Day 427-Harry Potter 427-Book 3-分享朋友圈打卡!!!
It was a relief to return to the noise and bustle of the main school on Monday, where he was forced to think about other things, even if he had to endure Draco Malfoy’s taunting. Malfoy was almost beside himself with glee at Gryffindor’s defeat. He had finally taken off his bandages, and celebrated having the full use of both arms again by doing spirited imitations of Harry falling off his broom. Malfoy spent much of their next Potions class doing dementor imitations across the dungeon; Ron finally cracked and flung a large, slippery crocodile heart at Malfoy, which hit him in the face and caused Snape to take fifty points from Gryffindor.
“If Snape’s teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts again, I’m skiving off,” said Ron as they headed toward Lupin’s classroom after lunch. “Check who’s in there, Hermione.”
Hermione peered around the classroom door.
“It’s okay!”
Professor Lupin was back at work. It certainly looked as though he had been ill. His old robes were hanging more loosely on him and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes; nevertheless, he smiled at the class as they took their seats, and they burst at once into an explosion of complaints about Snape’s behavior while Lupin had been ill.
“It’s not fair, he was only filling in, why should he give us homework?”
“We don’t know anything about werewolves —”
“— two rolls of parchment!”
“Did you tell Professor Snape we haven’t covered them yet?” Lupin asked, frowning slightly.
The babble broke out again.
“Yes, but he said we were really behind —”
“— he wouldn’t listen —”
“— two rolls of parchment!”
Professor Lupin smiled at the look of indignation on every face.
“Don’t worry. I’ll speak to Professor Snape. You don’t have to do the essay.”
“Oh no,” said Hermione, looking very disappointed. “I’ve already finished it!”
They had a very enjoyable lesson. Professor Lupin had brought along a glass box containing a hinkypunk, a little one-legged creature who looked as though he were made of wisps of smoke, rather frail and harmless-looking.
“Lures travelers into bogs,” said Professor Lupin as they took notes. “You notice the lantern dangling from his hand? Hops ahead — people follow the light — then —”
The hinkypunk made a horrible squelching noise against the glass.
When the bell rang, everyone gathered up their things and headed for the door, Harry among them, but —
“Wait a moment, Harry,” Lupin called. “I’d like a word.”
Harry doubled back and watched Professor Lupin covering the hinkypunk’s box with a cloth.
“I heard about the match,” said Lupin, turning back to his desk and starting to pile books into his briefcase, “and I’m sorry about your broomstick. Is there any chance of fixing it?”
“No,” said Harry. “The tree smashed it to bits.”
Lupin sighed.
“They planted the Whomping Willow the same year that I arrived at Hogwarts. People used to play a game, trying to get near enough to touch the trunk. In the end, a boy called Davey Gudgeon nearly lost an eye, and we were forbidden to go near it. No broomstick would have a chance.”
“Did you hear about the dementors too?” said Harry with difficulty.
Lupin looked at him quickly.
“Yes, I did. I don’t think any of us have seen Professor Dumbledore that angry. They have been growing restless for some time . . . furious at his refusal to let them inside the grounds. . . . I suppose they were the reason you fell?”
“Yes,” said Harry. He hesitated, and then the question he had to ask burst from him before he could stop himself. “Why? Why do they affect me like that? Am I just — ?”
“It has nothing to do with weakness,” said Professor Lupin sharply, as though he had read Harry’s mind. “The dementors affect you worse than the others because there are horrors in your past that the others don’t have.”
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