时间：02-19 来源：转载自澎湃新闻 浏览量：9426
"Which means," said Dumbledore slowly, his eyes upon Harry's face, "that some form of Cedric must have reappeared."
"Harry! Oh Harry!"
A torrent of sound deafened and confused him; there were voices everywhere, footsteps, screams. ... He remained where he was, his face screwed up against the noise, as though it were a nightmare that would pass. . . .
At once, Voldemorts wand began to emit echoing screams of pain . . . then - Voldemort's red eyes widened with shock - a dense, smoky hand flew out of the tip of it and vanished . . . the ghost of the hand he had made Wormtail. . . more shouts of pain . . . and then something much larger began to blossom from Voldemorts wand tip, a great, grayish something, that looked as though it were made of the solidest, densest smoke. ... It was a head . . . now a chest and arms . . . the torso of Cedric Diggory.
"Him!" he snarled, staring at Sirius, whose face showed equal dislike. "What is he doing here?"
Cedric looked around just in time to hurl himself past the thing and avoid colliding with it, but in his haste, he tripped. Harry saw Cedric's wand fly out of his hand as a gigantic spider stepped into the path and began to bear down upon Cedric.
"Stupefy!" Harry yelled.
Dumbledore pulled out the chair at the desk and sat down upon it, his eyes fixed upon the unconscious Moody on the floor. Harry stared at him too. Minutes passed in silence... .
"Your parents?" said Dumbledore quietly.
"But the task's not till tonight!" said Harry, accidentally spilling scrambled eggs down his front, afraid he had mistaken the time.
He was looking at the wand Moody was pointing at him. This was a bad joke, it had to be.
"Master!" he shrieked, "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"
"You killed your father," Dumbledore said, in the same soft voice. "What did you do with the body?"
Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Harry.
He stretched his right hand out in front of him - the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward.
He was looking down into a kind of pit, an underground room, and lying on the floor some ten feet below, apparently fast asleep, thin and starved in appearance, was the real Mad-Eye Moody. His wooden leg was gone, the socket that should have held the magical eye looked empty beneath its lid, and chunks of his grizzled hair were missing. Harry stared, thunderstruck, between the sleeping Moody in the trunk and the unconscious Moody lying on the floor of the office.