jkrowlingharrypotterandpa-第1章

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　　　OWL　POST
　　　
　　　Harry　Potter　was　a　highly　unusual　boy　in　many　ways。　For　one　thing；　he　hated　the　summer　holidays　more　than　any　other　time　of　year。　For　another；　he　really　wanted　to　do　his　homework　but　was　forced　to　do　it　in　secret；　in　the　dead　of　night。　And　he　also　happened　to　be　a　wizard。
　　　It　was　nearly　midnight；　and　he　was　lying　on　his　stomach　in　bed；　the　blankets　drawn　right　over　his　head　like　a　tent；　a　flashlight　in　one　hand　and　a　large　leather…bound　book　（A　History　of　Magic　by　Bathilda　Bagshot）　propped　open　against　the　pillow。　Harry　moved　the　tip　of　his　eagle…feather　quill　down　the　page；　frowning　as　he　looked　for　something　that　would　help　him　write　his　essay；　〃Witch　Burning　in　the　Fourteenth　Century　Was　pletely　Pointless　discuss。〃
　　　The　quill　paused　at　the　top　of　a　likely…looking　paragraph。　Harry　Pushed　his　round　glasses　up　the　bridge　of　his　nose；　moved　his　flashlight　closer　to　the　book；　and　read：
　　　Non…magic　people　（more　monly　known　as　Muggles）　were　particularly　afraid　of　magic　in　medieval　times；　but　not　very　good　at　recognizing　it。　On　the　rare　occasion　that　they　did　catch　a　real　witch　or　wizard；　burning　had　no　effect　whatsoever。　The　witch　or　wizard　would　perform　a　basic　Flame　Freezing　Charm　and　then　pretend　to　shriek　with　pain　while　enjoying　a　gentle；　tickling　sensation。　Indeed；　Wendelin　the　Weird　enjoyed　being　burned　so　much　that　she　allowed　herself　to　be　caught　no　less　than　fortyseven　times　in　various　disguises。
　　　Harry　put　his　quill　between　his　teeth　and　reached　underneath　his　pillow　for　his　ink　bottle　and　a　roll　of　parchment。　Slowly　and　very　carefully　he　unscrewed　the　ink　bottle；　dipped　his　quill　into　it；　and　began　to　write；　pausing　every　now　and　then　to　listen；　because　if　any　of　the　Dursleys　heard　the　scratching　of　his　quill　on　their　way　to　the　bathroom；　he'd　probably　find　himself　locked　in　the　cupboard　under　the　stairs　for　the　rest　of　the　summer。
　　　The　Dursley　family　of　number　four；　Privet　Drive；　was　the　reason　that　Harry　never　enjoyed　his　summer　holidays。　Uncle　Vernon；　Aunt　Petunia；　and　their　son；　Dudley；　were　Harry's　only　living　relatives。　They　were　Muggles；　and　they　had　a　very　medieval　attitude　toward　magic。　Harry's　dead　parents；　who　had　been　a　witch　and　wizard　themselves；　were　never　mentioned　under　the　Dursleys'　roof　For　years；　Aunt　Petunia　and　Uncle　Vernon　had　hoped　that　if　they　kept　Harry　as　downtrodden　as　possible；　they　would　be　able　to　squash　the　magic　out　of　him。　To　their　fury；　they　had　been　unsuccessful。　These　days　they　lived　in　terror　of　anyone　finding　out　that　Harry　had　spent　most　of　the　last　two　years　at　Hogwarts　School　of　Witchcraft　and　Wizardry。　The　most　they　could　do；　however；　was　to　lock　away　Harry's　spellbooks；　wand；　cauldron；　and　broomstick　at　the　start　of　the　summer　break；　and　forbid　him　to　talk　to　the　neighbors。
　　　This　separation　from　his　spellbooks　had　been　a　real　problem　for　Harry；　because　his　teachers　at　Hogwarts　had　given　him　a　lot　of　holiday　work。　One　of　the　essays；　a　particularly　nasty　one　about　shrinking　potions；　was　for　Harry's　least　favorite　teacher；　Professor　Snape；　who　would　be　delighted　to　have　an　excuse　to　give　Harry　detention　for　a　month。　Harry　had　therefore　seized　his　chance　in　the　first　week　of　the　holidays。　While　Uncle　Vernon；　Aunt　Petunia；　and　Dudley　had　gone　out　into　the　front　garden　to　admire　Uncle　Vernon's　new　pany　car　（in　very　loud　voices；　so　that　the　rest　of　the　street　would　notice　it　too）；　Harry　had　crept　downstairs；　picked　the　lock　on　the　cupboard　under　the　stairs；　grabbed　some　of　his　books；　and　hidden　them　in　his　bedroom。　As　long　as　he　didn't　leave　spots　of　ink　on　the　sheets；　the　Dursleys　need　never　know　that　he　was　studying　magic　by　night。
　　　Harry　was　particularly　keen　to　avoid　trouble　with　his　aunt　and　uncle　at　the　moment；　as　they　were　already　in　an　especially　bad　mood　with　him；　all　because　he'd　received　a　telephone　call　from　a　fellow　wizard　one　week　into　the　school　vacation。
　　　Ron　Weasley；　who　was　one　of　Harry's　best　friends　at　Hogwarts；　came　from　a　whole　family　of　wizards。　This　meant　that　he　knew　a　lot　of　things　Harry　didn't；　but　had　never　used　a　telephone　before。　Most　unluckily；　it　had　been　Uncle　Vernon　who　had　answered　the　call。
　　　〃Vernon　Dursley　speaking。〃
　　　Harry；　who　happened　to　be　in　the　room　at　the　time；　froze　as　he　heard　Ron's　voice　answer。
　　　〃HELLO？　HELLO？　CAN　YOU　HEAR　ME？　I…WANT…TO…TALK…TO…HARRY…POTTER！〃
　　　Ron　was　yelling　so　loudly　that　Uncle　Vernon　jumped　and　held　the　receiver　a　foot　away　from　his　ear；　staring　at　it　with　an　expression　of　mingled　fury　and　alarm。
　　　〃WHO　IS　THIS？〃　he　roared　in　the　direction　of　the　mouthpiece。　〃WHO　ARE　YOU？〃
　　　〃RON…WEASLEY！〃　Ron　bellowed　back；　as　though　he　and　Uncle　Vernon　were　speaking　from　opposite　ends　of　a　football　field。　〃I'M…A…FRIEND…OF…HARRY'S…FROM…SCHOOL　…〃
　　　Uncle　Vernon's　small　eyes　swiveled　around　to　Harry；　who　was　rooted　to　the　spot。
　　　〃THERE　IS　NO　HARRY　POTTER　HERE！〃　he　roared；　now　holding　the　receiver　at　arm's　length；　as　though　frightened　it　might　explode。　〃I　DON'T　KNOW　WHAT　SCHOOL　YOURE　TALKING　ABOUT！　NEVER　CONTACT　ME　AGAIN！　DON'T　YOU　E　NEAR　MY　FAMILY！〃
　　　And　he　threw　the　receiver　back　onto　the　telephone　as　if　dropping　a　poisonous　spider。
　　　The　fight　that　had　followed　had　been　one　of　the　worst　ever。
　　　〃HOW　DARE　YOU　GIVE　THIS　NUMBER　TO　PEOPLE　LIKE…PEOPLE　LIKE　YOU！〃　Uncle　Vernon　had　roared；　spraying　Harry　with　spit。
　　　Ron　obviously　realized　that　he'd　gotten　Harry　into　trouble；　because　he　hadn't　called　again。　Harry's　other　best　friend　from　Hogwarts；　Hermione　Granger；　hadn't　been　in　touch　either。　Harry　suspected　that　Ron　had　warned　Hermione　not　to　call；　which　was　a　pity；　because　Hermione；　the　cleverest　witch　in　Harry's　year；　had　Muggle　parents；　knew　perfectly　well　how　to　use　a　telephone；　and　would　probably　have　had　enough　sense　not　to　say　that　she　went　to　Hogwarts。
　　　So　Harry　had　had　no　word　from　any　of　his　wizarding　friends　for　five　long　weeks；　and　this　summer　was　turning　out　to　be　almost　as　bad　as　the　last　one。　There　was　just　one　very　small　improvement…after　swearing　that　he　wouldn't　use　her　to　send　letters　to　any　of　his　friends；　Harry　had　been　allowed　to　let　his　owl；　Hedwig；　out　at　night。　Uncle　Vernon　had　given　in　because　of　the　racket　Hedwig　made　if　she　was　locked　in　her　cage　all　the　time。
　　　Harry　finished　writing　about　Wendelin　the　Weird　and　paused　to　listen　again。　The　silence　in　the　dark　house　was　broken　only　by　the　distant；　grunting　snores　of　his　enormous　cousin；　Dudley。　It　must　be　very　late；　Harry　thought。　His　eyes　were　itching　with　tiredness。　Perhaps　he'd　finish　this　essay　tomorrow　night。。。
　　　He　replaced　the　top　of　the　ink　bottle；　pulled　an　old　pillowcase　from　under　his　bed；　put　the　flashlight；　A　History　of　Magic；　his　essay；　quill；　and　ink　inside　it；　got　out　of　bed；　and　hid　the　lot　under　a　loose　floorboard　under　his　bed。　Then　he　stood　up；　stretched；　and　checked　the　time　on　the　luminous　alarm　clock　on　his　bedside　table。
　　　It　was　one　o'clock　in　the　morning。　Harry's　stomach　gave　a　funny　jolt。　He　had　been　thirteen　years　old；　without　realizing　it；　for　a　whole　hour。
　　　Yet　another　unusual　thing　about　Harry　was　how　little　he　looked　forward　to　his　birthdays。　He　had　never　received　a　birthday　card　in　his　life。　The　Dursleys　had　pletely　ignored　his　last　two　birthdays；　and　he　had　no　reason　to　suppose　they　would　remember　this　one。
　　　Harry　walked　across　the　dark　room；　past　Hedwig's　large；　empty　cage；　to　the　open　window。　He　leaned　on　the　sill；　the　cool　night　air　pleasant　on　his　face　after　a　long　time　under　the　blankets。　Hedwig　had　been　absent　for　two　nights　now。　Harry　wasn't　worried　about　her：　she'd　been　gone　this　long　before。　But　he　hoped　she'd　be　back　soon…she　was　the　only　living　creature　in　this　house　who　didn't　flinch　at　the　sight　of　him。
　　　Harry；　though　still　rather　small　and　skinny　for　his　age；　had　grown　a　few　inches　over　the　last　year。　His　jet…black　hair；　however；　was　just　as　it　always　had　been…stubbornly　untidy；　whatever　he　did　to　it。　The　eyes　behind　his　glasses　were　bright　green；　and　on　his　forehead；　clearly　visible　through　his　hair；　was　a　thin　scar；　shaped　like　a　bolt　of　lightning。
　　　Of　all　the　unusual　things　about　Harry；　this　scar　was　the　most　extraordinary　of　all。　It　was　not；　as　the　Dursleys　had　pretended　for　ten　years；　a　souvenir　of　the　car　crash　that　had　k