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Главная
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- Авторы
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- Джоан Роулинг
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- Гарри Поттер и Кубок огня
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- Стр. 12/658
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Two
hundred
miles
away
,
the
boy
called
Harry
Potter
woke
with
a
start
.
Harry
lay
flat
on
his
back
,
breathing
hard
as
though
he
had
been
running
.
He
had
awoken
from
a
vivid
dream
with
his
hands
pressed
over
his
face
.
The
old
scar
on
his
forehead
,
which
was
shaped
like
a
bolt
of
lightning
,
was
burning
beneath
his
fingers
as
though
someone
had
just
pressed
a
white-hot
wire
to
his
skin
.
He
sat
up
,
one
hand
still
on
his
scar
,
the
other
hand
reaching
out
in
the
darkness
for
his
glasses
,
which
were
on
the
bedside
table
.
He
put
them
on
and
his
bedroom
came
into
clearer
focus
,
lit
by
a
faint
,
misty
orange
light
that
was
filtering
through
the
curtains
from
the
street
lamp
outside
the
window
.
Harry
ran
his
fingers
over
the
scar
again
.
It
was
still
painful
.
He
turned
on
the
lamp
beside
him
,
scrambled
out
of
bed
,
crossed
the
room
,
opened
his
wardrobe
,
and
peered
into
the
mirror
on
the
inside
of
the
door
.
A
skinny
boy
of
fourteen
looked
back
at
him
,
his
bright
green
eyes
puzzled
under
his
untidy
black
hair
.
He
examined
the
lightning-bolt
scar
of
his
reflection
more
closely
.
It
looked
normal
,
but
it
was
still
stinging
.
Harry
tried
to
recall
what
he
had
been
dreaming
about
before
he
had
awoken
.
It
had
seemed
so
real
...
There
had
been
two
people
he
knew
and
one
he
did
n'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
becoming
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
one
of
the
wizards
score
a
spectacular
goal
by
putting
the
ball
through
a
fifty-foot-high
hoop
.
