时间：02-19 来源：转载自澎湃新闻 浏览量：4543
Yet Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet his eyes when he said that.
"He's lost his marbles," Ron muttered in Harry's ear.
"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."
"Every year she makes us a sweater," said Ron, unwrapping his own, "and mine's always maroon."
"B-but I d-d-don't --"
Harry and Hermione didn't get a chance to answer. Madam Pomfrey came over at that moment and made them leave, saying Ron needed sleep.
They didn't tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled words in languages Harry couldn't understand. Some had no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. Maybe he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn't be.
"I didn't know it was called that, Sir."
"She doesn't know about the troll."
Once the holidays had started, Ron and Harry were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. They had the dormitory to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork -- bread, English muffins, marshmallows -- and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work.
Ron couldn't resist it.
"I hate maroon," Ron moaned halfheartedly as he pulled it over his head.