时间：02-26 来源：转载自澎湃新闻 浏览量：2735
His voice quivered and broke. There was a knock on the door, and he turned to answer it, blowing his nose on his great spotted handkerchief as he did so. Slughorn hurried over the threshold, several bottles in his arms, and wearing a somber black cravat.
"Hmmm... the Dark Mark we don't know exists," said Hermi-one skeptically, rolling up Ron's dried essay before it could come to any more harm and handing it to him.
". . . and then I got the bezoar down his throat and his breathing eased up a bit, Slughorn ran for help, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey turned up, and they brought Ron up here. They reckon he'll be all right. Madam Pomfrey says he'll have to stay here a week or so ... keep taking essence of rue . . ."
"Make sure you do fly out of the sun," he told them grudgingly.
"Mr. Burke would like to make an improved offer for the goblin-made armor," said Voldemort. "Five hundred Galleons, he feels it is a more than fair —"
"No, of course I didn't," said Harry quickly. "Dobby, you can sleep, all right? But has either of you found out anything?" he has-tened to ask, before Hermione could intervene again.
"No, Harry — you've got to go and see Slughorn, remember?" said Hermione.
"I am ordered here because of them," said Voldemort quietly. "I am only a poor assistant, madam, who must do as he is told. Mr. Burke wishes me to inquire —"
"Harry, you can't be thinking of going," said Hermione. "It's such a pointless thing to get detention for."
"You won't find anything in there," said Hermione firmly, late on Sunday evening.
"Yeah, it's great," said Ron glumly, who was attempting to mop up the sodden mass of ink chat had recently been an almost com-pleted essay. Hermione pulled it toward her and began siphoning the ink off with her wand.
"What on earth is more important than this memory, Harry?" asked Hermione.
"Why?" said Harry at once, looking up into Dumbledore's face. "Why did he come back? Did you ever find out?"
"Where have you been?" demanded Ginny, as Harry sprinted into the changing rooms. The whole team was changed and ready; Coote and Peakes, the Beaters, were both hitting their clubs nervously against their legs.
"Oh," said Ron, looking rather glum. "Right. Well, good luck. Hope you hammer McLag — I mean, Smith."
"Mad to you, perhaps, but not to Voldemort," said Dumbledore. "I hope you will understand in due course exactly what those objects meant to him, Harry, but you must admit that it is not difficult to imagine that he saw the locket, at least, as rightfully his." "The locket maybe," said Harry, "but why take the cup as well?";