九霄寒夜暖姑娘洗衣服Harry could have kicked him. Then he saw, to his astonishment, that Dumbledore was smiling gently, too.

He patted me on the head; but somehow, I didn’t like him or his

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He and Hermione paused, gasping for breath, edging forward. Both raised their wands to see what lay beyond.
Harry Potter was snoring loudly. He had been sitting in a chair beside his bedroom window for the best part of four hours, staring out at the darkening street, and had finally fallen asleep with one side of his face pressed against the cold win-dowpane, his glasses askew and his mouth wide open. The misty fug his breath had left on the window sparkled in the orange glare of the streetlamp outside, and the artificial light drained his face of all color, so that he looked ghostly beneath his shock of untidy black hair.