Гарри Поттер и Дары Смерти

The Thief

           Themanatwhomhewaspointingwassuspendedupsidedowninmidair,thoughtherewerenoropesholdinghim;heswungthere,invisiblyandeerilybound,hislimbswrappedabouthim,histerrifiedface,onalevelwithHarry’s,ruddyduetothebloodthathadrushedtohishead.Hehadpure-whitehairandathick,bushybeard:atrussed-upFatherChristmas.

           "Ihaveitnot,Ihaveitnomore!Itwas,manyyearsago,stolenfromme!"

           "DonotlietoLordVoldemort,Gregorovitch.Heknows....Healwaysknows."

           Thehangingman’spupilswerewide,dilatedwithfear,andtheyseemedtoswell,biggerandbiggeruntiltheirblacknessswallowedHarrywhole

           AndnowHarrywashurryingalongadarkcorridorinstoutlittleGregorovitch’swakeasheheldalanternaloft:Gregorovitchburstintotheroomattheendofthepassageandhislanternilluminatedwhatlookedlikeaworkshop;woodshavingsandgoldgleamedintheswingingpooloflight,andthereonthewindowledgesatperched,likeagiantbird,ayoungmanwithgoldenhair.Inthesplitsecondthatthelantern’slightilluminatedhim,Harrysawthedelightuponhishandsomeface,thentheintrudershotaStunningSpellfromhiswandandjumpedneatlybackwardoutofthewindowwithacrowoflaughter.

           AndHarrywashurtlingbackoutofthosewide,tunnellikepupilsandGregorovitch’sfacewasstrickenwithterror.

           "Whowasthethief,Gregorovitch?"saidthehighcoldvoice.

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