Hermione cast an appraising eye over the veiled figure.

“Umbridge is shorter than that woman,” she said quietly. “And anyway, even if Umbridge does come in here there’s nothing she can do to stop us, Harry, because I’ve double- and triple-checked the school rules. We’re not out of bounds; I specifically asked Professor Flitwick whether students were allowed to come in the Hog’s Head, and he said yes, but he advised me strongly to bring our own glasses. And I’ve looked up everything I can think of about study groups and homework groups and they’re definitely allowed. I just don’t think it’s a good idea if we parade what we’re doing.”

“No,” said Harry drily, “especially as it’s not exactly a homework group you’re planning, is it?”

The barman sidled towards them out of a back room. He was a grumpy-looking old man with a great deal of long grey hair and beard. He was tall and thin and looked vaguely familiar to Harry.

“What?” he grunted.

“Three Butterbeers, please,” said Hermione.

The man reached beneath the counter and pulled up three very dusty, very dirty bottles, which he slammed on the bar.

“Six Sickles,” he said.

“I’ll get them,” said Harry quickly, passing over the silver. The barman’s eyes travelled over Harry, resting for a fraction of a second on his scar. Then he turned away and deposited Harry’s money in an ancient wooden till whose drawer slid open automatically to receive it. Harry, Ron and Hermione retreated to the furthest table from the bar and sat down, looking around. The man in the dirty grey bandages rapped the counter with his knuckles and received another smoking drink from the barman.

“You know what?” Ron murmured, looking over at the bar with enthusiasm. “We could order anything we liked in here. I bet that bloke would sell us anything, he wouldn’t care. I’ve always wanted to try Firewhisky—”

“You—are—a—prefect,” snarled Hermione.

“Oh,” said Ron, the smile fading from his face. “Yeah…”

“So, who did you say is supposed to be meeting us?” Harry asked, wrenching open the rusty top of his Butterbeer and taking a swig.

“Just a couple of people,” Hermione repeated, checking her watch and looking anxiously towards the door. “I told them to be here about now and I’m sure they all know where it is—oh, look, this might be them now.”

The door of the pub had opened. A thick band of dusty sunlight split the room in two for a moment and then vanished, blocked by the incoming rush of a crowd of people.

First came Neville with Dean and Lavender, who were closely followed by Parvati and Padma Patil with (Harry’s stomach did a back-flip) Cho and one of her usually-giggling girlfriends, then (on her own and looking so dreamy she might have walked in by accident) Luna Lovegood; then Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, Colin and Dennis Creevey, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff girl with a long plait down her back whose name Harry did not know; three Ravenclaw boys he was pretty sure were called Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner and Terry Boot, Ginny, closely followed by a tall skinny blond boy with an upturned nose whom Harry recognised vaguely as being a member of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team and, bringing up the rear, Fred and George Weasley with their friend Lee Jordan, all three of whom were carrying large paper bags crammed with Zonko’s merchandise.

“A couple of people?” said Harry hoarsely to Hermione. “A couple of people?”

“Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular,” said Hermione happily. “Ron, do you want to pull up some more chairs?”

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<== попередня сторінка	\|	наступна сторінка ==>
They walked between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars and turned left on to the road into the village, the wind whipping their hair into their eyes.	\|	The barman had frozen in the act of wiping out a glass with a rag so filthy it looked as though it had never been washed. Possibly, he had never seen his pub so full.

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