时间：02-18 来源：转载自澎湃新闻 浏览量：1063
"Blimey, it was lucky you thought of a bezoar," said George in a low voice.
He raised his glass as though toasting Voldemort, whose face remained expressionless. Nevertheless, Harry felt the atmosphere in the room change subtly: Dumbledore's refusal to use Voldemort’s chosen name was a refusal to allow Voldemort to dictate the terms of the meeting, and Harry could tell that Voldemort took it as such.
"Use your lucky potion!"
Harry tried to fix his thoughts on his hoop again; he had already forgotten what the three Ds stood for.
"Well, what Harry said is the most useful if we're trying to tell them apart!" said Ron. "When we come face-to-face with one down a dark alley, we're going to be having a look to see if its solid, aren't we, we're not going to be asking, 'Excuse me, are you the imprint of a departed soul?'" There was a ripple of laughter, instantly quelled by the look Snape gave the class.
"Oh, she was perfect, obviously," said Ron, before Hermione could answer. "Perfect deliberation, divination, and desperation or whatever the hell it is — we all went for a quick drink in the Three Broomsticks after and you should've heard Twycross going on about her — I'll be surprised if he doesn't pop the question soon —"
Chapter 19: Elf Tails
- "I went to the hospital wing to find you," said Luna, rummaging in her bag. "But they said you'd left..."
He broke off as Neville entered the dormitory, bringing with him a strong smell of singed material, and began rum-maging in his trunk for a fresh pair of pants.
"I have returned," he said, after a little while, "later, perhaps, than Professor Dippet expected . . . but I have returned, nevertheless, to request again what he once told me I was too young to have. I have come to you to ask that you permit me to return to this castle, to teach. I think you must know that I have seen and done much since I left this place. I could show and tell your students things they can gain from no other wizard."
"All too young to Apparate just yet?" said Slughorh genially, "Not turned seventeen yet?"
"Where are we burying him?" he asked. "The forest?"
"Oh . . . right. . . Quidditch," he said, putting his wand back into the belt of his jeans and running a hand wearily through his hair. "Yeah ... he might not make it."
"But he didn't get the job, sir?"
"Was he after the Defense Against the Dark Arts job again, sir? He didn't say. ..."