Гарри Поттер и Орден Феникса

The Lost Prophecy

           therewasaterriblehollowinsidehimhedidnotwanttofeelorexamine,adarkholewhereSiriushadbeen,whereSiriushadvanished;hedidnotwanttohavetobealonewiththatgreat,silentspace,hecouldnotstandit

           Apicturebehindhimgaveaparticularlyloudgruntingsnore,andacoolvoicesaid,’Ah...HarryPotter...

           PhineasNigellusgavealongyawn,stretchinghisarmsashesurveyedHarryoutofshrewd,narroweyes.

           ’Andwhatbringsyouhereintheearlyhoursofthemorning?’saidPhineaseventually.’ThisofficeissupposedtobebarredtoallbuttherightfulHeadmaster.OrhasDumbledoresentyouhere?Oh,don’ttellme...Hegaveanothershudderingyawn.’Anothermessageformyworthlessgreat-great-grandson?’

           Harrycouldnotspeak.PhineasNigellusdidnotknowthatSiriuswasdead,butHarrycouldnottellhim.Tosayitaloudwouldbetomakeitfinal,absolute,irretrievable.

           Afewmoreoftheportraitshadstirrednow.TerrorofbeinginterrogatedmadeHarrystrideacrosstheroomandseizethedoorknob.

           Itwouldnotturn.Hewasshutin.

           ’Ihopethismeans,’saidthecorpulent,red-nosedwizardwhohungonthewallbehindtheHeadmastersdesk,’thatDumbledorewillsoonbebackamongus?’

           Harryturned.Thewizardwassurveyinghimwithgreatinterest.Harrynodded.Hetuggedagainonthedoorknobbehindhisback,butitremainedimmovable.

           ’Ohgood,’saidthewizard.’Ithasbeenverydullwithouthim,verydullindeed.

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