时间：02-17 来源：转载自澎湃新闻 浏览量：3128
Across the table, Ron was cursing fluently under his breath; his potion looked like liquid licorice. Harry glanced around. As far as he could see, no one else's potion had turned as pale as his. He felt elated, something that had certainly never happened before in this dungeon.
"Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?" asked Dumbledore.
She nodded impatiently, not taking her eyes off her potion, which was still deep purple, though according to the book ought to be turning a light shade of lilac by now.
"You did brilliantly, Ron!"
"Nice suit, sir," said Harry, before he could stop himself, but Dumbledore merely chuckled as they followed his younger self a short distance, finally passing through a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard that fronted a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings. He mounted the few steps leading to the front door and knocked once. After a moment or two, the door was opened by a scruffy girl wearing an apron.
"Don't be squeamish, squeeze it out, they're best when they're fresh!" called Professor Sprout.
On one side of him, Ron rubbed his nose in apparent embar-rassment; on the other, Hermione shuffled her feet as though quite keen to put a bit of distance between herself and Harry.
"Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room - oh yes," he said, nodding gravely at Maifoy and Nott, both of whom were smirking skeptically. "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love. ...
"Harry!" said Hermione, sounding shocked. "You can't pos-sibly —"
"You were going to ask me?" asked Ron, in a completely differ-ent voice.
"I'm sorry, sir" said Harry, emphasizing the last word as he stowed his wand inside his robes.
"Take it out," said Dumbledore.
"You understand him, I'm sure, Harry?" said Dumbledore quietly. "Yes, of course," said Harry, slightly nonplussed. "Why can't Ogden — ?"
Harry gagged on his butterbeer; he had momentarily forgotten that he owned number twelve, Grimmauld Place.
"Marvolo?" Harry repeated wonderingly.
The man standing before them had thick hair so matted with dirt it could have been any color. Several of his teeth were missing. His eyes were small and dark and stared in opposite directions. He might have looked comical, but he did not; the effect was frighten-ing, and Harry could not blame Ogden for backing away several more paces before he spoke.,