时间：02-28 来源：转载自澎湃新闻 浏览量：2833
Harry's musings were ended by Professor Dumbledore, who stood up at the staff table. The Great Hall, which in any case had been less noisy than it usually was at the Leaving Feast, became very quiet.
"Cissy, your own sister? You wouldn't--"
Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you this Friday,
"I thought dementors guard the prisoners in Azkaban," he said cautiously.
He guessed that many of them had believed Rita Skeeter's article about how disturbed and possibly dangerous he was. Perhaps they were formulating their own theories about how Cedric had died. He found he didn't care very much. He liked it best when he was with Ron and Hermione and they were talking about other things, or else letting him sit in silence while they played chess. He felt as though all three of them had reached an understanding they didn't need to put into words; that each was waiting for some sign, some word, of what was going on outside Hogwarts - and that it was useless to speculate
Fudge fixed the Prime Minister with a rather stern look. "Of course they were," he said, "Surely you've realized what's going on?"
If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven p.m. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays.
"What are you talking about?" said Ron.
"Albus Dumbledore," said Dumbledore, when Uncle Vernon failed to effect an introduction. "We have corresponded, of course." Harry thought this an odd way of reminding Aunt Petunia that he had once sent her an exploding letter, but Aunt Petunia did not challenge the term. "And this must be your son, Dudley?"
With a second and louder pop, another hooded figure materialized.
The door opened at once. There stood Mrs. Weasley, short, plump, and wearing an old green dressing gown.
"Fred - George - wait a moment."
"It's very good already," said Ron in a strangled sort of voice. Fleur smiled at him; Hermione scowled.
Harry grunted in his sleep and his face slid down the window an inch or so, making his glasses still more lopsided, but he did not wake up. An alarm clock, repaired by Harry several years ago, ticked loudly on the sill, showing one minute to eleven. Beside it, held in place by Harry's relaxed hand, was a piece of parchment covered in thin, slanting writing. Harry had read this letter so often since its arrival three days ago that although it had been delivered in a tightly furled scroll, it now lay quite flat.