时间：02-20 来源：转载自澎湃新闻 浏览量：1137
Chapter 6: Draco's Detour
"Fantastic!" said Hermione, as Ron unraveled the long, flesh-
"I squeezed it and it ?it punched me!" she gasped.
"Do you remember me telling you we are practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?"
"It's been like that for a while now," said Mrs. Weasley, in an un-convincingly casual voice, "ever since You-Know-Who came back into the open. I suppose everybody's in mortal danger now. ... I don't think it can be just our family . . . but I don't know anyone else who's got a clock like this, so I can't check. Oh!"
Madam Malkin dithered for a moment on the spot, then seemed to decide to act as though nothing was happening in the hope that it wouldn't. She bent toward Malfoy, who was still glaring at Harry.
"Yeah, Zabini, because you're so talented ... at posing. . . ."
"No, of course not! So, um, did Slughorn seem like he'll be a good teacher?"
She waved her wand over her shoulder; a loaf of bread and a knife soared gracefully onto the table; as the loaf sliced itself and -=-llie soup pot dropped back onto the stove, Mrs. Weasley sat down opposite him.
"Ron, don't hit him!" said a girl's voice reproachfully.
You believe . . . like you haven't watched them all come and go, hoping you'd be next, thought Harry scathingly.
"Yes, sir," said Harry.
Wizard Wheezes, where they were forced to stop so that they could dodge undetected around a very anxious-looking Mrs. Weasley and Hagrid, who had clearly noticed their absence. Once in the shop, Harry whipped off the Invisibility Cloak, hid it in his bag, and joined in with the other two when they insisted, in answer to Mrs. Weasleys accusations, that they had been in the back room all along, and that she could not have looked properly.
"Yes, I'm sending word to the castle that I've got you or they'll worry. Come on, we'd better not dawdle."
"I think he just wanted to get out of there, Harry," said Hermione.
He thought he could hear the rustling of the trees that surrounded the lake, and the far-off hoot of an owl, but no hint of a search being made or even (he despised himself slightly for hoping it) panicked voices wondering where Harry Potter had gone. A feeling of hopelessness spread through him as he imagined the convoy of thestral-drawn carriages trundling up to the school and the muffled yells of laughter issuing from whichever carriage Malfoy was riding in, where he could be recounting his attack on Harry to Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson.