Гарри Поттер и Дары Смерти

Godric’s Hollow

           Harrygazedatthefrontdoors,theirsnow-burdenedroofs,andtheirfrontporches,wonderingwhetherherememberedanyofthem,knowingdeepinsidethatitwasimpossible,thathehadbeenlittlemorethanayearoldwhenhehadleftthisplaceforever.Hewasnotevensurewhetherhewouldbeabletoseethecottageatall;hedidnotknowwhathappenedwhenthesubjectsofaFideliusCharmdied.Thenthelittlelanealongwhichtheywerewalkingcurvedtotheleftandtheheartofthevillage,asmallsquare,wasrevealedtothem.

           Strungallaroundwithcoloredlights,therewaswhatlookedlikeawarmemorialinthemiddle,partlyobscuredbyawindblownChristmastree.Therewereseveralshops,apostoffice,apub,andalittlechurchwhosestained-glasswindowswereglowingjewel-brightacrossthesquare.

           Thesnowherehadbecomeimpacted:Itwashardandslipperywherepeoplehadtroddenonitallday.Villagerswerecrisscrossinginfrontofthem,theirfiguresbrieflyilluminatedbystreetlamps.Theyheardasnatchoflaughterandpopmusicasthepubdooropenedandclosed;thentheyheardacarolstartupinsidethelittlechurch.

           "Harry,Ithinkit’sChristmasEve!"saidHermione.

           "Isit?"

           Hehadlosttrackofthedate;theyhadnotseenanewspaperforweeks.

           "I’msureitis,"saidHermione,hereyesuponthechurch."They...they’llbeinthere,won’tthey?Yourmumanddad?Icanseethegraveyardbehindit."

           Harryfeltathrillofsomethingthatwasbeyondexcitement,morelikefear.

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