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Внезапно!
Yes, that’s true. It’s done. Finished. Completed. Achieved. The pinnacle of all efforts, from all this years. And, as it’s supposed to be, “Light prevailed”. Yes, it does. The Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, is deposed. Eradicated, wiped out, alongside with the majority of His followers. Mission completed, isn’t it?
Harry was sitting in a small café, in the very hart of London, close to Green Park and Piccadilly, in a Muggle world, dressed like a Muggle, jeans, hoodie and keds. The war is over, he repeated to himself.
Over – over, gone, swallowed by the past. All the dead are also there; in memory of the living, but out of the daylight. And Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was sitting absentmindedly over his cup of tea, while the whole Muggle world was just passing by.
— Hullo, Harry.
A brown-headed girl, dressed almost similarly, stopped by his table.
— Hullo, Hermione.
— Ron is jealous, — she smiled. — And I think, Ginny is too.
— She is, — admitted Harry. — It took me some time to convince her that we — me and you — have to talk. In private.
— Same here, — she pulled the chair, sat sideways, as if ready to run. — But I must say, I… I was puzzled too. What’s wrong, Harry?
— You think something should be?
Hermoine looked at him with the same expression, like before their first adventure beyond the trapdoor, guarded by Fluffy.
— All right. Now I’m worried, Mr. Hero, — she smiled, but this smile was pretty pale.
— I know it shouldn’t be like this… — said Harry slowly, as if picking each word with great care. — All is well, right? We were celebrating. Partying. Happily ever after… — his phrases were short and heavy, like an axe-chops.
— Oh! — she raised her finger, pretty much like a teacher. — So that’s the problem? “The Return of The Shadow”? “The Phantom Menace”? “The Empire Strikes Back”? "One Ring to rule them all", and so on and so fourth? The Evil is back somehow?
— It will not come back?
— Of course it will, Harry, and I’m surprised to find you here, brooding over such trivial concept. Have some tea, before it will be too cold.
— But… but…
— Of course Evil will be back. There are plenty of Death Eaters on the run, plenty of their former supporters, — she shrugged. — They will try to get “vengeance” or whatever they will call it. Some of them are pretty desperate, crazy and dangerous. So, nothing new here. Are you better now?
She is so sure of herself, he thought with bitterness. Just like all of them. Even the best of the best.
— All right, you are definitely not, — she pulled the chair closer, waived a girl from the stand. — One more tea, please. No, just black. Yes, thank you.
— You think, it’s Death Eaters, which are still at large, I should be concerned about?
— No, — she said adamantly. — Nothing to be concern at all.
— Sheesh, — he frowned. — Not you too!
— Why wouldn’t you, — said Hermione with her old favorite “I-Know-It-All” grin, — tell me what’s going on?
— But you just said…
— Forget about this “just”. “Books and cleverness” might be my trade, but you, Harry Potter, on the other hand… okay, strike this out, — she added quickly, noticing his expression. — Don't listen to me. Just speak.
She was looking at him over her tea; and this glance was… disturbing, to say the least.
— It was… it is... so empty here. So empty, — he began. — I know, I know, we won the war, everyone is supposed to be happy, right? And I was happy… altogether. I was free, I was… well, well-doing. I can travel, enjoy stuff, see things… no one will say a word, and Auror’s job is already waiting. So… I must be happy, right? Ecstatic. Jubilant. And I…
Hermione was looking at him and biting her lower lip. Somehow it makes things all more difficult.
— And I was not. At first I think oh, I know, I know, “a post-war syndrome”. Nothing to do after the victory, no great goal to live, fight and die for… — he waived. — All that stuff. A person should set up new priorities, blah blah blah. Live on, be happy, like that.
— You miss the war? — she asked quietly. Her gaze was worried.
— No. No, I don’t! — protested he. — Blood shedding, killing and suffering and… and all. I did — we did — what we had to. But did I miss it? Not for a moment. Does janitor miss sweeping floors or cleaning stalls? Does an executioner miss his scaffold or his gallows?
— You were neither of them, — Hermione started hotly, but he stopped her.
— No, I don’t regret anything. But I’m glad that’s over. I’m just… I’m sure that with all that festivities we’re missing something. Something small, discreet, insignificant at a first glance. Something that will… cost us dearly. No one wants to listen, of course, since there is a real danger, real Voldemort’s accomplices, however desperate and scattered. What is this Potter guy talking about? Perhaps he lacks attention, this “hero”, — he finished in a mocking voice.
— Oh, yes, attention, — Hermione smiled slightly. — Rita Skeeter and all her lies. But, Harry you cannot seriously think that anyone...
— It’s of now importance, — he said impatiently. — Let them bark, if bark they want. What’s important is —
— Your scar, — she interrupted. — How’s your scar? Is it in…
— No, it’s not, — said Harry crossly. — Actually, I wish it would. At least everyone have learned to take my scar aches seriously.
Yes, that’s true. It’s done. Finished. Completed. Achieved. The pinnacle of all efforts, from all this years. And, as it’s supposed to be, “Light prevailed”. Yes, it does. The Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, is deposed. Eradicated, wiped out, alongside with the majority of His followers. Mission completed, isn’t it?
Harry was sitting in a small café, in the very hart of London, close to Green Park and Piccadilly, in a Muggle world, dressed like a Muggle, jeans, hoodie and keds. The war is over, he repeated to himself.
Over – over, gone, swallowed by the past. All the dead are also there; in memory of the living, but out of the daylight. And Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was sitting absentmindedly over his cup of tea, while the whole Muggle world was just passing by.
— Hullo, Harry.
A brown-headed girl, dressed almost similarly, stopped by his table.
— Hullo, Hermione.
— Ron is jealous, — she smiled. — And I think, Ginny is too.
— She is, — admitted Harry. — It took me some time to convince her that we — me and you — have to talk. In private.
— Same here, — she pulled the chair, sat sideways, as if ready to run. — But I must say, I… I was puzzled too. What’s wrong, Harry?
— You think something should be?
Hermoine looked at him with the same expression, like before their first adventure beyond the trapdoor, guarded by Fluffy.
— All right. Now I’m worried, Mr. Hero, — she smiled, but this smile was pretty pale.
— I know it shouldn’t be like this… — said Harry slowly, as if picking each word with great care. — All is well, right? We were celebrating. Partying. Happily ever after… — his phrases were short and heavy, like an axe-chops.
— Oh! — she raised her finger, pretty much like a teacher. — So that’s the problem? “The Return of The Shadow”? “The Phantom Menace”? “The Empire Strikes Back”? "One Ring to rule them all", and so on and so fourth? The Evil is back somehow?
— It will not come back?
— Of course it will, Harry, and I’m surprised to find you here, brooding over such trivial concept. Have some tea, before it will be too cold.
— But… but…
— Of course Evil will be back. There are plenty of Death Eaters on the run, plenty of their former supporters, — she shrugged. — They will try to get “vengeance” or whatever they will call it. Some of them are pretty desperate, crazy and dangerous. So, nothing new here. Are you better now?
She is so sure of herself, he thought with bitterness. Just like all of them. Even the best of the best.
— All right, you are definitely not, — she pulled the chair closer, waived a girl from the stand. — One more tea, please. No, just black. Yes, thank you.
— You think, it’s Death Eaters, which are still at large, I should be concerned about?
— No, — she said adamantly. — Nothing to be concern at all.
— Sheesh, — he frowned. — Not you too!
— Why wouldn’t you, — said Hermione with her old favorite “I-Know-It-All” grin, — tell me what’s going on?
— But you just said…
— Forget about this “just”. “Books and cleverness” might be my trade, but you, Harry Potter, on the other hand… okay, strike this out, — she added quickly, noticing his expression. — Don't listen to me. Just speak.
She was looking at him over her tea; and this glance was… disturbing, to say the least.
— It was… it is... so empty here. So empty, — he began. — I know, I know, we won the war, everyone is supposed to be happy, right? And I was happy… altogether. I was free, I was… well, well-doing. I can travel, enjoy stuff, see things… no one will say a word, and Auror’s job is already waiting. So… I must be happy, right? Ecstatic. Jubilant. And I…
Hermione was looking at him and biting her lower lip. Somehow it makes things all more difficult.
— And I was not. At first I think oh, I know, I know, “a post-war syndrome”. Nothing to do after the victory, no great goal to live, fight and die for… — he waived. — All that stuff. A person should set up new priorities, blah blah blah. Live on, be happy, like that.
— You miss the war? — she asked quietly. Her gaze was worried.
— No. No, I don’t! — protested he. — Blood shedding, killing and suffering and… and all. I did — we did — what we had to. But did I miss it? Not for a moment. Does janitor miss sweeping floors or cleaning stalls? Does an executioner miss his scaffold or his gallows?
— You were neither of them, — Hermione started hotly, but he stopped her.
— No, I don’t regret anything. But I’m glad that’s over. I’m just… I’m sure that with all that festivities we’re missing something. Something small, discreet, insignificant at a first glance. Something that will… cost us dearly. No one wants to listen, of course, since there is a real danger, real Voldemort’s accomplices, however desperate and scattered. What is this Potter guy talking about? Perhaps he lacks attention, this “hero”, — he finished in a mocking voice.
— Oh, yes, attention, — Hermione smiled slightly. — Rita Skeeter and all her lies. But, Harry you cannot seriously think that anyone...
— It’s of now importance, — he said impatiently. — Let them bark, if bark they want. What’s important is —
— Your scar, — she interrupted. — How’s your scar? Is it in…
— No, it’s not, — said Harry crossly. — Actually, I wish it would. At least everyone have learned to take my scar aches seriously.
Методы круты, но концовка меня как-то не впечатлила... никто ничего не заметил, а он такой оп.
Не читал, а эт чо.
Да я ж начинал как-то читать методы, когда они не до конца переведены были. И уже на 100+ какой-то главе у меня закралось это чувство, что это одна из тех вещей, где процесс гораздо приятней конечного итога) Вот и решил забросить, чтоб еще раз перечитать, на этот раз с концовкой)
Да я ж начинал как-то читать методы, когда они не до конца переведены были. И уже на 100+ какой-то главе у меня закралось это чувство, что это одна из тех вещей, где процесс гораздо приятней конечного итога) Вот и решил забросить, чтоб еще раз перечитать, на этот раз с концовкой)
Это приключашка двух корешей, Северуса и Люциуса, их родни, врагов и союзников.
30.11.2008, 12:34
