Гарри Поттер и Дары Смерти

A Place To Hide

           "Bathroom,"hemuttered,andhelefttheroomasfastashecouldwithoutrunning.

           Hebarelymadeit:Boltingthedoorbehindhimwithtremblinghands,hegraspedhispoundingheadandfelltothefloor,theninanexplosionofagony,hefelttheragethatdidnotbelongtohimpossesshissoul,sawalongroomlitonlybyfirelight,andthegreatblondDeathEateronthefloor,screamingandwrithing,andaslighterfigurestandingoverhim,wandoutstretched,whileHarryspokeinahigh,cold,mercilessvoice.

           "More,Rowle,orshallweenditandfeedyoutoNagini?LordVoldemortisnotsurethathewillforgivethistime....Youcalledmebackforthis,totellmethatHarryPotterhasescapedagain?Draco,giveRowleanothertasteofourdispleasure...Doit,orfeelmywrathyourself!"

           Alogfellinthefire:Flamesreared,theirlightdartingacrossaterrified,pointedwhitefacewithasenseofemergingfromdeepwater,Harrydrewheavingbreathsandopenedhiseyes.

           Hewasspread-eagledonthecoldblackmarblefloor,hisnoseinchesfromoneofthesilverserpenttailsthatsupportedthelargebathtub.Hesatup.Malfoy’sgaunt,petrifiedfaceseemedbrandedontheinsideofhiseyes.Harryfeltsickenedbywhathehadseen,bytheusetowhichDracowasnowbeingputbyVoldemort.

           Therewasasharpraponthedoor,andHarryjumpedasHermione’svoicerangout.

           "Harry,doyouwantyourtoothbrush?I’vegotithere."

           "Yeah,great,thanks,"hesaid,fightingtokeephisvoicecasualashestooduptoletherin.

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