jkrowling.harrypotterandgf-第4部分

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e　didn't　。。。He　concentrated　hard；　frowning；　trying　to　remember。。。
　　　The　dim　picture　of　a　darkened　room　came　to　him。。。　There　had　been　a　snake　on　a　hearth　rug。。。　a　small　man　called　Peter；　nicknamed　Wormtail。。。　and　a　cold；　high　voice。。。　the　voice　of　Lord　Voldemort。　Harry　felt　as　though　an　ice　cube　had　slipped　down　into　his　stomach　at　the　very　thought。。。
　　　He　closed　his　eyes　tightly　and　tried　to　remember　what　Voldemort　had　looked　like；　but　it　was　impossible。。。　All　Harry　knew　was　that　at　the　moment　when　Voldemort's　chair　had　swung　around；　and　he；　Harry；　had　seen　what　was　sitting　in　it；　he　had　felt　a　spasm　of　horror；　which　had　awoken　him。。。　or　had　that　been　the　pain　in　his　scar？
　　　And　who　had　the　old　man　been？　For　there　had　definitely　been　an　old　man；　Harry　had　watched　him　fall　to　the　ground。　It　was　all　being　confused。　Harry　put　his　face　into　his　hands；　blocking　out　his　bedroom；　trying　to　hold　on　to　the　picture　of　that　dimly　lit　room；　but　it　was　like　trying　to　keep　water　in　his　cupped　hands；　the　details　were　now　trickling　away　as　fast　as　he　tried　to　hold　on　to　them。。。　Voldemort　and　Wormtail　had　been　talking　about　someone　they　had　killed；　though　Harry　could　not　remember　the　name。。。　and　they　had　been　plotting　to　kill　someone　else。。。　him！
　　　Harry　took　his　face　out　of　his　hands；　opened　his　eyes；　and　stared　around　his　bedroom　as　though　expecting　to　see　something　unusual　there。　As　it　happened；　there　was　an　extraordinary　number　of　unusual　things　in　this　room。　A　large　wooden　trunk　stood　open　at　the　foot　of　his　bed；　revealing　a　cauldron；　broomstick；　black　robes；　and　assorted　spellbooks。　Rolls　of　parchment　littered　that　part　of　his　desk　that　was　not　taken　up　by　the　large；　empty　cage　in　which　his　snowy　owl；　Hedwig；　usually　perched。　On　the　floor　beside　his　bed　a　book　lay　open；　Harry　had　been　reading　it　before　he　fell　asleep　last　night。　The　pictures　in　this　book　were　all　moving。　Men　in　bright　orange　robes　were　zooming　in　and　out　of　sight　on　broomsticks；　throwing　a　red　ball　to　one　another。
　　　Harry　walked　over　to　the　book；　picked　it　up；　and　watched　on　of　the　wizards　score　a　spectacular　goal　by　putting　the　ball　through　a　fifty…foot…high　hoop。　Then　he　snapped　the　book　shut。　Even　Quidditch…in　Harry's　opinion；　the　best　sport　in　the　world…couldn't　distract　him　at　the　moment。　He　placed　Flying　with　the　Cannons　on　his　bedside　table；　crossed　to　the　window；　and　drew　back　the　curtains　to　survey　the　street　below。
　　　Privet　Drive　looked　exactly　as　a　respectable　suburban　street　would　be　expected　to　look　inthe　early　hours　of　Saturday　morning。　All　the　curtains　were　closed。　As　far　as　Harry　could　see　through　the　darkness；　there　wasn't　a　living　creature　in　sight；　not　even　a　cat。
　　　And　yet。。。　and　yet。。。　Harry　went　restlessly　back　to　the　bed　and　sat　down　on　it；　running　a　finger　over　his　scar　again。　It　wasn't　the　pain　that　bothered　him；　Harry　was　no　stranger　to　pain　and　injury。　He　had　lost　all　the　bones　from　his　right　arm　once　and　had　them　painfully　regrown　in　a　night。　The　same　arm　had　been　pierced　by　a　venemous　foot…long　fang　not　long　afterward。　Only　last　year　Harry　had　fallen　fifty　feet　from　an　airborn　broomstick。　He　was　used　to　bizarre　accidents　and　injuries；　they　were　unavoidable　if　you　attended　Hogwarts　School　of　Witchcraft　and　Wizardry　and　had　a　knack　for　attracting　a　lot　of　trouble。
　　　No；　the　thing　that　was　bothering　Harry　was　the　last　time　his　scar　had　hurt　him；　it　had　been　because　Voldemort　had　been　close　by。。。　But　Voldemort　couldn't　be　here；　now。。。　The　idea　of　Voldemort　lurking　in　Privet　Drive　was　absurd；　impossible。。。
　　　Harry　listened　closely　to　the　silence　around　him。　Was　he　half　expecting　to　hear　the　creak　of　a　stair　or　the　swish　of　a　cloak？　And　then　he　jumped　slightly　as　he　heard　his　cousin　Dudley　give　a　tremendous　grunting　snore　from　the　next　room。
　　　Harry　shook　himself　mentally；　he　was　being　stupid。　There　was　no　one　in　the　house　with　him　except　Uncle　Vernon；　Aunt　Petunia；　and　Dudley；　and　they　were　plainly　still　asleep；　their　dreams　untroubled　and　painless。
　　　Asleep　was　the　way　Harry　liked　the　Dursleys　best；　it　wasn't　as　though　they　were　ever　any　help　to　him　awake。　Uncle　Vernon；　Aunt　Petunia；　and　Dudley　were　Harry's　only　living　relatives。　They　were　Muggles　who　hated　and　despised　magic　in　any　form；　which　meant　that　Harry　was　about　as　wele　in　their　house　as　dry　rot。　They　had　explained　away　Harry's　long　absences　at　Hogwarts　over　the　last　three　years　by　telling　everyone　that　he　went　to　St。　Brutus's　Secure　Center　for　Incurably　Criminal　Boys。　They　knew　perfectly　well　that；　as　an　underage　wizard；　Harry　wasn't　allowed　to　use　magic　outside　Hogwarts；　but　they　were　still　apt　to　blame　him　for　anything　that　went　wrong　about　the　house。　Harry　had　never　been　able　to　confide　in　them　or　tell　them　anything　about　his　life　in　the　wizarding　world。　The　very　idea　of　going　to　them　when　they　awoke；　and　telling　them　about　his　scar　hurting　him；　and　about　his　worries　about　Voldemort；　was　laughable。
　　　And　yet　it　was　because　of　Voldemort　that　Harry　had　e　to　live　with　the　Dursleys　in　the　first　place。　If　it　hadn't　been　for　Voldemort；　Harry　would　not　have　had　the　lightning　scar　on　his　forehead。　If　it　hadn't　been　for　Voldemort；　Harry　would　still　have　had　parents。。。
　　　Harry　had　been　a　year　old　the　night　that　Voldemort…the　most　powerful　Dark　wizard　for　a　century；　a　wizard　who　had　been　gaining　power　steadily　for　eleven　years…arrived　at　his　house　and　killed　his　father　and　mother。　Voldemort　had　then　turned　his　wand　on　Harry；　he　had　performed　the　curse　that　had　disposed　of　many　full…grown　witches　and　wizards　in　his　steady　rise　to　power…and；　incredibly；　it　had　not　worked。　Instead　of　killing　the　small　boy；　the　curse　had　rebounded　upon　Voldemort。　Harry　had　survived　with　nothing　but　a　lightning…shaped　cut　on　his　forehead；　and　Voldemort　had　been　reduced　to　something　barely　alive。　His　powers　gone；　his　life　almost　extinguished；　Voldemort　had　fled；　the　terror　in　which　the　secret　munity　of　witches　and　wizards　had　lived　for　so　long　had　lifted；　Voldemort's　followers　had　disbanded；　and　Harry　Potter　had　bee　famous。
　　　It　had　been　enough　of　a　shock　for　Harry　to　discover；　on　his　eleventh　birthday；　that　he　was　a　wizard；　it　had　been　even　more　disconcerting　to　find　out　that　everyone　in　the　hidden　wizarding　world　knew　his　name。　Harry　had　arrived　at　Hogwarts　to　find　that　heads　turned　and　whispers　followed　him　wherever　he　went。　But　he　was　used　to　it　now：　At　the　end　of　this　summer；　he　would　be　starting　his　fourth　year　at　Hogwarts；　and　Harry　was　already　counting　the　days　until　he　would　be　back　at　the　castle　again。
　　　But　there　was　still　a　fortnight　to　go　before　he　went　back　to　school。　He　looked　hopelessly　around　his　room　again；　and　his　eye　paused　on　the　birthday　cards　his　two　best　friends　had　sent　him　at　the　end　of　July。　What　would　they　say　if　Harry　wrote　to　them　and　told　them　about　his　scar　hurting？
　　　At　once；　Hermione　Granger's　voice　seemed　to　fill　his　head；　shrill　and　panicky。
　　　〃Your　scar　hurt？　Harry；　that's　really　serious。。。　Write　to　Professor　Dumbledore！　And　I'll　go　and　check　mon　Magical　Ailments　and　Afflictions。。。　Maybe　there's　something　in　there　about　curse　scars。。。〃
　　　Yes；　that　would　be　Hermione's　advice：　Go　straight　to　the　headmaster　of　Hogwarts；　and　in　the　meantime；　consult　a　book。　Harry　stared　out　of　the　window　at　the　inky　blue…black　sky。　He　doubted　very　much　whether　a　book　could　help　him　now。　As　far　as　he　knew；　he　was　the　only　living　person　to　have　survived　a　curse　like　Voldemort's；　it　was　highly　unlikely；　therefore；　that　he　would　find　his　symptoms　listed　in　mon　Magical　Ailments　and　Afflictions。　As　for　informing　the　headmaster；　Harry　had　no　idea　where　Dumbledore　went　during　the　summer　holidays。　He　amused　himself　for　a　moment；　picturing　Dumbledore；　with　his　long　silver　beard；　full　length　wizard's　robes；　and　pointed　hat；　stretched　out　on　a　beach　somewhere；　rubbing　suntan　lotion　onto　his　long　crooked　nose。　Wherever　Dumbledore　was；　though；　Harry　was　sure　that　Hedwig　would　be　able　to　find　him；　Harry's　owl　had　never　yet　failed　to　deliver　a　letter　to　anyone；　even　without　an　address。　But　what　would　he　write？
　　　Dear　Professor　Dumbledore；　Sorry　to　bother　you；　but　my　scar　hurt　this　morning。　Yours　sincerely；　Harry　Potter。
　　　Even　inside　his　head　the　words　sounded　stupid。
　　　And　so　he　tri