时间：2020 01-29 作者：qnrzwak 浏览量：15369
'It's these - ouch - shoes my brother gave me - ow - they re eating my - OUCH - feet - look at them, there must be some kind of - AARGH - jinx on them and I can't - AAAAARGH - get them off.' He hopped from one foot to the other as though dancing on hot coals.
Harry scrambled to his feet and looked around; they had arrived in the gloomy basement kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The only sources of light were the fire and one guttering candle, which illuminated the remains of a solitary supper. Kreacher was disappearing through the door to the hall, looking back at them malevolently as he hitched up his loincloth; Sirius was hurrying towards them all, looking anxious. He was unshaven and still in his day clothes; there was also a slightly Mundungus-like whiff of stale drink about him.
Rashes, regurgitation, uncontrollable
'Doctors?' said Ron, looking startled. Those Muggle nutters that cut people up? Nah, they're Healers.'
And he looked eagerly around as though hoping to see a signpost.
'But Mr Weasley could be anywhere!' said Harry.
That's enough,' said Mrs Weasley crossly. 'Mad-Eye and Tonks are outside, Arthur, they want to come and see you. And you lot can wait outside,' she added to her children and Harry. 'You can come and say goodbye afterwards. Go on.'
He could only see a sliver of Sirius's face; the rest was in darkness.
'Said he'd give me another bite if I didn't shut up,' said Mr Weasley sadly. 'And that woman over there,' he indicated the only other occupied bed, which was right beside the door, 'won't tell the Healers what bit her, which makes us all think it must have been something she was handling illegally. Whatever it was took a real chunk out of her leg, very nasty smell when they take off the dressings.'
When you say you were "on duty",' Fred interrupted in a low voice, 'what were you doing?'
There was no sign of the ugly dummy or the space where she had stood. They were in what seemed to be a crowded reception area where rows of witches and wizards sat upon rickety wooden chairs, some looking perfectly normal and perusing out-of-date copies of Witch Weekly, others sporting gruesome disfigurements such as elephant trunks or extra hands sticking out of their chests. The room was scarcely less quiet than the street outside, for many of the patients were making very peculiar noises: a sweaty-faced witch in the centre of the front row, who was fanning herself vigorously with a copy of the Daily Prophet, kept letting off a high-pitched whistle as steam came pouring out of her mouth; a grubby-looking warlock in the corner clanged like a bell every time he moved and, with each clang, his head vibrated horribly so that he had to seize himself by the ears to hold it steady.,