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时间:2020 01-24 作者:krdvuza 浏览量:17859

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Neville looked as though he would rather be anywhere in the world but here. A dull purple flush was creeping up his plump face and he was not making eye contact with any of them.

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Harry did not immediately register what she had said; one of his castles was engaged in a violent tussle with a pawn of Ron's and he was egging it on enthusiastically.

way through a whispered conversation as Harry opened the door; a I of them looked round hastily and fell silent.

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'How touching,' Snape sneered. 'But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father?'

'Nothing, Arthur,' said Sirius, who was breathing heavily as though he had just run a long distance. 'Just a friendly little chat between two old school friends.' With what looked like an enormous effort, he smiled. 'So . . . you're cured? That's great news, really great.'

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'I came on the Knight Bus,' said Hermione airily, pulling off her jacket before Harry had time to speak. 'Dumbledore told me what had happened first thing this morning, but I had to wait for term to end officially before setting off. Umbridge is already livid that you lot disappeared right under her nose, even though Dumbledore told her Mr Weasley was in St Mungo's and he'd given you all permission to visit. So . . .'

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With a sudden rush of understanding, Harry realised who the people in the end beds must be. He cast around wildly for some means of distracting the others so that Neville could leave the ward unnoticed and unquestioned, but Ron had also looked up at the sound of the name 'Longbottom', and before Harry could stop him had called out, 'Neville!'

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'Harry - get - out - of - it!' snarled Sirius, pushing him aside with his free hand.

'I did,' he said glumly. 'Dumbledore told me but I promised I wouldn't tell anyone . . . that's what Bellatrix Lestrange got sent to Azkaban for, using the Cruciatus Curse on Neville's parents until they lost their minds.'

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He reached the black door but could not open it. . . he stood gazing at it, desperate for entry . . . something he wanted with all his heart lay beyond . . . a prize beyond his dreams . . . if only his scar would stop prickling . . . then he would be able to think more clearly . . .

'I am,' he said.

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Sirius and Lupin had given Harry a set of excellent books entitled Practical Defensive Magic and its Use Against the Dark Arts, which had superb, moving colour illustrations of all the counter-jinxes and hexes it described. Harry flicked through the first volume eagerly; he could see it was going to be highly useful in his plans for the DA. Hagrid had sent a furry brown wallet that had fangs, which were presumably supposed to be an anti-theft device, but unfortunately prevented Harry putting any money in without getting his fingers ripped off. Tonks's present was a small, working model of a Firebolt, which Harry watched fly around the room, wishing he still had his full-size version; Ron had given him an enormous box of Every-Flavour Beans, Mr and Mrs Weasley the usual hand-knitted jumper and some mince pies, and Dobby a truly dreadful painting that Harry suspected had been done by the elf himself. He had just turned it upside-down to see whether it looked better that way when, with a loud crack, Fred and George Apparated at the foot of his bed.

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'Yeah?' growled Harry, his hands deep in his pockets as he watched the snow now falling thickly outside. 'All been talking about me, have you? Well, I'm getting used to it.'

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'I am in rather a hurry, Black. Unlike you, I do not have unlimited leisure time.'

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'Maybe you're taking it in turns to look, and keep missing each other,' suggested Hermione, the corners of her mouth twitching.,

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'You can put them in envelopes,' he said to Ginny, throwing the signed pictures into her lap one by one as he finished them. 'I am not forgotten, you know, no, I still receive a very great deal of fan mail . . . Gladys Gudgeon writes weekly . . . I just wish I knew why . . .' He paused, looking faintly puzzled, then beamed again and returned to his signing with renewed vigour. 'I suspect it is simply my good looks . . .';

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