Гарри Поттер и Орден Феникса

The Lost Prophecy

           Thisistheweaponhehasbeenseekingsoassiduouslysincehisreturn:theknowledgeofhowtodestroyyou.

           Thesunhadrisenfullynow:Dumbledore’sofficewasbathedinit.TheglasscaseinwhichtheswordofGodricGryffindorresidedgleamedwhiteandopaque,thefragmentsoftheinstrumentsHarryhadthrowntothefloorglistenedlikeraindrops,andbehindhim,thebabyFawkesmadesoftchirrupingnoisesinhisnestofashes.

           ’Theprophecy’ssmashed,’Harrysaidblankly.’IwaspullingNevilleupthosebenchesinthetheroomwherethearchwaywas,andIrippedhisrobesanditfell...

           ’ThethingthatsmashedwasmerelytherecordoftheprophecykeptbytheDepartmentofMysteries.Buttheprophecywasmadetosomebody,andthatpersonhasthemeansofrecallingitperfectly.

           ’Whoheardit?’askedHarry,thoughhethoughtheknewtheansweralready.

           ’Idid,’saidDumbledore.’Onacold,wetnightsixteenyearsago,inaroomabovethebarattheHog’sHeadinn.IhadgonetheretoseeanapplicantforthepostofDivinationteacher,thoughitwasagainstmyinclinationtoallowthesubjectofDivinationtocontinueatall.Theapplicant,however,wasthegreat-great-granddaughterofaveryfamous,verygiftedSeerandIthoughtitcommonpolitenesstomeether.Iwasdisappointed.Itseemedtomethatshehadnotatraceofthegiftherself.Itoldher,courteouslyIhope,thatIdidnotthinkshewouldbesuitableforthepost.Iturnedtoleave.

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