Гарри Поттер и Дары Смерти

The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore

           Thepouchwasnowtoofullofbrokenanduselessobjectstotakeanymore.Harry’shandbrushedtheoldSnitchthroughthemokeskinandforamomenthehadtofightthetemptationtopullitoutandthrowitaway.Impenetrable,unhelpful,useless,likeeverythingelseDumbledorehadleftbehind

           AndhisfuryatDumbledorebrokeoverhimnowlikelava,scorchinghiminside,wipingouteveryotherfeeling.OutofsheerdesperationtheyhadtalkedthemselvesintobelievingthatGodric’sHollowheldanswers,convincedthemselvesthattheyweresupposedtogoback,thatitwasallpartofsomesecretpathlaidoutforthembyDumbledore;buttherewasnomap,noplan.Dumbledorehadleftthemtogropeinthedarkness,towrestlewithunknownandundreamed-ofterrors,aloneandunaided:Nothingwasexplained,nothingwasgivenfreely,theyhadnosword,andnow,Harryhadnowand.Andhehaddroppedthephotographofthethief,anditwouldsurelybeeasynowforVoldemorttofindoutwhohewas....Voldemorthadalltheinformationnow....

           "Harry?"

           Hermionelookedfrightenedthathemightcurseherwithherownwand.Herfacestreakedwithtears,shecroucheddownbesidehim,twocupsofteatremblinginherhandsandsomethingbulkyunderherarm.

           "Thanks,"hesaid,takingoneofthecups.

           "DoyoumindifItalktoyou?"

           "No,"hesaidbecausehedidnotwanttohurtherfeelings.

           "Harry,youwantedtoknowwhothatmaninthepicturewas.Well...I’vegotthebook."

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