Chapter 22 StMungo's Hosptial For Magical Maladies And Injuries

Chapter 22 StMungo's Hosptial For Magical Maladies And Injuries

Harry was so relieved she was taking him seriously that he did not hesitate, but jumped out of bed at once, pulled on his dressing gown and pushed his glasses back on to his nose.

‘Weasley, you ought to come too,’ said Professor McGonagall.

They followed Professor McGonagall past the silent figures of Neville, Dean and Seamus, out of the dormitory down the spiral stairs into the common room, through the portrait hole and off along the Fat Lady's moonlit

corridor. Harry felt as though the panic inside him might spill over at any moment; he wanted to run, to yell for Dumbledore; Mr. Weasley was bleeding as they walked along so sedately and what if those fangs (Harry tried hard

not to think ‘my fangs') had been poisonous? They passed Mrs. Norris, who turned her lamplike eyes upon them and hissed faintly but Professor McGonagall said, ‘Shoo!’ Mrs. Norris slunk away into the shadows, and in a few

minutes they had reached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore s office.

‘Fizzing Whizzbee,’ said Professor McGonagall.

The gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside; the wall behind it split in two to reveal a stone staircase that was moving continually upwards like a spiral escalator. The three of them stepped on to the moving stairs; the wall

closed behind them with a thud and they were moving upwards in tight circles until they reached the highly polished oak door with the brass knocker shaped like a griffin.

Though it was now well past midnight there were voices coming from inside the room, a positive babble of them. It sounded as though Dumbledore was entertaining at least a dozen people.

Professor McGonagall rapped three times with the griffin knocker and the voices ceased abruptly as though someone had switched them all off. The door opened of its own accord and Professor McGonagall led Harry and

Ron inside.

The room was in half-darkness; the strange silver instruments standing on tables were silent and still rather than whirring and emitting puffs of smoke as they usually did; the portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses

covering the walls were all snoozing in their frames. Behind the door, a magnificent red and gold bird the size of a swan dozed on its perch with its head under its wing.

‘Oh, it's you, Professor McGonagall ... and ... ah.’

Dumbledore was sitting in a high-backed chair behind his desk; he leaned forward into the pool of candlelight illuminating the papers laid out before him. He was wearing a magnificently embroidered purple and gold dressing

gown over a snowy white nightshirt, but seemed wide-awake, his penetrating light blue eyes fixed intently upon Professor McGonagall.

‘Professor Dumbledore, Potter has had a ... well, a nightmare,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘He says ...’

‘It wasn't a nightmare,’ said Harry quickly.

Professor McGonagall looked round at Harry, frowning slightly.

‘Very well, then, Potter, you tell the Headmaster about it.’

‘I ... well, I was asleep ...’ said Harry and, even in his terror and his desperation to make Dumbledore understand, he felt slightly irritated that the Headmaster was not looking at him, but examining his own interlocked fingers. ‘

But it wasn't an ordinary dream ... it was real ... I saw it happen ...’ He took a deep breath, ‘Ron's dad—Mr. Weasley—has been attacked by a giant snake.’

The words seemed to reverberate in the air after he had said them, sounding slightly ridiculous, even comic. There was a pause in which Dumbledore leaned back and stared meditatively at the ceiling. Ron looked from Harry

to Dumbledore, white-faced and shocked.

‘How did you see this?’ Dumbledore asked quietly, still not looking at Harry.

‘Well ... I don't know,’ said Harry, rather angrily—what did it matter? ‘Inside my head, I suppose—’

‘You misunderstand me,’ said Dumbledore, still in the same calm tone. ‘I mean ... can you remember—er—where you were positioned as you watched this attack happen? Were you perhaps standing beside the victim, or else

looking down on the scene from above?’

This was such a curious question that Harry gaped at Dumbledore; it was almost as though he knew ...

‘I was the snake,’ he said. ‘I saw it all from the snake's point of view.’

Nobody else spoke for a moment, then Dumbledore, now looking at Ron who was still whey-faced, asked in a new and sharper voice, ‘Is Arthur seriously injured?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry emphatically—why were they all so slow on the uptake, did they not realise how much a person bled when fangs that long pierced their side? And why could Dumbledore not do him the courtesy of looking at

him?

But Dumbledore stood up, so quickly it made Harry jump, and addressed one of the old portraits hanging very near the ceiling. ‘Everard?’ he said sharply. ‘And you too, Dilys!’

A sallow-faced wizard with a short black fringe and an elderly witch with long silver ringlets in the frame beside him, both of whom seemed to have been in the deepest of sleeps, opened their eyes immediately.

‘You were listening?’ said Dumbledore.

The wizard nodded; the witch said, ‘Naturally.’

‘The man has red hair and glasses,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Everard, you will need to raise the alarm, make sure he is found by the right people—’
gucci outlet
burberry outlet
chanel 2.55
gucci shoes for men
cheap uggs on sale