Chapter 23 Malfoy Manor Harry looked around at the other two, now mere outlines in the darkness. He saw Hermione point her wand, set toward the outside, but into his face; there was a bang, a burst of white light, and he buckled in agony, unable to see. He could feel his face swelling rapidly under his hands as heavy footfalls surrounded him. “Get up, vermin.” Unknown hands dragged Harry roughly off the ground, before he could stop them, someone had rummaged through his pockets and removed the blackthorn wand. Harry clutched at his excruciatingly painful face, which felt unrecognizable beneath his fingers, tight, swollen, and puffy as though he had suffered some violent allergic reaction. His eyes had been reduced to slits through which he could barely see; his glasses fell off as he was bundled out of the tent: all he could make out were the blurred shapes of four or five people wrestling Ron and Hermione outside too. “Get – off – her!” Ron shouted. There was the unmistakable sound of knuckles hitting flesh: Ron grunted in pain and Hermione screamed, “No! Leave him alone, leave him alone!” “Your boyfriend’s going to have worse than that done to him if he’s on my list,” said the horribly familiar, rasping voice. “Delicious girl… what a treat… I do enjoy the softness of the skin….” Harry’s stomach turned over. He knew who this was, Fenrit Greyback, the werewolf who was permitted to wear Death Eater robes in return for his hired savagery. “Search the tent!” said another voice. Harry was thrown face down onto the ground. A thud told him that Ron had been cast down beside him. They could hear footsteps and crashes; the men were pushing over chairs inside the tent as they searched. “Now, let’s see who we’ve got,” said Greyback’s gloating voice from overhead, and Harry was rolled over onto his back. A beam of wand light fell onto his face and Greyback laughed. “I’ll be needing butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?“ Harry did not answer immediately. “I said,“ repeated Greyback, and Harry received a blow to the diaphragm that made him double over in pain. ”what happened to you?“ “Stung.” Harry muttered. “Been Stung.” “Yeah, looks like it.” said a second voice. “What’s your name?” snarled Greyback. “Dudley.” said Harry. “And your first name?” “I – Vernon. Vernon Dudley.” “Check the list, Scabior.” said Greyback, and Harry head him move sideways to look down at Ron, instead. “And what about you, ginger?” “Stan Shunpike.” said Ron. “Like ‘ell you are.” said the man called Scabior. “We know Stan Shunpike, ‘e’s put a bit of work our way.” There was another thud. “I’b Bardy,” said Ron, and Harry could tell that his mouth was full of blood. “Bardy Weasley.” “A Weasley?“ rasped Greyback. ”So you’re related to blood traitors even if you’re not a Mudblood. And lastly, your pretty little friend…“ The relish in his voice made Harry’s flesh crawl. “Easy, Greyback.” said Scabior over the jeering of the others. “Oh, I’m not going to bite just yet. We’ll see if she’s a bit quicker at remembering her name than Barny. Who are you, girly?” “Penelope Clearwater.” said Hermione. She sounded terrified, but convincing. “What’s your blood status?” “Half-Blood.” said Hermione. “Easy enough to check,” said Scabior. “But the ‘ole lot of ‘em look like they could still be ‘ogwarts age – ” “We’b lebt,” said Ron. “Left, ‘ave you, ginger?” said Scabior. “And you decided to go camping? And you thought, just for a laugh, you’d use the Dark Lords name?” “Nod a laugh,” said Ron. “Aggiden.” “Accident?” There was more jeering laughter. “You know who used to like using the Dark Lord’s name, Weasley?” growled Greyback, “The Order of the Phoenix. Mean anything to you?” “Doh.” “Well, they don’t show the Dark Lord proper respect, so the name’s been Tabooed. A few Order members have been tracked that way. We’ll see. Bind them up with the other two prisoners!” Someone yanked Harry up by the hair, dragged him a short way, pushed him down into a sitting position, then started binding him back-to-back with other people. Harry was still half blind, barely able to see anything through his puffed-up eyes. When at last the man tying then had walked away, Harry whispered to the other prisoners. “Anyone still got a wand?” “No.” Said Ron and Hermione from either side of him. “This is all my fault. I said the name. I’m sorry – ” “Harry?” It was a new, but familiar voice. and it came from directly behind Harry, from the person tied to Hermione’s left. “Dean?” “It is you! If they find out who they’ve got -! They’re Snatchers, they’re only looking for truants to sell for gold – “ “Not a bad little haul for one night.” Greyback was saying, as a pair of hobnailed boots marched close by Harry and they heard more crashes from inside the tent. “A Mudblood, a runaway goblin, and these truants. You checked their names on the list yet, Scabior?” he roared. “Yeah. There’s no Vernon Dudley un ‘ere, Greyback.” “Interesting,” said Greyback. “That’s interesting.” He crouched down beside Harry, who saw, through the infinitesimal gap left between his swollen eyelids, a face covered in matted gray hair and whiskers, with pointed brown teeth and sores in the corners of his mouth. Greyback smelled as he had done at the top of the tower where Dumbledore had died: of dirt, sweat, and blood. “So you aren’t wanted, then, Vernon? Or are you on that list under a different name? What house were you in at Hogwarts?“ “Slytherin,” said Harry automatically. “Funny ‘ow they all thinks we wants to ‘ear that.” leered Scabior out of the shadows. “But none of ‘em can tell us where the common room is.” “It’s in the dungeons.” said Harry clearly. “You enter through the wall. It’s full of skulls and stuff and its under the lake, so the light’s all green,” There was a short pause. “Well, well, looks like we really ‘ave caught a little Slytherin.” said Scabior. “Good for you, Vernon, ‘cause there ain’t a lot of Mudblood Slytherins. Who’s your father?” “He works at the Ministry,” Harry lied. He knew that his whole story would collapse with the smallest investigation, but on the other hand, he only had until his face regained its usual appearance before the game was up in any case. “Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.” “You know what, Greyback,“ said Scabior. ”I think there is a Dudley in there.“ Harry could barely breathe: Could luck, sheer luck, get them safely out of this? “Well, well.” said Greyback, and Harry could hear the tiniest note of trepidation in that callous voice, and knew that Greyback was wondering whether he had just indeed just attacked and bound the son of a Ministry Official. Harry’s heart was pounding against the ropes around his ribs; he would not have been surprised to know that Greyback could see it. “If you’re telling the truth, ugly, you’ve got nothing to fear from a trip to the Ministry. I expect your father’ll reward us just for picking you up.” “But,” said Harry, his mouth bone dry, “if you just let us – ” “Hey!“ came a shout from inside the tent. “Look at this. Greyback!” A dark figure came bustling toward them, and Harry saw a glint of silver to the light of their wands. They had found Gryffindor’s sword. “Ve-e-ery nice,” said Greyback appreciatively, taking it from his companion. “Oh, very nice indeed. Looks goblin-made, that. Where did you get something like this?” “It’s my father’s,” Harry lied, hoping against hope that it was too dark for Greyback to see the name etched just below the hilt. “We borrowed it to cut firewood – ” “‘ang on a minute, Greyback! Look at this, in the Prophet!“ As Scabior said it, Harry’s scar, which was stretched tight across his distended forehead, burned savagely. More clearly than he could make out anything around him, he saw a towering building, a grim fortress, jet-black and forbidding: Voldemort’s thoughts had suddenly become Razor-Sharp again; he was gliding toward the gigantic building with a sense of calmly euphoric purpose… So close… So close… With a huge effort of will Harry closed his mind to Voldemort’s thoughts, pulling himself back to where he sat, tied to Ron, Hermione, Dean, and Griphook in the darkness, listening to Greyback and Scabior. “‘Hermione Granger,“ Scabior was saying, ”the Mudblood who is known to be traveling with ‘arry Potter.“ Harry’s scar burned in the silence, but he made a supreme effort to keep himself present, nor to slip into Voldemort’s mind. He heard the creak of Greyback’s boots as he crouched down, in front of Hermione. “you know what, little girly? This picture looks a hell of a lot like you.” “It isn’t! It isn’t me!” Hermione’s terrified squeak was as good as a confession. “… known to be traveling with Harry Potter,“ repeated Greyback quietly. A stillness had settled over the scene. Harry’s scar was Exquisitely painful, but he struggled with all his strength against the pull of Voldemort’s thoughts. It had never been so important to remain in his own right mind. “Well, this changed things, doesn’t it?” whispered Greyback. Nobody spoke: Harry sensed the gang of Snatchers watching, frozen, and felt Hermione’s arm trembling against his. Greyback got up and took a couple of steps to where Harry sat, crouching down again to stare closely at his misshapen features. “What’s that on your forehead, Vernon?” he asked softly, his breath foul in Harry’s nostrils as he pressed a filthy finger to the taught scar. “Don’t touch it! Harry yelled; he could not stop himself, he thought he might be sick from the pain of it.” “I thought you wore glasses, Potter?” breathed Greyback. “I found glasses!” yelped one of the Snatchers skulking in the background. “There was glasses in the tent, Greyback, wait – ” And seconds later Harry’s glasses had been rammed back onto his face. The Snatchers were closing in now, peering at him. “It Is!” rasped Greyback. “We’ve caught Potter!” They all took several steps backward, stunned by what they had done. Harry, still fighting to remain present in his own splitting head, could think of nothing to say. Fragmented visions were breaking across the surface of his mind - –He was hiding around the high walls of the black fortress– No, he was Harry, tied up and wandless, in grave danger– –looking up, up to the topmost window, the highest tower– He was Harry, and they were discussing his fate in low voices– –Time to fly… “… To the Ministry?” “To hell with the Ministry.” growled Greyback. “They’ll take the credit, and we won’t get a look in. I say we take him straight to You-Know-Who.” “Will you summon ‘im? ‘ere?“ said Scabior, sounding awed, terrified. “No,” snarled Greyback, “I haven’t got – they say he’s using the Malfoy’s place as a base. We’ll take the boy there.” Harry thought he knew why Greyback was not calling Voldemort. The werewolf might be allowed to wear Death Eater robes when they wanted to use him, but only Voldemort’s inner circle were branded with the Dark Mark: Greyback had not been granted this highest honor. Harry’s scar seared again – – and he rose into the night, flying straight up to the windows at the very top of the tower – “… completely sure it’s him? ‘Cause if it ain’t, Greyback, we’re dead.” “Who’s in charge here?” roared Greyback, covering his moment of inadequacy. “I say that’s Potter, and him plus his wand, that’s two hundred thousand Galleons right there! But if you’re too gutless to come along, any of you, it’s all for me, and with any luck, I’ll get the girl thrown in!” – The window was the merest slit in the black rock, not big enough for a man to enter…. A skeletal figure was just visible through it, curled beneath a blanket…. Dead, or sleeping…? “All right!” said Scabior. “All right, we’re in! And what about the rest of ‘em, Greyback, what’ll we do with ‘em?” “Might as well take the lot. We’ve got two Mudbloods, that’s another ten Galleons. Give me the sword as well. If they’re rubies, that’s another small fortune right there.“ The prisoners were dragged to their feet. Harry could hear Hermione’s breathing, fast and terrified. “Grab hold and make it tight. I’ll do Potter!“ said Greyback, seizing a fistful of Harry’s hair; Harry could feel his long yellow nails scratching his scalp. ”On three! One – two – three – “ They Disapparated, pulling the prisoners with them. Harry struggled, trying to throw off Greyback’s hand, but it was hopeless: Ron and Hermione were squeezed tightly against him on either side; he could not separate from the group, and as the breath was squeezed out of him his scar seared more painfully still – – as he forced himself through the slit of a window like a snake and landed, lightly as vapor inside the cell-like room – The prisoners lurched into one another as they landed in a country lane. Harry’s eyes, still puffy, took a moment to acclimatize, then he saw a pair of wrought-iron gates at the foot of what looked like a long drive. He experienced the tiniest trickle of relief. The worst had not happened yet: Voldemort was not here. He was, Harry knew, for he was fighting to resist the vision, in some strange, fortresslike place, at the top of a tower. How long it would take Voldemort to get to this place, once he knew that Harry was here, was another matter…. One of the Snatchers strode to the gates and shook them. “How do we get in? They’re locked, Greyback, I can’t – blimey!” He whipped his hands away in fright. The iron was contorting, twisting itself out of the abstract furls and coils into a frightening face, which spoke in a clanging, echoing voice. “State your purpose!” “We’ve got Potter!“ Greyback roared triumphantly. ”We’ve captured Harry Potter!“ The gates swung open. “Come on!“ said Greyback to his men, and the prisoners were shunted through the gates and up the drive, between high hedges that muffled their footsteps. Harry saw a ghostly white shape above him, and realized it was an albino peacock. He stumbled and was dragged onto his feet by Greyback; now he was staggering along sideways, tied back-to-back to the four other prisoner. Closing his puffy eyes, he allowed the pain in his scar to overcome him for a moment, wanting to know what Voldemort was doing, whether he knew yet that Harry was caught…. The emaciated figure stirred beneath its thin blanket and rolled over toward him, eyes opening in a skull of a face…. The frail man sat up, great sunken eyes fixed upon him, upon Voldemort, and then he smiled. Most of his teeth were gone…. “So, you have come. I thought you would… one day. But your journey was pointless. I never had it.” “You lie!” As Voldemort’s anger throbbed inside him, Harry’s scar threatened to burst with pain, and he wrenched his mind back to his own body, fighting to remain present as the prisoners were pushed over gravel. Light spilled out over all of them. “What is this?” said a woman’s cold voice. “We’re here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!” rasped Greyback. “Who are you?” “You know me!” There was resentment in the werewolf’s voice. “Fenrit Greyback! We’ve caught Harry Potter!” Greyback seized Harry and dragged him around to face the light, forcing the other prisoners to shuffle around too. “I know ‘es swollen, ma’am, but it’s ‘im!” piped up Scabior. “If you look a bit closer, you’ll see ‘is scar. And this ‘ere, see the girl? The Mudblood who’s been traveling around with ‘im, ma’am. There’s no doubt it’s ‘im, and we’ve got ‘is wand as well! ‘Ere, ma’am – ” Through his puffy eyelids Harry saw Narcissa Malfoy scrutinizing his swollen face. Scabior thrust the blackthorn wand at her. She raised her eyebrows. “Bring them in,” she said. Harry and the others were shoved and kicked up broad stone steps into a hallway lined with portraits. “Follow me,” said Narcissa, leading the way across the hall. “My son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, he will know.” The drawing room dazzled after the darkness outside; even with his eyes almost closed Harry could make out the wide proportions of the room. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, more portraits against the dark purple walls. Two figures rose from chairs in front of an ornate marble fireplace as the prisoners were forced into the room by the Snatchers. “What is this?” The dreadfully familiar, drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy fell on Harry’s ears. He was panicking now. He could see no way out, and it was easier, as his fear mounted, to block out Voldemort’s thoughts, though his scar was still burning. “They say they’ve got Potter,“ said Narcissa’s cold voice. ”Draco, come here.“ Harry did not dare look directly at Draco, but saw him obliquely; a figure slightly taller than he was, rising from an armchair, his face a pale and pointed blur beneath white-blond hair. Greyback forced the prisoners to turn again so as to place Harry directly beneath the chandelier. “Well, boy?” rasped the werewolf. Harry was facing a mirror over the fireplace, a great gilded thing in an intricately scrolled frame. Through the slits of his eyes he saw his own reflection for the first time since leaving Grimmauld Place. His face was huge, shiny, and pink, every feature distorted by Hermione’s jinx. His black hair reached his shoulders and there was a dark shadow around his jaw. Had he not known that it was he who stood there, he would have wondered who was wearing his glasses. He resolved not to speak, for his voice was sure to give him away; yet he still avoided eye contact with Draco as the latter approached. “Well, Draco?” said Lucius Malfoy. He sounded avid. “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?” “I can’t – I can’t be sure,“ said Draco. He was keeping his distance from Greyback, and seemed as scared of looking at Harry as Harry was of looking at him. “But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!” Harry had never heard Lucius Malfoy so excited. “Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv – ” “Now, we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope Mr. Malfoy?” said Greyback menacingly. “Of course not, of course not!“ said Lucius impatiently. He approached Harry himself, came so close that Harry could see the usually languid, pale face in sharp detail even through his swollen eyes. With his face a puffy mask, Harry felt as though he was peering out from between the bars of a cage. “What did you do to him?” Lucius asked Greyback. “How did he get into this state?” “That wasn’t us.” “Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me,” said Lucius. His gray eyes raked Harry’s forehead. “There’s something there,” he whispered. “it could be the scar, stretched tight….” “Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?” Harry saw Draco’s face up close now, right beside his father’s. They were extraordinarily alike, except that while his father looked beside himself with excitement, Draco’s expression was full of reluctance, even fear. “I don’t know,” he said, and he walked away toward the fireplace where his mother stood watching. “We had better be certain, Lucius,“ Narcissa called to her husband in her cold, clear voice. ”Completely sure that it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord… They say this is his“ – she was looking closely at the blackthorn wand – ”but it does not resemble Ollivander’s description…. If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing… Remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?“ “What about the Mudblood, then?” growled Greyback. Harry was nearly thrown off his feet as the Snatchers forced the prisoners to swivel around again, so that the light fell on Hermione instead. “Wait,“ said Narcissa sharply. “Yes – yes, she was in Madam Malkin’s with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn’t it the Granger girl?” “I… maybe… yeah.” “But then, that’s the Weasley boy!” shouted Lucius, striding around the bound prisoners to face Ron. “It’s them, Potter’s friends – Draco, look at him, isn’t it Arthur Weasley’s son, what’s his name –?” “Yeah,” said Draco again, his back to the prisoners. “It could be.” The drawing room door opened behind Harry. A woman spoke, and the sound of the voice wound Harry’s fear to an even higher pitch. “What is this? What’s happened, Cissy?” Bellatrix Lestrange walked slowly around the prisoners, and stopped on Harry’s right, staring at Hermione through her heavily lidded eyes, “But surely,” she said quietly, “this is the Mudblood girl? This is Grander?” “Yes, yes, it’s Granger!” cried Lucius, “And beside her, we think, Potter! Potter and his friends, caught at last!” “Potter?” shrieked Bellatrix, and she backed away, the better to take in Harry. “Are you sure? Well then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!” She dragged back her left sleeve: Harry saw the Dark Mark burned into the flesh of her arm, and knew that she was about to touch it, to summon her beloved master– “I was about to call him!“ said Lucius, and his hand actually closed upon Bellatrix’s wrist, preventing her from touching the Mark. ”I shall summon him, Bella. Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority – “ “Your authority!” she sneered, attempting to wrench her hand from his grasp. “You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off me!” “This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy – ” “Begging your pardon, Mr. Malfoy,“ interjected Greyback, ”but it’s us that caught Potter, and it’s us that’ll be claiming the gold – “ “Gold!” laughed Bellatrix, still attempting to throw off her brother-in-law, her free hand groping in her pocket for her wand. “Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honor of his – of – ” She stopped struggling, her dark eyes fixed upon something Harry could not see. Jubilant at her capitulation, Lucius threw her hand from him and ripped up his own sleeve – “STOP!” shrieked Bellatrix, “Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!” Lucius froze, his index finger hovering over his own Mark. Bellatrix strode out of Harry’s limited line of vision. “What is that?” he heard her say. “Sword,” grunted an out-of-sight Snatcher. “Give it to me.” “It’s not yours, missus, it’s mine, I reckon I found it.” There was a bang and a flash of red light; Harry knew that the Snatcher had been Stunned. There was a roar of anger from his fellows: Scabior drew his wand. “What d’you think you’re playing at, woman?” “Stupefy!“ she screamed, “Stupefy!” They were no match for her, even thought there were four of them against one of her: She was a witch, as Harry knew, with prodigious skill and no conscience. They fell where they stood, all except Greyback, who had been forced into a kneeling position, his arms outstretched. Out of the corners of his eyes Harry saw Bellatrix bearing down upon the werewolf, the sword of Gryffindor gripped tightly in her hand, her face waxen. “Where did you get this sword?” she whispered to Greyback as she pulled his wand out of his unresisting grip. “How dare you?” he snarled, his mouth the only thing that could move as he was forced to gaze up at her. He bared his pointed teeth. “Release me, woman!” “Where did you find this sword?” she repeated, brandishing it in his face, “Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!” “It was in their tent,” rasped Greyback. “Release me, I say!” She waved her wand, and the werewolf sprang to his feet, but appeared too wary to approach her. He prowled behind an armchair, his filthy curved nails clutching its back. “Draco, move this scum outside,” said Bellatrix, indicating the unconscious men. “If you haven’t got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me.” “Don’t you dare speak to Draco like – ” said Narcissa furiously, but Bellatrix screamed. “Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!” She stood, panting slightly, looking down at the sword, examining its hilt. Then she turned to look at the silent prisoners. “If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed,” she muttered, more to herself than to the others. “The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself…. But if he finds out… I must… I must know….” She turned back to her sister again. “The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think what to do!” “This is my house, Bella, you don’t give orders in my – ” “Do it! You have no idea of the danger we’re in!“ shrieked Bellatrix. She looked frightening, mad; a thin stream of fire issued from her wand and burned a hole in the carpet. Narcissa hesitated for a moment, then addressed the werewolf. “Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback.” “Wait,” said Bellatrix sharply. “All except…. except for the Mudblood.” Greyback gave a grunt of pleasure. “No!” shouted Ron. “You can have me, keep me!” Bellatrix hit him across the face: the blow echoed around the room. “If she dies under questioning, I’ll take you next,“ she said. ”Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them – yet.“ She threw Greyback’s wand back to him, then took a short silver knife from under her robes. She cut Hermione free from the other prisoners, then dragged her by the hair into the middle of the room, while Greyback forced the rest of them to shuffle across to another door, into a dark passageway, his wand held out in front of him, projecting an invisible and irresistible force. “Reckon she’ll let me have a bit of the girl when she’s finished with her?” Greyback crooned as he forced them along the corridor. “I’d say I’ll get a bite or two, wouldn’t you, ginger?” Harry could feel Ron shaking. They were forced down a steep flight of stairs, still tied back-to-back and in danger of slipping and breaking their necks at any moment. At the bottom was a heavy door. Greyback unlocked it with a tap of his wand, then forced them into a dank and musty room and left them in total darkness. The echoing bang of the slammed cellar door had not died away before there was a terrible, drawn out scream from directly above them. “HERMIONE!“ Ron bellowed, and he started to writhe and struggle against the ropes tying them together, so that Harry staggered. “HERMIONE!” “Be quiet!” Harry said. “Shut up. Ron, we need to work out a way – ” “HERMIONE! HERMIONE!” “We need a plan, stop yelling – we need to get these ropes off – ” “Harry?” came a whisper through the darkness. “Ron? Is that you?” Ron stopped shouting. There was a sound of movement close by them, then Harry saw a shadow moving closer. “Harry? Ron?” “Luna?“ “Yes, it’s me! Oh no, I didn’t want you to be caught!” “Luna, can you help us get these ropes off?“ said Harry. “Oh yes, I expect so…. There’s an old nail we use if we need to break anything…. Just a moment…” Hermione screamed again from overhead, and they could hear Bellatrix screaming too, but her words were inaudible, for Ron shouted again, “HERMIONE! HERMIONE!” “Mr. Ollivander?“ Harry could hear Luna saying. ”Mr. Ollivander, have you got the nail? If you just move over a little bit… I think it was beside the water jug.“ She was back within seconds. “You’ll need to stay still,” she said. Harry could feel her digging at the rope’s tough fibers to work the knots free. From upstairs they heard Bellatrix’s voice. “I’m going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?“ “We found it – we found it – PLEASE!” Hermione screamed again; Ron struggled harder than ever, and the rusty nail slipped onto Harry’s wrist. “Ron, please stay still!” Luna whispered. “I can’t see what I’m doing – ” “My pocket!” said Ron, “In my pocket, there’s a Deluminator, and it’s full of light!” A few seconds later, there was a click, and the luminescent spheres the Deluminator had sucked from the lamps in the tent flew into the cellar: Unable to rejoin their sources, they simply hung there, like tiny suns, flooding the underground room with light. Harry saw Luna, all eyes in her white face, and the motionless figure of Ollivander the wandmaker, curled up on the floor in the corner. Craning around, he caught sight of their fellow prisoners: Dean and Griphook the goblin, who seemed barely conscious, kept standing by the ropes that bound him to the humans. “Oh, that’s much easier, thanks, Ron,” said Luna, and she began hacking at their bindings again. “Hello, Dean!” From above came Bellatrix’s voice. “You’re lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!“ Another terrible scream– “HERMIONE!” “What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!” “There!” Harry felt the ropes fall away and turned, rubbing his wrists, to see Ron running around the cellar, looking up at the low ceiling, searching for a trapdoor. Dean, his face bruised and bloody, said “Thanks” to Luna and stood there, shivering, but Griphook sank onto the cellar floor, looking groggy and disoriented, many welts across his swarthy face. Ron was now trying to Disapparate without a wand. “There’s no way out, Ron,“ said Luna, watching his fruitless efforts. ”The cellar is completely escape-proof. I tried, at first. Mr. Ollivander has been here for a long time, he’s tried everything.“ Hermione was screaming again: The sound went through Harry like physical pain. Barely conscious of the fierce prickling of his scar, he too started to run around the cellar, feeling the walls for he hardly knew what, knowing in his heart that it was useless. “What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!“ Hermione’s screams echoed off the walls upstairs, Ron was half sobbing as he pounded the walls with his fists, and Harry in utter desperation seized Hagrid’s pouch from around his neck and groped inside it: He pulled out Dumbledore’s Snitch and shook it, hoping for he did not know what – nothing happened – he waved the broken halves of the phoenix wand, but they were lifeless – the mirror fragment fell sparkling to the floor, and he saw a gleam of brightest blue – Dumbledore’s eye was gazing at him out of the mirror. “Help us!” he yelled at it in mad desperation. “We’re in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, help us!” The eye blinked and was gone. Harry was not even sure that it had really been there. He tilted the shard of mirror this way and that, and saw nothing reflected there but the walls and ceiling of their prison, and upstairs Hermione was screaming worse than ever, and next to him Ron was bellowing, “HERMIONE! HERMIONE!” “How did you get into my vault?” they heard Bellatrix scream. “Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?” “We only met him tonight!” Hermione sobbed. “We’ve never been inside your vault…. It isn’t the real sword! It’s a copy, just a copy!” “A copy?” screeched Bellatrix. “Oh, a likely story!” “But we can find out easily!” came Lucius’s voice. “Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!” Harry dashed across the cellar to where Griphook was huddled on the floor. “Griphook,” he whispered into the goblin’s pointed ear, “you must tell them that sword’s a fake, they mustn’t know it’s the real one, Griphook, please – ” He could hear someone scuttling own the cellar steps; next moment, Draco’s shaking voice spoke from behind the door. “Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don’t try anything, or I’ll kill you!” They did as they were bidden; as the lock turned, Ron clicked the Deluminator and the lights whisked back into his pocket, restoring the cellar’s darkness. The door flew open; Malfoy marched inside, wand held out in front of him, pale and determined. He seized the little goblin by the arm and backed out again, dragging Griphook with him. The door slammed shut and at the same moment a loud crack echoed inside the cellar. Ron clicked the Deluminator. Three balls of light flew back into the air from his pocket, revealing Dobby the house-elf, who had just Apparated into their midst. “DOB –!” Harry hit Ron on the arm to stop him shouting, and Ron looked terrified at his mistake. Footsteps crossed the ceiling overhead: Draco marching Griphook to Bellatrix. Dobby’s enormous, tennis-ball shaped eyes were wide; he was trembling from his feet to the tips of his ears. He was back in the home of his old masters, and it was clear that he was petrified. “Harry Potter,” he squeaked in the tiniest quiver of a voice, “Dobby has come to rescue you.” “But how did you –?” An awful scream drowned Harry’s words: Hermione was being tortured again. He cut to the essentials. “You can Disapparate out of this cellar?” he asked Dobby, who nodded, his ears flapping. “And you can take humans with you?” Dobby nodded again. “Right. Dobby, I want you to grab Luna, Dean, and Mr. Ollivander, and take them – take them to – “ “Bill and Fleur’s,” said Ron. “Shell Cottage on the outskirts of Tinworth!” The elf nodded for a third time. “And then come back,” said Harry. “Can you do that, Dobby?” “Of course, Harry Potter,” whispered the little elf. He hurried over to Mr. Ollivander, who appeared to be barely conscious. He took one of the wandmaker’s hands in his own, then held out the other to Luna and Dean, neither of whom moved. “Harry, we want to help you!” Luna whispered. “We can’t leave you here,” said Dean. “Go, both of you! We’ll see you at Bill and Fleur’s.” As Harry spoke, his scar burned worse than ever, and for a few seconds he looked down, not upon the wandmaker, but on another man who was just as old, just as thin, but laughing scornfully. “Kill me, then. Voldemort, I welcome death! But my death will not bring you what you seek…. There is so much you do not understand…” He felt Voldemort’s fury, but as Hermione screamed again he shut it out, returning to the cellar and the horror of his own present. “Go!” Harry beseeched to Luna and Dean. “Go! We’ll follow, just go!” They caught hold of the elf’s outstretched fingers. There was another loud crack, and Dobby, Luna, Dean, and Ollivander vanished. “What was that?” shouted Lucius Malfoy from over their heads. “Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar?” Harry and Ron stared at each other. “Draco – no, call Wormtail! Make him go and check!” Footsteps crossed the room overhead, then there was silence. Harry knew that the people in the drawing room were listening for more noises from the cellar. “We’re going to have to try and tackle him,” he whispered to Ron. They had no choice: The moment anyone entered the room and saw the absence of three prisoners, they were lost. “Leave the lights on,” Harry added, and as they heard someone descending the steps outside the door, they backed against the wall on either side of it. “Stand back,” came Wormtail’s voice. “Stand away from the door. I’m coming in.” The door flew open. For a split second Wormtail gazed into the apparently empty cellar, ablaze with light from the three miniature suns floating in midair. Then Harry and Ron launched themselves upon him. Ron seized Wormtail’s wand arm and forced it upwards. Harry slapped a hand to his mouth, muffling his voice. Silently they struggled: Wormtail’s wand emitted sparks; his silver hand closed around Harry’s throat. “What is it, Wormtail?” called Lucius Malfoy from above. “Nothing!” Ron called back, in a passable imitation of Wormtail’s wheezy voice. “All fine!” Harry could barely breathe. “You’re going to kill me?” Harry choked, attempting to prise off the metal fingers. “After I saved your life? You owe me, Wormtail!” The silver fingers slackened. Harry had not expected it: He wrenched himself free, astonished, keeping his hand over Wormtail’s mouth. He saw the ratlike man’s small watery eyes widen with fear and surprise: He seemed just as shocked as Harry at what his hand had done, at the tiny, merciful impulse it had betrayed, and he continued to struggle more powerfully, as though to undo that moment of weakness. “And we’ll have that,” whispered Ron, tugging Wormtail’s wand from his other hand. Wandless, helpless, Pettigrew’s pupils dilated in terror. His eyes had slid from Harry’s face to something else. His own silver fingers were moving inexorably toward his own throat. “No – ” Without pausing to think, Harry tried to drag back the hand, but there was no stopping it. The silver tool that Voldemort had given his most cowardly servant had turned upon its disarmed and useless owner; Pettigrew was reaping his reward for his hesitation, his moment of pity; he was being strangled before their eyes. “No!” Ron had released Wormtail too, and together he and Harry tried to pull the crushing metal fingers from around Wormtail’s throat, but it was no use. Pettigrew was turning blue. “Relashio!” said Ron, pointing the wand at the silver hand, but nothing happened; Pettigrew dropped to his knees, and at the same moment, Hermione gave a dreadful scream from overhead. Wormtail’s eyes rolled upward in his purple face; he gave a last twitch, and was still. Harry and Ron looked at each other, then leaving Wormtail’s body on the floor behind them, ran up the stairs and back into the shadowy passageway leading to the drawing room. Cautiously they crept along it until they reached the drawing room door, which was ajar. Now they had a clear view of Bellatrix looking down at Griphook, who was holding Gryffindor’s sword in his long-fingered hands. Hermione was lying at Bellatrix’s feet. She was barely stirring. “Well?” Bellatrix said to Griphook. “Is it the true sword?” Harry waited, holding his breath, fighting against the prickling of his scar. “No,” said Griphook. “It is a fake.” “Are you sure?” panted Bellatrix. “Quite sure?” “Yes,” said the goblin. Relief broke across her face, all tension drained from it. “Good,” she said, and with a casual flick of her wand she slashed another deep cut into the goblin’s face, and he dropped with a yell at her feet. She kicked him aside. “And now,” she said in a voice that burst with triumph, “we call the Dark Lord!” And she pushed back her sleeve and touched her forefinger to the Dark Mark. At once, Harry’s scar felt as though it had split open again. His true surroundings vanished: He was Voldemort, and the skeletal wizard before him was laughing toothlessly at him; he was enraged at the summons he felt – he had warned them, he had told them to summon him for nothing less than Potter. If they were mistaken… “Kill me, then!” demanded the old man. “You will not win, you cannot win! That wand will never, ever be yours – ” And Voldemort’s fury broke: A burst of green light filled the prison room and the frail old body was lifted from its hard bed and then fell back, lifeless, and Voldemort returned to the window, his wrath barely controllable…. They would suffer his retribution if they had no good reason for calling him back…. “And I think,” said Bellatrix’s voice, “we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her.” “NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Ron had burst into the drawing room; Bellatrix looked around, shocked; she turned her wand to face Ron instead – “Expelliarmus!” he roared, pointing Wormtail’s wand at Bellatrix, and hers flew into the air and was caught by Harry, who had sprinted after Ron. Lucius, Narcissa, Draco and Greyback wheeled about; Harry yelled, “Stupefy!” and Lucius Malfoy collapsed onto the hearth. Jets of light flew from Draco’s, Narcissa’s, and Greyback’s wands; Harry threw himself to the floor, rolling behind a sofa to avoid them. “STOP OR SHE DIES!” Panting, Harry peered around the edge of the sofa. Bellatrix was supporting Hermione, who seemed to be unconscious, and was holding her short silver knife to Hermione’s throat. “Drop your wands,” she whispered. “Drop them, or we’ll see exactly how filthy her blood is!” Ron stood rigid, clutching Wormtail’s wand. Harry straightened up, still holding Bellatrix’s. “I said, drop them!” she screeched, pressing the blade into Hermione’s throat: Harry saw beads of blood appear there. “All right!” he shouted, and he dropped Bellatrix’s wand onto the floor at his feet, Ron did the same with Wormtail’s. Both raised their hands to shoulder height. “Good!” she leered. “Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!” Harry knew it; his scar was bursting with the pain of it, and he could feel Voldemort flying through the sky from far away, over a dark and stormy sea, and soon he would be close enough to Apparate to them, and Harry could see no way out. “Now,” said Bellatrix softly, as Draco hurried back to her with the wands. “Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight.” At the last word there was a peculiar grinding noise from above. All of them looked upward in time to see the crystal chandelier tremble; then, with a creak and an ominous jingling, it began to fall. Bellatrix was directly beneath it; dropping Hermione, she threw herself aside with a scream. The chandelier crashed to the floor in an explosion of crystal and chains, falling on top of Hermione and the goblin, who still clutched the sword of Gryffindor. Glittering shards of crystal flew in all directions; Draco doubled over, his hands covering his bloody face. As Ron ran to pull Hermione out of the wreckage, Harry took the chance: He leapt over an armchair and wrested the three wands from Draco’s grip, pointed all of them at Greyback, and yelled, “Stupefy!” The werewolf was lifted off his feet by the triple spell, flew up to the ceiling and then smashed to the ground. As Narcissa dragged Draco out of the way of further harm, Bellatrix sprang to her feet, her hair flying as she brandished the silver knife; but Narcissa had directed her wand at the doorway. “Dobby!” she screamed and even Bellatrix froze. “You! You dropped the chandelier –?” The tiny elf trotted into the room, his shaking finger pointing at his old mistress. “You must not hurt Harry Potter,” he squeaked. “Kill him, Cissy!” shrieked Bellatrix, but there was another loud crack, and Narcissa’s wand too flew into the air and landed on the other side of the room. “You dirty little monkey!” bawled Bellatrix. “How dare you take a witch’s wand, how dare you defy your masters?” “Dobby has no master!” squealed the elf. “Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!” Harry’s scar was blinding him with pain. Dimly he knew that they had moments, seconds before Voldemort was with them. “Ron, catch – and GO!” he yelled, throwing one of the wands to him; then he bent down to tug Griphook out from under the chandelier. Hoisting the groaning goblin, who still clung to the sword, over one shoulder, Harry seized Dobby’s hand and spun on the spot to Disapparate. As he turned into darkness he caught one last view of the drawing room of the pale, frozen figures of Narcissa and Draco, of the streak of red that was Ron’s hair, and a blue of flying silver, as Bellatrix’s knife flew across the room at the place where he was vanishing – Bill and Fleur’s… Shell Cottage… Bill and Fleur’s… He had disappeared into the unknown; all he could do was repeat the name of the destination and hope that it would suffice to take him there. The pain in his forehead pierced him, and the weight of the goblin bore down upon him; he could feel the blade of Gryffindor’s sword bumping against his back: Dobby’s hand jerked in his; he wondered whether the elf was trying to take charge, to pull them in the right direction, and tried, by squeezing the fingers, to indicate that that was fine with them…. And then they hit solid earth and smelled salty air. Harry fell to his knees, relinquished Dobby’s hand, and attempted to lower Griphook gently to the ground. “Are you all right?” he said as the goblin stirred, but Griphook merely whimpered. Harry squinted around through the darkness. There seemed to be a cottage a short way away under the wide starry sky, and he thought he saw movement outside it. “Dobby, is this Shell Cottage?” he whispered, clutching the two wands he had brought from the Malfoys’, ready to fight if he needed to. “Have we come to the right place? Dobby?” He looked around. The little elf stood feet from him. “DOBBY!” The elf swayed slightly, stars reflected in his wide, shining eyes. Together, he and Harry looked down at the silver hilt of the knife protruding from the elf’s heaving chest. “Dobby – no – HELP!” Harry bellowed toward the cottage, toward the people moving there. “HELP!” He did not know or care whether they were wizards or Muggles, friends or foes; all he cared about was that a dark stain was spreading across Dobby’s front, and that he had stretched out his own arms to Harry with a look of supplication. Harry caught him and laid him sideways on the cool grass. “Dobby, no, don’t die, don’t die – ” The elf’s eyes found him, and his lips trembled with the effort to form words. “Harry… Potter…” And then with a little shudder the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than great glassy orbs, sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see. 哈利向四周看了看他的两个同伴, 只是在黑暗中看到模糊的影子。 赫敏的魔杖也根本对准得不是外面,而是他的脸。随着一声巨响和一道白光,他痛苦的弯下身子, 看不到任何东西。当沉重的脚步声逐渐包围他的时候,他可以感到脸在手掌下面迅速地膨胀。 “起来,小杂种。” 不知谁的手将哈利粗鲁的拽离地面,在他阻止前,已经有人在翻遍他的口袋并且拿走了他的李木魔杖。哈利极其痛苦地抓着自己的脸,感觉到手指下的脸已经面目全非, 又紧又胀,就像他患上了严重的皮肤过敏。 他的眼睛肿得只能睁开一条缝,几乎无法看见;他的眼镜又在他匆匆逃离帐篷的时候掉了:他唯一能辨认出的是四五个模糊的人影正在外面和罗恩与赫敏扭打着。 “放-开-她!”罗恩叫道。 随着一阵清晰的关节抽打皮肤的声音:罗恩痛得直哼哼,赫敏发出尖叫, “不! 别碰他,别碰他!” “你的男朋友如果在我的名单上会受到比现在更糟的待遇,”一个可怕而熟悉的刺耳的声音传来, “可口的女孩……真是珍馐…… 我确实很喜欢柔软的皮肤……” 哈利的胃在翻腾。 他知道这是芬里尔·格雷伯克,那个凭着自己的野性成为食死徒的狼人。 “搜那顶帐篷!” 另一个声音说道。 哈利被面朝下地扔在地上。砰的一声让他知道罗恩也被推倒在他旁边。 他们可以听到脚步声和撞击声; 那些人在搜索的时候正在推倒帐篷里的椅子。 “现在,让我们来看看找到了什么,”格雷伯克沾沾自喜的声音从哈利的头上传来。哈利被翻转过来。一束魔杖的亮光直指他的脸, 格雷伯克哈哈大笑。 “我需要黄油啤酒把这个洗掉。你怎么了,丑小子” 哈利没有吱声。 “我说,”格雷伯克重复道, 哈利感到耳朵受到沉重的一击这使得他的疼痛加倍。 “你怎么了?” “被蛰,”哈利咕哝着说道。“被蛰了。” “是的,看起来像是。”另一个声音传来。 “你叫什么?”格雷伯克吼道 。 “达力。”哈利说。 “那你姓?” “我——弗农,弗农·达力。” “查查名单, 斯盖伯 。”格雷伯克说,哈利听见他移向旁边又低头看着罗恩,“那你呢,小活泼?” “斯坦桑帕克。”罗恩回答。 “扯淡”,叫斯盖伯的男人说,“我们认识斯坦桑帕克,才不长你这样” 又传来砰的一声。 “我是巴蒂。”罗恩说,哈利可以想到罗恩满嘴都是血。 “巴蒂·韦斯莱。” “姓韦斯莱?”格雷伯克刺耳的说道。 “那么你就算不是麻瓜,也和血统叛逆者有关。最后,你漂亮的小女朋友……”他声音里包含的意味使哈利全身肌肉战栗。 “放松, 格雷伯克” 斯盖伯 向其他嘲笑的人说道。 “哦,我现在还不想咬她。 让我们来看看她是否会会更快地想起她的名字,小姑娘?” “佩内洛·克里瓦特”赫敏说到。她的声音听起来很惊恐但是很有信服力。 “那你的血统是?” “混血。”赫敏说。 “这很容易检查。”斯盖伯 说。“但是他们看起来都是还在上学的年纪。” “我们离校了。”罗恩说道。 “左边的,你呢,小活泼?” 斯盖伯说道。“是你决定去露营? 而且你认为为了好玩,你就可以用黑魔王的名字?” “不日(事)为了噢(好)玩”罗恩说。“是日外(意外)。” [注:因为罗恩嘴巴被揍了]。 “意外?”嘲笑的人更多了。 “你知道谁过去一直喜欢用黑魔王的名字吗,韦斯莱?”格雷伯克咆哮, “凤凰社成员。这对你来说有些什么意义吗?” “没日(有)。” “嗯,他们对黑魔王没有适当的尊敬, 因此这个名字已经成为禁忌。一小撮凤凰社成员就是那样被追踪的。我们会看到的。把他们和另外两个犯人绑在一起!” 某人有人猛拉着哈利的头发将他拉起,拽着他走了一小段路,推他坐下,然后开始把他和其他人背对背绑在一起。哈利仍然是看不太清楚,只能看到什么从他肿胀的眼前越过的东西。 等到最后绑他们的男人走开后,哈利低声和其他囚犯说话。 “有人还有魔杖吗?” “没有。”罗恩和赫敏的声音各自从他的一侧传来。 “都是我的错。我说了那个名字。对不起——” “哈利?” 一个新的但是熟悉的声音传来。它就来自哈利的正背后,绑在赫敏左边的那个人。 “迪安?” “是你! 如果他们发现他们已经抓到了谁-!他们是搜捕手, 他们现在只是在找逃难者把他们卖掉来换金子-” "一晚的收获不坏啊。” 格雷伯克说着,踏着一双一双钉着平头钉的靴子走到哈利身边,他们听见帐篷中传来更多撞击声。 “一个麻瓜 ,一个离家出走的丑小鬼和这些逃难者。你在名单上检查了他们的名字吗?斯盖伯?"他吼道。 “是的。没有叫弗农达力的家伙, 格雷伯克。” “有趣,”格雷伯克说道。 “那真是有趣。” 他在哈利身边蹲下来,哈利透过膨胀的眼皮之间留下的极小缝隙看到一张长着褐色尖牙,嘴角溃烂,覆盖着毫无光泽的灰色头发和络腮胡子的脸。 格雷伯克闻起来和在塔顶也就是邓布利多死去的地方的那个时候一样:满身泥土味,汗味和血腥味。 “所以你没有被通缉咯, 弗农?还是你是名单上面的别的名字呢?在。或你在一个不同的目录上吗? 你在霍格沃茨的哪个学院?” “斯莱特林,”哈利自动说道。 “有趣,他们都认为我们想听到那样的回答。” 斯盖伯从阴影中投射出恶意的目光。 “但他们没有一个人能够告诉我们斯莱特林的公共休息室在哪里。” “在地牢中。”哈利清楚地说。“你穿过那堵墙,里面全是头盖骨和原料,而且它在湖底, 因此光线都是绿色的,” 一阵短暂的停顿。 “好,好,看来我们真的抓到了一个小斯莱特林。” 斯盖伯 说。“这对你有好处,弗农,因为并没有多少斯莱特林是泥巴种。你的父亲是谁?” “他在魔法部工作。”哈利撒谎。他知道,哪怕一个小小的调查都会使他的整个故事被拆穿,但是另一方面,他只能这样做,尽力不捅乱子,直到他的脸恢复成平常的样子。 “魔术意外事件和大灾难部。” “你知道嘛, 格雷伯克,”斯盖伯 说。“我想是有一个叫达力的在那里。” 哈利几乎无法呼吸: 他能够幸运地,绝对幸运地将他们安全地带离这里吗? “喔,喔。”格雷伯克道,哈利可以听出那无情的声音中带着极小的颤抖,他知道格雷伯克 正在想他刚刚是否确实袭击并绑了魔法部官员的儿子。哈利的心在重重的撞击着肋骨周围的绳索;他感到若格雷伯克看到这个自己也不会觉得奇怪。 “如果你正在说实话,丑小子,你就一点都不用害怕去一趟魔法部。我期待你的父亲会因为我拣到你而奖赏我们。” “但是,”哈利说,他口中干涩, “如果你只是让我们——” “嘿!”从里面帐篷里传来一声呼喊:“看这个。 格雷伯克!” 一个黑色的身影匆忙走向他们,向他们靠近,在他们的魔杖发出的光中哈利看到了一道银光闪烁。他们已经发现了格兰芬多的宝剑。 “很-很-很漂亮。”格雷伯克欣赏地说,从同伴手中拿过宝剑。 “噢,确实非常不错。看起来是妖精制作的。你从那儿弄到这样的东西的?” “它是我父亲的,”哈利谎称道,抱着一线希望,希望天色太黑使得格雷伯克看不到见到剑柄下面蚀刻的名字。”我们借了它来砍柴火-” “先放放手头的事, 格雷伯克!看看这个,预言家日报上写的!” 在斯盖伯说这个的时候,哈利的伤疤紧贴着他肿胀的前额伸展着,剧烈的灼痛起来。他看到的东西比他所能辨认的自己周围任何事物还要清晰,他见到一栋高耸的建筑物,一座阴森的城堡,黑漆漆的令人生畏:伏地魔的思想突然再一次变得清晰无比; 他正在带着一个愉快的目的滑向那栋巨大的建筑…… 越来越近了……越来越近了…… 哈利用巨大的意志力努力关闭了自己和伏地魔思想的联系,将自己的思想拉回到他坐的地方,和罗恩,赫敏,迪安还有拉环绑在一起呆在黑暗中,听着格雷伯克和 斯盖伯说话。 “赫敏格兰杰,”斯盖伯念道, “那个据大家所知正在和哈利波特一起旅行的泥巴种。” 哈利的疤痕在默默地灼痛,但他用最大的努力让自己的意识呆在现在的位置,而不滑入伏地魔的思想中去。他听到格雷伯克靴子的吱吱作响声,他在赫敏面前蹲下。 “你知道吗,小姑娘? 这张照片看着很像你。 “不! 不是我!” 赫敏受惊的尖叫声相当于在招供。 “据大家所知正在和哈利波特一起旅行,” 格雷伯克静静的重复了一句。 一片沉静。哈利的伤疤极其的疼痛,但是他用他所有的力量对抗进入伏地魔思想的引力。没有任何时刻比此刻留在自己的思想里更为重要。 “嗯,这使事情有所改变,不是吗?”格雷伯克低声说道。没有人说话。哈利感到那群搜捕手在呆呆地看着,他也感觉到赫敏靠着他的手臂在瑟瑟发抖。格雷伯克站起身来,走了几步来到哈利坐的地方, 再一次蹲下下来仔细地盯着他畸形的面孔看。 “你前额上的这个是什么,弗农?"他轻声地问, 他的呼吸冲着哈利的鼻孔,并用一根污秽的手指按着那个伤疤。 “不要碰它!”哈利大叫;他无法控制自己,他想他都快痛得要吐了。 “我想你是戴眼镜的,是吗波特?” 格雷伯克低声问道。 “我发现了眼镜!”一个都在后面的搜捕手喊道。 “帐篷里有眼镜, 格雷伯克,等一下——” 片刻之后,哈利的破碎的眼镜被戴回到他的脸上。 搜捕手正在靠拢着凝视他。 “就是他!” 格雷伯克发出刺耳的声音。 “我们抓住了波特!” 他们全部向后退了几步, 被他们的发现惊呆了。正在努力将自己的意识留在自己痛得像裂开的脑子里的哈利无法想到任何应对的话语。片断的影像正在他的意识中破碎成片——他正在藏在黑色的城堡高墙的周围——不,他是哈利,被绑了起来和没有魔杖,深处困境—— 正在向上看,看格雷伯克向最高的窗户,最高的塔——他是哈利,而且他们正在低声讨论着他的命运—— ——是飞的时间了。 “去魔法部?” “让魔法部见鬼吧”格雷伯克咆哮道。 “他们会遵守信用,我们将看都看不到一眼我说,我们应该直接带他给神秘人。” “你要把他召唤到这里?”斯盖伯问,声音充满畏惧和惊恐。 “不,”吼道, “我没有——他们说他现在用马尔福的家作为一个基地。我们把这个男孩带去那里。” 哈利想他知道格雷伯克为什么没有在召唤伏地魔。只有当他们想要用他的时候,这个狼人才可能被允许穿着食死徒的袍子,但是只有伏地魔的亲信才能被烙上黑魔法标记: 格雷伯克还没有被授予这个最高荣誉。 哈利的疤痕再一次烧灼—— ——他上升进入黑夜中,径直往那座塔的塔顶的窗户飞去—— “…… 完全确定是他?“因为如果不是, 格雷伯克,我们就完了。” “这里谁负责?”吼道,遮掩着他片刻的不确定。 “我说那就是波特,他加上他的魔杖,那可是二十万个加隆啊! 但是如果你没胆量一起去,那就全是我的了,而不去,运气好的话,我会带这个丫头去!” ——黑色岩石上的窗户只打开了一条最小的缝,不够一个人进入…… 从窗户只可以看到一个裹在毯子里的一个人形轮廓……是死了还是在睡觉……? “好!”斯盖伯 说。“好,我们和你一起去!他们这些剩下的怎么办, 格雷伯克,我们怎么处置他们?” “最好多带些。 我们已经抓到两个麻瓜,那又是十个加隆。把剑也给我。如果它们是红宝石,那又是一笔小财。” 犯人们被拖到他们脚边。 哈利可以听到赫敏的呼吸, 急速而惊恐。 “抓牢绑紧。我来对付波特!” 格雷伯克说,他抓住哈利的一把头发;哈利可以感觉他黄色的长指甲正刮擦着他的头皮。 “数到3!1-2-3” 他们拖着各自的囚犯幻影移形。哈利挣扎着, 试图挣开格雷伯克, 但却是没有任何指望:罗恩和赫敏在两边紧紧地挤着他;他无法从其中分开,当呼吸被挤出他的身体时,他的伤疤更加灼痛—— ——他强迫自己像蛇一样穿过一扇窗户的缝隙并着陆,像细胞中的水汽一样轻——向房间—— 犯人们着陆在了在一条乡村小路上,他们由于战不闻而互相撞在对方身上。 哈利的眼睛仍然肿胀,他花了一些时间适应新环境,然后他看见一扇双开的锻铁门在一条看起来像长跑道的大道的路口。他松了一小口气。最糟的事情还没有发生:伏地魔不在这里。因为哈利一直在抵抗着那个影像,所以他知道伏地魔现在正在某个奇怪的堡垒中,在一座塔的塔顶。一旦伏地魔知道哈利在这里,他需要多久能赶到就是另一个问题了……
一个搜捕手大步走到门前,摇了摇门。
“我们怎么进去呢?门锁了,格雷伯克,我不能——啊!”
他吃惊地抽回手。门正在扭曲,扭成一个卷曲物铁正在扭,最后卷成一张骇人的脸,它用一种带着回响的铛铛声说道。“陈述你的来意!”
“我们抓到了波特!”格雷伯克炫耀的大声吼道。“我们已经捕获了哈利波特!”
门开了。
“快!”格雷伯克对手下说道,犯人们被押着走过大门,走上大道,穿过树篱。哈利看见白色幽灵状的东西在他的头顶,继而意识到是只孔雀而已。他打了个趔趄,却被格雷伯克拽着站了起来;现在他被背对背和另外四个犯人绑在一起,摇摇晃晃沿着路边走。闭上他肿胀的眼睛,他让伤疤的疼痛战胜他一会儿,因为他想知道伏地魔现在在做什么,他是否知道哈利被抓住了……
瘦弱的身形卷在薄薄的毯子下,毯子朝他打开了,骷髅似的脸,眼睛睁开了……这个瘦弱的男人坐了起来,深陷的眼睛盯着他,盯着伏地魔,他笑了。他的大部分牙齿都没有了……
“那么,你来了。我就知道你会……总有一天。但是你来这趟是毫无意义的。我从来就没有它。”
“你说谎!”
当伏地魔的愤怒在他身体里悸动时,哈利的伤疤预警了疼痛的爆发,他将自己的思想猛的扭回他自己的身体,在犯人们被推着走过碎石路的时候,他正尽力使自己的思想呆在原位。
一阵光芒照亮了他们所有人。
“这是怎么回事?”一个女人用冷冰冰的声音说道。
“我们来这里见他——黑魔王!”格雷伯克用刺耳的声音回答道。
“你是谁?”
“你认识我的!”"狼人的声音中一阵愤恨。“芬里尔?格雷伯克!我们抓到了哈利波特!”
格雷伯克抓过哈利,拽过他的身子让他的脸对着亮光,这使得其他的犯人也跟着一起被拖过来了。
“我知道他看起来很肿胀,夫人,但是这就是他!”斯盖伯说道。吹嘘道。“如果您靠近些看,你就看得到他的伤疤。还有,在这里,看见这个女孩了吗?和他一起旅行的泥巴种,夫人。毫无疑问这就是他,我们还得到了他的魔杖!在这儿,夫人”
哈利透过他肿胀的眼皮看到纳西莎?马尔福正在仔细检查着。斯盖伯将李木魔杖伸给她。她抬了抬她的眉毛。
“带他们进来”她说。
哈利和其他人推着走上宽阔的石头台阶,走到挂着成排肖像的走廊。
“跟我来,”纳西莎说道,领着他们穿过门厅。“我的儿子,德拉科,回家过复活节。如果那是哈利波特,他会知道。”
外面的黑暗使得客厅的光线十分耀眼;哈利即使眼睛睁不开也能辨认出这个房间很宽大。一个水晶的吊灯在天花板上挂着,暗紫的墙上挂着更多的肖像。当犯人们被搜捕手押进房间时,两个人影从华丽的大理石壁炉前的椅子里站了起来。
“这是怎么回事?”
卢修斯?马尔福可怕而熟悉的声音落在哈利的耳朵里,听起来懒洋洋的。他现在很惶恐。他看不到任何出路,他的恐惧已经是这样了,相比之下,封闭对伏地魔思想的联系似乎更容易些,尽管他的伤疤仍在灼痛。
“他们说他们抓住了波特,”纳西莎用冰冷的声音说道。“德拉科,过来这里。”
哈利不敢直视德拉科,但是他斜着眼睛看着他;一个些微高于他的人,从一把扶手椅子站起他的脸苍白削尖在金发的头发之下变得模糊。
格雷伯克强迫犯人们转个身靠着,以腾出位置使哈利直接暴露在吊灯之下。
“嗯,男孩?”狼人用刺耳的声音说道。
哈利正对着壁炉上的一面镜子,在漩涡状装饰的框架中有一个巨大的镀金的东西。透过他眼睛的细缝他看到镜子里自己的模样,这是从离开格里莫广场以来他第一次看到自己的模样。
他的脸是极大,泛着粉红色的光泽,每个特征都被赫敏的哲人咒扭曲了。他的黑发及肩,他的下巴周围有一个深色的阴影。若他不知道站在这里的就是他,他肯定会奇怪戴着他的眼镜的会是谁。他决定不说话,因为他的声音一定会出卖他;在德拉科靠近他的时候他仍在避免与德拉科的眼神接触。
“嗯,德拉科?”卢修斯?马尔福说道。他听起来充满渴望。“是他吗?是哈利波特吗?”
“我不——我不确定",德拉科说。他尽力保持和格雷伯克的距离,当哈利看着他的时候,他似乎带着恐惧看着哈利。
“但仔细看他,看!靠近一些!”
哈利从未听过卢修斯?马尔福如此兴奋。
“德拉科,如果我们是把波特交给黑魔王的人,所有事都能得到原——”
“那么,我们也不会忘记实际上抓住他的人,我希望,马尔福先生?”格雷伯克威胁地说。
“当然不会,当然不会!卢修斯不耐烦地说。他自己靠近哈利,哈利即使从他肿胀的眼中也可以清楚看到他疲倦,苍白的脸。戴着这个肿胀的面具作脸,哈利感觉就像通过笼子的栅栏往外窥探。
“你对他做了什么?”卢修斯问格雷伯克。“他怎么变成这副模样?”
“不是我们做的。”
“在我看来,这更像是一个蛰人咒,”卢修斯说。
他的灰色眼睛扫过哈利的前额。
“这里有什么东西,”他低声说。“这可能是个伤疤,绷的紧紧的而又伸展(”德拉科,过来,好好看看!你认为呢?”
哈利看见德拉科的脸现在紧紧的靠上来,就在他父亲的脸旁边。他们长得极其相似,只除了他旁边的父亲带着兴奋,德拉科的表情充满着不情愿,甚至恐惧。
“我不知道,”他说,他走开向壁炉方向走去,他的母亲正站在那里看着。
“我们最好能确定,卢修斯,”纳西莎用冰冷却清晰的声音对丈夫说。“在我们召唤黑魔王之前,我们要完全确定这是波特……他们说这是他的”——她在仔细看着黑木魔杖“但这和奥利凡德的描述不像……如果我们弄错了,如果我们把黑魔王召唤来却发现什么也不是……还记得他是怎么处置莱尔和杜鲁哈的吗?”
“那这个麻瓜呢?”格雷伯克发牢骚地说。搜捕手强迫犯人再转过来地时候,哈利几乎要瘫倒,光线照在赫敏地身上。
“等一下,”纳西莎尖声说道。“是的?——是,在摩金夫人店里她和波特在一起!我在预言家日报上见过她的照片!看,德拉科,她不就是那个叫格兰杰的女孩吗?”
“我……也许……是。”"”
“那么,那就是那个韦斯莱”卢修斯喊道,大步绕过绑着的犯人对着罗恩。“他们是波特的朋友——德拉科,看看他,他不就是亚瑟?韦斯莱的儿子吗,他的名字叫什么来着——?”
“是的,”德拉科再一次说道,他背对犯人们。“可能是。”
客厅的门在哈利身后打开。一个女人在说话,她的声音极大的增加了哈利的恐惧感。
“这是怎么回事,发生了什么事,西茜?”
贝拉特里克斯?莱斯特兰奇慢慢地绕着犯人们走,停在哈利地右手边,透过她厚厚的眼皮盯着赫敏。
“确定,”她平静地说,“这是那个泥巴种女孩?这是格兰杰?”
“是的,是,是格兰杰!”卢修斯叫道,“而且在她旁边的,我们认为是波特!波特和他的朋友,终于落网了!”
“波特?”贝拉特里克斯发出尖叫,她渐渐后退,以便更好的看着哈利。“你确定?那么,我们应该立刻通知黑魔王!”
她挽起左手的袖子:哈利看见她的手臂上黑魔王的的烙印,知道她就要碰触它,通知她仰慕的主人——
“我正要告诉他!”卢修斯说,他的手放在贝拉特里克斯的手腕上,阻止她碰到黑魔标记。“我会召唤他,贝拉。波特是被待到我家来的,因此,这是我的权利——”
“你的权利!”她讥笑道,试图从他抓着的手中扭出自己的手。“当你丢了你的魔杖的时候,你就已经没有了权利,卢修斯!你怎么敢?把你的手从我身上拿开!”
“这与你无关,你没有去抓这个小子-”
“请您原谅,马尔福先生,”格雷伯克突然插嘴,“但是,是我们抓住的波特,也是我们才有权力得到金币”
“金币!”贝拉特里克斯大笑起来,仍然试着甩开她的姊夫,她另一只自由的手在袋中摸索着魔杖。“拿走你的金币,污秽的清道夫。我要金币有什么用?我只寻求他的……荣誉。”
她停止挣扎,黑色眼睛盯着哈利看不见的某件东西。看到她投降,卢修斯喜滋滋地松开她的手,撂起他的袖子。
“快停住!”贝拉特里克斯尖叫:“不要碰它,如果黑魔王现在到,我们全部都死定了!”
卢修斯一下子僵住了,他的食指停留在黑魔法标记上。贝拉特里克斯大步迈出哈利有限的视野。
“那是什么?”他听见她说。
“剑”,一个哈利看不到的抢劫者咕噜着说。
“把它给我。”
“不是你的,太太,是我的,我想是我发现了它。”
突然传来砰的一声伴随着红色的闪光;哈利知道抢夺者已经被打晕。他们的人发出一声怒吼:斯盖伯抽出他的魔杖。
“你觉得你到底在玩儿什么,女人?”
“昏昏倒地!”她尖叫着,“昏昏倒地!”
他们不是她的对手,即使是四对一:她是女巫,正如同哈利知道的一样,有着精湛的技艺和冷酷的心。他们全都在刚刚站着的地方倒下了,除了格雷伯克以外,他不得不跪在地上,伸开双臂。哈利从他的眼角看到贝拉特里克斯制服了这个狼人,格莱芬多的剑紧紧地握在她的手中,她的脸像蜡一般苍白。
“你从哪里得到的这把剑?”她对格雷伯克耳语道,同时把魔杖从他那已经毫无抵抗力的手中拉出来。
“你怎么敢?”他吼叫,当他被迫注视着她时,他唯一能动部分只剩下了嘴吧,他露出尖牙,“放开我,女人!”
“你哪里找到这把剑的?”她重复,在他面前挥动着剑,“斯内普把它送到了我在古灵阁的金库里!”
“是在他们的帐篷中。”格雷伯克怒吼道,“放开我,我说!”
她挥动了她的魔杖,狼人跳到一旁,但还是小心确保不靠近她。他在一把扶手椅子后面来回走动,他污秽弯曲的手指紧紧抓住椅子的背部。
“德拉科,把这些渣滓扔到外面去。”贝拉特里克斯说,指着那些昏迷的男人。“如果你没有勇气结果他们,那就把他们放在后院里等我处理。”
“你怎么敢那样跟德拉科说话,就象——”纳西莎狂暴地说,但是贝拉特里克斯尖叫着打断了她:“安静!情况比你想到要严重得多,西茜!我们有一个非常严重的问题!”
她站起身,微微喘息,低头注视着剑,检查它的柄。然后她回头看着沉默的囚犯。
“如果他的确是波特,他不能受到伤害。”她喃喃低语,与其说是对其他人说,不如说是他在自言自语。“黑魔王希望自己解决波特……但是如果他发现……我必须……我一定知道……”
她再一次转向她的姐姐。
“囚犯一定得放在地窖里,然后我再想想该怎么做!”
“这是我的房子,贝拉,你不能在我家中给我下命——”
“快干!你根本不知道我们现在有多危险!”贝拉特里克斯尖叫着。她看起来恐怖而且疯狂,一簇火从她的魔杖中砰发出来在地毯上烧了一个洞。
纳西莎犹豫一会儿,然后命令狼人:“把这些囚犯搬到地窖去,格雷伯克。”
“等一下,”贝拉特里克斯尖锐地说,“全部人,除了……除了,这个泥巴种以外。”
格雷伯克发出一个快乐的咕噜咕噜声。
“不!”罗恩喊道,“你可以留下我,留下我!”贝拉特里克斯打了罗恩一耳光:房间四周立刻响起了回声。
“如果她在讯问中死了,下一个就轮到你。”她说道,“在我的字典里血统叛逆者位置紧挨着泥巴种。把他们带到楼下,格雷伯克,确保他们的安全,除此以外什么也不要做——还不要做。”
她把格雷伯克的魔杖丢还给他,然后从她的长袍之下取出一把短银刀,把连接赫敏和其他人的绳割开,拉着赫敏的头发拖到大厅的中央。而格雷伯克拖拽剩下的人穿过另外的一扇门,进入一个黑暗的通道之内,他的魔杖指着前方,对抗着一种看不见的不可抵抗的力量。
“我估计审完她的时候,她会让我吃这个女孩的吧?”当他押着囚犯们穿过走廊的时候,格雷伯克低声哼着歌儿。“我要说我可能咬一下或两下,不是吗,姜黄头?”
哈利可以感觉到罗恩在战栗。他们被押下去,来到一个很陡的楼梯口,仍然被背对背地绑着,随时处于滑倒和摔断脖子的危险中。在底部他们看到一扇厚重的门。格雷伯克轻挥魔杖打开了它,强迫他们进入一个漏水发霉的房间,并把他们留在了彻底的黑暗中。被猛然关上的地窖门的回声还未消散前,从他们上面传来了可怕的尖叫声。
“赫敏!”罗恩怒吼,他开始翻腾,奋力要挣脱捆住他们的绳子,“赫敏!”哈利因此而跟着晃来晃去。
“安静!”哈利说,“闭嘴,罗恩,我们需要想出方法——”
“赫敏!赫敏!”
“我们需要一个计划,别叫了——我们必须松开绳子——”
“哈利?”黑暗中有人小声说,“罗恩?那是你吗?”
罗恩停止呼喊。一个移动的声音向他们逼近,接着哈利看到有一个阴影向他们靠近。
“哈利?罗恩?”
“卢娜?”
“是的,是我!哦不,我不想要你们也被抓到了!”
“卢娜,你能帮我们解开这些粗绳子吗?”
“哦,是的,我希望可以……我们要弄断什么的话,有一个旧的钉子可以用……马上就好……”
赫敏在他们的上方再一次尖叫起来,他们听到贝拉特里克斯也在尖叫,但听不清她的话,因为罗恩再一次叫起来:“赫敏!赫敏!”
“奥利凡德先生?”哈利听到卢娜在说。“奥利凡德先生你拿到钉子了吗?如果你再移动一点点……我觉得它就在水壶旁边。”
几秒后她回来了。
“你们不要动。”她说。
哈利可以感觉她在使劲刮着粗绳的纤维,努力把结松开。他们听到了从二楼传来的贝拉特里克斯的声音。
“我再问你一次!你哪里得到的这把剑?哪里?”
“我们找到的——我们找到的——求你!“赫敏再一次尖叫起来。罗恩挣扎得前所未有的激烈,生锈的钉子刺到了哈利的手腕。
“罗恩,请不要动!”卢娜小声说,“我看不见我在干什么。”
“我的口袋!”罗恩说,“在我的口袋中有个熄灯器,里面充满了光!”
几秒之后,克嗒的一声,熄灯器从帐篷的灯吸收的光亮形成很多散发着冷光的光球照亮了整个地窖。它们不能再重新聚集光源,只是挂在那里,就像些小太阳,使地窖充满了光亮。哈利见到卢娜苍白脸上的大眼睛和一动不动的魔杖制造商奥利凡德,他在角落的地板上蜷缩着。他抬头四处看,看到了其他的囚犯:迪安和妖精拉环,它几乎毫无意识,和跟它绑在一起的人类站在一起。
“哦,这简单多了,谢谢,罗恩,”卢娜说,重新开始磨绑着他们的绳子,“你好,迪安!”
从上方传来贝拉特里克斯的声音。
“你正在说谎,肮脏的泥巴种,我知道!你进过我在古灵阁的金库!说实话!说实话!”
又传来了可怕尖叫声……
“赫敏!”
“你们还拿到什么?你们还得到了什么?快告诉我实话,不然我发誓,我会用这把刀折磨死你!”
“好了!”
哈利感觉粗绳旋转着松开,磨擦他的手腕,看到罗恩在地窖的周围乱跑的,他抬头看着低低的天花板,寻找着活板门。脸被打伤带着血痕的迪安对卢娜说:“谢谢!”然后颤抖着站在那里;而拉环滩倒在地板上,看上去像喝醉了一样没有意识,黑黝黝的脸上有很多鞭打的痕迹。
罗恩正试图不用魔杖就幻影移行。
“这是出不去的,罗恩”,卢娜说,看着他做无谓的努力。“地窖是完全地防逃跑。我开始时试过。奥利凡德先生已经在这里有很长的一段时间,他什么都试过了。”
赫敏又开始尖叫:哈利听到这声音感觉自己也遭受着相同的疼痛。几乎不能意识到他伤疤的剧烈疼痛,他也开始在地窖里四下乱跑,摸着墙壁想找出路,但在他的心中知道这样根本没有用。
“你还得到了什么?还有什么?回答我!钻心剜骨!”
赫敏的尖叫声在二楼的墙壁上回响,快要哭出来的罗恩用他的拳头强烈打击墙壁,;完全绝望了的哈利从他的脖子上抓住了海格的小袋,开始掏着什么:他掏出了邓布利多的飞贼摇了摇,他也不知道抱着什么希望——什么也没发生——他挥动着断成两截的凤凰魔杖,但它们毫无活力——镜子碎片闪着光跌落到地板上,突然他见到一首明亮的蓝光闪过。
邓布利多的眼睛正在从镜子凝视关着他。
“救救我们!”他在疯狂的绝望中对它大叫,“我们在马尔福庄园的地窖中,帮帮我们!”
那眼睛眨了一下就消失了。
哈利甚至不能确信它真的出现过。他这边那边地倾斜着镜子碎片,但除了反映出他们牢房的墙壁和天花板,别的什么也没有。而且楼上的赫敏正在更凄惨地尖叫着,哈利旁边的罗恩也在吼着:“赫敏!赫敏!”
“你们怎么进到我的金库的?”他们听到贝拉特里克斯尖叫,“是不是在地窖中那个肮脏的小妖精帮助了你们?”
“我们就在今晚才遇到他的!”赫敏发出呜咽声音,“我们没去过你的金库……不是真正的剑!是赝品,只是赝品!”
“赝品?”贝拉特里克斯尖叫,“哦,编得挺像呀!”
“我们能容易能查出来!”卢修斯说道,“德拉科,把那个妖精带来,他能告诉我们剑是否是真正的!”
哈利猛地穿过地窖冲到躺着的拉环身边。
“拉环”,他对着妖精的尖耳朵小声说,“你一定告诉他们,剑是赝品,他们绝不能知道那是真的,拉环,求你了——”
他听到有人打开地窖的门;随即,从门外传来德拉科战栗的声音:
“往后站。面对墙排成一排,不要干蠢事,不然我就杀了你们!”
他们照做了,当锁转开。罗恩熄灭了熄灯器并放进口袋,地窖恢复了黑暗。门开了,马尔福走进来,魔杖举胸前,脸色苍白而坚决。他一把抓住小妖精的胳臂,把拉环拖走。门猛然关上,与此同时在地窖里发出响亮的爆裂声。
罗恩开启了熄灯器。三个光球从他的口袋里重新回到了地窖。家养小妖精多比突然出现在他俩的中间。
“多——!”
哈利拍打着罗恩的手臂不让他叫出声,罗恩看起来对他犯的错误感到后悔。脚步声越过了天花板从头顶传来,德拉科拖着拉环来到贝拉特里克斯面前。
多比巨大的网球状的眼睛睁得滚圆;他从头到脚都在发抖。他又回到他以前主人的家中,很明显它被吓坏了。
“哈利。波特,”他用最小的颤抖着的尖声说道,“多比来救你了。”
“但是你怎么——”
一声可怕的尖叫声湮没了哈利要说的话:赫敏正再一次被拷问。他迅速回到主题。
“你能从这个地窖幻影移行吗?”他问,多比点着头,耳朵拍打着。
“那你能带着人类吗?”
多比再一次点头。
“太好了,多比,我想要你抓取卢娜、迪安和奥利凡得先生,把他们——带到——把他们带到——”
“比尔和芙蓉家,”罗恩说,“贝壳小宅,在汀沃斯的近郊!”
家养小精灵第三次点了点头。
“然后再回来,”哈利说,“你能行吗,多比?”
“当然,哈利波特,”多比小声说。他来到奥利凡德先生面前,奥利凡德先生几乎毫无意识。他抓住魔杖制作者的一只手,另一只手申向卢娜和迪安,但他们谁也没动。
“哈利,我们要帮助你!”卢娜小声说。
“我们把你们留在这儿。”迪安说。
“你们俩快走!我们将会在比尔和芙蓉家见到你们。”
哈利说着,他的疤痕痛得比以前更厉害了。他向下看了几秒钟,看到的不是魔杖制造商,而是另一个男人,又老又瘦,轻蔑地笑道。
“那么杀了我,伏地魔。我欢迎死亡!但是我死了你就什么都得不到了……你有许多东西都不知道……”
他感觉了伏地魔的愤怒,但是当赫敏再一次尖叫时,他努力摆脱了这个画面,回到地窖里他现在所处的困境。
“快走!”哈利对卢娜和迪安恳求,“走吧!我们很快会跟来,快走!”
他们抓住小妖精的伸出的手指。伴随着一阵的巨大声音,多比、卢娜、迪安和奥利凡德消失了。
“那是什么?”卢修斯。马尔福从在他们的头上呼喊,“你们听到了吗?地窖里是什么声音?”
哈利和罗恩盯着对方。
“德拉科——不,快叫虫尾巴。让他去查查看!”
脚步声在他们的头顶穿过了房间,接着是一阵安静。哈利知道会客室中的人正竖着耳朵听来自地窖的声音。
“我们得去对付他。”他对罗恩耳语道。他们别无选择:如果有人进入房间看见少了三个囚犯,他们就完蛋了。“开着灯,”哈利补上一句。他们听到脚步声在门外慢了下来,他们俩各自靠着两边的墙。
“往后站,”虫尾巴说道,“离门远点。我要开门了。”门飞快地打开。在三个小型太阳般漂浮在半空中的光球照耀下,虫尾巴立刻就看到了显然已经空荡荡的地窖。紧接着哈利和罗恩向他发起进攻。罗恩抓住了虫尾巴拿魔杖胳臂并往上拉。哈利“啪”地用手捂住他的嘴,不让他发出声音。他们静静的搏斗。虫尾巴的魔杖发出了火花;他的银手牢牢抓住了哈利喉咙。
“怎么了,虫尾巴?”卢修斯。马尔福从上面呼叫。
“没什么!”罗恩尽可能模仿着虫尾巴气喘吁吁的声音回答道,“一切都好!”
哈利无法呼吸。
“你想要杀我?”哈利快窒息了,尝试抓住那金属手指,“在我救了你的命之后?你欠我的,虫尾巴!”
银制的手指松开了。这出乎哈利的预料:他猛地挣脱出来,手还是捂在虫尾巴的嘴上。他见到这个像老鼠一样的人那水汪汪的眼睛里满是恐惧和惊讶:对他的手刚才所做的事,对他刚才表现出的小小的仁慈,他似乎跟哈利一样感到很惊讶。他更激烈地挣扎着,似乎要掩盖他那片刻的脆弱。
“我们将得到这个,”罗恩小声说,把虫尾巴的魔杖从他的另一支手里拽了出来。
失去了魔杖,虫尾巴绝望了。恐惧使小矮星彼得的瞳孔扩大了。他的眼神从哈利的脸上移向别处。他的银手指无情地向自己的喉咙移动。
“不——”
想都没想,哈利赶紧拽回那只手,但却不能阻止它。伏地魔赐给他最懦弱的仆人的银制工具已经转向对付它那赤手空拳的无用的主人,小矮星彼得正在为他的犹豫而付出代价,他瞬间的怜悯导致他将在他们的眼前勒死。
“不!”
罗恩也已经放开虫尾巴,他和哈利一起试图拉开锁在虫尾巴的咽喉上的金属制的手指,但是没有用。小矮星彼得变得铁青。
“力松劲泄!”罗恩说,用魔杖瞄准银手,但也没用;小矮星彼得跪了下去。这时,赫敏发出一声最可怕的尖叫声。虫尾巴的眼睛在他的紫青脸上翻着;他最后一抽搐,再也不能动了。
哈利和罗恩相互看看,然后把虫尾巴的尸体留在他们身后的地板上,跑上了漆黑的楼梯,回到通向会客室的阴暗的走廊。他们向前蹑手蹑脚地来到会客室门口,门微开着。现在他们清楚地看见贝拉特里克斯向下看着拉环,他的长手指正握着格拉芬多的剑。赫敏正趴在贝拉特里克斯的脚边,几乎不能动。
“那么,”贝拉特里克斯向拉环问道,“它是真正的剑吗?”
哈利屏息以待,对抗伤疤的刺痛。
“不,”拉环说,“是赝品。”
“你确定吗?”贝拉特里克斯喘息一下,“十分确信?”
“是的。”妖精说道。
她的脸上表情马上就放松了,所有的紧张都散去了。
“好的,”她说道,不经意地挥了一下魔杖,妖精的脸上就又多了一道深深的伤痕。妖精摔倒在她的脚下大叫了一声。她一脚踢开了他。“那么现在,”她用一种充满成功喜悦之情的声音说,“我们召唤黑魔王!”
她卷起袖子,用食指触碰着黑魔法标记。
立刻,哈利感觉伤疤好像再一次劈开。他周围真实环境消失:他现在是伏地魔。在他面前那个瘦骨嶙峋的男巫张着嘴对他大笑;他被他感觉到的召唤激怒了——他警告过他们,告诉过他们除非找到波特不要召唤他。如果他们弄错了……
“那么,杀了我吧!”老男人要求,“你赢不了,你不可能赢!那一只魔杖永远不会是你的……”
伏地魔愤怒到极点:绿色的光充满了监牢,老人脆弱的身体从它的硬床上弹起,又掉了下去,死了。伏地魔回到窗户边,无法抑制他的愤怒……如果他们没有让他回来的好理由,他们会遭受他的惩罚……
“我想想,”贝拉特里克斯说,“我们可以解决掉这个泥巴种。如果你想要她,格雷伯克,给你。”
“不不不不不不不……”
罗恩已经冲进了会客厅;贝拉特里克斯震惊的看到了他,她把魔杖对准对面的罗恩——
“除你武器!”他吼叫着,用虫尾巴的魔杖瞄准贝拉特里克斯,她的魔杖飞了起来,被紧跟着罗恩冲进去的哈利抓住。卢修斯、纳西莎、德拉科和格雷伯克包围了过来。哈利大叫“昏昏倒地!”卢修斯。马尔福倒在壁炉旁。黑色的光从德拉科、纳西莎和格雷伯克的魔杖中飞射出来,哈利赶紧卧倒在地上滚动到一张沙发后面躲避它们。
“住手!否则就要她的命!”
哈利喘息着在沙发的后边窥视。贝拉特里克斯拉着失去意识的赫敏,用她的短银刀抵着赫敏的咽喉。
“扔掉你们的魔杖!”她低声说,“扔掉它们,否则就让我们看看她的血有多么肮脏!”
罗恩刚毅地站立着,紧握着虫尾巴的魔杖。哈利站直了身体,仍拿着贝拉特里克斯的魔杖。
“我说过了,把它们扔掉!”她尖叫着声音,把刀锋压进赫敏的咽喉上:哈利看到那儿冒出了血珠。
“好的!”他喊道,把贝拉特里克斯的魔杖扔在脚下。罗恩也把虫尾巴的扔掉了。他们两个都把手举过肩。
“好!”她恶狠狠的看着,“德拉科,把它们拣起来!黑魔王要来了,哈利波特!你的死期到了!”
哈利知道;他的疤痕正在痛苦地爆裂,他可以感到伏地魔从很远的地方的天空飞来,飞过黑暗汹涌的大海,很快他就会离他们足够近,可以幻影移行。哈利看不到出路。
“现在,”贝拉特里克斯柔和地说,德拉科赶忙把魔杖还给她,“西茜,在格雷伯克,去照料泥巴种小姐时,我想我们应该再一次将这些小英雄捆起来。根据今晚你所作的事,格雷伯克。我确信黑魔王不会不舍得把这个女孩给你的。”
她刚说完,上面传来了一个奇怪的摩擦的声音。他们马上一起抬起头,刚好看到水晶的吊灯在颤抖,然后随着辗轧声和不吉利的叮当声,它掉了下来。贝拉特里克斯正好在它的下面,她推开赫敏,尖叫地跑到另一边。吊灯在水晶和链条的爆裂声中砸向地板,就要落在赫敏和仍紧紧抓着格拉芬多之剑的妖精的头顶。闪光的水晶碎片向四面八方飞散开,德拉科快步跑开,双手捂住出血的脸。
罗恩冲向赫敏,把她从这个灾难中推了出去。哈利抓住这个机会:他跳过一把扶手椅子夺下了德拉科紧握着的三支魔杖,把它们全部瞄准格雷伯克大叫:“昏昏倒地!”狼人被三倍的魔咒扔向了天花板然后瘫落到地面上。
纳西莎拽着德拉科远离更大的伤害。贝拉特里克斯跳起来,当她挥舞银刀时,头发也在飞舞着;但是纳西莎已经用魔杖指着走廊。
“多比!”她尖叫着,甚至连贝拉特里克斯都镇住了。“你!是你扔下吊灯——?”
家养小精灵小跑着进入房间,颤抖的手指指着以前的女主人。
“你决不能伤害哈利波特!”他尖叫着。
“杀了他,西茜!”贝拉特里克斯尖叫。但是另外一个更大的声音响起,纳西莎的魔杖飞向空中,掉在房间的另一侧。
“你这肮脏的小猴子!”贝拉特里克斯大叫,“你怎么敢拿巫师的魔杖。你怎么公然反抗你的主人?”
“多比没有主人!”小妖精发出尖锐的叫声,“多比是一个自由的小精灵。多比回来解救哈利波特和他的朋友!”
哈利伤疤疼的几乎使他失明。朦胧中他知道他们还有一点点时间,在伏地魔到来之前。
“罗恩,抓住——快走!”他大叫着,扔给罗恩一根魔杖;然后他弯下腰拽出压在吊灯下的拉环,把这个仍旧紧握着剑,呻吟着的妖精扛在肩上,哈利抓住了多比的手并且快速旋转幻影移行。
在他进入黑暗前,最后瞥了一眼会客室,看见纳西莎和德拉科苍白着脸一动不动;罗恩飞扬的红头发;贝拉特里克斯穿过整个房间向他们刚才所在的地方扔来的刀划出银蓝色的光。
比尔和芙蓉的家……贝壳小宅……比尔和芙蓉的家……
他已经进入未知的世界;他所能做的只是重复目的地的名字,希望这足以把他带到那里。他的前额痛苦刺痛着他,而且妖精的重量压着他;他感到格拉芬多的剑锋碰伤他的背部;多比的手在他的手中痉挛;他想知道小精灵是否正努力行动,把他们带去正确的方向,试着通过挤压手指表示他们能行……
然后他们碰到了坚硬的土地而且闻了有盐味的空气。哈利跪下来,放开了多比的手,试着轻轻地把拉环放下。
“你还好吧?"他对颤抖地妖精说,但拉环只是呜咽。
哈利在黑暗中四处巡视。在广阔的星空下一条小路的不远处就是一间小别墅,他觉得他看到有东西在屋外移动。
“多比,这是贝壳小宅吗?”他小声说,紧握着他从马尔福家抢来的两支魔杖,时刻准备着战斗。“我们已经到达正确的地方了吗?多比?”
他四处看看,小精灵站在离他不远的地方。
“多比!”
小妖精微微晃动,星光倒映在他的闪亮的大眼睛中。他和哈利一起往下看到了银色的短刀插在小精灵的胸口。
“多比——不——快来人啊!”哈利向小屋吼叫,向正在往这里走的人喊,“来人啊!”
他根本不知道,也不关心他们是巫师还是麻瓜,朋友还是敌人;他关心的只是多比胸前蔓延开的黑色污点。多比带着恳求的神色向哈利伸出双臂。哈利抓住他,让他仰躺在寒冷地草地上。
“多比,不,别死,别死——”
小精灵的眼睛找到了他,他颤抖着嘴唇努力地说出几个字。
“哈利……波特……”
然后随着一阵战栗,多比再也不动了。他那大玻璃球般的眼睛倒映着他再也看不到的星星的光芒。 |