Гарри Поттер и Орден Феникса

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

           Hecouldsmelldamp,dust,andasweetish,rottingsmell;theplacehadthefeelingofaderelictbuilding.Helookedoverhisshoulderandsawtheothersfilinginbehindhim,LupinandTonkscarryinghistrunkandHedwig’scage.MoodywasstandingonthetopstepreleasingtheballsoflightthePut-Outerhadstolenfromthestreetlamps;theyflewbacktotheirbulbsandthesquareglowedmomentarilywithorangelightbeforeMoodylimpedinsideandclosedthefrontdoor,sothatthedarknessinthehallbecamecomplete.

           ’Here

           HerappedHarryhardovertheheadwithhiswand;HarryfeltasthoughsomethinghotwastricklingdownhisbackthistimeandknewthattheDisillusionmentCharmmusthavelifted.

           ’Nowstaystill,everyone,whileIgiveusabitoflightinhere,’Moodywhispered.

           Theothers’hushedvoicesweregivingHarryanoddfeelingofforeboding;itwasasthoughtheyhadjustenteredthehouseofadyingperson.Heheardasofthissingnoiseandthenold-fashionedgaslampssputteredintolifeallalongthewalls,castingaflickeringinsubstantiallightoverthepeelingwallpaperandthreadbarecarpetofalong,gloomyhallway,whereacobwebbychandelierglimmeredoverheadandage-blackenedportraitshungcrookedonthewalls.Harryheardsomethingscuttlingbehindtheskirtingboard.Boththechandelierandthecandelabraonaricketytablenearbywereshapedlikeserpents.

           TherewerehurriedfootstepsandRon’smother,Mrs.Weasley,emergedfromadooratthefarendofthehall.

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