Гарри Поттер и Орден Феникса

St. Mungo’s Hosptial for Magical Maladies and Injuries

           ’That’snotDumbledore’swritingitmustbeamessagefromyourmotherhere

           HethrusttheletterintoGeorge’shand,whorippeditopenandreadaloud:’Dadisstillalive.IamsettingoutforSt.Mungo’snow.Staywhereyouare.IwillsendnewsassoonasIcan.Mum.

           Georgelookedaroundthetable.

           ’Stillalive...hesaidslowly.’Butthatmakesitsound...

           Hedidnotneedtofinishthesentence.ItsoundedtoHarry,too,asthoughMr.Weasleywashoveringsomewherebetweenlifeanddeath.Stillexceptionallypale,Ronstaredatthebackofhismother’sletterasthoughitmightspeakwordsofcomforttohim.FredpulledtheparchmentoutofGeorge’shandsandreaditforhimself,thenlookedupatHarry,whofelthishandshakingonhisButterbeerbottleagainandclencheditmoretightlytostopthetrembling.

           IfHarryhadeversatthroughalongernightthanthisone,hecouldnotrememberit.Siriussuggestedonce,withoutanyrealconviction,thattheyallgotobed,buttheWeasleys’looksofdisgustwereanswerenough.Theymostlysatinsilencearoundthetable,watchingthecandlewicksinkinglowerandlowerintoliquidwax,occasionallyraisingabottletotheirlips,speakingonlytocheckthetime,towonderaloudwhatwashappening,andtoreassureeachotherthatiftherewasbadnews,theywouldknowstraightaway,forMrs.WeasleymustlongsincehavearrivedatSt.Mungo’s.

           Fredfellintoadoze,hisheadlollingsidewaysontohisshoulder.

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