"J. K. Rowling - 06 Harry Potter and The half blood Prince" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rowling J. K)

dozen cars into the watery depths of the river below. And how
dared anyone suggest that it was lack of policemen that had
resulted in those two very nasty and well-publicised murders?
Or that the government should have somehow foreseen the
freak hurricane in the West Country that had caused so much
damage to both people and property? And was it his fault that
one of his Junior Ministers, Herbert Chorley, had chosen this
week to act so peculiarly that he was now going to be spending
a lot more time with his family?

'A grim mood has gripped the country,' the opponent had
concluded, barely concealing his own broad grin.

And unfortunately, this was perfectly true. The Prime
Minister felt it himself; people really did seem more miserable
than usual. Even the weather was dismal; all this chilly
mist in the middle of July ... it wasn't right, it wasn't
normal ...
He turned over the second page of the memo, saw how
much longer it went on, and gave it up as a bad job. Stretching
his arms above his head he looked around his office
mournfully. It was a handsome room, with a fine marble fireplace
facing the long sash windows, firmly closed against the
unseasonable chill. With a slight shiver, the Prime Minister
got up and moved over to the windows, looking out at the
thin, mist that was pressing itself against the glass. It was then,
as he stood with his back to the room, that he heard a soft
cough behind him.

He froze, nose-to-nose with his own scared-looking reflection
in the dark glass. He knew that cough. He had heard it
before. He turned, very slowly, to face the empty room.

'Hello?' he said, trying to sound braver than he felt.

For a brief moment he allowed himself the impossible hope that nobody would answer him. However, a voice
responded at once, a crisp, decisive voice that sounded as

the other minister 9


though it were reading a prepared statement. It was coming as
the Prime Minister had known at the first cough -from the froglike little man wearing a long silver wig who was
depicted in a small and dirty oil-painting in the far corner of

the room.

'To the Prime Minister of Muggles. Urgent we meet. Kindly