时间：02-21 来源：转载自澎湃新闻 浏览量：9234
A few cauldrons away, Neville was in trouble. Neville regularly went to pieces in Potions lessons; it was his worst subject, and his great fear of Professor Snape made things ten times worse. His potion, which was supposed to be a bright, acid green, had turned --
He scowled at the dark ceiling. Did they think he couldn't look after himself? He'd escaped Lord Voldemort three times; he wasn't completely useless....
The manager pressed Unfogging the Future into Harry's hands.
Tom the innkeeper reappeared, wearing an apron over his nightshirt and bearing a tray of tea and crumpets. He placed the tray on a table between Fudge and Harry and left the parlor, closing the door behind him.
"We're witnesses," said Harry. "You said hippogriffs attack if you insult them. It's Malfoy's problem that he wasn't listening. We'll tell Dumbledore what really happened."
There was a silence. Harry leaned still closer to the door, desperate to hear more.
There were, however, things that Harry needed to buy. He went to the Apothecary to replenish his store of potions ingredients, and as his school robes were now several inches too short in the arm and leg, he visited Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions and bought new ones. Most important of all, he had to buy his new schoolbooks, which would include those for his two new subjects, Care of Magical Creatures and Divination.
"There's a light on in Hagrid's window," Harry said suddenly.
"But everyone knows that, " said Hermione in a loud whisper. Professor Trelawney stared at her.
"Farewell!" cried the knight, popping his head into a painting of some sinister-looking monks. "Farewell, my comrades-in-arms! If ever you have need of noble heart and steely sinew, call upon Sir Cadogan!"
Scabbers was looking thinner than usual, and there was a definite droop to his whiskers.
"I'll get Scabbers's stuff, I'm packed," Harry said to Ron, and he went downstairs.
Professor Trelawney was staring into the teacup, rotating it counterclockwise.
The banshee made a rasping noise and clutched her throat; her voice was gone.
"Yeah, I think I will," said Harry, making up his mind.
"I see," said Professor McGonagall, fixing Harry with her beady eyes. "Then you should know, Potter, that Sibyll Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. None of them has died yet. Seeing death omens is her favorite way of greeting a new class. If it were not for the fact that I never speak ill of my colleagues --"