Гарри Поттер и Орден Феникса

St. Mungo’s Hosptial for Magical Maladies and Injuries

           AccioButterbeer!’

           Heraisedhiswandashespokeandhalfadozenbottlescameflyingtowardsthemoutofthepantry,skiddedalongthetable,scatteringthedebrisofSirius’smeal,andstoppedneatlyinfrontofthesixofthem.Theyalldrank,andforawhiletheonlysoundswerethoseofthecracklingofthekitchenfireandthesoftthudoftheirbottlesonthetable.

           Harrywasonlydrinkingtohavesomethingtodowithhishands.Hisstomachwasfullofhorriblehot,bubblingguilt.Theywouldnotbehereifitwerenotforhim;theywouldallstillbeasleepinbed.AnditwasnogoodtellinghimselfthatbyraisingthealarmhehadensuredthatMr.Weasleywasfound,becausetherewasalsotheinescapablebusinessofitbeinghewhohadattackedMr.Weasleyinthefirstplace.

           Don’tbestupid,youhaven’tgotfangs,hetoldhimself,tryingtokeepcalm,thoughthehandonhisButterbeerbottlewasshaking,youwerelyinginbed,youweren’tattackinganyone...

           Butthen,whatjusthappenedinDumbledore’soffice?heaskedhimself.IfeltlikeIwantedtoattackDumbledore,too...

           Heputthebottledownalittleharderthanhemeantto,anditsloppedoverontothetable.Noonetookanynotice.Thenaburstoffireinmidairilluminatedthedirtyplatesinfrontofthemand,astheygavecriesofshock,ascrollofparchmentfellwithathudontothetable,accompaniedbyasinglegoldenphoenixtailfeather.

           ’Fawkes!’saidSiriusatonce,snatchinguptheparchment.

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