| 12_12_12 ( @ 2007-08-07 12:32:00 |
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“We’re gonna be rewarded,“ said Crabbe. His voice was surprisingly soft for such an enormous person: Harry had hardly ever heard him speak before. Crabbe was speaking like a small child promised a large bag of sweets. “We ‘ung back, Potter. We decided not to go. Decided to bring you to ‘im.“
“Good plan,“ said Harry in mock admiration. He could not believe that he was this close, and was going to be thwarted by Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. He began edging slowly backward toward the place where the Horcrux sat lopsided upon the bust. If he could just get his hands on it before the fight broke out…
“What are you doing, what are you doing, the door’s that way!“ screamed Malfoy, but Harry made a hairpin swerve and dived. The diadem seemed to fall in slow motion, turning and glittering as it dropped toward the maw of a yawning serpent, and then he had it, caught it around his wrist –
Ron glanced at Hermione, then said, “What if purebloods and halfbloods swear a Muggle-born’s part of their family? I’ll tell everyone Hermione’s my cousin – “
Hermione covered Ron’s hand with hers and squeezed it.
“Thank you, Ron, but I couldn’t let you – “
“You won’t have a choice,“ said Ron fiercely, gripping her hand back. “I’ll teach you my family tree so you can answer questions on it.“
“Blimey, I hope they escaped,“ said Ron, leaning back on his pillows. The tea seemed to be doing him good; a little of his color had returned. “I didn’t get the feeling Reg Cattermole was all that quick-witted, though, the way everyone was talking to me when I was him. God, I hope they made it…. If they both end up in Azkaban because of us…“
Harry looked over at Hermione and the question he had been about to ask – about whether Mrs. Cattermole’s lack of a wand would prevent her Apparating alongside her husband – died in his throat. Hermione was watching Ron fret over the fate of the Cattermoles, and there was such tenderness in her expression that Harry felt almost as if he had surprised her in the act of kissing him.
He saw Ron’s silver terrier burst into the air, flicker feebly, and expire; he saw Hermione’s otter twist in midair and fade, and his own wand trembled in his hand, and he almost welcomed the oncoming oblivion, the promise of nothing, of no feeling…
And then a silver hare, a boar, and fox soared past Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s heads: the dementors fell back before the creatures’ approach. Three more people had arrived out of the darkness to stand beside them, their wands outstretched, continuing to cast Patronuses: Luna, Ernie, and Seamus.
“How--how’re we going to get in?“ panted Ron. “I can--see the place--if we just had--Crookshanks again--“
“Crookshanks?“ wheezed Hermione, bent double, clutching her chest. “Are you a wizard, or what?“
“Oh--right--yeah--“
Ron looked around, then directed his wand at a twig on the ground and said “Wingardium Leviosa!“ The twig flew up from the ground, spun through the air as if caught by a gust of wind, then zoomed directly at the trunk through the Willow’s ominously swaying branches. It jabbed at a place near the roots, and at once, the writhing tree became still. “Perfect!“ panted Hermione.