blaming yourself for something you only
witnessed, and it's lucky you did witness it or Arthur might have died. Just stop worrying.’
He clapped Harry on the shoulder and left the pantry, leaving Harry standing alone in the dark.
Everyone but Harry spent the rest of the morning sleeping. He went up to the bedroom he and Ron had shared over the last few weeks of summer, but while Ron crawled into bed and was asleep within minutes, Harry sat fully
clothed, hunched against the cold metal bars of the bedstead, keeping himself deliberately uncomfortable, determined not to fall into a doze, terrified that he might become the serpent again in his sleep and wake to find that
he had attacked Ron, or else slithered through the house after one of the others ...
When Ron woke up, Harry pretended to have enjoyed a refreshing nap too. Their trunks arrived from Hogwarts while they were eating lunch, so they could dress as Muggles for the trip to St. Mungo's. Everybody except Harry
was riotously happy and talkative as they changed out of their robes into jeans and sweatshirts. When Tonks and Mad-Eye turned up to escort them across London, they greeted them gleefully, laughing at the bowler hat
Mad-Eye was wearing at an angle to conceal his magical eye and assuring him, truthfully, that Tonks, whose hair was short and bright pink again, would attract far less attention on the Underground.
Tonks was very interested in Harry's vision of the attack on Mr. Weasley, something Harry was not remotely interested in discussing.
‘There isn't any Seer blood in your family, is there?’ she enquired curiously, as they sat side by side on a train rattling towards the heart of the city.
‘No,’ said Harry thinking of Professor Trelawney and feeling insulted.
‘No,’ said Tonks musingly, ‘no, I suppose it's not really prophecy you're doing, is it? I mean, you're not seeing the future, you're seeing the present ... it's odd, isn't it? Useful, though ...’
Harry didn't answer; fortunately, they got out at the next stop, a station in the very heart of London, and in the bustle of leaving the train he was able to allow Fred and George to get between himself and Tonks, who was
leading the way. They all followed her up the escalator, Moody clunking along at the back of the group, his bowler tilted low and one gnarled hand stuck in between the buttons of his coat, clutching his wand. Harry thought he
sensed the concealed eye staring hard at him. Trying to avoid any more questions about his dream, he asked Mad-Eye where St. Mungo's was hidden.
‘Not far from here,’ grunted Moody as they stepped out into the wintry air on a broad store-lined street packed with Christmas shoppers. He pushed Harry a little ahead of him and stumped along just behind; Harry knew the
eye was rolling in all directions under the tilted hat. ‘Wasn't easy to find a good location for a hospital. Nowhere in Diagon Alley was big enough and we couldn't have it underground like the Ministry—wouldn't be healthy. In the
end they managed to get hold of a building up here. Theory was, sick wizards could come and go and just blend in with the crowd.’
He seized Harry's shoulder to prevent them being separated by a gaggle of shoppers plainly intent on nothing but making it into a nearby shop full of electrical gadgets.
‘Here we go,’ said Moody a moment later.
They had arrived outside a large, old-fashioned, red-brick department store called Purge & Dowse Ltd. The place had a shabby, miserable air; the window displays consisted of a few chipped dummies with their wigs askew,
standing at random and modelling fashions at least ten years out of date. Large signs on all the dusty doors read: ‘Closed for Refurbishment'. Harry distinctly heard a large woman laden with plastic shopping bags say to her
friend as they passed, ‘It's never open, that place ...’
‘Right,’ said Tonks, beckoning them towards a window displaying nothing but a particularly ugly female dummy. Its false eyelashes were hanging off and it was modelling a green nylon pinafore dress. ‘Everybody ready?’
They nodded, clustering around her. Moody gave Harry another shove between the shoulder blades to urge him forward and Tonks leaned close to the glass, looking up at the very ugly dummy, her breath steaming up the
glass. ‘Wotcher,’ she said, ‘we're here to see Arthur Weasley.’
Harry thought how absurd it was for Tonks to expect the dummy to hear her talking so quietly through a sheet of glass, with buses rumbling along behind her and all the racket of a street full of shoppers. Then he reminded
himself that dummies couldn't hear anyway. Next second, his mouth opened in shock as the dummy gave a tiny nod and beckoned with its jointed finger, and Tonks had seized Ginny and Mrs. Weasley by the elbows, stepped
right through the glass and vanished.
Fred, George and Ron stepped after them. Harry glanced around at the jostling crowd; not one of them seemed to have a glance to spare for window displays as ugly as those of Purge & Dowse Ltd; nor did any of them seem
to have noticed that six people had just melted into thin air in front of them.
‘C'mon,’ growled Moody, giving Harry yet another poke in the back, and together they stepped forward through what felt like a sheet of cool water, emerging quite warm and dry on the other side.
There was no sign of the ugly dummy or the space where she had stood. They were in what seemed to be a crowded reception area where rows of witches and wizards sat upon rickety wooden chairs, some looking perfectly
normal and perusing out-of-date copies of Witch Weekly, others sporting gruesome disfigurements such as elephant trunks or extra hands sticking out of their chests. The room was scarcely less quiet than the street outside,
for many of the patients were making very peculiar noises: a sweaty-faced witch in the centre of the front row, who was fanning herself vigorously with a copy of the Daily Prophet, kept letting off a high-pitched whistle as steam
came pouring out of her mouth; a grubby-looking warlock in the corner clanged like a bell every time he moved and, with each clang, his head vibrated horribly so that he had to seize himself by the ears to hold it steady.
Witches and wizards in lime-green robes were walking up and down the rows, asking questions and making notes on clipboards like Umbridge's. Harry noticed the emblem embroidered on their chests: a wand and bone,
crossed.
‘Are they doctors?’ he asked Ron quietly.
‘Doctors?’ said Ron, looking startled. ‘Those Muggle nutters that cut people up? Nah, they're Healers.’
‘Over here!’ called Mrs. Weasley, above the renewed clanging of the warlock in the corner, and they followed her to the queue in front of a plump blonde witch seated at a desk marked Enquiries.The wall behind her was
covered in notices and posters saying things like: A CLEAN CAULDRON KEEPS POTIONS FROM BECOMING POISONS and ANTIDOTES ARE ANTI-DON'TS UNLESS APPROVED BY A QUALIFIED HEALER. There was also a
large portrait of a witch with long silver ringlets which was labelled:
Dilys Derwent
St. Mungo's Healer 1722-1741
Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
1741-1768
Dilys was eyeing the Weasley party closely as though counting them; when Harry caught her eye she gave a tiny wink, walked sideways out of her portrait and vanished.
Meanwhile, at the front of the queue, a young wizard was performing an odd on-the-spot jig and trying, in between yelps of pain, to explain his predicament to the witch behind the desk.
‘It's these— ouch—shoes my brother gave me—ow—they re eating my—OUCH—feet—look at them, there must be some kind of—AARGH—jinx on them and I can't— AAAAARGH—get them off.’ He hopped from one foot to
the other as though dancing on hot coals.
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‘It wasn't that,’ said Harry, shaking his head, ‘it was like something rose up inside me, like there's a snake inside me.’
‘You need to sleep,’ said Sirius firmly. ‘You're going to have breakfast, then go upstairs to bed, and after lunch you can go and see Arthur with the others. You're in shock, Harry; you're blaming yourself for something you only
witnessed, and it's lucky you did witness it or Arthur might have died. Just stop worrying.’
He clapped Harry on the shoulder and left the pantry, leaving Harry standing alone in the dark.
Everyone but Harry spent the rest of the morning sleeping. He went up to the bedroom he and Ron had shared over the last few weeks of summer, but while Ron crawled into bed and was asleep within minutes, Harry sat fully
clothed, hunched against the cold metal bars of the bedstead, keeping himself deliberately uncomfortable, determined not to fall into a doze, terrified that he might become the serpent again in his sleep and wake to find that
he had attacked Ron, or else slithered through the house after one of the others ...
When Ron woke up, Harry pretended to have enjoyed a refreshing nap too. Their trunks arrived from Hogwarts while they were eating lunch, so they could dress as Muggles for the trip to St. Mungo's. Everybody except Harry
was riotously happy and talkative as they changed out of their robes into jeans and sweatshirts. When Tonks and Mad-Eye turned up to escort them across London, they greeted them gleefully, laughing at the bowler hat
Mad-Eye was wearing at an angle to conceal his magical eye and assuring him, truthfully, that Tonks, whose hair was short and bright pink again, would attract far less attention on the Underground.
Tonks was very interested in Harry's vision of the attack on Mr. Weasley, something Harry was not remotely interested in discussing.
‘There isn't any Seer blood in your family, is there?’ she enquired curiously, as they sat side by side on a train rattling towards the heart of the city.
‘No,’ said Harry thinking of Professor Trelawney and feeling insulted.
‘No,’ said Tonks musingly, ‘no, I suppose it's not really prophecy you're doing, is it? I mean, you're not seeing the future, you're seeing the present ... it's odd, isn't it? Useful, though ...’
Harry didn't answer; fortunately, they got out at the next stop, a station in the very heart of London, and in the bustle of leaving the train he was able to allow Fred and George to get between himself and Tonks, who was
leading the way. They all followed her up the escalator, Moody clunking along at the back of the group, his bowler tilted low and one gnarled hand stuck in between the buttons of his coat, clutching his wand. Harry thought he
sensed the concealed eye staring hard at him. Trying to avoid any more questions about his dream, he asked Mad-Eye where St. Mungo's was hidden.
‘Not far from here,’ grunted Moody as they stepped out into the wintry air on a broad store-lined street packed with Christmas shoppers. He pushed Harry a little ahead of him and stumped along just behind; Harry knew the
eye was rolling in all directions under the tilted hat. ‘Wasn't easy to find a good location for a hospital. Nowhere in Diagon Alley was big enough and we couldn't have it underground like the Ministry—wouldn't be healthy. In the
end they managed to get hold of a building up here. Theory was, sick wizards could come and go and just blend in with the crowd.’
He seized Harry's shoulder to prevent them being separated by a gaggle of shoppers plainly intent on nothing but making it into a nearby shop full of electrical gadgets.
‘Here we go,’ said Moody a moment later.
They had arrived outside a large, old-fashioned, red-brick department store called Purge & Dowse Ltd. The place had a shabby, miserable air; the window displays consisted of a few chipped dummies with their wigs askew,
standing at random and modelling fashions at least ten years out of date. Large signs on all the dusty doors read: ‘Closed for Refurbishment'. Harry distinctly heard a large woman laden with plastic shopping bags say to her
friend as they passed, ‘It's never open, that place ...’
‘Right,’ said Tonks, beckoning them towards a window displaying nothing but a particularly ugly female dummy. Its false eyelashes were hanging off and it was modelling a green nylon pinafore dress. ‘Everybody ready?’
They nodded, clustering around her. Moody gave Harry another shove between the shoulder blades to urge him forward and Tonks leaned close to the glass, looking up at the very ugly dummy, her breath steaming up the
glass. ‘Wotcher,’ she said, ‘we're here to see Arthur Weasley.’
Harry thought how absurd it was for Tonks to expect the dummy to hear her talking so quietly through a sheet of glass, with buses rumbling along behind her and all the racket of a street full of shoppers. Then he reminded
himself that dummies couldn't hear anyway. Next second, his mouth opened in shock as the dummy gave a tiny nod and beckoned with its jointed finger, and Tonks had seized Ginny and Mrs. Weasley by the elbows, stepped
right through the glass and vanished.
Fred, George and Ron stepped after them. Harry glanced around at the jostling crowd; not one of them seemed to have a glance to spare for window displays as ugly as those of Purge & Dowse Ltd; nor did any of them seem
to have noticed that six people had just melted into thin air in front of them.
‘C'mon,’ growled Moody, giving Harry yet another poke in the back, and together they stepped forward through what felt like a sheet of cool water, emerging quite warm and dry on the other side.
There was no sign of the ugly dummy or the space where she had stood. They were in what seemed to be a crowded reception area where rows of witches and wizards sat upon rickety wooden chairs, some looking perfectly
normal and perusing out-of-date copies of Witch Weekly, others sporting gruesome disfigurements such as elephant trunks or extra hands sticking out of their chests. The room was scarcely less quiet than the street outside,
for many of the patients were making very peculiar noises: a sweaty-faced witch in the centre of the front row, who was fanning herself vigorously with a copy of the Daily Prophet, kept letting off a high-pitched whistle as steam
came pouring out of her mouth; a grubby-looking warlock in the corner clanged like a bell every time he moved and, with each clang, his head vibrated horribly so that he had to seize himself by the ears to hold it steady.
Witches and wizards in lime-green robes were walking up and down the rows, asking questions and making notes on clipboards like Umbridge's. Harry noticed the emblem embroidered on their chests: a wand and bone,
crossed.
‘Are they doctors?’ he asked Ron quietly.
‘Doctors?’ said Ron, looking startled. ‘Those Muggle nutters that cut people up? Nah, they're Healers.’
‘Over here!’ called Mrs. Weasley, above the renewed clanging of the warlock in the corner, and they followed her to the queue in front of a plump blonde witch seated at a desk marked Enquiries.The wall behind her was
covered in notices and posters saying things like: A CLEAN CAULDRON KEEPS POTIONS FROM BECOMING POISONS and ANTIDOTES ARE ANTI-DON'TS UNLESS APPROVED BY A QUALIFIED HEALER. There was also a
large portrait of a witch with long silver ringlets which was labelled:
Dilys Derwent
St. Mungo's Healer 1722-1741
Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
1741-1768
Dilys was eyeing the Weasley party closely as though counting them; when Harry caught her eye she gave a tiny wink, walked sideways out of her portrait and vanished.
Meanwhile, at the front of the queue, a young wizard was performing an odd on-the-spot jig and trying, in between yelps of pain, to explain his predicament to the witch behind the desk.
‘It's these— ouch—shoes my brother gave me—ow—they re eating my—OUCH—feet—look at them, there must be some kind of—AARGH—jinx on them and I can't— AAAAARGH—get them off.’ He hopped from one foot to
the other as though dancing on hot coals.
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Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Fred shrugged.
Fred shrugged.
‘Not that bad. Umbridge just lurked in the corner making notes on a clipboard. You know what Flitwick's like, he treated her like a guest, didn't seem to bother him at all. She didn't say much. Asked Alicia a couple of questions about what the classes are normally like, Alicia told her they were really good, that was it.’
‘I can't see old Flitwick getting marked down,’ said George, ‘he usually gets everyone through their exams all right.’
‘Who've you got this afternoon?’ Fred asked Harry.
‘Trelawney—’
‘A “T” if ever I saw one.’
‘—and Umbridge herself.’
‘Well, be a good boy and keep your temper with Umbridge today,’ said George. ‘Angelina'll do her nut if you miss any more Quidditch practices.’
But Harry did not have to wait for Defence Against the Dark Arts to meet Professor Umbridge. He was pulling out his dream diary in a seat at the very back of the shadowy Divination room when Ron elbowed him in the ribs and, looking round, he saw Professor Umbridge emerging through the trapdoor in the floor. The class, which had been talking cheerily, fell silent at once. The abrupt fall in the noise level made Professor Trelawney, who had been wafting about handing out copies of The Dream Oracle, look round.
‘Good afternoon, Professor Trelawney,’ said Professor Umbridge with her wide smile. ‘You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?’
Professor Trelawney nodded curtly and, looking very disgruntled, turned her back on Professor Umbridge and continued to give out books. Still smiling, Professor Umbridge grasped the back of the nearest armchair and pulled it to the front of the class so that it was a few inches behind Professor Trelawney's seat. She then sat down, took her clipboard from her flowery bag and looked up expectantly, waiting for the class to begin.
Professor Trelawney pulled her shawls tight about her with slightly trembling hands and surveyed the class through her hugely magnifying lenses.
‘We shall be continuing our study of prophetic dreams today,’ she said in a brave attempt at her usual mystic tones, though her voice shook slightly. ‘Divide into pairs, please, and interpret each others latest night-time visions with the aid of the Oracle.’
She made as though to sweep back to her seat, saw Professor Umbridge sitting right beside it, and immediately veered left towards Parvati and Lavender, who were already deep in discussion about Parvati's most recent dream.
Harry opened his copy of The Dream Oracle, watching Umbridge covertly. She was already making notes on her clipboard. After a few minutes she got to her feet and began to pace the room in ‘Trelawney's wake, listening to her conversations with students and posing questions here and there. Harry bent his head hurriedly over his book.
‘Think of a dream, quick,’ he told Ron, ‘in case the old toad comes our way.’
‘I did it last time,’ Ron protested, ‘it's your turn, you tell me one.’
‘Oh, I dunno ...’ said Harry desperately, who could not remember dreaming anything at all over the last few days. ‘Let's say I dreamed I was ... drowning Snape in my cauldron. Yeah, that'll do ...’
Ron chortled as he opened his Dream Oracle.
‘OK, we've got to add your age to the date you had the dream, the number of letters in the subject ... would that be “drowning” or “cauldron” or “Snape"?’
‘It doesn't matter, pick any of them,’ said Harry, chancing a glance behind him. Professor Umbridge was now standing at Professor Trelawney's shoulder making notes while the Divination teacher questioned Neville about his dream diary.
‘What night did you dream this again?’ Ron said, immersed in calculations.
‘I dunno, last night, whenever you like,’ Harry told him, trying to listen to what Umbridge was saying to Professor Trelawney. They were only a table away from him and Ron now. Professor Umbridge was making another note on her clipboard and Professor Trelawney was looking extremely put out.
‘Now,’ said Umbridge, looking up at Trelawney, ‘you've been in this post how long, exactly?’
Professor Trelawney scowled at her, arms crossed and shoulders hunched as though wishing to protect herself as much as possible from the indignity of the inspection. After a slight pause in which she seemed to decide that the question was not so offensive that she could reasonably ignore it, she said in a deeply resentful tone, ‘Nearly sixteen years.’
‘Quite a period,’ said Professor Umbridge, making a note on her clipboard. ‘So it was Professor Dumbledore who appointed you?’
‘That's right,’ said Professor Trelawney shortly.
Professor Umbridge made another note.
‘And you are a great-great-granddaughter of the celebrated Seer Cassandra Trelawney?’
‘Yes,’ said Professor Trelawney, holding her head a little higher.
Another note on the clipboard.
‘But I think— correct me if I am mistaken—that you are the first in your family since Cassandra to be possessed of Second Sight?’
‘Not that bad. Umbridge just lurked in the corner making notes on a clipboard. You know what Flitwick's like, he treated her like a guest, didn't seem to bother him at all. She didn't say much. Asked Alicia a couple of questions about what the classes are normally like, Alicia told her they were really good, that was it.’
‘I can't see old Flitwick getting marked down,’ said George, ‘he usually gets everyone through their exams all right.’
‘Who've you got this afternoon?’ Fred asked Harry.
‘Trelawney—’
‘A “T” if ever I saw one.’
‘—and Umbridge herself.’
‘Well, be a good boy and keep your temper with Umbridge today,’ said George. ‘Angelina'll do her nut if you miss any more Quidditch practices.’
But Harry did not have to wait for Defence Against the Dark Arts to meet Professor Umbridge. He was pulling out his dream diary in a seat at the very back of the shadowy Divination room when Ron elbowed him in the ribs and, looking round, he saw Professor Umbridge emerging through the trapdoor in the floor. The class, which had been talking cheerily, fell silent at once. The abrupt fall in the noise level made Professor Trelawney, who had been wafting about handing out copies of The Dream Oracle, look round.
‘Good afternoon, Professor Trelawney,’ said Professor Umbridge with her wide smile. ‘You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?’
Professor Trelawney nodded curtly and, looking very disgruntled, turned her back on Professor Umbridge and continued to give out books. Still smiling, Professor Umbridge grasped the back of the nearest armchair and pulled it to the front of the class so that it was a few inches behind Professor Trelawney's seat. She then sat down, took her clipboard from her flowery bag and looked up expectantly, waiting for the class to begin.
Professor Trelawney pulled her shawls tight about her with slightly trembling hands and surveyed the class through her hugely magnifying lenses.
‘We shall be continuing our study of prophetic dreams today,’ she said in a brave attempt at her usual mystic tones, though her voice shook slightly. ‘Divide into pairs, please, and interpret each others latest night-time visions with the aid of the Oracle.’
She made as though to sweep back to her seat, saw Professor Umbridge sitting right beside it, and immediately veered left towards Parvati and Lavender, who were already deep in discussion about Parvati's most recent dream.
Harry opened his copy of The Dream Oracle, watching Umbridge covertly. She was already making notes on her clipboard. After a few minutes she got to her feet and began to pace the room in ‘Trelawney's wake, listening to her conversations with students and posing questions here and there. Harry bent his head hurriedly over his book.
‘Think of a dream, quick,’ he told Ron, ‘in case the old toad comes our way.’
‘I did it last time,’ Ron protested, ‘it's your turn, you tell me one.’
‘Oh, I dunno ...’ said Harry desperately, who could not remember dreaming anything at all over the last few days. ‘Let's say I dreamed I was ... drowning Snape in my cauldron. Yeah, that'll do ...’
Ron chortled as he opened his Dream Oracle.
‘OK, we've got to add your age to the date you had the dream, the number of letters in the subject ... would that be “drowning” or “cauldron” or “Snape"?’
‘It doesn't matter, pick any of them,’ said Harry, chancing a glance behind him. Professor Umbridge was now standing at Professor Trelawney's shoulder making notes while the Divination teacher questioned Neville about his dream diary.
‘What night did you dream this again?’ Ron said, immersed in calculations.
‘I dunno, last night, whenever you like,’ Harry told him, trying to listen to what Umbridge was saying to Professor Trelawney. They were only a table away from him and Ron now. Professor Umbridge was making another note on her clipboard and Professor Trelawney was looking extremely put out.
‘Now,’ said Umbridge, looking up at Trelawney, ‘you've been in this post how long, exactly?’
Professor Trelawney scowled at her, arms crossed and shoulders hunched as though wishing to protect herself as much as possible from the indignity of the inspection. After a slight pause in which she seemed to decide that the question was not so offensive that she could reasonably ignore it, she said in a deeply resentful tone, ‘Nearly sixteen years.’
‘Quite a period,’ said Professor Umbridge, making a note on her clipboard. ‘So it was Professor Dumbledore who appointed you?’
‘That's right,’ said Professor Trelawney shortly.
Professor Umbridge made another note.
‘And you are a great-great-granddaughter of the celebrated Seer Cassandra Trelawney?’
‘Yes,’ said Professor Trelawney, holding her head a little higher.
Another note on the clipboard.
‘But I think— correct me if I am mistaken—that you are the first in your family since Cassandra to be possessed of Second Sight?’
Monday, November 15, 2010
‘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—?’
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—?’
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—’
‘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—’
‘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.
‘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.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
But the great black dog gave a joyful
bark and gambolled around them, snapping at pigeons and chasing its own tail. Harry couldn't help laughing. Sirius had been trapped inside for a very long time. Mrs. Weasley pursed her
lips in an almost Aunt Petunia-ish way.
It took them twenty minutes to reach King's Cross on foot and nothing more eventful happened during that time than Sirius scaring a couple of cats for Harry's entertainment. Once inside the station they lingered casually
beside the barrier between platforms nine and ten until the coast was clear, then each of them leaned against it in turn and fell easily through on to platform nine and three-quarters, where the Hogwarts Express stood
belching sooty steam over a platform packed with departing students and their families. Harry inhaled the familiar smell and felt his spirits soar.... He was really going back ...
‘I hope the others make it in time,’ said Mrs. Weasley anxiously, staring behind her at the wrought-iron arch spanning the platform, through which new arrivals would come.
‘Nice dog, Harry!’ called a tall boy with dreadlocks.
‘Thanks, Lee,’ said Harry, grinning, as Sirius wagged his tail frantically.
‘Oh good,’ said Mrs. Weasley, sounding relieved, ‘here's Alastor with the luggage, look...’
A porter's cap pulled low over his mismatched eyes, Moody came limping through the archway pushing a trolley loaded with their trunks.
‘All okay,’ he muttered to Mrs. Weasley and Tonks, ‘don't think we were followed....’
Seconds later, Mr. Weasley emerged on to the platform with Ron and Hermione. They had almost unloaded Moody's luggage trolley when Fred, George, and Ginny turned up with Lupin.
‘No trouble?’ growled Moody.
‘Nothing,’ said Lupin.
‘I'll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore,’ said Moody, ‘that's the second time he's not turned up in a week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus.’
‘Well, look after yourselves,’ said Lupin, shaking hands all round. He reached Harry last and gave him a clap on the shoulder. ‘You too, Harry. Be careful.’
‘Yeah, keep your head down and your eyes peeled,’ said Moody, shaking Harry's hand too. ‘And don't forget, all of you—careful what you put in writing. If in doubt, don't put it in a letter at all.’
‘It's been great meeting all of you,’ said Tonks, hugging Hermione and Ginny. ‘We'll see you soon, I expect.’
A warning whistle sounded; the students still on the platform started hurrying on to the train.
‘Quick, quick,’ said Mrs. Weasley distractedly, hugging them at random and catching Harry twice, ‘Write.... Be good.... If you've forgotten anything we'll send it on.... Onto the train, now, hurry....’
For one brief moment, the great black dog reared on to its hind legs and placed its front paws on Harry's shoulders, but Mrs. Weasley shoved Harry away towards the train door, hissing, ‘For heaven's sake, act more like a
dog, Sirius!’
‘See you!’ Harry called out of the open window as the train began to move, while Ron, Hermione, and Ginny waved beside him. The figures of Tonks, Lupin, Moody, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shrank rapidly but the black dog
was bounding alongside the window, wagging its tail; blurred people on the platform were laughing to see it chasing the train, then they rounded a bend, and Sirius was gone.
‘He shouldn't have come with us,’ said Hermione in a worried voice.
‘Oh, lighten up,’ said Ron, ‘he hasn't seen daylight for months, poor bloke.’
‘Well,’ said Fred, clapping his hands together, ‘can't stand around chatting all day, we've got business to discuss with Lee. See you later,’ and he and George disappeared down the corridor to the right.
The train was gathering still more speed, so that the houses outside the window flashed past, and they swayed where they stood.
‘Shall we go and find a compartment, then?’ Harry asked.
Ron and Hermione exchanged looks.
‘Er,’ said Ron.
‘We're—well—Ron and I are supposed to go into the prefect carriage,’ Hermione said awkwardly.
Ron wasn't looking at Harry; he seemed to have become intensely interested in the fingernails on his left hand.
‘Oh,’ said Harry. ‘Right. Fine.’
‘I don't think we'll have to stay there all journey,’ said Hermione quickly. ‘Our letters said we just get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then patrol the corridors from time to time.’
‘Fine,’ said Harry again. ‘Well, I—I might see you later, then.’
‘Yeah, definitely,’ said Ron, casting a shifty, anxious look at Harry. ‘It's a pain having to go down there, I'd rather—but we have to—I mean, I'm not enjoying it, I'm not Percy,’ he finished defiantly.
‘I know you're not,’ said Harry and he grinned. But as Hermione and Ron dragged their trunks, Crookshanks, and a caged Pigwidgeon off towards the engine end of the train, Harry felt an odd sense of loss. He had never
travelled on the Hogwarts Express without Ron.
‘Come on,’ Ginny told him, ‘if we get a move on we'll be able to save them places.’
‘Right,’ said Harry, picking up Hedwig's cage in one hand and the handle of his trunk in the other. They struggled off down the corridor, peering through the glass-panelled doors into the compartments they passed, which
were already full. Harry could not help noticing that a lot of people stared back at him with great interest and that several of them nudged their neighbours and pointed him out. After he had met this behaviour in five
consecutive carriages he remembered that the Daily Prophet had been telling its readers all summer what a lying show-off he was. He wondered dully whether the people now staring and whispering believed the stories.
In the very last carriage they met Neville Longbottom, Harry's fellow fifth-year Gryffindor, his round face shining with the effort of pulling his trunk along and maintaining a one-handed grip on his struggling toad, Trevor.
‘Hi, Harry,’ he panted. ‘Hi, Ginny.... Everywhere's full.... I can't find a seat....’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Ginny, who had squeezed past Neville to peer into the compartment behind him. ‘There's room in this one, there's only Loony Lovegood in here—’
Neville mumbled something about not wanting to disturb anyone.
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lips in an almost Aunt Petunia-ish way.
It took them twenty minutes to reach King's Cross on foot and nothing more eventful happened during that time than Sirius scaring a couple of cats for Harry's entertainment. Once inside the station they lingered casually
beside the barrier between platforms nine and ten until the coast was clear, then each of them leaned against it in turn and fell easily through on to platform nine and three-quarters, where the Hogwarts Express stood
belching sooty steam over a platform packed with departing students and their families. Harry inhaled the familiar smell and felt his spirits soar.... He was really going back ...
‘I hope the others make it in time,’ said Mrs. Weasley anxiously, staring behind her at the wrought-iron arch spanning the platform, through which new arrivals would come.
‘Nice dog, Harry!’ called a tall boy with dreadlocks.
‘Thanks, Lee,’ said Harry, grinning, as Sirius wagged his tail frantically.
‘Oh good,’ said Mrs. Weasley, sounding relieved, ‘here's Alastor with the luggage, look...’
A porter's cap pulled low over his mismatched eyes, Moody came limping through the archway pushing a trolley loaded with their trunks.
‘All okay,’ he muttered to Mrs. Weasley and Tonks, ‘don't think we were followed....’
Seconds later, Mr. Weasley emerged on to the platform with Ron and Hermione. They had almost unloaded Moody's luggage trolley when Fred, George, and Ginny turned up with Lupin.
‘No trouble?’ growled Moody.
‘Nothing,’ said Lupin.
‘I'll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore,’ said Moody, ‘that's the second time he's not turned up in a week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus.’
‘Well, look after yourselves,’ said Lupin, shaking hands all round. He reached Harry last and gave him a clap on the shoulder. ‘You too, Harry. Be careful.’
‘Yeah, keep your head down and your eyes peeled,’ said Moody, shaking Harry's hand too. ‘And don't forget, all of you—careful what you put in writing. If in doubt, don't put it in a letter at all.’
‘It's been great meeting all of you,’ said Tonks, hugging Hermione and Ginny. ‘We'll see you soon, I expect.’
A warning whistle sounded; the students still on the platform started hurrying on to the train.
‘Quick, quick,’ said Mrs. Weasley distractedly, hugging them at random and catching Harry twice, ‘Write.... Be good.... If you've forgotten anything we'll send it on.... Onto the train, now, hurry....’
For one brief moment, the great black dog reared on to its hind legs and placed its front paws on Harry's shoulders, but Mrs. Weasley shoved Harry away towards the train door, hissing, ‘For heaven's sake, act more like a
dog, Sirius!’
‘See you!’ Harry called out of the open window as the train began to move, while Ron, Hermione, and Ginny waved beside him. The figures of Tonks, Lupin, Moody, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shrank rapidly but the black dog
was bounding alongside the window, wagging its tail; blurred people on the platform were laughing to see it chasing the train, then they rounded a bend, and Sirius was gone.
‘He shouldn't have come with us,’ said Hermione in a worried voice.
‘Oh, lighten up,’ said Ron, ‘he hasn't seen daylight for months, poor bloke.’
‘Well,’ said Fred, clapping his hands together, ‘can't stand around chatting all day, we've got business to discuss with Lee. See you later,’ and he and George disappeared down the corridor to the right.
The train was gathering still more speed, so that the houses outside the window flashed past, and they swayed where they stood.
‘Shall we go and find a compartment, then?’ Harry asked.
Ron and Hermione exchanged looks.
‘Er,’ said Ron.
‘We're—well—Ron and I are supposed to go into the prefect carriage,’ Hermione said awkwardly.
Ron wasn't looking at Harry; he seemed to have become intensely interested in the fingernails on his left hand.
‘Oh,’ said Harry. ‘Right. Fine.’
‘I don't think we'll have to stay there all journey,’ said Hermione quickly. ‘Our letters said we just get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then patrol the corridors from time to time.’
‘Fine,’ said Harry again. ‘Well, I—I might see you later, then.’
‘Yeah, definitely,’ said Ron, casting a shifty, anxious look at Harry. ‘It's a pain having to go down there, I'd rather—but we have to—I mean, I'm not enjoying it, I'm not Percy,’ he finished defiantly.
‘I know you're not,’ said Harry and he grinned. But as Hermione and Ron dragged their trunks, Crookshanks, and a caged Pigwidgeon off towards the engine end of the train, Harry felt an odd sense of loss. He had never
travelled on the Hogwarts Express without Ron.
‘Come on,’ Ginny told him, ‘if we get a move on we'll be able to save them places.’
‘Right,’ said Harry, picking up Hedwig's cage in one hand and the handle of his trunk in the other. They struggled off down the corridor, peering through the glass-panelled doors into the compartments they passed, which
were already full. Harry could not help noticing that a lot of people stared back at him with great interest and that several of them nudged their neighbours and pointed him out. After he had met this behaviour in five
consecutive carriages he remembered that the Daily Prophet had been telling its readers all summer what a lying show-off he was. He wondered dully whether the people now staring and whispering believed the stories.
In the very last carriage they met Neville Longbottom, Harry's fellow fifth-year Gryffindor, his round face shining with the effort of pulling his trunk along and maintaining a one-handed grip on his struggling toad, Trevor.
‘Hi, Harry,’ he panted. ‘Hi, Ginny.... Everywhere's full.... I can't find a seat....’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Ginny, who had squeezed past Neville to peer into the compartment behind him. ‘There's room in this one, there's only Loony Lovegood in here—’
Neville mumbled something about not wanting to disturb anyone.
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Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Popes Permission For The Marriage Of Catholic Priests Has The Time Arrived?
Author：V. Gerard Majilla Source：none Hits：123 UpdateTime：2008-7-10 22:43:04
Recently the Worldwide Catholics have been shocked by few informations, which the Pope, leader of Worldwide Catholics have uttered in U.S. At the same time, it has plunged the Catholic Christian religion into immeasurable depth in the world arena.
The 13000 little boys and girls whom were affected by the immoral behaviour of 5000 U.S. Catholic priests have been given a huge amount of $2 billion, in the past 50 years. This is only example and this news has brought agony in the minds of worldwide Catholics and has brought new thoughts.
The immoral activities of 5000 Catholic priests have become dishonour to the Christian religion which follows the footsteps of Jesus Christ. At the same time, the culprit priests have not dismissed from their posts (or) punished and by this, the head of Catholic Christians has failed to enforce the religious justice and discipline. Hence all the Catholics are angry with the head. If the canon law is a check to dismiss the culprits that should be immediately changed and its right and responsibility are in the hands of Pope. All Catholic Christians expect this only.
The huge amount of $2 billion is a part of Catholics donation. The thought that the amount which they donate for charitable work has been expended for such immoral activities cannot be tolerated by any Catholic. All the Catholics unanimously think that this black mark on their religion should be wiped off. Based on this, the world Catholics expect that some changes should be made in the Catholic Christian Church.
In the early days, the married people did the Christian mission work (service). Up to 1059 A.D, from the Pope till the priests, everybody was married only.(expect certain monks)
During 1059 Pope Nicholas II, declared an order which prohibited the marriage of Christian priests. He did not know another way to get rid of the corruption which was existing in the Church.
Even though that decision was an apt one according to the situation of those days, it should be reconsidered according to the present situation.
The natural way of life which God has given to man is married life. Few spiritual thinkers who are not interested in the worldly life, get involved in ascetic life and think of God always and it depends completely on their wish and will.
Is it correct in following the violent action of insisting the ascetic life which can be followed by only a few people alone on others?
Now, mostly, those who are under 17 yrs are allowed to join in Catholic mission. Most of those who become priests in the stage, the stage in which the worldly life is not known completely, cannot follow the ascetic life throughout their life. As a result of this, immoral activities are done. Because of their sinful deeds, all Catholics become ashamed of it.
It is the first duty of the Church to dismiss these culprit priests and punish them so that such immoral activities should not be happened any more.
So, all Catholics expect the immediate necessary actions to be carried away by the Catholic Church leaders.
Except those who wish to live as monks, others should be allowed to get married and it is the only thing by which the Catholic Christian religion can be saved from the word of insult.
The Catholic Church, should not waste time in simply talking "Our religious clergy are unmarried" as self praise but instead, should change its activities according to the changing world. Thus let the Catholic Church wipe off the black mark on it and with the good name Respectful and pure religion, let it follow the footsteps of Jesus Christ.
Recently the Worldwide Catholics have been shocked by few informations, which the Pope, leader of Worldwide Catholics have uttered in U.S. At the same time, it has plunged the Catholic Christian religion into immeasurable depth in the world arena.
The 13000 little boys and girls whom were affected by the immoral behaviour of 5000 U.S. Catholic priests have been given a huge amount of $2 billion, in the past 50 years. This is only example and this news has brought agony in the minds of worldwide Catholics and has brought new thoughts.
The immoral activities of 5000 Catholic priests have become dishonour to the Christian religion which follows the footsteps of Jesus Christ. At the same time, the culprit priests have not dismissed from their posts (or) punished and by this, the head of Catholic Christians has failed to enforce the religious justice and discipline. Hence all the Catholics are angry with the head. If the canon law is a check to dismiss the culprits that should be immediately changed and its right and responsibility are in the hands of Pope. All Catholic Christians expect this only.
The huge amount of $2 billion is a part of Catholics donation. The thought that the amount which they donate for charitable work has been expended for such immoral activities cannot be tolerated by any Catholic. All the Catholics unanimously think that this black mark on their religion should be wiped off. Based on this, the world Catholics expect that some changes should be made in the Catholic Christian Church.
In the early days, the married people did the Christian mission work (service). Up to 1059 A.D, from the Pope till the priests, everybody was married only.(expect certain monks)
During 1059 Pope Nicholas II, declared an order which prohibited the marriage of Christian priests. He did not know another way to get rid of the corruption which was existing in the Church.
Even though that decision was an apt one according to the situation of those days, it should be reconsidered according to the present situation.
The natural way of life which God has given to man is married life. Few spiritual thinkers who are not interested in the worldly life, get involved in ascetic life and think of God always and it depends completely on their wish and will.
Is it correct in following the violent action of insisting the ascetic life which can be followed by only a few people alone on others?
Now, mostly, those who are under 17 yrs are allowed to join in Catholic mission. Most of those who become priests in the stage, the stage in which the worldly life is not known completely, cannot follow the ascetic life throughout their life. As a result of this, immoral activities are done. Because of their sinful deeds, all Catholics become ashamed of it.
It is the first duty of the Church to dismiss these culprit priests and punish them so that such immoral activities should not be happened any more.
So, all Catholics expect the immediate necessary actions to be carried away by the Catholic Church leaders.
Except those who wish to live as monks, others should be allowed to get married and it is the only thing by which the Catholic Christian religion can be saved from the word of insult.
The Catholic Church, should not waste time in simply talking "Our religious clergy are unmarried" as self praise but instead, should change its activities according to the changing world. Thus let the Catholic Church wipe off the black mark on it and with the good name Respectful and pure religion, let it follow the footsteps of Jesus Christ.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Consider A Slipcover: An Easy Way To Change Dcor
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：36 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 1:01:25
A slipcover is one of the best ways to transform the look of any room. By using these well fitted fabrics and materials over your existing furniture, you can see instant and beautiful changes. There are so many options
available that anyone can find that perfect look. Most importantly, by using a slipcover you avoid having to replace your furniture altogether yet you still get that new look you are looking for. Today, this is one of the best ways
for you to use your preexisting furniture and still get a great new look.
It Is Not Your Grandmothers Slipcover
What you may not realize is that today's products are much better designed to provide a range of quality looks that are not bulky or hard to put on. These products are easily fitted over your existing furniture without pins and
needles or lots of folding. In most cases, the slipcover is easily slid over your furniture giving it an amazing look without any hassles. Products are designed to be put on by anyone and they look great when applied. They are
designed to be put on and left on too. This helps to minimize the change of the cover slipping or falling out of place. In short, they are a stylish option that works well in any room's look.
If you want to change the look of your room, the slipcover may be the best way to make that happen. There is a wide range of style choices available including different patterns, color schemes and styles. You can find a
variety of materials to select from too. If you would like a suede look, go for it. If soft and comfortable denim is a better fit, select that. No matter what your goal is, chances are good that there is a slipcover that will offer that
look for you and instantly change the look of the room.
For those that have furniture that is well structured and in good condition, there is no reason to throw it out and look for a new piece. Instead, use a slipcover over the current pieces so that you can again a completely new
look without the additional cost. The range of options available allows for selection of what works for you. This makes it easy to have a new look, quickly. Today's products allow you to easily change the look of your room with
this affordable, beautiful and easy to install slipcover.
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A slipcover is one of the best ways to transform the look of any room. By using these well fitted fabrics and materials over your existing furniture, you can see instant and beautiful changes. There are so many options
available that anyone can find that perfect look. Most importantly, by using a slipcover you avoid having to replace your furniture altogether yet you still get that new look you are looking for. Today, this is one of the best ways
for you to use your preexisting furniture and still get a great new look.
It Is Not Your Grandmothers Slipcover
What you may not realize is that today's products are much better designed to provide a range of quality looks that are not bulky or hard to put on. These products are easily fitted over your existing furniture without pins and
needles or lots of folding. In most cases, the slipcover is easily slid over your furniture giving it an amazing look without any hassles. Products are designed to be put on by anyone and they look great when applied. They are
designed to be put on and left on too. This helps to minimize the change of the cover slipping or falling out of place. In short, they are a stylish option that works well in any room's look.
If you want to change the look of your room, the slipcover may be the best way to make that happen. There is a wide range of style choices available including different patterns, color schemes and styles. You can find a
variety of materials to select from too. If you would like a suede look, go for it. If soft and comfortable denim is a better fit, select that. No matter what your goal is, chances are good that there is a slipcover that will offer that
look for you and instantly change the look of the room.
For those that have furniture that is well structured and in good condition, there is no reason to throw it out and look for a new piece. Instead, use a slipcover over the current pieces so that you can again a completely new
look without the additional cost. The range of options available allows for selection of what works for you. This makes it easy to have a new look, quickly. Today's products allow you to easily change the look of your room with
this affordable, beautiful and easy to install slipcover.
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Monday, November 8, 2010
Classic Symptoms and Risk Factors Coupled with Kidney Cancer
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：131 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 0:36:59
Because five-year survival rates increase significantly in patients who are diagnosed early, detection of kidney cancer symptoms is critical. To learn more about symptoms associated with the disease and contributing risk factors, keep reading.
Symptoms of Kidney Cancer
Bloody Urine: Bloody urine is a common sign of kidney cancer. However, like many kidney cancer symptoms, it can also be associated with bladder cancer and other bladder-related ailments.
Back Pain: Many people diagnosed with kidney cancer experience low back pain that isn't associated with an injury or other physical ailment.
Lump: A lump or mass in the abdomen is often felt or found by patients with kidney cancer.
General Fatigue: Though fatigue is not a specific symptom, meaning it's often found in other diseases and cancer, it's a common symptom of kidney cancer that can help doctors make a diagnosis.
Loss of Appetite: Unintentional weight loss that happens quickly can be a symptom of kidney cancer. Many patients lose their appetites, have trouble eating and digesting, and tend to lose weight quickly.
Frequent Fevers: Fevers that are consistent, frequent and not connected to other infections (like a flu) can be a symptom of kidney cancer.
Swelling: Edema, also known as swelling in the lower legs is a typical kidney cancer symptom most apparent in women.
Higher Blood Pressure: Like many of the other symptoms listed above, high blood pressure can be attributed to numerous other diseases. However, if discovered alongside other symptoms, it can often be a good indicator for the disease.
Risk Factors for Kidney Cancer
Smoking: Smoking is the cause of 30% of renal cell carcinoma (common kidney cancer) cases in male smokers and 25% of cases in women.
Analgesic Medication: Addictions to painkillers that contain phenactin, which is no longer approved in the United States, can dramatically increase a person's risk for kidney cancer.
Exposure at the Work Place: Workers who are exposed to products like organic solvents, petroleum by-products, camium and asbestos all have an increased risk for developing kidney cancer.
Genetic Disorders: Genetic disorders of the kidney, such as tuberous sclerosis, von Hippel-Lindau disease or a heavy family history of the disease can all increase a person's risk for developing kidney cancer.
Obesity: People who are obese or very overweight are more at risk for developing renal cell kidney cancer than those who maintain a healthy body weight.
Long-Term Kidney Failure: Persistent and consistent kidney failure can cause cysts to form in the kidney, therefore increasing the cancer risk.
Advancing Age: Typically, renal cell carcinoma only develops in adults over the age of fifty and under seventy.
Male or Female: Men are twice more likely to develop kidney cancer, like renal cell carcinoma, than women.
If you have or have been exposed to any of the above risk factors for kidney cancer, it's critical that you be aware of kidney cancer symptoms. Should you experience any of the listed symptoms, be sure to talk to your doctor without delay.
Because five-year survival rates increase significantly in patients who are diagnosed early, detection of kidney cancer symptoms is critical. To learn more about symptoms associated with the disease and contributing risk factors, keep reading.
Symptoms of Kidney Cancer
Bloody Urine: Bloody urine is a common sign of kidney cancer. However, like many kidney cancer symptoms, it can also be associated with bladder cancer and other bladder-related ailments.
Back Pain: Many people diagnosed with kidney cancer experience low back pain that isn't associated with an injury or other physical ailment.
Lump: A lump or mass in the abdomen is often felt or found by patients with kidney cancer.
General Fatigue: Though fatigue is not a specific symptom, meaning it's often found in other diseases and cancer, it's a common symptom of kidney cancer that can help doctors make a diagnosis.
Loss of Appetite: Unintentional weight loss that happens quickly can be a symptom of kidney cancer. Many patients lose their appetites, have trouble eating and digesting, and tend to lose weight quickly.
Frequent Fevers: Fevers that are consistent, frequent and not connected to other infections (like a flu) can be a symptom of kidney cancer.
Swelling: Edema, also known as swelling in the lower legs is a typical kidney cancer symptom most apparent in women.
Higher Blood Pressure: Like many of the other symptoms listed above, high blood pressure can be attributed to numerous other diseases. However, if discovered alongside other symptoms, it can often be a good indicator for the disease.
Risk Factors for Kidney Cancer
Smoking: Smoking is the cause of 30% of renal cell carcinoma (common kidney cancer) cases in male smokers and 25% of cases in women.
Analgesic Medication: Addictions to painkillers that contain phenactin, which is no longer approved in the United States, can dramatically increase a person's risk for kidney cancer.
Exposure at the Work Place: Workers who are exposed to products like organic solvents, petroleum by-products, camium and asbestos all have an increased risk for developing kidney cancer.
Genetic Disorders: Genetic disorders of the kidney, such as tuberous sclerosis, von Hippel-Lindau disease or a heavy family history of the disease can all increase a person's risk for developing kidney cancer.
Obesity: People who are obese or very overweight are more at risk for developing renal cell kidney cancer than those who maintain a healthy body weight.
Long-Term Kidney Failure: Persistent and consistent kidney failure can cause cysts to form in the kidney, therefore increasing the cancer risk.
Advancing Age: Typically, renal cell carcinoma only develops in adults over the age of fifty and under seventy.
Male or Female: Men are twice more likely to develop kidney cancer, like renal cell carcinoma, than women.
If you have or have been exposed to any of the above risk factors for kidney cancer, it's critical that you be aware of kidney cancer symptoms. Should you experience any of the listed symptoms, be sure to talk to your doctor without delay.
Seeing Symptoms Of Herpes
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：124 UpdateTime：2008-10-19 0:37:23
Herpes is a disease which is responsible lesions, rashes on the skin. There are several viruses, and each strain causes similar, but another type of home.
There are 2 main types that are most frequently encountered. The first strain of herpes is herpes simplex 1, which will affect parts of the body above the waist. Outbreaks occur mainly inside and outside the mouth.
Transmission herpes
The other dominant member of the herpes family is herpes simplex virus 2, which is also called HSV 2. This herpes a member of the family and affects the public areas and the buttocks and lower back. We'll talk about the type of virus causing outbreaks in more detail a little further.
Herpes simplex 1 is the mild form of herpes viruses. The homes are cold sores, blisters and fever, which is located inside or outside the mouth. The disease is (transmitted and incurable. The way to transmit this disease is through contact with lesions. This virus can also result in genital herpes, but it is generally around the mouth.
This is known as oral herpes. These lesions erupt when the immune system is weakened or stressed. Thus, the name of fever blisters or cold sores, see these injuries occur when there is a cold.
Herpes simplex 2 is the most commonly talked about herpes. HSV 2 is passed through sexual activity. The blisters that occur on this strain are similar to cold sores; virus HSV 2 as a rule causes most concern. It is spread sexually. Although vesicles of herpes simplex 2 look the same as cold sores, they do not normally appear in the pubic area.
Genital herpes (bulbs) for men will appear on the penis shaft, the anus, buttocks and even the inner thighs and lower back. Women will see the blisters appear over the pubic area, including the anus and buttocks. Sometimes, the epidemic is as sweet as the torch or flashlight is used during the exam.
So what is herpes sores look like? Sometimes, herpes can be seen simply as redness of the affected area. You too feverish May costs and even some flu, aches and pains. A rejection of the penis or vagina also often the case.
The first outbreak of herpes is always the worst! Expect to suffer from swollen lymph nodes and flu systems outside eruptions. Homes will necessarily be less severe short-term and not as acute and could produce about 5 times a year. This will depend on the condition of your immune system and how much stress in your life.
Herpes is a disease which is responsible lesions, rashes on the skin. There are several viruses, and each strain causes similar, but another type of home.
There are 2 main types that are most frequently encountered. The first strain of herpes is herpes simplex 1, which will affect parts of the body above the waist. Outbreaks occur mainly inside and outside the mouth.
Transmission herpes
The other dominant member of the herpes family is herpes simplex virus 2, which is also called HSV 2. This herpes a member of the family and affects the public areas and the buttocks and lower back. We'll talk about the type of virus causing outbreaks in more detail a little further.
Herpes simplex 1 is the mild form of herpes viruses. The homes are cold sores, blisters and fever, which is located inside or outside the mouth. The disease is (transmitted and incurable. The way to transmit this disease is through contact with lesions. This virus can also result in genital herpes, but it is generally around the mouth.
This is known as oral herpes. These lesions erupt when the immune system is weakened or stressed. Thus, the name of fever blisters or cold sores, see these injuries occur when there is a cold.
Herpes simplex 2 is the most commonly talked about herpes. HSV 2 is passed through sexual activity. The blisters that occur on this strain are similar to cold sores; virus HSV 2 as a rule causes most concern. It is spread sexually. Although vesicles of herpes simplex 2 look the same as cold sores, they do not normally appear in the pubic area.
Genital herpes (bulbs) for men will appear on the penis shaft, the anus, buttocks and even the inner thighs and lower back. Women will see the blisters appear over the pubic area, including the anus and buttocks. Sometimes, the epidemic is as sweet as the torch or flashlight is used during the exam.
So what is herpes sores look like? Sometimes, herpes can be seen simply as redness of the affected area. You too feverish May costs and even some flu, aches and pains. A rejection of the penis or vagina also often the case.
The first outbreak of herpes is always the worst! Expect to suffer from swollen lymph nodes and flu systems outside eruptions. Homes will necessarily be less severe short-term and not as acute and could produce about 5 times a year. This will depend on the condition of your immune system and how much stress in your life.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Secret of How A Home Equity Loan Can Help You Financially Revealed
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：51 UpdateTime：2008-10-18 23:41:54
Make the most out of your home, especially if you are in serious need for cash by getting a home equity loan. Your home will simply serve as a security when drawing out a loan from your homes equity value.
As security, there will never be a need for you to give up ownership of your home or vacate it even for just the shortest span of time. Home equity loan allows you to maximize the benefit that you can get from your property, and the cash that you can get from it can be used according to the purpose of your choice, whether it is college education, medical bills, and home improvement among others.
Home equity loan is simply a loan that is drawn against the equity of your property. Therefore if you are a home owner, you can opt to make the best of it. A house is a very stable property and can provide you with many various benefits. When getting a home equity loan, you put your home as collateral which in turn provides you with the amount that you need for whatever project you are financing and working on.
Do not worry; even when it has become collateral, the loan does not mean you have to give up your house or vacate it. Placing your home as security is simply needed for the fast approval of loan according to the propertys equity value. The loan is actually helpful as it allows you to make good use of your home by supplying you with the needed amount of money for your project.
Whats the best use for your home equity loan cash?
You may be able to utilize the cash simply for any purpose you can think of. However, the most common use are for home repair and improvement, debt consolidation, car purchase, medical expenses and bills, travel expenses and even wedding expenses. Whats good about this loan is that there is no restriction imposed on you regarding its use.
Becoming a favorite among all loans
Home equity loan with all its great benefits has become one of the top loan favorites. The loan provides you with the enjoyment of borrowing large amount of money of your choice with a very flexible method of repayment, usually with duration ranging from 5 to 30 years.
As in most types of loans, borrowers are constantly worried about the possibility of increasing interest rates. However, with home equity loan, you can rest assure that the loan will be maintaining a low interest rate. Your monthly cash outflow will then be under your control as well as your personal budget.
Home equity loans for bad credit borrowers
If you are having second thoughts about applying for this loan because of your bad credit history, there is actually no need to worry as home equity loans are available even for borrowers with poor credit. Credit is actually not an issue when applying for this type of loan; you can either have a good, bad or even no credit at all. However, you are given the benefit of credit improvement once you are able to avail of this loan by making prompt payments of the monthly installments. As with any other borrowers, the loan is available for poor credit borrowers against the value of their home equity.
One of the easiest obtainable loans there is
Acquiring this loan needs no complicated processes and procedures. You simply go online and click on the lenders links. Just pick out the best; you will know which one is if it offers you what you think is the most appropriate loan for your financial needs.
Make the most out of your home, especially if you are in serious need for cash by getting a home equity loan. Your home will simply serve as a security when drawing out a loan from your homes equity value.
As security, there will never be a need for you to give up ownership of your home or vacate it even for just the shortest span of time. Home equity loan allows you to maximize the benefit that you can get from your property, and the cash that you can get from it can be used according to the purpose of your choice, whether it is college education, medical bills, and home improvement among others.
Home equity loan is simply a loan that is drawn against the equity of your property. Therefore if you are a home owner, you can opt to make the best of it. A house is a very stable property and can provide you with many various benefits. When getting a home equity loan, you put your home as collateral which in turn provides you with the amount that you need for whatever project you are financing and working on.
Do not worry; even when it has become collateral, the loan does not mean you have to give up your house or vacate it. Placing your home as security is simply needed for the fast approval of loan according to the propertys equity value. The loan is actually helpful as it allows you to make good use of your home by supplying you with the needed amount of money for your project.
Whats the best use for your home equity loan cash?
You may be able to utilize the cash simply for any purpose you can think of. However, the most common use are for home repair and improvement, debt consolidation, car purchase, medical expenses and bills, travel expenses and even wedding expenses. Whats good about this loan is that there is no restriction imposed on you regarding its use.
Becoming a favorite among all loans
Home equity loan with all its great benefits has become one of the top loan favorites. The loan provides you with the enjoyment of borrowing large amount of money of your choice with a very flexible method of repayment, usually with duration ranging from 5 to 30 years.
As in most types of loans, borrowers are constantly worried about the possibility of increasing interest rates. However, with home equity loan, you can rest assure that the loan will be maintaining a low interest rate. Your monthly cash outflow will then be under your control as well as your personal budget.
Home equity loans for bad credit borrowers
If you are having second thoughts about applying for this loan because of your bad credit history, there is actually no need to worry as home equity loans are available even for borrowers with poor credit. Credit is actually not an issue when applying for this type of loan; you can either have a good, bad or even no credit at all. However, you are given the benefit of credit improvement once you are able to avail of this loan by making prompt payments of the monthly installments. As with any other borrowers, the loan is available for poor credit borrowers against the value of their home equity.
One of the easiest obtainable loans there is
Acquiring this loan needs no complicated processes and procedures. You simply go online and click on the lenders links. Just pick out the best; you will know which one is if it offers you what you think is the most appropriate loan for your financial needs.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Flu Protection For Your Baby
Author：佚名 Source：none Hits：122 UpdateTime：2008-10-18 23:37:26
It's that time of year again: flu season. Each year, millions of people hunker down in the fall to prepare for the annual onset of influenza outbreaks. With the season comes an onslaught of visits to, at best, pediatricians' offices and, at worst, hospital emergency departments by worried parents and their ailing children. Now that you've got a newborn, you want to be prepared.
So how do you keep your new baby healthy this winter?
While you cannot inoculate your baby, there are steps you can take to keep him healthy during flu season - many of them common sense.
What is the flu?
According to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control, the flu is a contagious respiratory ailment caused by a group of viruses known as influenza. It strikes an average of five to 20 percent of the U.S. population each year, causing symptoms that range from fever, headache, dry cough, sore throat, runny nose, and muscle aches to nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea. Complications associated with the illness include bacterial pneumonia, ear infections, sinus infections, dehydration, and worsening of chronic medical conditions.
Young children, the elderly, and people with chronic health conditions are at particular risk for serious flu-related complications.
How do I avoid getting the flu?
The CDC recommends getting a flu shot as the number one way to avoid getting the flu. If possible, get a flu shot in October or November, although you can still be vaccinated into December.
Parents, siblings, and caretakers of young children should be vaccinated. The American Academy of Pediatrics revised its recommendation in 2006 to include flu shots for children as young as six months and up to age five years. The CDC also recommends that pregnant women be vaccinated. Studies suggest that maternal immunization may help prevent the flu in young infants.
While your newborn is too young to safely receive the vaccine, and whether you were or weren't vaccinated while pregnant, he can't catch the flu, if he does not come into contact with the virus.
Other simple preventatives include covering your mouth and nose when you cough or sneeze, washing your hands with soap and water - often, avoiding close contact with those who are sick, and keeping your baby out of crowded public places. The flu is spread through contact with the respiratory droplets of an infect person, primarily from coughing and sneezing, so be alert and act accordingly.
What to do if you or your baby get sick?
If you think you have the flu, minimize contact with your baby as much as possible. Drink plenty of fluids and rest. Take fever-reducing medications, as necessary, and contact your physician if your condition worsens. If your baby becomes ill, ensure that he continues to nurse often to prevent dehydration. Call your pediatrician immediately if your baby has trouble breathing, is not feeding adequately, seems less responsive than usual, or his rectal temperature rises above 100.4 degrees Fahrenheit.
Influenza is a serious concern, especially for parents of newborns. But simple, common sense strategies can help you keep your baby healthy throughout the flu season.
It's that time of year again: flu season. Each year, millions of people hunker down in the fall to prepare for the annual onset of influenza outbreaks. With the season comes an onslaught of visits to, at best, pediatricians' offices and, at worst, hospital emergency departments by worried parents and their ailing children. Now that you've got a newborn, you want to be prepared.
So how do you keep your new baby healthy this winter?
While you cannot inoculate your baby, there are steps you can take to keep him healthy during flu season - many of them common sense.
What is the flu?
According to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control, the flu is a contagious respiratory ailment caused by a group of viruses known as influenza. It strikes an average of five to 20 percent of the U.S. population each year, causing symptoms that range from fever, headache, dry cough, sore throat, runny nose, and muscle aches to nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea. Complications associated with the illness include bacterial pneumonia, ear infections, sinus infections, dehydration, and worsening of chronic medical conditions.
Young children, the elderly, and people with chronic health conditions are at particular risk for serious flu-related complications.
How do I avoid getting the flu?
The CDC recommends getting a flu shot as the number one way to avoid getting the flu. If possible, get a flu shot in October or November, although you can still be vaccinated into December.
Parents, siblings, and caretakers of young children should be vaccinated. The American Academy of Pediatrics revised its recommendation in 2006 to include flu shots for children as young as six months and up to age five years. The CDC also recommends that pregnant women be vaccinated. Studies suggest that maternal immunization may help prevent the flu in young infants.
While your newborn is too young to safely receive the vaccine, and whether you were or weren't vaccinated while pregnant, he can't catch the flu, if he does not come into contact with the virus.
Other simple preventatives include covering your mouth and nose when you cough or sneeze, washing your hands with soap and water - often, avoiding close contact with those who are sick, and keeping your baby out of crowded public places. The flu is spread through contact with the respiratory droplets of an infect person, primarily from coughing and sneezing, so be alert and act accordingly.
What to do if you or your baby get sick?
If you think you have the flu, minimize contact with your baby as much as possible. Drink plenty of fluids and rest. Take fever-reducing medications, as necessary, and contact your physician if your condition worsens. If your baby becomes ill, ensure that he continues to nurse often to prevent dehydration. Call your pediatrician immediately if your baby has trouble breathing, is not feeding adequately, seems less responsive than usual, or his rectal temperature rises above 100.4 degrees Fahrenheit.
Influenza is a serious concern, especially for parents of newborns. But simple, common sense strategies can help you keep your baby healthy throughout the flu season.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Finding The Right Nursing Job For You
Finding the right nursing job is all about keeping your mind open to different opportunities and researching all possibilities. First things first, it is important to have an idea of the type of organization you are interested in.
Luckily, today there are many more opportunities for those seeking a career in nursing than just hospitals.
The internet is a great place to start your search, but it is important to start by getting good advice from trusted sources. There are a lot of good trade associations and organizations for nurses. And, if you are doing research
these are always the best places to start. You should also look into nursing forums and message boards. Associations such as the American Nurses Association (ANA) and the National Student Nurses Associations are great
starting points.
Visiting your local college and university is the next important thing you should do. Colleges, community colleges, and universities are a great source of information and a good place to research and possibly get additional
credentialing, take a few classes to brush on your skills, or learn new ones if needed. You may also stumble upon a few aptitude tests that may even show you what nursing skills you enjoy using the most. This will guide you
to the nursing career path that will best suit you.
Finally, you need to research the various types of nursing positions that you may want to pursue. Think about the things that may be important to, factors such as travel time, flex-time, and benefits. Would you prefer to work
with children, adults, seniors, or all? You may even decide that you would rather be a consultant, instructor, or rehabilitation coordinator. If traveling is not an issue, consider a career as a school based health nurse. These
nurses travel to various schools and treat an assortment of injuries and illnesses for school aged children. School based health nurses are also the first line of defense for child abuse; so, if you are sensitive to children's
issues, this may not be the best career track for you.
The good thing is that nursing careers are always in demand; so job security will not be a problem. However, work hours maybe another concern, especially if you have small children or someone who is dependent upon you.
In this instance you may want to focus your efforts on the consulting side. Although it's not as exciting as "Scrubs," being a nursing consultant has its perks. For starters, the hours are much better. Typically, nursing
consultants may work for insurance companies and underwriters, large corporations as employee health nurses, or for local state, and federal governments.
burberry outlet
chanel 2.55
Nursing consultants for insurance companies and underwriters are needed for their expertise in helping determine the cost of a potential claim. Workers compensation are and automobile claims are usually the most common
areas where nursing consultants will be needed. In fact the need is so great in this area of workers compensation that there is an opportunity to start your own consulting business. Nurse Case Management is becoming more
popular and if you have the right experience, and is a good start up or side business. Nurse Case Managers help get employees back to work, oversees their treatment, and help the insurance companies keep costs down.
They also act as a liaison between the claimant, the insurance agent, and the doctors.
Luckily, today there are many more opportunities for those seeking a career in nursing than just hospitals.
The internet is a great place to start your search, but it is important to start by getting good advice from trusted sources. There are a lot of good trade associations and organizations for nurses. And, if you are doing research
these are always the best places to start. You should also look into nursing forums and message boards. Associations such as the American Nurses Association (ANA) and the National Student Nurses Associations are great
starting points.
Visiting your local college and university is the next important thing you should do. Colleges, community colleges, and universities are a great source of information and a good place to research and possibly get additional
credentialing, take a few classes to brush on your skills, or learn new ones if needed. You may also stumble upon a few aptitude tests that may even show you what nursing skills you enjoy using the most. This will guide you
to the nursing career path that will best suit you.
Finally, you need to research the various types of nursing positions that you may want to pursue. Think about the things that may be important to, factors such as travel time, flex-time, and benefits. Would you prefer to work
with children, adults, seniors, or all? You may even decide that you would rather be a consultant, instructor, or rehabilitation coordinator. If traveling is not an issue, consider a career as a school based health nurse. These
nurses travel to various schools and treat an assortment of injuries and illnesses for school aged children. School based health nurses are also the first line of defense for child abuse; so, if you are sensitive to children's
issues, this may not be the best career track for you.
The good thing is that nursing careers are always in demand; so job security will not be a problem. However, work hours maybe another concern, especially if you have small children or someone who is dependent upon you.
In this instance you may want to focus your efforts on the consulting side. Although it's not as exciting as "Scrubs," being a nursing consultant has its perks. For starters, the hours are much better. Typically, nursing
consultants may work for insurance companies and underwriters, large corporations as employee health nurses, or for local state, and federal governments.
burberry outlet
chanel 2.55
Nursing consultants for insurance companies and underwriters are needed for their expertise in helping determine the cost of a potential claim. Workers compensation are and automobile claims are usually the most common
areas where nursing consultants will be needed. In fact the need is so great in this area of workers compensation that there is an opportunity to start your own consulting business. Nurse Case Management is becoming more
popular and if you have the right experience, and is a good start up or side business. Nurse Case Managers help get employees back to work, oversees their treatment, and help the insurance companies keep costs down.
They also act as a liaison between the claimant, the insurance agent, and the doctors.
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