时间：02-25 来源：转载自澎湃新闻 浏览量：1180
Harrys spirits couldn't help but lift slightly as he watched Fleur hurry back across the lawns to Madame Maxime, her silvery hair rippling in the sunlight.
"This is, in the main, fairly straightforward," Dumbledore went on. "You add a reasonable amount of gold to your account at Gringotts, and you inherit all of Sirius's personal possessions. The slightly problematic part of the legacy —"
Harry took the remaining armchair, choosing not to look at the Dursleys, who seemed stunned into silence.
He smiled at Harry, who understood that he was not being snubbed, and that he had permission to keep asking questions.
He looked around. Fleur Delacour was hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. Beyond her, far across the grounds. Harry could see Hagrid helping Madame Maxime to back two of the giant horses into their harness. The Beauxbatons carriage was about to take off.
"Migh' be," he said evasively. "Now . . . who'd like ter come an' visit the las' skrewt with me? I was jokin' - jokin'!" he added hastily, seeing the looks on their faces.
"Oh yes you did. You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him?"
"But you didn't return when he came back, you didn't fly back to him at once when you felt the Dark Mark burn —"
"I'm fine," said Harry, rubbing his ears, which felt as though they had left Privet Drive rather reluctantly. "But I think I might prefer brooms. . . ."
To the left of this paper sat another, which had been folded so that a story bearing the title ministry guarantees students' sapety was visible.
Slughorn gazed into space for a moment or two: He seemed to be thinking over Harry's words.
For a brief moment he allowed himself the impossible hope that nobody would answer him. However, a voice responded at once, a crisp, decisive voice that sounded as though it were reading a prepared statement. It was coming -- as the Prime Minister had known at the first cough -- from the froglike little man wearing a long silver wig who was depicted in a small, dirty oil painting in the far corner of the room.
"He's been left a house?" said Uncle Vernon greedily, his small eyes narrowing, but nobody answered him.
"Yes . . . well . . . very gracious ... as I say ..."
And before the Prime Minister could shout, "Now, wait just one moment!" Fudge had vanished in a shower of green sparks.
"We have the same concerns," Fudge interrupted. "The Brock-dale Bridge didn't wear out. That wasn't really a hurricane. Those murders were not the work of Muggles. And Herbert Chorley's family would be safer without him. We are currently making arrangements to have him transferred to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The move should be effected tonight."