Neville snuffled in his sleep. An owl hooted somewhere out in the night.

Harry dreamed he was back in the D.A. room. Cho was accusing him of luring her there under false pretences; she said he had promised her a hundred and fifty Chocolate Frog Cards if she showed up. Harry protested… Cho shouted, “Cedric gave me loads of Chocolate Frog Cards, look!” And she pulled out fistfuls of Cards from inside her robes and threw them into the air. Then she turned into Hermione, who said, “You did promise her, you know, Harry… I think you’d better give her something else instead… how about your Firebolt?” And Harry was protesting that he could not give Cho his Firebolt, because Umbridge had it, and anyway the whole thing was ridiculous, he’d only come to the D.A. room to put up some Christmas baubles shaped like Dobby’s head…

The dream changed…

His body felt smooth, powerful and flexible. He was gliding between shining metal bars, across dark, cold stone… he was flat against the floor, sliding along on his belly… it was dark, yet he could see objects around him shimmering in strange, vibrant colours… he was turning his head… at first glance the corridor was empty… but no… a man was sitting on the floor ahead, his chin drooping on to his chest, his outline gleaming in the dark…

Harry put out his tongue… he tasted the man’s scent on the air… he was alive but drowsy… sitting in front of a door at the end of the corridor…

Harry longed to bite the man… but he must master the impulse… he had more important work to do…

But the man was stirring… a silver cloak fell from his legs as he jumped to his feet; and Harry saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above him, saw a wand withdrawn from a belt… he had no choice… he reared high from the floor and struck once, twice, three times, plunging his fangs deeply into the man’s flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath his jaws, feeling the warm gush of blood…

The man was yelling in pain… then he fell silent… he slumped backwards against the wall… blood was splattering on to the floor…

His forehead hurt terribly… it was aching fit to burst…

“Harry! HARRY!”

He opened his eyes. Every inch of his body was covered in icy sweat; his bed covers were twisted all around him like a strait-jacket; he felt as though a white-hot poker were being applied to his forehead.

“Harry!”

Ron was standing over him looking extremely frightened. There were more figures at the foot of Harry’s bed. He clutched his head in his hands; the pain was blinding him… he rolled right over and vomited over the edge of the mattress.

“He’s really ill,” said a scared voice. “Should we call someone?”

“Harry! Harry!”

He had to tell Ron, it was very important that he tell him… taking great gulps of air, Harry pushed himself up in bed, willing himself not to throw up again, the pain half-blinding him.

“Your dad,” he panted, his chest heaving. “Your dad’s… been attacked…”

“What?” said Ron uncomprehendingly.

“Your dad! He’s been bitten, it’s serious, there was blood everywhere…”

“I’m going for help,” said the same scared voice, and Harry heard footsteps running out of the dormitory.

“Harry, mate,” said Ron uncertainly, “you… you were just dreaming…”

“No!” said Harry furiously; it was crucial that Ron understand.

“It wasn’t a dream… not an ordinary dream… I was there, I saw it… I did it…”

He could hear Seamus and Dean muttering but did not care. The pain in his forehead was subsiding slightly, though he was still sweating and shivering feverishly. He retched again and Ron leapt backwards out of the way.

“Harry, you’re not well,” he said shakily. “Neville’s gone for help.”

“I’m fine!” Harry choked, wiping his mouth on his pyjamas and shaking uncontrollably. “There’s nothing wrong with me, it’s your dad you’ve got to worry about—we need to find out where he is—he’s bleeding like mad—I was—it was a huge snake.”

He tried to get out of bed but Ron pushed him back into it; Dean and Seamus were still whispering somewhere nearby. Whether one minute passed or ten, Harry did not know; he simply sat there shaking, feeling the pain recede very slowly from his scar… then there were hurried footsteps coming up the stairs and he heard Neville’s voice again.

“Over here, Professor.”

Читайте також:

<== попередня сторінка	\|	наступна сторінка ==>
Hermione sighed and laid down her quill.	\|	Professor McGonagall came hurrying into the dormitory in her tartan dressing gown, her glasses perched lopsidedly on the bridge of her bony nose.

Не знайшли потрібну інформацію? Скористайтесь пошуком google:

Генерація сторінки за: 0.006 сек.