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Also　by　J。K。　Rowling
Harry　Potter　and　the　Philosopher’s　Stone

Harry　Potter　and　the　Chamber　of　Secrets

Harry　Potter　and　the　Prisoner　of　Azkaban

Harry　Potter　and　the　Goblet　of　Fire

Harry　Potter　and　the　Order　of　the　Phoenix

Harry　Potter　and　the　Half…Blood　Prince

Harry　Potter　and　the　Deathly　Hallows

（in　Latin）

Harry　Potter　and　the　Philosopher’s　Stone

Harry　Potter　and　the　Chamber　of　Secrets

（in　Welsh；　Ancient　Greek　and　Irish）

Harry　Potter　and　the　Philosopher’s　Stone

Fantastic　Beasts　and　Where　to　Find　Them

Quidditch　Through　the　Ages

The　Tales　of　Beedle　the　Bard

Sunday
Barry　Fairbrother　did　not　want　to　go　out　to　dinner。　He　had　endured　a　thumping　headache　for　most　of　the　weekend　and　was　struggling　to　make　a　deadline　for　the　local　newspaper。

However；　his　wife　had　been　a　little　stiff　and　unmunicative　over　lunch；　and　Barry　deduced　that　his　anniversary　card　had　not　mitigated　the　crime　of　shutting　himself　away　in　the　study　all　morning。　It　did　not　help　that　he　had　been　writing　about　Krystal；　whom　Mary　disliked；　although　she　pretended　otherwise。

‘Mary；　I　want　to　take　you　out　to　dinner；’　he　had　lied；　to　break　the　frost。　‘Nieen　years；　kids！　Nieen　years；　and　your　mother’s　never　looked　lovelier。’

Mary　had　softened　and　smiled；　so　Barry　had　telephoned　the　golf　club；　because　it　was　nearby　and　they　were　sure　of　getting　a　table。　He　tried　to　give　his　wife　pleasure　in　little　ways；　because　he　had　e　to　realize；　after　nearly　two　decades　together；　how　often　he　disappointed　her　in　the　big　things。　It　was　never　intentional。　They　simply　had　very　different　notions　of　what　ought　to　take　up　most　space　in　life。

Barry　and　Mary’s　four　children　were　past　the　age　of　needing　a　babysitter。　They　were　watching　television　when　he　said　goodbye　to　them　for　the　last　time；　and　only　Declan；　the　youngest；　turned　to　look　at　him；　and　raised　his　hand　in　farewell。

Barry’s　headache　continued　to　thump　behind　his　ear　as　he　reversed　out　of　the　drive　and　set　off　through　the　pretty　little　town　of　Pagford；　where　they　had　lived　as　long　as　they　had　been　married。　They　drove　down　Church　Row；　the　steeply　sloping　street　where　the　most　expensive　houses　stood　in　all　their　Victorian　extravagance　and　solidity；　around　the　corner　by　the　mock…Gothic　church；　where　he　had　once　watched　his　twin　girls　perform　Joseph　and　the　Amazing　Technicolor　Dreamcoat；　and　across　the　Square；　where　they　had　a　clear　view　of　the　dark　skeleton　of　the　ruined　abbey　that　dominated　the　town’s　skyline；　set　high　on　a　hill；　melding　with　the　violet　sky。

All　Barry　could　think　of　as　he　twiddled　the　steering　wheel；　navigating　the　familiar　turns；　were　the　mistakes　he　was　sure　he　had　made；　rushing　to　finish　the　article　he　had　just　emailed　to　the　Yarvil　and　District　Gazette。　Garrulous　and　engaging　in　person；　he　found　it　difficult　to　carry　his　personality　onto　paper。

The　golf　club　lay　a　mere　four　minutes　away　from　the　Square；　a　little　beyond　the　point　where　the　town　petered　out　in　a　final　wheeze　of　old　cottages。　Barry　parked　the　people…carrier　outside　the　club　restaurant；　the　Birdie；　and　stood　for　a　moment　beside　the　car；　while　Mary　reapplied　her　lipstick。　The　cool　evening　air　was　pleasant　on　his　face。　As　he　watched　the　contours　of　the　golf　course　disintegrating　into　the　dusk；　Barry　wondered　why　he　kept　up　his　membership。　He　was　a　bad　golfer：　his　swing　was　erratic　and　his　handicap　was　high。　He　had　so　many　other　calls　on　his　time。　His　head　throbbed　worse　than　ever。

Mary　switched　off　the　mirror　light　and　closed　the　passenger　side　door。　Barry　pressed　the　auto…lock　on　the　key…ring　in　his　hand；　his　wife’s　high　heels　clacked　on　the　tarmac；　the　car’s　locking　system　beeped；　and　Barry　wondered　whether　his　nausea　might　abate　once　he　had　eaten。

Then　pain　such　as　he　had　never　experienced　sliced　through　his　brain　like　a　demolition　ball。　He　barely　noticed　the　smarting　of　his　knees　as　they　smacked　onto　the　cold　tarmac；　his　skull　was　awash　with　fire　and　blood；　the　agony　was　excruciating　beyond　endurance；　except　that　endure　it　he　must；　for　oblivion　was　still　a　minute　away。

Mary　screamed　–　and　kept　screaming。　Several　men　came　running　from　the　bar。　One　of　them　sprinted　back　inside　the　building　to　see　whether　either　of　the　club’s　retired　doctors　was　present。　A　married　couple；　acquaintances　of　Barry　and　Mary’s；　heard　the　motion　from　the　restaurant；　abandoned　their　starters　and　hurried　outside　to　see　what　they　could　do。　The　husband　called　999　on　his　mobile。

The　ambulance　had　to　e　from　the　neighbouring　city　of　Yarvil；　and　it　took　twenty…five　minutes　to　reach　them。　By　the　time　the　pulsing　blue　light　slid　over　the　scene；　Barry　was　lying　motionless　and　unresponsive　on　the　ground　in　a　pool　of　his　own　vomit；　Mary　was　crouching　beside　him；　the　knees　of　her　tights　ripped；　clutching　his　hand；　sobbing　and　whispering　his　name。
Monday
I
‘Brace　yourself；’　said　Miles　Mollison；　standing　in　the　kitchen　of　one　of　the　big　houses　in　Church　Row。

He　had　waited　until　half…past　six　in　the　morning　to　make　the　call。　It　had　been　a　bad　night；　full　of　long　stretches　of　wakefulness　punctuated　by　snatches　of　restless　sleep。　At　four　in　the　morning；　he　had　realized　that　his　wife　was　awake　too；　and　they　had　talked　quietly　for　a　while　in　the　darkness。　Even　as　they　discussed　what　they　had　been　forced　to　witness；　each　trying　to　drive　out　vague　feelings　of　fright　and　shock；　feathery　little　ripples　of　excitement　had　tickled　Miles’　insides　at　the　thought　of　delivering　the　news　to　his　father。　He　had　intended　to　wait　until　seven；　but　fear　that　somebody　else　might　beat　him　to　it　had　propelled　him　to　the　telephone　early。

‘What’s　happened？’　boomed　Howard’s　voice；　with　a　slightly　tinny　edge；　Miles　had　put　him　on　speakerphone　for　Samantha’s　benefit。　Mahogany　brown　in　her　pale　pink　dressing　gown；　she　had　taken　advantage　of　their　early　waking　to　apply　another　handful　of　Self…Sun　to　her　fading　natural　tan。　The　kitchen　was　full　of　the　mingled　smells　of　instant　coffee　and　synthetic　coconut。

‘Fairbrother’s　dead。　Collapsed　at　the　golf　club　last　night。　Sam　and　I　were　having　dinner　at　the　Birdie。’

‘Fairbrother’s　dead？’　roared　Howard。

The　inflection　implied　that　he　had　been　expecting　some　dramatic　change　in　the　status　of　Barry　Fairbrother；　but　that　even　he　had　not　anticipated　actual　death。

‘Collapsed　in　the　car　park；’　repeated　Miles。

‘Good　God；’　said　Howard。　‘He　wasn’t　much　past　forty；　was　he？　Good　God。’

Miles　and　Samantha　listened　to　Howard　breathing　like　a　blown　horse。　He　was　always　short　of　breath　in　the　mornings。

‘What　was　it？　Heart？’

‘Something　in　his　brain；　they　think。　We　went　with　Mary　to　the　hospital　and—’

But　Howard　was　not　paying　attention。　Miles　and　Samantha　heard　him　speaking　away　from　his　mouthpiece。

‘Barry　Fairbrother！　Dead！　It’s　Miles！’

‘Sam　and　I　went　in　the　ambulance；’　Miles　enunciated　clearly。　‘With　Mary　and　the　body。’

Samantha　noticed　how　Miles’　second　version　emphasized　what　you　might　call　the　more　mercial　aspect　of　the　story。　Samantha　did　not　blame　him。　Their　reward　for　enduring　the　awful　experience　was　the　right　to　tell　people　about　it。　She　did　not　think　she　would　ever　forget　it：　Mary　wailing；　Barry’s　eyes　still　half　open　above　the　muzzle…like　mask；　she　and　Miles　trying　to　read　the　paramedic’s　expression；　the　cramped　jolting；　the　dark　windows；　the　terror。

‘Good　God；’　said　Howard　for　the　third　time；　ignoring　Shirley’s　soft　background　questioning；　his　attention　all　Miles’。　‘He　just　dropped　down　dead　in　the　car　park？’

‘Yep；’　said　Miles。　‘Moment　I　saw　him　it　was　pretty　obvious　there　was　nothing　to　be　done。’

It　was　his　first　lie；　and　he　turned　his　eyes　away　from　his　wife　as　he　told　it。　She　remembered　his　big　protective　arm　around　Mary’s　shaking　shoulders：　He’ll　be　OK　…　he’ll　be　OK　…　

But　after　all；　thought　Samantha；　giving　Miles　his　due；　how　were　you　supposed　to　know　one　way　or　the　other；　when　they　were　strapping　on　masks　and　shoving　in　needles？　It　had　seemed　as　though　they　were　trying　to　save　Barry；　and　none　of　them　had　known　for　certain　that　it　was　no　good　until　the　young　doctor　had　walked　towards　Mary　at　the　hospital。　Samantha　could　still　see；　with　awful　clarity；　Mary’s　naked；　petrified　face；　and　the　expression　of　the　bespectacled；　sleek…haired　young　woman　in　the　white　coat：　posed；　yet　a　little　wary　…　they　showed　that　sort　of　thing　on　television　dramas　all　the　time；　but　when　it　actually　happened　…

‘Not　at　all；’　Miles　was　saying。　‘Gavin　was　only　playing　squash　with　him　on　Thursday。’

‘And　he　seemed　all　right　then？’

‘Oh　yeah。　Thrashed　Gavin。’

‘Good　God。　Just　goes　to　show　you；　doesn’t　it？　Just　goes　to　show。　Hang　on；　Mum　wants　a　word。’

A　clunk　and　a　clatter；　and　Shirley’s　soft　voice　came　on　the　line。

‘What　a　dreadful　shock；　Miles；’　she　said。　‘Are　you　all　right？’

Samantha　took　a　clumsy　mouthful　of　coffee；　it　trickled　from　the　corners　of　her　mouth　down　the　sides　of　her　chin；　and　she　mopped　her　face　and　chest　with　her　sleeve。　Miles　had　adopted　the　voice　he　often　used　when　speaking　to　his　mother：　deeper　than　usual；　a　take…mand　nothing…fazes…me　voice；　punchy　and　no…nonsense。　Sometimes；　especially　when　drunk；　Samantha　would　imitate　Miles　and　Shirley’s　conversations。　‘Not　to　worry；　Mummy。　Miles　here。　Your　little　soldier。’　‘Darling；　you　are　wonderful：　so　big　and　brave　and　clever。’　Once　or　twice；　lately；　Samantha　had　done　this　in　front　of　other　people；　leaving　Miles　cross　and　defensive；　though　pretending　to　laugh。　There　had　been　a　row；　last　time；　in　the　car　going　home。

‘You　went　all　the　way　to　the　hospital　with　her？’　Shirley　was　saying　from　the　speakerphone。

No；　thought　Samantha；　we　got　bored　halfway　there　and　asked　to　be　let　out。

‘Least　we　could　do。　Wish　we　could　have　done　more。’

Samantha　got　up　and　walked　over　to　the　toaster。

‘I’m　sure　Mary　was　very　grateful；’　said　Shirley。　Samantha　crashed　the　lid　of　the　bread　bin　and　rammed　four　pieces　of　bread　into　the　slots。　Miles’　voice　became　more　natural。

‘Yeah；　well；　once　the　doctors　had　told　–　confirmed　that　he　was　dead；　Mary　wanted　Colin　and　Tessa　Wall。　Sam　phoned　them；　we　waited　until　they　arrived　and　then　we　left。’

‘Well；　it　was　very　lucky　for　Mary　that　you　were　there；’　said　Shirley。　‘Dad　wants　another　word；　Miles；　I’ll　put　him　on。　Speak　later。’

‘“Speak　later；”’　Samantha　mouthed　at　the　kettle；　waggling　her　head。　Her　distorted　reflection　was　puffy　after　their　sleepless　night；　her　chestnut…brown　eyes　bloodshot。　In　her　haste　to　witness　the　telling　of　Howard；　Samantha　had　carelessly　rubbed　fake　tanning　lotion　into　the　rims。

‘Why　don’t　you　and　Sam　e　over　this　evening？’　Howard　was　booming。　‘No；　hang　on　–　Mum’s　reminded　me　we’re　playing　bridge　with　the　Bulgens。　e　over　tomorrow。　For　dinner。　’Bout　seven。’

‘Maybe；’　said　Miles；　glancing　at　Samantha。　‘I’ll　have　to　see　what　Sam’s　got　on。’

She　did　not　indicate　whether　or　not　she　wanted　to　go。　A　strange　sense　of　anti…climax　filled　the　kitchen　as　Miles　hung　up。

‘They　can’t　believe　it；’　he　said；　as　if　she　hadn’t　heard　everything。

They　ate　their　toast　and　drank　fresh　mugs　of　coffee　in　silence。　Some　of　Samantha’s　irritability　lifted　as　she　chewed。　She　remembered　how　she　had　woken　with　a　jerk　in　their　dark　bedroom　in　the　early　hours；　and　had　been　absurdly　relieved　and　grateful　to　feel　Miles　beside　her；　big　and　paunchy；　smelling　of　vetiver　and　old　sweat。　Then　she　imagined　telling　customers　at　the　shop　about　how　a　man　had　dropped　dead　in　front　of　her；　and　about　the　mercy　dash　to　hospital。　She　thought　of　ways　to　describe　various　aspects　of　the　journey；　and　of　the　climactic　scene　with　the　doctor。　The　youth　of　that　self…possessed　woman　had　made　the　whole　thing　seem　worse。　They　ought　to　give　the　job　of　breaking　the　news　to　someone　older。　Then；　with　a　further　lift　of　her　spirits；　she　recollected　that　she　had　an　appointment　with　the　Champêtre　sales　rep　tomorrow；　he　had　been　pleasantly　flirty　on　the　telephone。

‘I’d　better　get　moving；’　said　Miles；　and　he　drained　his　coffee　mug；　his　eyes　on　the　brightening　sky　beyond　the　window。　He　heaved　a　deep　sigh　and　patted　his　wife　on　her　shoulder　as　he　passed　on　the　way　to　the　dishwasher　with　his