时间：02-20 来源：转载自澎湃新闻 浏览量：3708
"I would like you to tell us," said Dumbledore softly, "how you came to be here. How did you escape from Azkaban?"
"Karkaroff?" said Harry wildly. "Where is he? Have you got him? Is he locked up?"
"Also cleared! Now working for the Ministry!"
"Your parents?" said Dumbledore quietly.
There was a soft rush of wings. Fawkes the phoenix had left his perch, flown across the office, and landed on Harry's knee.
The cup was somewhere close by, and it sounded as though Fleur was no longer in the running. He'd got this far, hadn't he? What if he actually managed to win? Fleetingly, and for the first time since he'd found himself champion, he saw again that image of himself, raising the Triwizard Cup in front of the rest of the school. . . .
"I must go downstairs," he said finally. "I must see the Diggorys. Harry - take the rest of your potion. I will see all of you later."
"What has happened?" said Dumbledore sharply, looking from Fudge to Professor McGonagall.
His hands shook as he helped Harry into a chair in front of the desk.
"No," said Moody slowly. "No, he didn't. It was I who did that."
Fudge came striding up the ward. Professors McGonagall and Snape were at his heels.
"He is simply Stunned, Winky," said Dumbledore. "Step aside, please. Severus, you have the potion?"
But Crouch took another deep breath and continued in the same flat voice.
"Now see the way that fate favors Lord Voldemort. This might have been the end of Wormtail, and of my last hope for regeneration. But Wormtail - displaying a presence of mind I would never have expected from him - convinced Bertha Jorkins to accompany him on a nighttime stroll. He overpowered her ... he brought her to me. And Bertha Jorkins, who might have ruined all, proved instead to be a gift beyond my wildest dreams ... for -with a little persuasion - she became a veritable mine of information.
Cedric watched Harry steadying himself, holding tight to the hedge.
And then, without warning, Harry's scar exploded with pain. It was agony such as he had never felt in all his life; his wand slipped from his fingers as he put his hands over his face; his knees buckled; he was on the ground and he could see nothing at all; his head was about to split open.
Harry crouched behind the headstone and knew the end had come. There was no hope ... no help to be had. And as he heard Voldemort draw nearer still, he knew one thing only, and it was beyond fear or reason: He was not going to die crouching here like a child playing hide-and-seek; he was not going to die kneeling at Voldemort s feet... he was going to die upright like his father, and he was going to die trying to defend himself, even if no defense was possible. . . .。