时间:02-20 来源:转载自澎湃新闻 浏览量:1774



'But there were times,' Dumbledore went on, 'weren't there, when you were not sure you would succeed in mending the Cabinet? And you resorted to crude and badly judged meas-ures such as sending me a cursed necklace that was bound to reach the wrong hands ... poisoning mead there was only the slightest chance I might drink ...'

"No, Vernon," hiccuped Aunt Marge, holding up a hand, her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry's. "Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash (drunk, I expect) --"

There was a bang and shouts from below, louder than ever; it sounded as though people were fighting on the actual spiral staircase that led to where Dumbledore, Malfoy and Harry stood, and Harry's heart thundered unheard in his invisible chest ... someone was dead ... Malfoy had stepped over the body ... but who was it?

'Enchanted coins,' said Malfoy, as though he was compelled to keep talking, though his wand hand was shaking badly. 'I had one and she had the other and 1 could send her messages -'

'No, I cannot say that I am ...'


"And in that case," said Harry, "you shouldn't send the students home until the jfuneral's over. They'll want to say -"

"But will we have a single pupil after this?" said Slughorn, now dabbing his sweating brow with a silken handkerchief. "Parents will want to keep their children at home and I can't say I blame them. Personally, I don't think we're in more danger at Hogwarts than we are anywhere else, but you can't expect mothers to think like that. They'll want to keep their families together, it's only natural."

"Kill me then," panted Harry, who felt no fear at all, but only rage and contempt. "Kill me like you killed him, you coward -"

"There was a big black thing," said Harry, pointing uncertainly into the gap. "Like a dog... but massive..."

The last word caught in his throat, but Professor Sprout completed the sentence for him. "Good-bye."


Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny filed into seats at the end of a row beside the lake. People were whispering to each other; it sounded like a breeze in the grass, but the birdsong was louder by far. The crowd continued to swell; with a great rush of affection for both of them, Harry saw Neville being helped into a seat by Luna. They alone of all the DA had responded to Hermione's summons the night that Dumbledore had died, and Harry knew why: they were the ones who had missed the DA most ... probably the ones who had checked their coins regularly in the hope that there would be another meeting ...

'Do it,' said the stranger standing nearest to Harry, a big, rangy man with matted grey hair and whiskers, whose black Death Eater's robes looked uncomfortably tight. He had a voice like none that Harry had ever heard: a rasping bark of a voice. Harry could smell a powerful mixture of dirt, sweat and, unmistakeably, of blood coming from him. His filthy hands had long yellowish nails.

It was one o'clock in the morning. Harry's stomach gave a funny jolt. He had been thirteen years old, without realizing it, for a whole hour.

"You may," said Professor McGonagall. "And quickly."

"Seconded," barked Professor Sprout. ]


But at that moment, there were renewed sounds of scuffling from below and a voice shouted, 'They've blocked the stairs - Reducto! REDUCTO!'


"Wow, Hermione!" Harry whispered, unzipping the case to look inside.


"Well, yes, I'm sure," said Mrs. Weasley, "but I thought perhaps - given how - how he -"


Hagrid fell silent, the thought apparently too horrible to express aloud. Harry walked alongside him, feeling the aches and pains in his face and his legs where the various hexes of the last half hour had hit him, though in an oddly detached way, as though somebody near him was suffering them. What was real and inescapable was the awful pressing feeling in his chest. . . .,


Harry finished writing about Wendelin the Weird and paused to listen again. The silence in the dark house was broken only by the distant, grunting snores of his enormous cousin, Dudley. It must be very late, Harry thought. His eyes were itching with tiredness. Perhaps he'd finish this essay tomorrow night....;