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ors of the Great Hall banged open.
A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded
in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled
toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of
lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood,
shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, then began to
walk up toward the teachers' table.
A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other
step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped
heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the
ceiling. Hermione gasped.
The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and
it was a face unlike any Harry had ever seen. It looked as though
it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only
the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like,
and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed
to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large
chunk of the nose was
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