Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

[Roland]

Между другото за мен Skins е прекрасен пример за това как да не криеш хомосексуализма от подрастващите, но и да не им го буташ в очите. Просто правиш един от героите си такъв, но не фокусираш развитието му на тази база. За останалите глупости на Шайхи не ми се говори.

[Darkling]

Няма нищо.

Добре, нали говориш за Потър? Комерсиално детско фентъзи с нула претенции за висока литература. Сериозно ли смяташ, че таргет аудиторията му се нуждаеше от идиотския ход на Роулинг (който може да се обоснове по много начини, но си остава изцепката на декадата)?

Ако беше поне малко запознат, нямаше да говориш глупости. В книгите си Роулинг от край време представя на аудиторията си ( подрастващите ) доста сериозни проблеми на съвременното и някогашното общество. Жената си е поставила за цел да възпитва ценности в читателите си. Вярвам че това "признание" е поредния урок, който тя се опитва да предаде.

[DELgado]

Поне едно е сигурно - доста добър рекламен ход се получи от едно обикновено интервю. Евала на Роулинг или там който и е имиджмейкъра. Предполагам че по-всички форуми свързани в някаква степен с фантастика или книги тече дискусия подобна на тукашната. Друг въпрос е за какво и е на Роулинг още реклама? Или просто и си е приискало след като вече е довършила поредицата си пак да стане център на внимание.

[Moridin]

Най-после прочетох и аз книгата и съм много доволен, изключая абс излишната последна глава

Препоръчвам поредицата на всеки, който не я е прочел. Минете ли първите две книжки (които може да ви се сторят твърде детски), нататък е супер увлекателно, не залита в никакви развлачвания, изобщо страхотна поредица излезе.

Само не разбрах,

Spoiler: show

какво беше това бебе????

[Alexis]

Мор, май не ти схващам въпроса...

Spoiler: show

Какво беше кое бебе?

[Moridin]

Spoiler: show

Бебето, което беше някакво бито и плачещо и Дъмбълдор казваше, че никой не може да му помогне - на гарата "в главата" на Хари, когато той "умря".

Според Рольо било душата на Ридъл, но ми се види малко... недообяснено. Защо въобще беше там, ако не обяснят straightforward какво е?

[Alexis]

Spoiler: show

Мисля, че ще се съглася със Симеон.

Специално си направих труда да препрочета главата преди да ти отговоря. Никъде в целия текст Роулинг не използва думата 'бебе', тя казва 'дете'.

Моята интерпретация че, че това е 'детето' което е възникнало като сянка на Хари, когато е бил създаден Хоркруксът. Сянката от душата на Ридъл. И тук е във формата на дете, защото реално тя не е расла, била е статична. Което е малко наивно, но доста добър елемент, ако човек се замисли.

[Moridin]

Spoiler: show

Аз нямам проблем с подобни обяснения, а с начина, по който цялото това беше поднесено - просто остана недоизяснено. Бтв предполагам ,че Роулинг сто процента е била питана за това и сигурно го е казала нейде. Иначе съм почти сигурен, че беше бебе, но не знам де..

[Alexis]

Spoiler: show

He lay facedown, listening to the silence. He was perfectly alone.
Nobody was watching. Nobody else was there. He was not perfectly
sure that he was there himself.
A long time later, or maybe no time at all, it came to him that he must exist,
must be more than disembodied thought, because he was lying, definitely lying,
on some surface. Therefore he had a sense of touch, and the thing against
which he lay existed too.
Almost as soon as he had reached this conclusion, Harry became conscious
that he was naked. Convinced as he was of his total solitude, this did not
concern him, but it did intrigue him slightly. He wondered whether, as he
could feel, he would be able to see. In opening them, he discovered that he had
eyes.
He lay in a bright mist, through it was not like mist he had ever experienced
before. His surroundings were not hidden by cloudy vapor; rather the cloudy
vapor had not yet formed into surroundings. The floor on which he lay seemed
to be white, neither warm nor cold, but simply there, a flat, blank something
on which to be.
He sat up. His body appeared unscathed. He touched his face. He was not
wearing glasses anymore.
595
596 CHAPTER 35. KING’S CROSS
Then a noise reached him through the unformed nothingness that surrounded
him: the small soft thumpings of something that flapped, flailed, and
struggled. It was a pitiful noise, yet also slight indecent. He had the uncomfortable
feeling that he was eavesdropping on something furtive, shameful.
For the first time, he wished he were clothed.
Barely had the wish formed in his head than robes appeared a short distance
away. He took them and put them on. They were soft, clean, and warm.
It was extraordinary how they had appeared just like that, the moment he had
wanted them. . . .
He stood up, looking around. Was he in some great Room of Requirement?
The longer he looked, the more there was to see. A great domed glass roof
glittered high above him in sunlight. Perhaps it was a palace. All was hushed
and still, except for those odd thumping and whimpering noises coming from
somewhere close by in the mist. . . .
Harry turned slowly on the spot, and his surroundings seemed to invent
themselves before his eyes. A wide-open space, bright and clean, a hall larger
by far than the Great Hall, with that clear domed glass ceiling. It was quite
empty. He was the only person there, except for—
He recoiled. He had spotted the thing that was making the noise. It had
the form of a small, naked child, curled on the ground, its skin raw and rough,
flayed-looking, and it lay shuddering under a seat where it had been left, unwanted,
stuffed out of sight, struggling for breath.
He was afraid of it. Small and fragile and wounded though it was, he did not
want to approach it. Nevertheless he drew slowly nearer, ready to jump back
at any moment. Soon he stood near enough to touch it, yet he could not bring
himself to do it. He felt like a coward. He ought to comfort it, but it repulsed
him.
“You cannot help.”
He spun around. Albus Dumbledore was walking toward him, sprightly and
upright, wearing sweeping robes of midnight blue.
“Harry,” He spread his arms wide, and his hands were both whole and white
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and undamaged. “You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man. Let us walk.”
Stunned, Harry followed as Dumbledore strode away from where the flayed
child lay whimpering, leading him to two seats that Harry had not previously
noticed, set some distance away under that high, sparkling ceiling. Dumbledore
sat down in one of them, and Harry fell into the other, staring at his old
headmaster’s face. Dumbledore’s long silver hair and beard, the piercingly blue
eyes behind half-moon spectacles, the crooked nose: Everything was as he had
remembered it. And yet. . .
“But you’re dead.” said Harry.
“Oh yes,” said Dumbledore matter-of-factly.
“Then . . . I’m dead too?”
“Ah,” said Dumbledore, smiling still more broadly. “That is the question,
isn’t it? On the whole, dear boy, I think not.”
They looked at each other, the old man still beaming.
“Not?” repeated Harry.
“Not,” said Dumbledore.
“But . . . ” Harry raised his hand instinctively towards the lightning scar. It
did not seem to be there. “But I should have died—I didn’t defend myself! I
meant to let him kill me!”
“And that,” said Dumbledore, “will, I think, have made all the difference.”
Happiness seemed to radiate from Dumbledore like light, like fire: Harry
had never seen the man so utterly, so palpably, content.
“Explain,” said Harry.
“But you already know,” said Dumbledore. He twiddled his thumbs together.
“I let him kill me,” said Harry. “Didn’t I?”
“You did,” said Dumbledore, nodding. “Go on!”
“So the part of his soul that was in me . . . ”
Dumbledore nodded still more enthusiastically, urging Harry onward, a
broad smile of encouragement on his face.
“. . . has it gone?”
598 CHAPTER 35. KING’S CROSS
“Oh yes!” said Dumbledore. “Yes, he destroyed it. Your soul is whole, and
completely your own, Harry.”
“But then . . . ”
Harry glanced over his shoulder to where the small, maimed creature trembled
under the chair.
“What is that, Professor?”
“Something that is beyond either of our help,” said Dumbledore.
“But if Voldemort used the Killing Curse,” Harry started again “and nobody
died for me this time—how can I be alive?”
“I think you know,” said Dumbledore. “Think back. Remember what he did,
in his ignorance, in his greed and his cruelty.”
Harry thought. He let his gaze drift over his surroundings. If this was
indeed a palace in which they sat, it was an odd one, with chairs set in little
rows and bits of railing here and there, and still, he and Dumbledore and the
stunted creature under the chair were the only beings there. Then the answer
rose to his lips easily, without effort.
“He took my blood.” said Harry.
“Precisely!” said Dumbledore. “He took your blood and rebuilt his living
body with it! Your blood in his veins, Harry, Lily’s protection inside both of you!
He tethered you to life while he lives!”
“I live . . . while he lives! But I thought . . . I thought it was the other way
round! I thought we both had to die? Or is it the same thing?”
He was distracted by the whimpering and thumping of the agonized creature
behind them and glanced back at it yet again.
“Are you sure we can’t do anything?”
“There is no help possible.”
“Then explain . . . more,” said Harry, and Dumbledore smiled.
“You were the seventh Horcrux, Harry, the Horcrux he never meant to
make. He had rendered his soul so unstable that it broke apart when he
committed those acts of unspeakable evil, the murder of your parents, the attempted
killing of a child. But what escaped from that room was even less than
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he knew. He left more than his body behind. He left part of himself latched to
you, the would-be victim who had survived.
“And his knowledge remained woefully incomplete, Harry! That which Voldemort
does not value, he takes no trouble to comprehend. Of house-elves and
children’s tales, of love, loyalty, and innocence, Voldemort knows and understands
nothing. Nothing. That they all have a power beyond his own, a power
beyond the reach of any magic, is a truth he has never grasped.
“He took your blood believing it would strengthen him. He took into his body
a tiny part of the enchantment your mother laid upon you when she died for
you. His body keeps her sacrifice alive, and while that enchantment survives,
so do you and so does Voldemort’s one last hope for himself.”
Dumbledore smiled at Harry, and Harry stared at him.
“And you knew this? You knew—all along?”
“I guessed. But my guesses have usually been good,” said Dumbledore happily,
and they sat in silence for what seemed like a long time, while the creature
behind them continued to whimper and tremble.
“There’s more,” said Harry. “There’s more to it. Why did my wand break the
wand he borrowed?”
“As to that, I cannot be sure.”
“Have a guess, then,” said Harry, and Dumbledore laughed.
“What you must understand, Harry, is that you and Lord Voldemort have
journeyed together into realms of magic hitherto unknown and unprecedented,
and no wandmaker could, I think, ever have predicted it or explained it to
Voldemort.
“Without meaning to, as you now know, Lord Voldemort doubled the bond
between you when he returned to a human form. A part of his soul was still
attached to yours, and, thinking to strengthen himself, he took a part of your
mother’s sacrifice into himself. If he could only have understood the precise
and terrible power of that sacrifice, he would not, perhaps, had dared to touch
your blood. . . . But then, if he had been able to understand, he could not be
Lord Voldemort, and might never have murdered at all.
600 CHAPTER 35. KING’S CROSS
“Having ensured this two-fold connection, having wrapped your destinies
together more securely than ever two wizards were joined in history, Voldemort
proceeded to attack you with a wand that shared a core with yours. And now
something very strange happened, as we know. The cores reacted in a way that
Lord Voldemort, who never knew that your wand was a twin of his, had never
expected.
“He was more afraid than you were that night, Harry. You had accepted,
even embraced, the possibility of death, something Lord Voldemort has never
been able to do. Your courage won, your wand overpowered his. And in doing
so, something happened between those wands, something that echoed the
relationship between their masters.
“I believe that your wand imbibed some of the power and qualities of Voldemort’s
wand that night, which is to say that it contained a little of Voldemort
himself. So your wand recognized him when he pursued you, recognized a man
who was both kin and mortal enemy, and it regurgitated some of his own magic
against him, magic much more powerful than anything Lucius’s wand had ever
performed. Your wand now contained the power of your enormous courage and
of Voldemort’s own deadly skill: What chance did that poor stick of Lucius Malfoy’s
stand?”
“But if my wand was so powerful, how come Hermione was able to break
it?” asked Harry.
“My dear boy, its remarkable effects were directed only at Voldemort, who
had tampered so ill-advisedly with the deepest laws of magic. Only toward him
was that wand abnormally powerful. Otherwise it was a wand like any other
. . . though a good one, I am sure,” Dumbledore finished kindly.
Harry sat in thought for a long time, or perhaps seconds. It was very hard
to be sure of things like time, here.
“He killed me with your wand.”
“He failed to kill you with my wand,” Dumbledore corrected Harry. “I think
we can agree you are not dead—though, of course,” he added, as if fearing he
had been discourteous, “I do not minimize your sufferings, which I am sure
601
were severe.”
“I feel great at the moment, though,” said Harry, looking down at his clean,
unblemished hands. “Where are we, exactly?”
“Well, I was going to ask you that,” said Dumbledore, looking around. “Where
would you say that we are?”
Until Dumbledore had asked, Harry had not known. Now, however, he
found that he had an answer ready to give.
“It looks,” he said slowly, “like King’s Cross station. Except a lot cleaner and
empty, and there are no trains as far as I can see.”
“King’s Cross station!” Dumbledore was chuckling immoderately. “Good
gracious, really?”
“Well, where do you think we are?” asked Harry, a little defensively.
“My dear boy, I have no idea. This is, as they say, your party.”
Harry had no idea what this meant; Dumbledore was being infuriating. He
glared at him, then remember a much more pressing question than that of
their current location.
“The Deathly Hallows,” he said, and he was glad to see that the words wiped
the smile from Dumbledore’s face.
“Ah, yes,” he said. He even looked a little worried.
“Well?”
For the first time since Harry had met Dumbledore, he looked less than an
old man, much less. He looked fleetingly like a small boy caught in wrongdoing.
“Can you forgive me?” he said. “Can you forgive me for not trusting you?
For not telling you? Harry, I only feared that you would fail as I had failed. I
only dreaded that you would make my mistakes. I crave your pardon, Harry. I
have known, for some time now, that you are the better man.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Harry, startled by Dumbledore’s tone,
by the sudden tears in his eyes.
“The Hallows, the Hallows,” murmured Dumbledore. “A desperate man’s
dream!”
“But they’re real!”
602 CHAPTER 35. KING’S CROSS
“Real, and dangerous, and a lure for fools,” said Dumbledore. “And I was
such a fool. But you know, don’t you? I have no secrets from you anymore. You
know.”
“What do I know?”
Dumbledore turned his whole body to face Harry, and tears still sparkled in
his brilliantly blue eyes.
“Master of death, Harry, master of Death! Was I better, ultimately, than
Voldemort?”
“Of course you were,” said Harry. “Of course—how can you ask that? You
never killed if you could avoid it!”
“True, true,” said Dumbledore, and he was like a child seeking reassurance.
“Yet I too sought a way to conquer death, Harry.”
“Not the way he did,” said Harry. After all his anger at Dumbledore, how
odd it was to sit here, beneath the high, vaulted ceiling, and defend Dumbledore
from himself. “Hallows, not Horcruxes.”
“Hallows,” mumbled Dumbledore, “not Horcruxes. Precisely”
There was a pause. The creature behind them whimpered, but Harry no
longer looked around.
“Grindelwald was looking for them too?” he asked.
Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment and nodded.
“It was the thing, above all, that drew us together,” he said quietly. “Two
clever, arrogant boys with a shared obsession. He wanted to come to Godric’s
Hollow, as I am sure you have guessed, because of the grave of Ignotus Peverell.
He wanted to explore the place the third brother had died.”
“So it’s true?” asked Harry. “All of it? The Peverell brothers—”
“—were the three brothers of the tale,” said Dumbledore, nodding. “Oh
yes, I think so. Whether they met Death on a lonely road . . . I think it more
likely that the Peverell brothers were simply gifted, dangerous wizards who
succeeded in creating those powerful objects. The story of them being Death’s
own Hallows seems to me the sort of legend that might have sprung up around
such creations.
603
“The Cloak, as you know now, traveled down through the ages, father to
son, mother to daughter, right down to Ignotus’s last living descendant, who
was born, as Ignotus was, in the village of Godric’s Hollow.”
Dumbledore smiled at Harry.
“Me?”
“You. You have guessed, I know, why the Cloak was in my possession on the
night your parents died. James had showed it to me just a few days previously.
It explained so much of his undetected wrong-doing at school! I could hardly
believe what I was seeing. I asked to borrow it, to examine it. I had long since
given up my dream of uniting the Hallows, but I could not resist, could not
help taking a closer look . . . It was a Cloak the likes of which I had never seen,
immensely old, perfect in every respect . . . and then your father died, and I had
two Hallows at last, all to myself!”
His tone was unbearably bitter.
“The Cloak wouldn’t have helped them survive, though,” Harry said quickly.
“Voldemort knew where my mum and dad were. The Cloak couldn’t have made
them curse-proof.”
“True,” sighed Dumbledore. “True.”
Harry waited, but Dumbledore did not speak, so he prompted him.
“So you’d given up looking for the Hallows when you saw the Cloak?”
“Oh yes,” said Dumbledore faintly. It seemed that he forced himself to meet
Harry’s eyes. “You know what happened. You know. You cannot despise me
more than I despise myself.”
“But I don’t despise you—”
“Then you should,” said Dumbledore. He drew a deep breath. “You know the
secret of my sister’s ill health, what those Muggles did, what she became. You
know how my poor father sought revenge, and paid the price, died in Azkaban.
You know how my mother gave up her own life to care for Ariana.
“I resented it, Harry.”
Dumbledore stated it baldly, coldly. He was looking now over the top of
Harry’s head, into the distance.
604 CHAPTER 35. KING’S CROSS
“I was gifted, I was brilliant. I wanted to escape. I wanted to shine. I wanted
glory.
“Do not misunderstand me,” he said, and pain crossed the face so that he
looked ancient again. “I loved them. I loved my parents, I loved my brother and
my sister, but I was selfish, Harry, more selfish than you, who are a remarkably
selfless person, could possibly imagine.
“So that, when my mother died, and I was left the responsibility of a damaged
sister and a wayward brother, I returned to my village in anger and bitterness.
Trapped and wasted, I thought! And then, of course, he came. . . .”
Dumbledore looked directly into Harry’s eyes again.
“Grindelwald. You cannot imagine how his ideas caught me, Harry, inflamed
me. Muggles forced into subservience. We wizards triumphant. Grindelwald
and I, the glorious young leaders of the revolution.
“Oh, I had a few scruples. I assuaged my conscience with empty words.
It would all be for the greater good, and any harm done would be repaid a
hundredfold in benefits for wizards. Did I know, in my heart of hearts, what
Gellert Grindelwald was? I think I did, but I closed my eyes. If the plans we
were making came to fruition, all my dreams would come true.
“And at the heart of our schemes, the Deathly Hallows! How they fascinated
him, how they fascinated both of us! The unbeatable wand, the weapon that
would lead us to power! The Resurrection Stone—to him, though I pretended
not to know it, it meant an army of Inferi! To me, I confess, it meant the return
of my parents, and the lifting of all responsibility from my shoulders.
“And the Cloak . . . somehow, we never discussed the Cloak much, Harry.
Both of us could conceal ourselves well enough without the Cloak, the true
magic of which, of course, is that it can be used to protect and shield others
as well as its owner. I thought that, if we ever found it, it might be useful in
hiding Ariana, but our interest in the Cloak was mainly that it completed the
trio, for the legend said that the man who united all three objects would then
be truly master of death, which we took to mean ‘invincible.’
“Invincible masters of death, Grindelwald and Dumbledore! Two months of
605
insanity, of cruel dreams, and neglect of the only two members of my family left
to me.
“And then . . . you know what happened. Reality returned in the form of my
rough, unlettered, and infinitely more admirable brother. I did not want to
hear the truths he shouted at me. I did not want to hear that I could not set
forth to seek Hallows with a fragile and unstable sister in tow.
“The argument became a fight. Grindelwald lost control. That which I had
always sensed in him, though I had pretended not to, now sprang into terrible
being. And Ariana . . . after all my mother’s care and caution . . . lay dead upon
the floor.”
Dumbledore gave a little gasp and began to cry in earnest. Harry reached
out and was glad to find that he could touch him: He gripped his arm tightly
and Dumbledore gradually regained control.
“Well, Grindelwald fled, as anyone but I could have predicted. He vanished,
with his plans for seizing power, and his schemes for Muggle torture, and his
dreams of the Deathly Hallows, dreams in which I had encouraged him and
helped him. He ran, while I was left to bury my sister, and learn to live with
my guilt and my terrible grief, the price of my shame.
“Years passed. There were rumors about him. They said he had procured
a wand of immense power. I, meanwhile, was offered the post of Minister of
Magic, not once, but several times. Naturally, I refused. I had learned that I
was not to be trusted with power.”
“But you’d have been better, much better, than Fudge or Scrimgeour!” burst
out Harry.
“Would I?” asked Dumbledore heavily. “I am not so sure. I had proven,
as a very young man, that power was my weakness and my temptation. It
is a curious thing, Harry, but perhaps those who are best suited to power are
those who have never sought it. Those who, like you, have leadership thrust
upon them, and take up the mantle because they must, and find to their own
surprise that they wear it well.
“I was safer at Hogwarts. I think I was a good teacher—”
606 CHAPTER 35. KING’S CROSS
“You were the best—”
“—you are very kind, Harry. But while I busied myself with the training of
young wizards, Grindelwald was raising an army. They say he feared me, and
perhaps he did, but less, I think, than I feared him.
“Oh, not death,” said Dumbledore, in answer to Harry’s questioning look.
“Not what he could do to me magically. I knew that we were evenly matched,
perhaps that I was a shade more skillful. It was the truth I feared. You see, I
never knew which of us, in that last, horrific fight, had actually cast the curse
that killed my sister. You may call me cowardly: You would be right. Harry, I
dreaded beyond all things the knowledge that it had been I who brought about
her death, not merely through my arrogance and stupidity, but that I actually
struck the blow that snuffed out her life.
“I think he knew it. I think he knew what frightened me. I delayed meeting
him until finally, it would have been too shameful to resist any longer. People
were dying and he seemed unstoppable, and I had to do what I could.
“Well, you know what happened next. I won the duel. I won the wand.”
Another silence. Harry did not ask whether Dumbledore had ever found out
who struck Ariana dead. He did not want to know, and even less did he want
Dumbledore to have to tell him. At last he knew what Dumbledore would have
seen when he looked in the Mirror of Erised, and why Dumbledore had been so
understanding of the fascination it had exercised over Harry.
They sat in silence for a long time, and the whimperings of the creature
behind them barely disturbed Harry anymore.
At last he said, “Grindelwald tried to stop Voldemort going after the wand.
He lied, you know, pretended he had never had it.”
Dumbledore nodded, looking down at his lap, tears still glittering on the
crooked nose.
“They say he showed remorse in later years, alone in his cell at Nurmengard.
I hope that it is true. I would like to think he did feel the horror and
shame of what he had done. Perhaps that lie to Voldemort was his attempt to
make amends . . . to prevent Voldemort from taking the Hallow . . . ”
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“. . . or maybe from breaking into your tomb?” suggested Harry, and Dumbledore
dabbed his eyes.
After another short pause Harry said, “You tried to use the Resurrection
Stone.”
Dumbledore nodded.
“When I discovered it, after all those years, buried in the abandoned home
of the Gaunts—the Hallow I had craved most of all, though in my youth I had
wanted it for very different reasons—I lost my head, Harry. I quite forgot that
it was now a Horcrux, that the ring was sure to carry a curse. I picked it up,
and I put it on, and for a second I imagined that I was about to see Ariana, and
my mother, and my father, and to tell them how very, very sorry I was . . .
“I was such a fool, Harry. After all those years I had learned nothing. I was
unworthy to unite the Deadly Hallows. I had proved it time and again, and
here was the final proof.”
“Why?” said Harry. “It was natural! You wanted to see them again. What’s
wrong with that?”
“Maybe a man in a million could unite the Hallows, Harry. I was fit only to
possess the meanest one of them, the least extraordinary. I was fit to own the
Elder Wand, and not to boast of it, and not to kill with it. I was permitted to
tame and to use it, because I took it, not for gain, but to save others from it.
“But the Cloak, I took out of vain curiosity, and so it could never have
worked for me as it works for you, its true owner. The stone I would have
used in an attempt to drag back those who are at peace, rather than to enable
my self-sacrifice, as you did. You are the worthy possessor of the Hallows.”
Dumbledore patted Harry’s hand, and Harry looked up at the old man and
smiled; he could not help himself. How could he remain angry with Dumbledore
now?
“Why did you have to make it so difficult?”
Dumbledore’s smile was tremulous.
“I am afraid I counted on Miss Granger to slow you up, Harry. I was afraid
that your hot head might dominate your good heart. I was scared that, if pre608
CHAPTER 35. KING’S CROSS
sented outright with the facts about those tempting objects, you might seize
the Hallows as I did, at the wrong time, for the wrong reasons. If you laid
hands on them, I wanted you to possess them safely. You are the true master
of death, because the true master does not seek to run away from Death. He
accepts that he must die, and understands that there are far, far worse things
in the living world than dying.”
“And Voldemort never knew about the Hallows?”
“I do not think so, because he did not recognize the Resurrection Stone he
turned into a Horcrux. But even if he had known about them, Harry, I doubt
that he would have been interested in any except the first. He would not think
that he needed the Cloak, and as for the stone, whom would he want to bring
back from the dead? He fears the dead. He does not love.
“But you expected him to go after the wand?”
“I have been sure that he would try, ever since your wand beat Voldemort’s
in the graveyard of Little Hangleton. At first, he was afraid that you had conquered
him by superior skill. Once he had kidnapped Ollivander, however,
he discovered the existence of the twin cores. He thought that explained everything.
Yet the borrowed wand did no better against yours! So Voldemort,
instead of asking himself what quality it was in you that had made your wand
so strong, what gift you possessed that he did not, naturally set out to find
the one wand that, they said, would beat any other. For him, the Elder Wand
has become an obsession to rival his obsession with you. He believes that the
Elder Wand removes his last weakness and makes him truly invincible. Poor
Severus. . . .”
“If you planned your death with Snape, you meant him to end up with the
Elder Wand, didn’t you?”
“I admit that was my intention,” said Dumbledore, “but it did not work as I
had intended, did it?”
“No,” said Harry. “That bit didn’t work out.”
The creature behind them jerked and moaned, and Harry and Dumbledore
sat without talking for the longest time yet. The realization of what would
609
happen next settled gradually over Harry in the long minutes, like softly falling
snow.
“I’ve got to go back, haven’t I?”
“That is up to you.”
“I’ve got a choice?”
“Oh yes.” Dumbledore smiled at him. “We are in King’s Cross, you say?
I think that if you decided not to go back, you would be able to . . . let’s say
. . . board a train.”
“And where would it take me?”
“On,” said Dumbledore simply.
Silence again.
“Voldemort’s got the Elder Wand.”
“True. Voldemort has the Elder Wand.”
“But you want me to go back?”
“I think,” said Dumbledore, ”that if you choose to return, there is a chance
that he may be finished for good. I cannot promise it. But I know this, Harry,
that you have less to fear from returning here than he does.”
Harry glanced again at the raw-looking thing that trembled and choked in
the shadow beneath the distant chair.
“Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and above all, those who
live without love. By returning, you may ensure that fewer souls are maimed,
fewer families are torn apart. If that seems to you a worthy goal, then we say
good-bye for the present.”
Harry nodded and sighed. Leaving this place would not be nearly as hard
as walking into the forest had been, but it was warm and light and peaceful
here, and he knew that he was heading back to pain and the fear of more loss.
He stood up, and Dumbledore did the same, and they looked for a long moment
into each other’s faces.
“Tell me one last thing,” said Harry. “Is this real? Or has this been happening
inside my head?”
Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry’s
610 CHAPTER 35. KING’S CROSS
ears even though the bright white mist was descending again, obscuring his
figure.
“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should
that mean that it is not real?”

Използвай Ctrl+F и виж, че думата я няма в цялата глава. Сори за ужасния формат.

Иначе не съм се ровила по темата, може да го направя и да открия някое интервю, в което Роулинг коментира този момент.

[Roland]

Начи, когато един разговор е за между двама души, по-идейно е да се води на кю или ЛС. Шест поста в спойлер-тагове са биг ноу-ноу, плс.

[Moridin]

Дискусията е хапсолутно он-топик и секи който иска може да се включи. В спойлер тагове е щото е спойлерска, доста други дискусии е имало които имамт моменти на диалог по ред причини. В случая въпросът може да интересува и други хора, етц, етц

[One.Boy.Army]

На мен лично последната книга ми хареса най-много от всички. 'Aри Потър винаги е бил гузно удоволствие, защото, осъзнавайки колко детска и, поне според мен, изпразнена от съдържание книга е, пак единствената ever, която буквално не съм можел да спра да чета. Което си е признание, де

Spoiler: show

Между другото щеше да е толкова гениално, ако се беше оказало, че малка част от душата на Дъмбълдор се е запазила във фалшивия locket (сори, така и не прочетох книгата на български, не знам точно как са го превели) при убииството му и накрая оживяваше. I kinda miss the guy

[Alexis]

One.Boy.Army, първо, моля те пиши с нормален шрифт, че ние, които носим очила не искаме да си скапваме зрението допълнително.

Иначе, книгата не е съвсем изпразнена от съдържание. Просто е съдържание, подходящо за целевата аудитория, която все пак е тийнс.

Spoiler: show

Ако Дъмбълс беше оцелял, щеше да е много бозаво. И тъпо, щеше тотално да се ебава с финала на 6-та книга и смисъла му.

[armageddon]

Бе тя 7ма си е бозава as it is.
Виж след като вече знаех голямата новина която милата авторка наскоро съобщи и четох книгата, някои сцени ми бяха особено забавни.

[shayhiri]

Дългото чакане най-после свърши. От няколко минути на родния пазар вече е и най-чаканата и най-велика книга на всички времена - "ХАРИ ПОТЪР И ДАРОВЕТЕ НА СМЪРТТА".
Загадъчен снич, множество съмнителни истини и едно тежко обещание - това е всичко, което професор Дъмбълдор завещава на Хари Потър.
Приел за свой дълг да изпълни волята на своя учител, сега той ще трябва да намери и унищожи хоркруксите. Издирването им обаче се оказва изключително трудно - Лорд Волдемор вече има власт в Министерството на магията и в Хогуортс, а всичките му верни смъртожадни и диментори са по следите на Хари. Заедно с Рон и Хърмаяни, момчето се впуска в най-голямото си приключение досега. Защото магическия свят вече не е същият... Никой не е в безопасност... Нищо не е сигурно...
Битката, която всъщност започва преди 6 години, е вече във финалната си фаза. Ти-знаеш-кой е решен на всяка цена да елиминира най-могъщия си враг и да отстрани Хари завинаги. Воден от желанието си да го изпревари, Хари тръгва по следите на мистериозните Дарове на Смъртта и открива, че миналото му е по-близко до него, отколкото някога си е представял. И неговите тайни ще бъдат разкрити - по-ужасяващи и от най-страшните представи за тях. И ще породят нови въпроси, чиито отговор Хари ще трябва да разкрие сам.
Как всъщност са загинали родителите му, дали Дъмбълдор е този, за когото са го мислили, има ли нещо вярно в легендата за Даровете на Смъртта...
По време на дългото и изтощително пътуване в търсене на истината, Хари ще трябва да порасне и да се приготви за финалната битка с Лорд Волдемор за спасяването на магьосническия свят и всичко, което има смисъл за него. Ще преоткрие приятелството, ще загуби много от хората, които истински обича и ще разбере, че няма връщане назад, когато си поел по правилния път.
И накрая ще научи, че безценни са не даровете, които носят безсмъртие, а тези, които осмислят живота - като страданието, приятелството и любовта.
Издава "Егмонт България"

Рол (и другите чели), за Бога, има ли изобщо нещо вярно в горните излияния или са евтин наизустен хайп? Ако има - кое точно?

Ще съм благодарен за отговори, щото като прочетеш нещо такова по адрес на няколко юбербоклука, после дори да попаднеш на книга, която наистина заслужава такова окачествяване, описанието й ще те отблъсне на основа минал опит. Много гадно.

Спойлете на воля (ако изобщо има нещо за спойлене), Потър е последното, което бих чел.