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梦,在天空中划过翻飞的流年;我们,跌落无尽的冰河……

 
 
 

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以冰雪的名义——With the name of ice-age know......如果有一天,你在旅行的途中遇见一个会相信哥斯拉就躲在你身后睡觉的男孩,一个抱着猫便会笑得很开心的女孩,还有一个会在你耳边出很多鬼点子的小姐姐,就请你告诉他们,告诉他们:“我回来了。”

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The Summer of the Phoenix Chapter 10  

2007-07-24 13:15:58|  分类: [转载同人]The Su |  标签: |举报 |字号 订阅

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Chapter 10

Much as Sirius had feared the lonely days in the empty house, they seemed to pass very quickly, and the day of the first meeting of the new Order of the Phoenix arrived in no time at all. While Remus Lupin seemed to look forward to it, Sirius dreaded it the more the closer they got to Friday evening. There would be so much for Dumbledore to explain - about the house at any rate, and he couldn't talk about the house without talking about its owner. The true story was so far only known to the few that had already been to the house, and the Weasleys. How could he be sure that all the others would willingly accept his own and Dumbledore's word for it, with no further proof that it was true?

He was wrong though. There was proof - there were witnesses to Pettigrew's discovery and escape, Lupin for one, and Harry, Ron and Hermione, of course. That's right, Sirius thought bitterly, a werewolf, and three schoolchildren. How could he hope that the others would accept what even the Minister for Magic so steadfastly refused to believe? But then, Sirius reminded himself, the Minister for Magic was a twit who was too thick, or too much of a coward, to see the blatant truth of Voldemort's return, too.

At least those that had known him in the old Order would believe him, he tried to convince himself. But would they? They find it so hard to let go of their own comfortable truths, Minerva McGonagall had said. They had been thinking him a traitor to their cause, a servant of the Dark Lord, the murderer of Lily and James Potter, for fourteen years. They had rejoiced when he was sent to Azkaban, despising him and hating him, and mourning Peter Pettigrew, poor, brave, foolish Peter Pettigrew...

They would hear the truth about this, and soon.

* * *

On Thursday evening, a letter arrived from Dumbledore, delivered by an owl that suddenly shot out of the kitchen fireplace, shrieking wildly and flapping its wings, the tips of its feathers slightly singed. Lupin jumped up from the long table where he and Sirius were having dinner, caught the confused bird and gently sat it down between them. The letter itself - it was addressed to both of them - did not do much to brighten Sirius's spirits. It merely asked him in very cryptic terms to take care not to show himself to the assembled Order in his usual form until an explanation about him and the house had been provided. But there was also a P.S. that read "There is no need to reply to this letter".

"Great," said Sirius, "this owl's going straight on to Little Whinging then."

"Remember Dumbledore said the less owl post fluttering around the house, the better," Lupin reminded him.

"Nonsense," Sirius said, determined to seize on the chance when it offered. "The owl will want to flutter out again anyway. It makes no difference whether it does it with or without a letter tied to its leg. And I haven't written to Harry since we left your place."

Lupin shrugged. "Do be careful then."

"I will." Sirius folded Dumbledore's letter and tore off the blank lower half of the parchment.

"Dear Harry," he scribbled onto it, "I hope you're fine. I'm OK. Beaky is back with me now, which is great. If you want to do something for me tomorrow, keep your fingers crossed that people will like my own story better than the one they're used to hearing. Take care of yourself, and try not to get into trouble with the Muggles, or anyone else. Write when anything's wrong. Snuffles. P.S. Moony says to say hello."

"Oh, this is pointless," he said in frustration, looking over what he'd written. "I might as well send a blank piece of parchment for all it's saying, or rather not saying."

"Well, there's no blank piece of parchment left now," Lupin said, reading the letter over his friend's shoulder. "And besides, it says hello from me. If you don't consider that a sufficient reason to send it, I do."

"Poor Harry," Sirius said, rolling up the parchment and tying it to the owl's leg. "At least I get my questions answered when I ask what's going on outside."

* * *

Friday morning finally came, and with it Mrs Weasley. She was in her Muggle best when Sirius opened the door to her, wearing a hand-knitted woollen jumper with a floral pattern, a tweed skirt and a crocheted cap in a shade of purple that clashed violently with her flaming red hair.

"Good morning," she said brightly, smiling up at Sirius. "Oh, you look so much healthier than last time we met."

For a second, Sirius wasn't sure whether she was being ironic, but her smile was warm and genuine. "Well, I'm not living in a mountain cave any more," he said with an awkward grin. "Come in, please. It's great you could come, Mrs Weasley."

"Oh please," Mrs Weasley said, entering. "Let's not be so complicated. It's Molly. And it's no problem at all, the children can look after themselves for a day, and as long as the house is not in ruins when we get back - oh dear." She broke off, looking around the gloomy hall with wide eyes, taking in the serpents, the cobwebs and the sweet, heavy air of decay that hung about the whole place. "Oh dear," she repeated, this time in a whisper. She turned to Sirius again, who was looking back at her very unhappily.

"Before you ask," he said hoarsely, "yes, I'd rather be back in the mountain cave."

And Mrs Weasley, without a word, opened her short arms, just like she would open them to one of her own children when they were in need of comfort, and pulled Sirius into a tight hug.

And then, she took charge. Sirius and Lupin were glad to leave it to her to call the tune in what she referred to as 'making the house fit for human habitation'. Lupin did ask her what else she thought had been going on in it over the last week if not human habitation, but she only gave him a disapproving look and muttered something that sounded very much like "Bachelors!", and that settled the matter.

Within a quarter of an hour, the kitchen had literally sprung to life. A mop was sweeping the stone floor of its own accord, while a brush was scrubbing the surface of the long table clean. All the dusty plates and glasses from the sideboard were washing themselves in the sink. The cupboards stood all open, and Mrs Weasley was sorting broken pots and pans and bowls from still usable ones with her wand, making the broken things jump straight into the bin. Kreacher, who was eyeing the goings-on extremely suspiciously, finally tried to sneak off unnoticed to a quieter place, slipped on the wet floor, and ran cursing from the room.

Mundungus Fletcher turned up after lunch, yawning hugely and apparently hoping for another free meal. He had to content himself with some sandwiches that the others had left over, but he was quite happy to find that there was also some butterbeer left. Mrs Weasley frowned at the concept of butterbeer as early in the day as lunchtime, but she didn't protest. She took her revenge, however, by making Mundungus realise very quickly that there was not one quiet corner to be found in the kitchen on that day. She kept asking him to move his chair because he was sitting in her way, until he finally got up, grumbling, and announced that he was going upstairs to sleep off the effects of his nightshift.

"Nightshift," Mrs Weasley snorted when he was gone. "As if I didn't know it was Arthur down in Surrey last night. Nightshift in the Leaky Cauldron, this one."

Time was flying. Late in the afternoon, Sirius went upstairs with a basket full of dead rats for Buckbeak. He stayed with the Hippogriff for a while, sitting on the window sill and watching Buckbeak tearing apart the rats at his feet.

"You're a lucky fellow, you know," he told the Hippogriff. "You can have your Disillusionment Charm reversed with just a tap of a wand, painless, leaving no traces. That's not how it works with humans, you know. Once disillusioned, there's no going back. Maybe that's why humans don't like being disillusioned. They don't like it at all. It hurts too much, and leaves too many scars."

He looked out of the window onto the square. It was deserted as always, except for a solitary man with thick fair hair on the pavement opposite, looking rather uneasy and forlorn, obviously waiting for someone. Sirius sighed.

"Let's hope they take their disillusionment well tonight," he said to Buckbeak, sliding down from his seat and patting the Hippogriff's neck. "They find it so hard to let go of their own comfortable truths, you know. I've got to go."

When he came back down to the kitchen, everything was ready. The long table had been moved back to the wall opposite the fireplace, and Mrs Weasley and Lupin had transported more chairs from upstairs into the room. Mrs Weasley was regarding the result of her work with her hands on her hips and a look of satisfaction on her face.

"Well, that's it then," she said. "Let them come."

And as if in answer to that, the doorbell rang for the first time.

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