Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J. K. Rowling [155]
The door downstairs crashed open.
“Didn’t I tell you there was no need to hurry, Travers?” said a rough voice. “Didn’t I tell you this nutter was just raving as usual?”
There was a bang and a scream of pain from Xenophilius.
“No … no … upstairs … Potter!”
“I told you last week, Lovegood, we weren’t coming back for anything less than some solid information! Remember last week? When you wanted to swap your daughter for that stupid bleeding headdress? And the week before” — another bang, another squeal — “when you thought we’d give her back if you offered us proof there are Crumple” — bang — “Headed” — bang — “Snorkacks?”
“No — no — I beg you!” sobbed Xenophilius. “It really is Potter! Really!”
“And now it turns out you only called us here to try and blow us up!” roared the Death Eater, and there was a volley of bangs interspersed with squeals of agony from Xenophilius.
“The place looks like it’s about to fall in, Selwyn,” said a cool second voice, echoing up the mangled staircase. “The stairs are completely blocked. Could try clearing it? Might bring the place down.”
“You lying piece of filth,” shouted the wizard named Selwyn. “You’ve never seen Potter in your life, have you? Thought you’d lure us here to kill us, did you? And you think you’ll get your girl back like this?”
“I swear … I swear … Potter’s upstairs!”
“Homenum revelio,” said the voice at the foot of the stairs.
Harry heard Hermione gasp, and he had the odd sensation that something was swooping low over him, immersing his body in its shadow.
“There’s someone up there all right, Selwyn,” said the second man sharply.
“It’s Potter, I tell you, it’s Potter!” sobbed Xenophilius. “Please … please … give me Luna, just let me have Luna. …”
“You can have your little girl, Lovegood,” said Selwyn, “if you get up those stairs and bring me down Harry Potter. But if this is a plot, if it’s a trick, if you’ve got an accomplice waiting up there to ambush us, we’ll see if we can spare a bit of your daughter for you to bury.”
Xenophilius gave a wail of fear and despair. There were scurryings and scrapings: Xenophilius was trying to get through the debris on the stairs.
“Come on,” Harry whispered, “we’ve got to get out of here.”
He started to dig himself out under cover of all the noise Xenophilius was making on the staircase. Ron was buried deepest: Harry and Hermione climbed, as quietly as they could, over all the wreckage to where he lay, trying to prise a heavy chest of drawers off his legs. While Xenophilius’s banging and scraping drew nearer and nearer, Hermione managed to free Ron with the use of a Hover Charm.
“All right,” breathed Hermione, as the broken printing press blocking the top of the stairs began to tremble; Xenophilius was feet away from them. She was still white with dust. “Do you trust me, Harry?”
Harry nodded.
“Okay then,” Hermione whispered, “give me the Invisibility Cloak. Ron, you’re going to put it on.”
“Me? But Harry —”
“Please, Ron! Harry, hold on tight to my hand, Ron, grab my shoulder.”
Harry held out his left hand. Ron vanished beneath the Cloak. The printing press blocking the stairs was vibrating: Xenophilius was trying to shift it using a Hover Charm. Harry did not know what Hermione was waiting for.
“Hold tight,” she whispered. “Hold tight … any second …”
Xenophilius’s paper-white face appeared over the top of the sideboard.
“Obliviate!” cried Hermione, pointing her wand first into his face, then at the floor beneath them. “Deprimo!”
She had blasted a hole in the sitting room floor. They fell like boulders, Harry still holding onto her hand for dear life; there was a scream from below, and he glimpsed two men trying to get out of the way as vast quantities of rubble and broken furniture rained all around them from the shattered ceiling. Hermione