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After glancing once at this portrait, Professor McGonagall made an odd movement as though steeling herself, then rounded the desk to look at Harry, her face taut and lined.

“Harry,” she said, “I would like to know what you and Professor Dumbledore were doing this evening when you left the school.”

“I can’t tell you that, Professor,” said Harry. He had expected the question and had his answer ready. It had been here, in this very room, that Dumbledore had told him that he was to confide the contents of their lessons to nobody but Ron and Hermione.

“Harry, it might be important,” said Professor McGonagall.

“It is,” said Harry, “very, but he didn’t want me to tell anyone.”

Professor McGonagall glared at him. “Potter”—Harry registered the renewed use of his surname—“in the light of Professor Dumbledore’s death, I think you must see that the situation has changed somewhat—”

“I don’t think so,” said Harry, shrugging. “Professor Dumbledore never told me to stop following his orders if he died.”

“But—”

“There’s one thing you should know before the Ministry gets here, though. Madam Rosmerta’s under the Imperius Curse, she was helping Malfoy and the Death Eaters, that’s how the necklace and the poisoned mead—”

“Rosmerta?” said Professor McGonagall incredulously, but before she could go on, there was a knock on the door behind them and Professors Sprout, Flitwick, and Slughorn traipsed into the room, followed by Hagrid, who was still weeping copiously, his huge frame trembling with grief.

“Snape!” ejaculated Slughorn, who looked the most shaken, pale and sweating. “Snape! I taught him! I thought I knew him!”

But before any of them could respond to this, a sharp voice spoke from high on the wall: A sallow-faced wizard with a short black fringe had just walked back into his empty canvas. “Minerva, the Minister will be here within seconds, he has just Disapparated from the Ministry.”

“Thank you, Everard,” said Professor McGonagall, and she turned quickly to her teachers.

“I want to talk about what happens to Hogwarts before he gets here,” she said quickly. “Personally, I am not convinced that the school should reopen next year. The death of the headmaster at the hands of one of our colleagues is a terrible stain upon Hogwarts’s history. It is horrible.”

“I am sure Dumbledore would have wanted the school to remain open,” said Professor Sprout. “I feel that if a single pupil wants to come, then the school ought to remain open for that pupil.”

“But will we have a single pupil after this?” said Slughorn, now dabbing his sweating brow with a silken handkerchief. “Parents will want to keep their children at home and I can’t say I blame them. Personally, I don’t think we’re in more danger at Hogwarts than we are anywhere else, but you can’t expect mothers to think like that. They’ll want to keep their families together, it’s only natural.”

“I agree,” said Professor McGonagall. “And in any case, it is not true to say that Dumbledore never envisaged a situation in which Hogwarts might close. When the Chamber of Secrets reopened he considered the closure of the school—and I must say that Professor Dumbledore’s murder is more disturbing to me than the idea of Slytherin’s monster living undetected in the bowels of the castle…”

“We must consult the governors,” said Professor Flitwick in his squeaky little voice; he had a large bruise on his forehead but seemed otherwise unscathed by his collapse in Snape’s office. “We must follow the established procedures. A decision should not be made hastily.”

“Hagrid, you haven’t said anything,” said Professor McGonagall. “What are your views, ought Hogwarts to remain open?”

Hagrid, who had been weeping silently into his large, spotted handkerchief throughout this conversation, now raised puffy red eyes and croaked, “I dunno, Professor… that’s fer the Heads of House an’ the headmistress ter decide…”

“Professor Dumbledore always valued your views,” said Professor McGonagall kindly, “and so do I.”

“Well, I’m stayin,” said Hagrid, fat tears still leaking out of the corners of his eyes and trickling down into his tangled beard. “It’s me home, it’s bin me home since I was thirteen. An’ if there’s kids who wan’ me ter teach ’em, I’ll do it. But… I dunno… Hogwarts without Dumbledore…”

Читайте також:

1. A door to his left flew open and Professor McGonagall emerged from her office looking grim and slightly harassed.
2. A few people mumbled “good afternoon” in reply.
3. A hand had appeared amongst the flames, groping as though to catch hold of something; a stubby, short-fingered hand covered in ugly old-fashioned rings.
4. A practice what they learn day after day
5. Adverbs the hereafter
6. After a few minutes’ progress up the dark tunnel, a distant sound of slowly shifting rock reached Harry’s ears.
7. After a good night’s sleep, Harry felt nearly back to normal.
8. After an hour or so, Hagrid and Slughorn began making extravagant toasts: to Hogwarts, to Dumbledore, to elf-made wine, and to—
9. And as he thought this, the scar on his forehead burned so badly that he clapped his hand to it.
10. And he looked eagerly around as though hoping to see a signpost.
11. And he told them what Professor McGonagall had said. To his surprise, neither of the others looked shocked. On the contrary, they exchanged significant looks.

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