时间：2020 01-19 作者：ckcxkwi 浏览量：71596
'Nope,' said Harry.
'Oh . . . hi,' she said breathlessly. 'I didn't think anyone would be up here this early . . . I only remembered five minutes ago, it's my mum's birthday'
It was the second time in two days he had been advised to go to Dumbledore and his answer to Hermione was just the same as his answer to Ron.
I must not tell lies, Harry wrote. The cut in the back of his right hand opened and began to bleed afresh.
Harry had the distinct impression that he was not alone in concealing things at the moment.
Friday dawned sullen and sodden as the rest of the week. Though Harry automatically glanced towards the staff table when he entered the Great Hall, it was without any real hope of seeing Hagrid, and he turned his mind immediately to his more pressing problems, such as the mountainous pile of homework he had to do and the prospect of yet another detention with Umbridge.
'Sturgis Podmore?' said Ron slowly. 'He's that bloke who looks like his head's been thatched, isn't he? He's one of the Ord-
He sat quite motionless for a while, gazing into the fireplace, then, finally coming to a decision, he dipped his quill into the ink bottle once more and set it resolutely on the parchment.
'All right, all right, I won't tell him, then!' said Harry irritably. He got to his feet. 'I'm going to bed. Tell Ron for me, will you?'
Harry hesitated, but after all, Ron had been honest with him, so he told Ron the truth about the hours he had been spending in Umbridge's office.
And on it went. Again and again Harry wrote the words on the parchment in what he soon came to realise was not ink, but his own blood. And, again and again, the words were cut into the back of his hand, healed, and reappeared the next time he set quill to parchment.
His homework situation, however, was now desperate, and when he returned to the Gryffindor common room he did not, though exhausted, go to bed, but opened his books and began Snape's moonstone essay. It was half past two by the time he had finished it. He knew he had done a poor job, but there was no help for it; unless he had something to give in he would be in detention with Snape next. He then dashed off answers to the questions Professor McGonagall had set them, cobbled together something on the proper handling of Bowtruckles for Professor Grubbly-Plank, and staggered up to bed, where he fell fully clothed on top of the covers and fell asleep immediately.
He could now appreciate how hard it had been for Ron and Hermione to write him letters over the summer. How was he supposed to tell Sirius everything that had happened over the past week and pose all the questions he was burning to ask without giving potential letter-thieves a lot of information he did not want them to have?。