时间：02-23 来源：转载自澎湃新闻 浏览量：7607
"I told you there was something wrong with that Prince person," Hermione said, evidently unable to stop herself. "And I was right, wasn't I."
"Yes, Harry, you can love," said Dumbledore, who looked as though he knew perfectly well what Harry had just refrained from saying. "Which, given everything that has happened to you, is a great and remarkable thing. You are still too young to understand how unusual you are, Harry."
"I am not sure," said Dumbledore. "Something more worrisome than blood and bodies, however." Dumbledore pushed back the sleeve of his robe over his black-ened hand, and stretched out the tips of his burned fingers toward the surface of the potion.
'Somebody in -? Who?' demanded Harry. 'Who was in there?'
"I think we must resign ourselves to the fact that they will, at some point, realize we are not Lord Voldemort. Thus far, however, we have done well. They have allowed us to raise the boat."
Dumbledore drew himself up to his full height.
'He didn't make a hobby of it -'
In silence, Dumbledore drank three gobletsful of the potion. Then, halfway through the fourth goblet, he staggered and fell for-ward against the basin. His eyes were still closed, his breathing heavy.
"I — I didn't," said Slughorn in a hushed voice.
In the dim green glow from the Mark Harry saw Dumble-dore clutching at his chest with his blackened hand.
"Bes' wiz and witchard o' their age … I never knew.. . terrible thing . . . terrible thing ..."
And then he was staring at Snape again, in the midst of this wrecked, soaked bathroom. He stared into Snape's black eyes, hoping against hope that Snape had not seen what he feared, but —
"An admirably succinct and accurate summary, yes," said Dum-bledore, bowing his head.
"The Quidditch team," said Hermione. "If Ginnyand Dean aren't speaking . . ."
'You filthy hypocrite! What about you and Lavender, thrash-ing around like a pair of eels all over the place?' demanded Ginny.
"I won't say a word, sir," said Riddle, and he left, but not before Harry had glimpsed his face, which was full of that same wild hap-piness it had worn when he had first found out that he was a wiz-ard, the sort of happiness that did not enhance his handsome features, but made them, somehow, less human. . . .;
Dumbledore did not answer. His face was twitching as though he was deeply asleep, but dreaming a horrible dream. His grip on the goblet was slackening; the potion was about to spill from it. Harry reached forward and grasped the crystal cup, holding it steady. "Professor, can you hear me?" he repeated loudly, his voice echo-ing around the cavern.。
But he understood at last what Dumbledore had been trying to tell him. It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the death and walking into the arena with your head held high. Some people, perhaps, would say that there was little to choose between the two ways, but Dumble-dore knew — and so do I, thought Harry, with a rush of fierce pride, and so did my parents — that there was all the difference in the world.。