The Dementors have retreated, the stars were popping out again and the footsteps of the Death Eaters were becoming louder; but before Harry in his panic could decide what to do, there was a grinding of bolts nearby, a door opened on the left-side of the narrow street, and a rough voice said: “Potter, in here, quick!”
He obeyed without hesitation, the three of them hurried through the open doorway.
“Upstairs, keep the Cloak on, keep quiet!” muttered a tall figure, passing them on his way into the street and slammed the door behind him.
Harry had had no idea where they were, but now he saw, by the stuttering light of a single candle, the grubby, sawdust bar of the Hog’s Head Inn. They ran behind the counter and through a second doorway, which led to a trickery wooden staircase, that they climbed as fast as they could. The stairs opened into a sitting room with a durable carpet and a small fireplace, above which hung a single large oil painting of a blonde girl who gazed out at the room with a kind of a vacant sweetness.
Shouts reached from the streets below. Still wearing the Invisibility Cloak on, they hurried toward the grimy window and looked down. Their savior, whom Harry now recognized as the Hog’s Head’s barman, was the only person not wearing a hood.
“So what?” he was bellowing into one of the hooded faces. “So what? You send dementors down my street, I’ll send a Patronus back at’em! I’m not having’em near me, I’ve told you that. I’m not having it!”
“That wasn’t your Patronus,” said a Death Eater. “That was a stag. It was Potter’s!”
“Stag!” roared the barman, and he pulled out a wand. “Stag! You idiot – Expecto Patronum!”
Something huge and horned erupted from the wand. Head down, it charged toward the High Street, and out of sight.
“That’s not what I saw” said the Death Eater, though was less certainly “Curfew’s been broken, you heard the noise,” one of his companions told the barman. “Someone was out on the streets against regulations – ”
“If I want to put my cat out, I will, and be damned to your curfew!”
“You set off the Caterwauling Charm?”
“What if I did? Going to cart me off to Azkaban? Kill me for sticking my nose out my own front door? Do it, then, if you want to! But I hope for your sakes you haven’t pressed your little Dark Marks, and summoned him. He’s not going to like being called here, for me and my old cat, is he, now?”
“Don’t worry about us.” said one of the Death Eaters, “worry about yourself, breaking curfew!”
“And where will you lot traffic potions and poisons when my pub’s closed down? What will happen to your little sidelines then?”
“Are you threatening –?”
“I keep my mouth shut, it’s why you come here, isn’t it?”
“I still say I saw a stag Patronus!” shouted the first Death Eater.
“Stag?” roared the barman. “It’s a goat, idiot!”
Friday, December 3, 2010
Chapter 28 The Missing Mirror
Chapter 28 The Missing Mirror
Harry’s feet touched the road. He saw the achingly familiar Hogsmeade High Street: dark shop fronts, and the mist line of black mountains beyond the village and the curve in the road ahead that led off toward Hogwarts, and light spilling from the windows of the Three Broomsticks, and with a lurch of the hear, he remembered with piercing accuracy, how he had landed here nearly a year before, supporting a desperately weak Dumbledore, all this in a second, upon landing – and then, even as he relaxed his grip upon Ron’s and Hermione’s arms, it happened.
The air was rent by a scream that sounded like Voldemort’s when he had realized the cup had been stolen: It tore at every nerve in Harry’s body, and he knew that their appearance had caused it.
Even as he looked at the other two beneath the Cloak, the door of the Three Broomsticks burst open and a dozen cloaked and hooded Death Eaters dashed into the streets, their wands aloft.
Harry seized Ron’s wrist as he raised his wand; there were too many of them to run. Even attempting it would have give away their position. One of the Death Eaters raised his wand, and the scream stopped, still echoing around the distant mountains.
“Accio Cloak!” roared one of the Death Eaters Harry seized his folds, but it made no attempt to escape. The Summoning Charm had not worked on it.
“Not under your wrapper, then, Potter?” yelled the Death Eater who had tried the charm and then to his fellows. “Spread now. He’s here.”
Six of the Death Eaters ran toward them: Harry, Ron and Hermione backed as quickly as possible down the nearest side street, and the Death Eaters missed them by inches. They waited in the darkness, listening to the footsteps running up and down, beams of light flying along the street from the Death Eaters’ searching wands.
“Let’s just leave!” Hermione whispered. “Disapparate now!”
“Great idea,” said Ron, but before Harry could reply, a Death Eater shouted, “We know you are here, Potter, and there’s no getting away! We’ll find you!”
“They were ready for us,” whispered Harry. “They set up that spell to tell them we’d come. I reckon they’ve done something to keep us here, trap us – ”
“What about dementors?” called another Death Eater. “Let’em have free rein, they’d find him quick enough!”
“The Dark Lord wants Potter dead by no hands but his – ”
“ ‘an dementors won’t kill him! The Dark Lord wants Potter’s life, nor his soul. He’ll be easier to kill if he’s been Kissed first!”
There were noises of agreement. Dread filled Harry: To repel dementors they would have to produce Patronuses which would give them away immediately.
“We’re going to have to try to Disapparate, Harry!” Hermione whispered.
Even as she said it, he felt the unnatural cold being spread over the street. Light was sucked from the environment right up to the stars, which vanished. In the pitch blackness, he felt Hermione take hold of his arm and together, they turned on the spot.
The air through which they needed to move, seemed to have become solid: They could not Disapparate; the Death Eaters had cast their charms well. The cold was biting deeper and deeper into Harry’s flesh. He, Ron and Hermione retreated down the side street, groping their way along the wall trying not to make a sound. Then, around the corner, gliding noiselessly, came dementors, ten or more of them, visible because they were of a denser darkness than their surroundings, with their black cloaks and their scabbed and rotting hands. Could they sense fear in the vicinity? Harry was sure of it: They seemed to be coming more quickly now, taking those dragging, rattling breaths he detested, tasting despair in the air, closing in - He raised his wand: He could not, would not suffer the Dementor’s Kiss, whatever happened afterward. It was of Ron and Hermione that he thought as he whispered “Expecto Patronum!”
The silver stag burst from his wand and charged: The Dementors scattered and there was a triumphant yell from somewhere out of sight
“It’s him, down there, down there, I saw his Patronus, it was a stag!”
Harry’s feet touched the road. He saw the achingly familiar Hogsmeade High Street: dark shop fronts, and the mist line of black mountains beyond the village and the curve in the road ahead that led off toward Hogwarts, and light spilling from the windows of the Three Broomsticks, and with a lurch of the hear, he remembered with piercing accuracy, how he had landed here nearly a year before, supporting a desperately weak Dumbledore, all this in a second, upon landing – and then, even as he relaxed his grip upon Ron’s and Hermione’s arms, it happened.
The air was rent by a scream that sounded like Voldemort’s when he had realized the cup had been stolen: It tore at every nerve in Harry’s body, and he knew that their appearance had caused it.
Even as he looked at the other two beneath the Cloak, the door of the Three Broomsticks burst open and a dozen cloaked and hooded Death Eaters dashed into the streets, their wands aloft.
Harry seized Ron’s wrist as he raised his wand; there were too many of them to run. Even attempting it would have give away their position. One of the Death Eaters raised his wand, and the scream stopped, still echoing around the distant mountains.
“Accio Cloak!” roared one of the Death Eaters Harry seized his folds, but it made no attempt to escape. The Summoning Charm had not worked on it.
“Not under your wrapper, then, Potter?” yelled the Death Eater who had tried the charm and then to his fellows. “Spread now. He’s here.”
Six of the Death Eaters ran toward them: Harry, Ron and Hermione backed as quickly as possible down the nearest side street, and the Death Eaters missed them by inches. They waited in the darkness, listening to the footsteps running up and down, beams of light flying along the street from the Death Eaters’ searching wands.
“Let’s just leave!” Hermione whispered. “Disapparate now!”
“Great idea,” said Ron, but before Harry could reply, a Death Eater shouted, “We know you are here, Potter, and there’s no getting away! We’ll find you!”
“They were ready for us,” whispered Harry. “They set up that spell to tell them we’d come. I reckon they’ve done something to keep us here, trap us – ”
“What about dementors?” called another Death Eater. “Let’em have free rein, they’d find him quick enough!”
“The Dark Lord wants Potter dead by no hands but his – ”
“ ‘an dementors won’t kill him! The Dark Lord wants Potter’s life, nor his soul. He’ll be easier to kill if he’s been Kissed first!”
There were noises of agreement. Dread filled Harry: To repel dementors they would have to produce Patronuses which would give them away immediately.
“We’re going to have to try to Disapparate, Harry!” Hermione whispered.
Even as she said it, he felt the unnatural cold being spread over the street. Light was sucked from the environment right up to the stars, which vanished. In the pitch blackness, he felt Hermione take hold of his arm and together, they turned on the spot.
The air through which they needed to move, seemed to have become solid: They could not Disapparate; the Death Eaters had cast their charms well. The cold was biting deeper and deeper into Harry’s flesh. He, Ron and Hermione retreated down the side street, groping their way along the wall trying not to make a sound. Then, around the corner, gliding noiselessly, came dementors, ten or more of them, visible because they were of a denser darkness than their surroundings, with their black cloaks and their scabbed and rotting hands. Could they sense fear in the vicinity? Harry was sure of it: They seemed to be coming more quickly now, taking those dragging, rattling breaths he detested, tasting despair in the air, closing in - He raised his wand: He could not, would not suffer the Dementor’s Kiss, whatever happened afterward. It was of Ron and Hermione that he thought as he whispered “Expecto Patronum!”
The silver stag burst from his wand and charged: The Dementors scattered and there was a triumphant yell from somewhere out of sight
“It’s him, down there, down there, I saw his Patronus, it was a stag!”
“I saw him find out about the cup
“I saw him find out about the cup, I – I was in his head, he’s” – Harry remembered the killings – “he’s seriously angry, and scared too, he can’t understand how we knew, and now he’s going to check the others are safe, the ring first. He things the Hogwarts one is safest, because Snape’s there, because it’ll be so hard not to be seen getting in. I think he’ll check that one last, but he could still be there within hours – ”
“Did you see where in Hogwarts it is?” asked Ron, now scrambling to his feet too.
“No, he was concentrating on warning Snape, he didn’t think about exactly where it is – ”
“Wait, wait!” cried Hermione as Ron caught up to the Horcrux and Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak again. “We can’t just go, we haven’t got a plan, we need to – ”
“We need to get going,” said Harry firmly. He had been hoping to sleep, looking forward to getting into the new tent, but that was impossible now, “Can you imagine what he’s going to do once he realizes the ring and the locket are gone? What if he moves the Hogwarts Horcrux, decides it isn’t safe enough?”
“But how are we going to get in?”
“We’ll go to Hogsmeade,” said Harry, “and try to work something out once we see what the protection around the school’s like. Get under the Cloak, Hermione, I want to stick together this time.”
“But we don’t really fit – ”
“It’ll be dark, no one’s going to notice our feet.”
The flapping of enormous wings echoed across the black water. The dragon had drunk its fill and risen into the air. They paused in their preparations to watch it climb higher and higher, now black against the rapidly darkening sky, until it vanished over a nearby mountain. Then Hermione walked forward and took her place between the other two, Harry pulled the Cloak down as far as it would go, and together they turned on the spot into the crushing darkness.
“Did you see where in Hogwarts it is?” asked Ron, now scrambling to his feet too.
“No, he was concentrating on warning Snape, he didn’t think about exactly where it is – ”
“Wait, wait!” cried Hermione as Ron caught up to the Horcrux and Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak again. “We can’t just go, we haven’t got a plan, we need to – ”
“We need to get going,” said Harry firmly. He had been hoping to sleep, looking forward to getting into the new tent, but that was impossible now, “Can you imagine what he’s going to do once he realizes the ring and the locket are gone? What if he moves the Hogwarts Horcrux, decides it isn’t safe enough?”
“But how are we going to get in?”
“We’ll go to Hogsmeade,” said Harry, “and try to work something out once we see what the protection around the school’s like. Get under the Cloak, Hermione, I want to stick together this time.”
“But we don’t really fit – ”
“It’ll be dark, no one’s going to notice our feet.”
The flapping of enormous wings echoed across the black water. The dragon had drunk its fill and risen into the air. They paused in their preparations to watch it climb higher and higher, now black against the rapidly darkening sky, until it vanished over a nearby mountain. Then Hermione walked forward and took her place between the other two, Harry pulled the Cloak down as far as it would go, and together they turned on the spot into the crushing darkness.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Barely breathing, he stared down at it
Barely breathing, he stared down at it. How was this possible? How could it have come to be lying in a forest pool, this close to the place where they were camping? Had some unknown magic drawn Hermione to this spot, or was the doe, which he had taken to be a Patronus, some kind of guardian of the pool? Or had the sword been put into the pool after they had arrived, precisely because they were here? In which case, where was the person who wanted to pass it to Harry? Again he directed the wand at the surrounding trees and bushes, searching for a human outline, for the glint of an eye, but he could not see anyone there. All the same, a little more fear leavened his exhilaration as he returned his attention to the sword reposing upon the bottom of the frozen pool.
He pointed the wand at the silvery shape and murmured, “Accio Sword.”
It did not stir. He had not expected it to. If it had been that easy the sword would have lain on the ground for him to pick up, not in the depths of a frozen pool. He set off around the circle of ice, thinking hard about the last time the sword had delivered itself to him. He had been in terrible danger then, and had asked for help.
“Help,” he murmured, but the sword remained upon the pool bottom, indifferent, motionless.
What was it, Harry asked himself (walking again), that Dumbledore had told him the last time he had retrieved the sword? Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat. And what were the qualities that defined a Gryffindor? A small voice inside Harry’s head answered him: Their daring nerve and chivalry set Gryffindor apart.
Harry stopped walking and let out a long sigh, his smoky breath dispersing rapidly upon the frozen air. He knew what he had to do. If he was honest with himself, he had thought it might come to this from the moment he had spotted the sword through the ice.
He glanced around at the surrounding trees again, but was convinced now that nobody was going to attack him. They had had their chance as he walked alone through the forest, had had plenty of opportunity as he examined the pool. The only reason to delay at this point was because the immediate prospect was so deeply uninviting.
With fumbling fingers Harry started to remove his many layers of clothing. Where “chivalry” entered into this, he thought ruefully, he was not entirely sure, unless it counted as chivalrous that he was not calling for Hermione to do it in his stead.
An owl hooted somewhere as he stripped off, and he thought with a pang of Hedwig. He was shivering now, his teeth chattering horribly, and yet he continued to strip off until at last he stood there in his underwear, barefooted in the snow. He placed the pouch containing his wand, his mother’s letter, the shard of Sirius’s mirror, and the old Snitch on top of his clothes, then he pointed Hermione’s wand at the ice.
“Diffindo.”
It cracked with a sound like a bullet in the silence. The surface of the pool broke and chunks of dark ice rocked on the ruffled water. As far as Harry could judge, it was not deep, but to retrieve the sword he would have to submerge himself completely.
He pointed the wand at the silvery shape and murmured, “Accio Sword.”
It did not stir. He had not expected it to. If it had been that easy the sword would have lain on the ground for him to pick up, not in the depths of a frozen pool. He set off around the circle of ice, thinking hard about the last time the sword had delivered itself to him. He had been in terrible danger then, and had asked for help.
“Help,” he murmured, but the sword remained upon the pool bottom, indifferent, motionless.
What was it, Harry asked himself (walking again), that Dumbledore had told him the last time he had retrieved the sword? Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat. And what were the qualities that defined a Gryffindor? A small voice inside Harry’s head answered him: Their daring nerve and chivalry set Gryffindor apart.
Harry stopped walking and let out a long sigh, his smoky breath dispersing rapidly upon the frozen air. He knew what he had to do. If he was honest with himself, he had thought it might come to this from the moment he had spotted the sword through the ice.
He glanced around at the surrounding trees again, but was convinced now that nobody was going to attack him. They had had their chance as he walked alone through the forest, had had plenty of opportunity as he examined the pool. The only reason to delay at this point was because the immediate prospect was so deeply uninviting.
With fumbling fingers Harry started to remove his many layers of clothing. Where “chivalry” entered into this, he thought ruefully, he was not entirely sure, unless it counted as chivalrous that he was not calling for Hermione to do it in his stead.
An owl hooted somewhere as he stripped off, and he thought with a pang of Hedwig. He was shivering now, his teeth chattering horribly, and yet he continued to strip off until at last he stood there in his underwear, barefooted in the snow. He placed the pouch containing his wand, his mother’s letter, the shard of Sirius’s mirror, and the old Snitch on top of his clothes, then he pointed Hermione’s wand at the ice.
“Diffindo.”
It cracked with a sound like a bullet in the silence. The surface of the pool broke and chunks of dark ice rocked on the ruffled water. As far as Harry could judge, it was not deep, but to retrieve the sword he would have to submerge himself completely.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
They descended into the kitchen,
They descended into the kitchen, where Hermione pointed her wand at the grate. A fire sprang up instantly: It gave the illusion of coziness to the stark stone walls and glistened off the long wooden table. Lupin pulled a few butterbeers from beneath his traveling cloak and they sat down.
“I’d have been here three days ago but I needed to shake off the Death Eater tailing me,” said Lupin. “So, you came straight here after the wedding?”
“No,” said Harry, “only after we ran into a couple of Death Eaters in a café on Tottenham Court Road.”
Lupin slopped most of his butterbeer down his front.
“What?”
They explained what had happened; when they had finished, Lupin looked aghast.
“But how did they find you so quickly? It’s impossible to track anyone who Apparates, unless you grab hold of them as they disappear.”
“And it doesn’t seem likely they were just strolling down Tottenham Court Road at the time, does it?” said Harry.
“We wondered,” said Hermione tentatively, “whether Harry could still have the Trace on him?”
“Impossible,” said Lupin. Ron looked smug, and Harry felt hugely relieved. “Apart from anything else, they’d know for sure Harry was here if he still had the Trace on him, wouldn’t they? But I can’t see how they could have tracked you to Tottenham Court Road, that’s worrying, really worrying.”
He looked disturbed, but as far as Harry was concerned, that question could wait.
“Tell us what happened after we left, we haven’t heard a thing since Ron’s dad told us the family was safe.”
“Well, Kingsley saved us,” said Lupin. “Thanks to his warning most of the wedding guests were able to Disapparate before they arrived.”
“Were they Death Eaters or Ministry people?” interjected Hermione.
“A mixture; but to all intents and purposes they’re the same thing now,” said Lupin. “There were about a dozen of them, but they didn’t know you were there, Harry.
Arthur heard a rumor that they tried to torture your whereabouts out of Scrimgeour before they killed him; if it’s true, he didn’t give you away.”
Harry looked at Ron and Hermione; their expressions reflected the mingled shock and gratitude he felt. He had never liked Scrimgeour much, but if what Lupin said was true, the man’s final act had been to try to protect Harry.
“The Death Eaters searched the Burrow from top to bottom,” Lupin went on. “They found the ghoul, but didn’t want to get too close – and then they interrogated those of us who remained for hours. They were trying to get information on you, Harry, but of course nobody apart from the Order knew that you had been there.”
“At the same time that they were smashing up the wedding, more Death Eaters were forcing their way into every Order-connected house in the country. No deaths,” he added quickly, forestalling the question, “but they were rough. They burned down Dedalus Diggle’s house, but as you know he wasn’t there, and they used the Cruciarus Curse on Tonks’s family. Again, trying to find out where you went after you visited them. They’re all right – shaken, obviously, but otherwise okay.”
“The Death Eaters got through all those protective charms?”
Harry asked, remembering how effective these had been on the night he had crashed in Tonks’s parents’ garden.
“What you’ve got to realize, Harry, is that the Death Eaters have got the full might of the Ministry on their side now,” said Lupin. “They’ve got the power to perform brutal spells without fear of identification or arrest. They managed to penetrate every defensive spell we’d cast against them, and once inside, they were completely open about why they’d come.”
“And are they bothering to give an excuse for torturing Harry’s whereabouts out of people?” asked Hermione, an edge to her voice.
“Well,” Lupin said. He hesitated, then pulled out a folded copy of the Daily Prophet.
“Here,” he said, pushing it across the table to Harry, “you’ll know sooner or later anyway. That’s their pretext for going after you.”
Harry smoothed out the paper. A huge photograph of his own face filled the front page. He read the headline over it:
WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
Ron and Hermione gave roars of outrage, but Harry said nothing. He pushed the newspaper away; he did not want to read anymore: He knew what it would say. Nobody but those who had been on top of the tower when Dumbledore died knew who had really killed him and, as Rita Skeeter had already told the Wizarding world, Harry had been seen running from the place moments after Dumbledore had fallen.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” Lupin said.
“So Death Eaters have taken over the Daily Prophet too?” asked Hermione furiously.
Lupin nodded.
“But surely people realize what’s going on?”
“The coup has been smooth and virtually silent,” said Lupin.
http://zhangchunmei19870206.blogspot.com/2010/11/chapter-8-wedding.html
http://enjoygame-rs.blogspot.com/2010/11/while-mr-weasley-repaired-damage-and.html
http://nbalike123.blogspot.com/2010/11/your-great-aunt-muriel-doesnt-agree.html
http://wang19870305.blogspot.com/2010/11/hermione-aimed-kick-at-him-under-table.html
http://zhangchunmei19870305.blogspot.com/2010/11/blackjack-bargainer.html
“I’d have been here three days ago but I needed to shake off the Death Eater tailing me,” said Lupin. “So, you came straight here after the wedding?”
“No,” said Harry, “only after we ran into a couple of Death Eaters in a café on Tottenham Court Road.”
Lupin slopped most of his butterbeer down his front.
“What?”
They explained what had happened; when they had finished, Lupin looked aghast.
“But how did they find you so quickly? It’s impossible to track anyone who Apparates, unless you grab hold of them as they disappear.”
“And it doesn’t seem likely they were just strolling down Tottenham Court Road at the time, does it?” said Harry.
“We wondered,” said Hermione tentatively, “whether Harry could still have the Trace on him?”
“Impossible,” said Lupin. Ron looked smug, and Harry felt hugely relieved. “Apart from anything else, they’d know for sure Harry was here if he still had the Trace on him, wouldn’t they? But I can’t see how they could have tracked you to Tottenham Court Road, that’s worrying, really worrying.”
He looked disturbed, but as far as Harry was concerned, that question could wait.
“Tell us what happened after we left, we haven’t heard a thing since Ron’s dad told us the family was safe.”
“Well, Kingsley saved us,” said Lupin. “Thanks to his warning most of the wedding guests were able to Disapparate before they arrived.”
“Were they Death Eaters or Ministry people?” interjected Hermione.
“A mixture; but to all intents and purposes they’re the same thing now,” said Lupin. “There were about a dozen of them, but they didn’t know you were there, Harry.
Arthur heard a rumor that they tried to torture your whereabouts out of Scrimgeour before they killed him; if it’s true, he didn’t give you away.”
Harry looked at Ron and Hermione; their expressions reflected the mingled shock and gratitude he felt. He had never liked Scrimgeour much, but if what Lupin said was true, the man’s final act had been to try to protect Harry.
“The Death Eaters searched the Burrow from top to bottom,” Lupin went on. “They found the ghoul, but didn’t want to get too close – and then they interrogated those of us who remained for hours. They were trying to get information on you, Harry, but of course nobody apart from the Order knew that you had been there.”
“At the same time that they were smashing up the wedding, more Death Eaters were forcing their way into every Order-connected house in the country. No deaths,” he added quickly, forestalling the question, “but they were rough. They burned down Dedalus Diggle’s house, but as you know he wasn’t there, and they used the Cruciarus Curse on Tonks’s family. Again, trying to find out where you went after you visited them. They’re all right – shaken, obviously, but otherwise okay.”
“The Death Eaters got through all those protective charms?”
Harry asked, remembering how effective these had been on the night he had crashed in Tonks’s parents’ garden.
“What you’ve got to realize, Harry, is that the Death Eaters have got the full might of the Ministry on their side now,” said Lupin. “They’ve got the power to perform brutal spells without fear of identification or arrest. They managed to penetrate every defensive spell we’d cast against them, and once inside, they were completely open about why they’d come.”
“And are they bothering to give an excuse for torturing Harry’s whereabouts out of people?” asked Hermione, an edge to her voice.
“Well,” Lupin said. He hesitated, then pulled out a folded copy of the Daily Prophet.
“Here,” he said, pushing it across the table to Harry, “you’ll know sooner or later anyway. That’s their pretext for going after you.”
Harry smoothed out the paper. A huge photograph of his own face filled the front page. He read the headline over it:
WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
Ron and Hermione gave roars of outrage, but Harry said nothing. He pushed the newspaper away; he did not want to read anymore: He knew what it would say. Nobody but those who had been on top of the tower when Dumbledore died knew who had really killed him and, as Rita Skeeter had already told the Wizarding world, Harry had been seen running from the place moments after Dumbledore had fallen.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” Lupin said.
“So Death Eaters have taken over the Daily Prophet too?” asked Hermione furiously.
Lupin nodded.
“But surely people realize what’s going on?”
“The coup has been smooth and virtually silent,” said Lupin.
http://zhangchunmei19870206.blogspot.com/2010/11/chapter-8-wedding.html
http://enjoygame-rs.blogspot.com/2010/11/while-mr-weasley-repaired-damage-and.html
http://nbalike123.blogspot.com/2010/11/your-great-aunt-muriel-doesnt-agree.html
http://wang19870305.blogspot.com/2010/11/hermione-aimed-kick-at-him-under-table.html
http://zhangchunmei19870305.blogspot.com/2010/11/blackjack-bargainer.html
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