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- Гарри Поттер и Дары Смерти
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It
was
like
sinking
into
an
old
nightmare
;
for
an
instant
Harry
knelt
again
beside
Dumbledore
's
body
at
the
foot
of
the
tallest
tower
at
Hogwarts
,
but
in
reality
he
was
staring
at
a
tiny
body
curled
upon
the
grass
,
pierced
by
Bellatrix
's
silver
knife
.
Harry
's
voice
was
still
saying
,
"
Dobby
...
Dobby
...
"
even
though
he
knew
that
the
elf
had
gone
where
he
could
not
call
him
back
.
After
a
minute
or
so
he
realized
that
they
had
,
after
all
,
come
to
the
right
place
,
for
here
were
Bill
and
Fleur
,
Dean
and
Luna
,
gathering
around
him
as
he
knelt
over
the
elf
.
"
Hermione
,
"
he
said
suddenly
.
"
Where
is
she
?
"
"
Ron
's
taken
her
inside
,
"
said
Bill
.
"
She
'll
be
all
right
.
"
Harry
looked
back
down
at
Dobby
.
He
stretched
out
a
hand
and
pulled
the
sharp
blade
from
the
elf
's
body
,
then
dragged
off
his
own
jacket
and
covered
Dobby
in
it
like
a
blanket
.
The
sea
was
rushing
against
the
rock
somewhere
nearby
;
Harry
listened
to
it
while
the
others
talked
,
discussing
matters
in
which
he
could
take
no
interest
,
making
decisions
,
Dean
carried
the
injured
Griphook
into
the
house
,
Fleur
hurrying
with
them
;
now
Bill
was
really
knowing
what
he
was
saying
.
As
he
did
so
,
he
gazed
down
at
the
tiny
body
,
and
his
scar
prickled
and
burned
,
and
in
one
part
of
his
mind
,
viewed
as
if
from
the
wrong
end
of
a
long
telescope
,
he
saw
Voldemort
punishing
those
they
had
left
behind
at
the
Malfoy
Manor
.
His
rage
was
dreadful
and
yet
Harry
's
grief
for
Dobby
seemed
to
diminish
it
,
so
that
it
became
a
distant
storm
that
reached
Harry
from
across
a
vast
,
silent
ocean
.
"
I
want
to
do
it
properly
,
"
were
the
first
words
of
which
Harry
was
fully
conscious
of
speaking
.
"
Not
by
magic
.
Have
you
got
a
spade
?
"
And
shortly
afterward
he
had
set
to
work
,
alone
,
digging
the
grave
in
the
place
that
Bill
had
shown
him
at
the
end
of
the
garden
,
between
bushes
.
He
dug
with
a
kind
of
fury
,
relishing
the
manual
work
,
glorying
in
the
non-magic
of
it
,
for
every
drop
of
his
sweat
and
every
blister
felt
like
a
gift
to
the
elf
who
had
saved
their
lives
.
His
scar
burned
,
but
he
was
master
of
the
pain
,
he
felt
it
,
yet
was
apart
from
it
.
He
had
learned
control
at
last
,
learned
to
shut
his
mind
to
Voldemort
,
the
very
thing
Dumbledore
had
wanted
him
to
learn
from
Snape
.
Just
as
Voldemort
had
not
been
able
to
possess
Harry
while
Harry
was
consumed
with
grief
for
Sirius
,
so
his
thoughts
could
not
penetrate
Harry
now
while
he
mourned
Dobby
.
Grief
,
it
seemed
,
drove
Voldemort
out
...
though
Dumbledore
,
of
course
,
would
have
said
that
it
was
love
.
On
Harry
dug
,
deeper
and
deeper
into
the
hard
,
cold
earth
,
subsuming
his
grief
in
sweat
,
denying
the
pain
in
his
scar
.
In
the
darkness
,
with
nothing
but
the
sound
of
his
own
breath
and
the
rushing
sea
to
keep
him
company
,
the
things
that
had
happened
at
the
Malfoys
'
returned
to
him
,
the
things
he
had
heard
came
back
to
him
,
and
understanding
blossomed
in
the
darkness
...
The
steady
rhythm
of
his
arms
beat
time
with
his
thoughts
.
Hallows
...
Horcruxes
...
Hallows
...
Horcruxes
...
yet
no
longer
burned
with
that
weird
,
obsessive
longing
.
Loss
and
fear
had
snuffed
it
out
.
He
felt
as
though
he
had
been
slapped
awake
again
.
Deeper
and
deeper
Harry
sank
into
the
grave
,
and
he
knew
where
Voldemort
had
been
tonight
,
and
whom
he
had
killed
in
the
topmost
cell
of
Nurmengard
,
and
why
...
And
he
thought
of
Wormtail
,
dead
because
of
one
small
unconscious
impulse
of
mercy
...
Dumbledore
had
foreseen
that
...
How
much
more
had
he
known
?
