When they returned to the house, Mrs. Weasley was nowhere to be seen, so Harry

slipped upstairs to Ron’s attic bedroom.

“I’m doing it, I’m doing – ! Oh, it’s you,” said Ron in relief, as Harry entered the

Room. Ron lay back down on the bed, which he had evidently just vacated. The room was

Just as messy as it had been all week; the only chance was that Hermione was now sitting

In the far corner, her fluffy ginger cat, Crookshanks, at her feet, sorting books, some of

Which Harry recognized as his own, into two enormous piles.

“Hi, Harry,” she said, as he sat down on his camp bed.

“And how did you manage to get away?”

“Oh, Ron’s mum forgot that she asked Ginny and me to change the sheets

yesterday,” said Hermione. She threw Numerology and Grammatica onto one pile and

The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts onto the other.

“We were just talking about Mad-Eye,” Ron told Harry. “I reckon he might have

survived.”

“But Bill saw him hit by the Killing Curse,” said Harry.

“Yeah, but Bill was under attack too,” said Ron. “How can he be sure what he

saw?”

“Even if the Killing Curse missed, Mad-Eye still fell about a thousand feet,” said

Hermione, now weight Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland in her hand.

“He could have used a Shield Charm –“

“Fleur said his wand was blasted out of his hand,” said Harry.

“Well, all right, if you want him to be dead,” said Ron grumpily, punching his

Pillow into a more comfortable shape.

“Of course we don’t want him to be dead!” said Hermione, looking shocked. “It’s

dreadful that he’s dead! But we’re being realistic!”

For the first time, Harry imagined Mad-Eye’s body, broken as Dumbledore’s had

Been, yet with that one eye still whizzing in its socket. He felt a stab of revulsion mixed

With a bizarre desire to laugh.

“The Death Eaters probably tidied up after themselves, that’s why no one’s found

him,” said Ron wisely.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Like Barty Crouch, turned into a bone and buried in

Hagrid’s front garden. They probably transfigured Moody and stuffed him –“

“Don’t!” squealed Hermione. Startled, Harry looked over just in time to see her

burst into tears over her copy of Spellman’s Syllabary.

“Oh no,” said Harry, struggling to get up from the old camp bed. “Hermione, I

wasn’t trying to upset –“

But with a great creaking of rusty bedsprings, Ron bounded off the bed and got

There first. One arm around Hermione, he fished in his jeans pocket and withdrew a

Revolting-looking handkerchief that he had used to clean out the oven earlier. Hastily

pulling out his wand, he pointed it at the rag and said, “Tergeo.”

The wand siphoned off most of the grease. Looking rather pleased with himself,

Ron handed the slightly smoking handkerchief to Hermione.

“Oh . . . thanks, Ron. . . . I’m sorry. . . .” She blew her nose and hiccupped. “It’s

just so awf-ful, isn’t it? R-right after Dumbledore . . . I j-just n-never imagined Mad-Eye

dying, somehow, he seemed so tough!”

“Yeah, I know,” said Ron, giving her a squeeze. “But you know what he’d say to

us if he was here?”

“’C-constant vigilance,’” said Hermione, mopping her eyes.

“That’s right,” said Ron, nodding. “He’d tell us to learn from what happened to

him. And what I’ve learned is not to trust that cowardly little squit, Mundungus.”

Hermione gave a shaky laugh and leaned forward to pick up two more books. A

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 614