Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Дж. К. Роулинг
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you must not do this, you can’t trust him —’
‘The Dark Lord trusts him, doesn’t he?’
‘The Dark Lord is … I believe … mistaken,’ Bella panted, and her eyes gleamed momentarily under her hood as she looked around to check that they were indeed alone. ‘In any case, we were told not to speak of the plan to anyone. This is a betrayal of the Dark Lord’s —’
‘Let go, Bella!’ snarled Narcissa and she drew a wand from beneath her cloak, holding it threateningly in the other’s face. Bella merely laughed.
‘Cissy, your own sister? You wouldn’t —’
‘There is nothing I wouldn’t do any more!’ Narcissa breathed, a note of hysteria in her voice, and as she brought down the wand like a knife, there was another flash of light. Bella let go of her sister’s arm as though burned.
‘Narcissa!’
But Narcissa had rushed ahead. Rubbing her hand, her pursuer followed again, keeping her distance now, as they moved deeper into the deserted labyrinth of brick houses. At last Narcissa hurried up a street called Spinner’s End, over which the towering mill chimney seemed to hover like a giant admonitory finger. Her footsteps echoed on the cobbles as she passed boarded and broken windows, until she reached the very last house, where a dim light glimmered through the curtains in a downstairs room.
She had knocked on the door before Bella, cursing under her breath, had caught up. Together they stood waiting, panting slightly, breathing in the smell of the dirty river that was carried to them on the night breeze. After a few seconds, they heard movement behind the door and it opened a crack. A sliver of a man could be seen looking out at them, a man with long black hair parted in curtains around a sallow face and black eyes.
Narcissa threw back her hood. She was so pale that she seemed to shine in the darkness; the long blonde hair streaming down her back gave her the look of a drowned person.
‘Narcissa!’ said the man, opening the door a little wider, so that the light fell upon her and her sister too. ‘What a pleasant surprise!’
‘Severus,’ she said in a strained whisper. ‘May I speak to you? It’s urgent.’
‘But of course.’
He stood back to allow her to pass him into the house. Her still-hooded sister followed without invitation.
‘Snape,’ she said curtly as she passed him.
‘Bellatrix,’ he replied, his thin mouth curling into a slightly mocking smile as he closed the door with a snap behind them.
They had stepped directly into a tiny sitting room, which had the feeling of a dark padded cell. The walls were completely covered in books, most of them bound in old black or brown leather; a threadbare sofa, an old armchair and a rickety table stood grouped together in a pool of dim light cast by a candle-filled lamp hung from the ceiling. The place had an air of neglect, as though it were not usually inhabited.
Snape gestured Narcissa to the sofa. She threw off her cloak, cast it aside and sat down, staring at her white and trembling hands clasped in her lap. Bellatrix lowered her hood more slowly. Dark as her sister was fair, with heavily lidded eyes and a strong jaw, she did not take her gaze from Snape as she moved to stand behind Narcissa.
‘So, what can I do for you?’ Snape asked, settling himself in the armchair opposite the two sisters.
‘We … we are alone, aren’t we?’ Narcissa asked quietly.
‘Yes, of course. Well, Wormtail’s here, but we’re not counting vermin, are we?’
He pointed his wand at the wall of books behind him and, with a bang, a hidden door flew open, revealing a narrow staircase upon which a small man stood frozen.
‘As you have clearly realised, Wormtail, we have guests,’ said Snape lazily.
The man crept hunchbacked down the last few steps and moved into the room. He had small, watery eyes, a pointed nose and wore an unpleasant simper. His left hand was caressing his right, which looked as though it were encased in a bright silver glove.
‘Narcissa!’ he said, in a squeaky voice, ‘and Bellatrix! How charming —’
‘Wormtail will get us drinks, if you’d like them,’ said Snape. ‘And then he will return to his bedroom.’
Wormtail winced as though Snape had thrown something at him.
‘I am not your servant!’ he squeaked, avoiding Snape’s eye.
‘Really? I was under the impression that the Dark Lord placed you here to assist me.’
‘To assist, yes – but not to make you drinks and – and clean your house!’
‘I had no idea, Wormtail, that you were craving more dangerous assignments,’ said Snape silkily. ‘This can be easily arranged: I shall speak to the Dark Lord —’
‘I can speak to him myself if I want to!’
‘Of course you can,’ said Snape, sneering. ‘But in the meantime, bring us drinks. Some of the elf-made wine will do.’
Wormtail hesitated for a moment, looking as though he might argue, but then turned and headed through a second hidden door. They heard banging, and a clinking of glasses. Within seconds he was back, bearing a dusty bottle and three glasses upon a tray. He dropped these on the rickety table and scurried from their presence, slamming the book-covered door behind him.
Snape poured out three glasses of blood-red wine and handed two of them to the sisters. Narcissa murmured a word of thanks, whilst Bellatrix said nothing, but continued to glower at Snape. This did not seem to discompose him; on the contrary, he looked rather amused.
‘The Dark Lord,’ he said, raising his glass and draining it.
The sisters copied him. Snape refilled their glasses.
As Narcissa took her second drink she said in a rush, ‘Severus, I’m sorry to come here like this, but I had to see you. I think you are the only one who can help me —’
Snape held up a hand to stop her, then pointed his wand again at the concealed staircase door. There was a loud bang and a squeal, followed by the sound of Wormtail scurrying back up the stairs.
‘My apologies,’ said Snape. ‘He has lately taken to listening at doors, I don’t know what he means by it … you were saying, Narcissa?’
She took a great, shuddering breath and started again.
‘Severus, I know I ought not to be here, I have been told to say nothing to anyone, but —’
‘Then you ought to hold your tongue!’ snarled Bellatrix. ‘Particularly in present company!’
‘“Present company”?’ repeated Snape sardonically. ‘And what am I to understand by that, Bellatrix?’
‘That I don’t trust you, Snape, as you very well know!’
Narcissa let out a noise that might have been a dry sob and covered her face with her hands. Snape set his glass down upon the table and sat back again, his hands upon the arms of his chair, smiling into Bellatrix’s glowering face.
‘Narcissa, I think we ought to hear what Bellatrix is bursting to say; it will save tedious interruptions. Well, continue, Bellatrix,’ said Snape. ‘Why is it that you do not trust me?’
‘A hundred reasons!’ she said loudly, striding out from behind the sofa to slam her glass upon the table. ‘Where to start! Where were you when the Dark Lord fell? Why did you never make any attempt to find him when he vanished? What have you been doing all these years that you’ve lived in Dumbledore’s pocket? Why did you stop the Dark Lord procuring the Philosopher’s Stone? Why did you not return at once when the Dark Lord was reborn? Where were you a few weeks ago, when we battled to retrieve the prophecy for the Dark Lord? And why, Snape, is Harry Potter still alive, when you have had him at your mercy for five years?’
She paused, her chest rising and