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- Джоан Роулинг
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- Гарри Поттер и Дары Смерти
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- Стр. 243/732
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Harry
pulled
out
the
Invisibility
Cloak
and
put
it
back
on
.
He
would
try
to
extricate
Hermione
on
his
own
while
Ron
was
dealing
with
the
raining
office
.
When
the
doors
opened
,
he
stepped
out
into
a
torch-lit
stone
passageway
quite
different
from
the
wood-paneled
and
carpeted
corridors
above
.
As
the
lift
rattled
away
again
,
Harry
shivered
slightly
,
looking
toward
the
distant
black
door
that
marked
the
entrance
to
the
Department
of
Mysteries
.
He
set
off
,
his
destination
not
the
black
door
,
but
the
doorway
he
remembered
on
the
left-hand
side
,
which
opened
onto
the
flight
of
stairs
down
to
the
court
chambers
.
His
mind
grappled
with
possibilities
as
he
crept
down
them
:
He
still
had
a
couple
of
Decoy
Detonators
,
but
perhaps
it
would
be
better
to
simply
knock
on
the
courtroom
door
,
enter
as
Runcorn
,
and
ask
for
a
quick
word
with
Mafalda
?
Of
course
,
he
did
not
know
whether
Runcorn
was
sufficiently
important
to
get
away
with
this
,
and
even
if
he
managed
it
,
Hermione
's
non-reappearance
might
trigger
a
search
before
they
were
clear
of
the
Ministry
...
Lost
in
thought
,
he
did
not
immediately
register
the
unnatural
chill
that
was
creeping
over
him
,
as
if
he
were
descending
into
fog
.
It
was
becoming
colder
and
colder
with
every
step
he
took
:
a
cold
that
reached
right
down
into
his
throat
and
tore
at
his
lungs
.
And
then
he
felt
that
stealing
sense
of
despair
,
of
hopelessness
,
filling
him
,
expanding
inside
him
...
Dementors
,
he
thought
.
And
as
he
reached
the
foot
of
the
stairs
and
turned
to
his
right
he
saw
a
dreadful
scene
.
The
dark
passage
outside
the
courtrooms
was
packed
with
tall
,
black-hooded
figures
,
their
faces
completely
hidden
,
their
ragged
breathing
the
only
sound
in
the
place
.
The
petrified
Muggle-borns
brought
in
for
questioning
sat
huddled
and
shivering
on
hard
wooden
benches
.
Most
of
them
were
hiding
their
faces
in
their
hands
,
perhaps
in
an
instinctive
attempt
to
shield
themselves
from
the
dementors
'
greedy
mouths
.
Some
were
accompanied
by
families
,
others
sat
alone
.
The
dementors
were
gliding
up
and
down
in
front
of
them
,
and
the
cold
,
and
the
hopelessness
,
and
the
despair
of
the
place
laid
themselves
upon
Harry
like
a
curse
...
Fight
it
,
he
told
himself
,
but
he
knew
that
he
could
not
conjure
a
Patronus
here
without
revealing
himself
instantly
.
So
he
moved
forward
as
silently
as
he
could
,
and
with
every
step
he
took
numbness
seemed
to
steal
over
his
brain
,
but
he
forced
himself
to
think
of
Hermione
and
of
Ron
,
who
needed
him
.
Moving
through
the
towering
black
figures
was
terrifying
:
The
eyeless
faces
hidden
beneath
their
hoods
turned
as
he
passed
,
and
he
felt
sure
that
they
sensed
him
,
sensed
,
perhaps
,
a
human
presence
that
still
had
some
hope
,
some
resilience
...
And
then
,
abruptly
and
shockingly
amid
the
frozen
silence
,
one
of
the
dungeon
doors
on
the
left
of
the
corridor
was
flung
open
and
screams
echoed
out
of
it
.
"
No
,
no
,
I
'm
half-blood
,
I
'm
half-blood
,
I
tell
you
!
My
father
was
a
wizard
,
he
was
,
look
him
up
,
Arkie
Alderton
,
he
's
a
well-known
broomstick
designer
,
look
him
up
,
I
tell
you
--
get
your
hands
off
me
,
get
your
hands
off
--
"
