哈利·波特与密室
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets


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    CHAPTER ONE THE WORST BIRTHDAY
    
    Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at number four, Privet Drive. Mr. Vernon Dursley had been woken in the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from his nephew Harry’s room.
    “Third time this week!” he roared across the table. “If you can’t control that owl, it’ll have to go!”
    Harry tried, yet again, to explain.
    “She’s bored,” he said. “She’s used to flying around outside. If I could just let her out at night —”
    “Do I look stupid?” snarled Uncle Vernon, a bit of fried egg dangling from his bushy mustache. “I know what’ll happen if that owl’s let out.”
    He exchanged dark looks with his wife, Petunia.
    Harry tried to argue back but his words were drowned by a long, loud belch from the Dursleys’ son, Dudley.
    “I want more bacon.”
    “There’s more in the frying pan, sweetums,” said Aunt Petunia, turning misty eyes on her massive son. “We must build you up while we’ve got the chance. . . . I don’t like the sound of that school food. . . .”
    “Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when I was at Smeltings,” said Uncle Vernon heartily. “Dudley gets enough, don’t you, son?”
    Dudley, who was so large his bottom drooped over either side of the kitchen chair, grinned and turned to Harry.
    “Pass the frying pan.”
    “You’ve forgotten the magic word,” said Harry irritably.
    The effect of this simple sentence on the rest of the family was incredible: Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a crash that shook the whole kitchen; Mrs. Dursley gave a small scream and clapped her hands to her mouth; Mr. Dursley jumped to his feet, veins throbbing in his temples.
    “I meant ‘please’!” said Harry quickly. “I didn’t mean —”
    “WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU,” thundered his uncle, spraying spit over the table, “ABOUT SAYING THE ‘M’ WORD IN OUR HOUSE?”
    “But I —”
    “HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY!” roared Uncle Vernon, pounding the table with his fist.
    “I just —”
    “I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!”
    Harry stared from his purple-faced uncle to his pale aunt, who was trying to heave Dudley to his feet.
    “All right,” said Harry, “all right . . .”
    Uncle Vernon sat back down, breathing like a winded rhinoceros and watching Harry closely out of the corners of his small, sharp eyes.
    Ever since Harry had come home for the summer holidays, Uncle Vernon had been treating him like a bomb that might go off at any moment, because Harry Potter wasn’t a normal boy. As a matter of fact, he was as not normal as it is possible to be.
    Harry Potter was a wizard — a wizard fresh from his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And if the Dursleys were unhappy to have him back for the holidays, it was nothing to how Harry felt.
    He missed Hogwarts so much it was like having a constant stomachache. He missed the castle, with its secret passageways and ghosts, his classes (though perhaps not Snape, the Potions master), the mail arriving by owl, eating banquets in the Great Hall, sleeping in his four-poster bed in the tower dormitory, visiting the gamekeeper, Hagrid, in his cabin next to the Forbidden Forest in the grounds, and, especially, Quidditch, the most popular sport in the wizarding world (six tall goal posts, four flying balls, and fourteen players on broomsticks).
    All Harry’s spellbooks, his wand, robes, cauldron, and top-of-the-line Nimbus Two Thousand broomstick had been locked in a cupboard under the stairs by Uncle Vernon the instant Harry had come home. What did the Dursleys care if Harry lost his place on the House Quidditch team because he hadn’t practiced all summer? What was it to the Dursleys if Harry went back to school without any of his homework done? The Dursleys were what wizards called Muggles (not a drop of magical blood in their veins), and as far as they were concerned, having a wizard in the family was a matter of deepest shame. Uncle Vernon had even padlocked Harry’s owl, Hedwig, inside her cage, to stop her from carrying messages to anyone in the wizarding world.
    Harry looked nothing like the rest of the family. Uncle Vernon was large and neckless, with an enormous black mustache; Aunt Petunia was horse-faced and bony; Dudley was blond, pink, and porky. Harry, on the other hand, was small and skinny, with brilliant green eyes and jet-black hair that was always untidy. He wore round glasses, and on his forehead was a thin, lightning-shaped scar.
    It was this scar that made Harry so particularly unusual, even for a wizard. This scar was the only hint of Harry’s very mysterious past, of the reason he had been left on the Dursleys’ doorstep eleven years before.
    At the age of one year old, Harry had somehow survived a curse from the greatest Dark sorcerer of all time, Lord Voldemort, whose name most witches and wizards still feared to speak. Harry’s parents had died in Voldemort’s attack, but Harry had escaped with his lightning scar, and somehow — nobody understood why — Voldemort’s powers had been destroyed the instant he had failed to kill Harry.
    So Harry had been brought up by his dead mother’s sister and her husband. He had spent ten years with the Dursleys, never understanding why he kept making odd things happen without meaning to, believing the Dursleys’ story that he had got his scar in the car crash that had killed his parents.
    And then, exactly a year ago, Hogwarts had written to Harry, and the whole story had come out. Harry had taken up his place at wizard school, where he and his scar were famous . . . but now the school year was over, and he was back with the Dursleys for the summer, back to being treated like a dog that had rolled in something smelly.
    The Dursleys hadn’t even remembered that today happened to be Harry’s twelfth birthday. Of course, his hopes hadn’t been high; they’d never given him a real present, let alone a cake — but to ignore it completely . . .
    At that moment, Uncle Vernon cleared his throat importantly and said, “Now, as we all know, today is a very important day.”
    Harry looked up, hardly daring to believe it.
    “This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career,” said Uncle Vernon.
    Harry went back to his toast. Of course, he thought bitterly, Uncle Vernon was talking about the stupid dinner party. He’d been talking of nothing else for two weeks. Some rich builder and his wife were coming to dinner and Uncle Vernon was hoping to get a huge order from him (Uncle Vernon’s company made drills).
    “I think we should run through the schedule one more time,” said Uncle Vernon. “We should all be in position at eight o’clock. Petunia, you will be — ?”
    “In the lounge,” said Aunt Petunia promptly, “waiting to welcome them graciously to our home.”
    “Good, good. And Dudley?”
    “I’ll be waiting to open the door.” Dudley put on a foul, simpering smile. “May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?”
    “They’ll love him!” cried Aunt Petunia rapturously.
    “Excellent, Dudley,” said Uncle Vernon. Then he rounded on Harry. “And you?”
    “I’ll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I’m not there,” said Harry tonelessly.
    “Exactly,” said Uncle Vernon nastily. “I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eightfifteen —”
    “I’ll announce dinner,” said Aunt Petunia.
    “And, Dudley, you’ll say —”
    “May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?” said Dudley, offering his fat arm to an invisible woman.
    “My perfect little gentleman!” sniffed Aunt Petunia.
    “And you?” said Uncle Vernon viciously to Harry.
    “I’ll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I’m not there,” said Harry dully.
    “Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?”
    “Vernon tells me you’re a wonderful golfer, Mr. Mason. . . . Do tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs. Mason. . . .”
    “Perfect . . . Dudley?”
    “How about — ‘We had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr. Mason, and I wrote about you.’ ”
    This was too much for both Aunt Petunia and Harry. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and hugged her son, while Harry ducked under the table so they wouldn’t see him laughing.
    “And you, boy?”
    Harry fought to keep his face straight as he emerged.
    “I’ll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I’m not there,” he said.
    “Too right, you will,” said Uncle Vernon forcefully. “The Masons don’t know anything about you and it’s going to stay that way. When dinner’s over, you take Mrs. Mason back to the lounge for coffee, Petunia, and I’ll bring the subject around to drills. With any luck, I’ll have the deal signed and sealed before the news at ten. We’ll be shopping for a vacation home in Majorca this time tomorrow.”
    Harry couldn’t feel too excited about this. He didn’t think the Dursleys would like him any better in Majorca than they did on Privet Drive.
    “Right — I’m off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me. And you,” he snarled at Harry. “You stay out of your aunt’s way while she’s cleaning.”
    Harry left through the back door. It was a brilliant, sunny day. He crossed the lawn, slumped down on the garden bench, and sang under his breath:
    “Happy birthday to me . . . happy birthday to me . . .”
    No cards, no presents, and he would be spending the evening pretending not to exist. He gazed miserably into the hedge. He had never felt so lonely. More than anything else at Hogwarts, more even than playing Quidditch, Harry missed his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They, however, didn’t seem to be missing him at all. Neither of them had written to him all summer, even though Ron had said he was going to ask Harry to come and stay.
    Countless times, Harry had been on the point of unlocking Hedwig’s cage by magic and sending her to Ron and Hermione with a letter, but it wasn’t worth the risk. Underage wizards weren’t allowed to use magic outside of school. Harry hadn’t told the Dursleys this; he knew it was only their terror that he might turn them all into dung beetles that stopped them from locking him in the cupboard under the stairs with his wand and broomstick. For the first couple of weeks back, Harry had enjoyed muttering nonsense words under his breath and watching Dudley tearing out of the room as fast as his fat legs would carry him. But the long silence from Ron and Hermione had made Harry feel so cut off from the magical world that even taunting Dudley had lost its appeal — and now Ron and Hermione had forgotten his birthday.
    What wouldn’t he give now for a message from Hogwarts? From any witch or wizard? He’d almost be glad of a sight of his archenemy, Draco Malfoy, just to be sure it hadn’t all been a dream. . . .
    Not that his whole year at Hogwarts had been fun. At the very end of last term, Harry had come face-to-face with none other than Lord Voldemort himself. Voldemort might be a ruin of his former self, but he was still terrifying, still cunning, still determined to regain power. Harry had slipped through Voldemort’s clutches for a second time, but it had been a narrow escape, and even now, weeks later, Harry kept waking in the night, drenched in cold sweat, wondering where Voldemort was now, remembering his livid face, his wide, mad eyes —
    Harry suddenly sat bolt upright on the garden bench. He had been staring absent-mindedly into the hedge — and the hedge was staring back. Two enormous green eyes had appeared among the leaves.
    Harry jumped to his feet just as a jeering voice floated across the lawn.
    “I know what day it is,” sang Dudley, waddling toward him.
    The huge eyes blinked and vanished.
    “What?” said Harry, not taking his eyes off the spot where they had been.
    “I know what day it is,” Dudley repeated, coming right up to him.
    “Well done,” said Harry. “So you’ve finally learned the days of the week.”
    “Today’s your birthday,” sneered Dudley. “How come you haven’t got any cards? Haven’t you even got friends at that freak place?”
    “Better not let your mum hear you talking about my school,” said Harry coolly.
    Dudley hitched up his trousers, which were slipping down his fat bottom.
    “Why’re you staring at the hedge?” he said suspiciously.
    “I’m trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on fire,” said Harry.
    Dudley stumbled backward at once, a look of panic on his fat face.
    “You c-can’t — Dad told you you’re not to do m-magic — he said he’ll chuck you out of the house — and you haven’t got anywhere else to go — you haven’t got any friends to take you —”
    “Jiggery pokery!” said Harry in a fierce voice. “Hocus pocus — squiggly wiggly —”
    “MUUUUUUM!” howled Dudley, tripping over his feet as he dashed back toward the house. “MUUUUM! He’s doing you know what!”
    Harry paid dearly for his moment of fun. As neither Dudley nor the hedge was in any way hurt, Aunt Petunia knew he hadn’t really done magic, but he still had to duck as she aimed a heavy blow at his head with the soapy frying pan. Then she gave him work to do, with the promise he wouldn’t eat again until he’d finished.
    While Dudley lolled around watching and eating ice cream, Harry cleaned the windows, washed the car, mowed the lawn, trimmed the flowerbeds, pruned and watered the roses, and repainted the garden bench. The sun blazed overhead, burning the back of his neck. Harry knew he shouldn’t have risen to Dudley’s bait, but Dudley had said the very thing Harry had been thinking himself . . . maybe he didn’t have any friends at Hogwarts. . . .
    Wish they could see famous Harry Potter now, he thought savagely as he spread manure on the flower beds, his back aching, sweat running down his face.
    It was half past seven in the evening when at last, exhausted, he heard Aunt Petunia calling him.
    “Get in here! And walk on the newspaper!”
    Harry moved gladly into the shade of the gleaming kitchen. On top of the fridge stood tonight’s pudding: a huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets. A loin of roast pork was sizzling in the oven.
    “Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!” snapped Aunt Petunia, pointing to two slices of bread and a lump of cheese on the kitchen table. She was already wearing a salmon-pink cocktail dress.
    Harry washed his hands and bolted down his pitiful supper. The moment he had finished, Aunt Petunia whisked away his plate. “Upstairs! Hurry!”
    As he passed the door to the living room, Harry caught a glimpse of Uncle Vernon and Dudley in bow ties and dinner jackets. He had only just reached the upstairs landing when the doorbell rang and Uncle Vernon’s furious face appeared at the foot of the stairs.
    “Remember, boy — one sound —”
    Harry crossed to his bedroom on tiptoe, slipped inside, closed the door, and turned to collapse on his bed.
    The trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it.
    
    第一章 最糟糕的生日
    
    这天,女贞路四号的早餐桌上又起了争执。一大早,弗农德思礼先生就被他外甥哈利屋里的一阵高声怪叫吵醒了。
    “这星期是第三次了!”他隔着桌子咆哮,“如果你管不住那只猫头鹰,就让它滚蛋!”
    哈利再次试图解释。“它闷得慌,它在外面飞惯了,要是我可以在晚上放它出去……”
    “你当我是傻子啊?”弗农姨父大吼道,一丝煎鸡蛋在他浓密的胡子上晃荡着。“我知道把一只猫头鹰放出去会有什么后果。”他和他妻子佩妮阴沉地交换了一下眼色。
    哈利想反驳,但他的话被表哥达力一声又长又响的饱嗝淹没了。
    “我还要一些腊肉。”
    “煎锅里有的是,宝贝,”佩妮姨妈眼眶湿润地看着她的大块头儿子说道,“我们要抓紧时间把你养胖……学校的伙食让我听着不舒服……”
    “胡说,我在斯梅廷上学时从没饿过肚子。”弗农姨父情绪激烈地说,“达力吃得不差,是不是,儿子?”
    达力胖得屁股上的肉都从座椅的两边挂了下来。他咧嘴一笑,转身对哈利说道:“把煎锅递过来。”
    “你忘了说咒语。”哈利恼火地说。
    这样简单的一句话,对家中其他人产生了不可思议的影响。达力倒吸一口冷气,从褥子上栽了下来,整个厨房都被震动了;德思礼太太尖叫一声,迅速捂住嘴巴;德思礼先生跳起来,太阳穴上青筋暴露。
    “我的意思是‘请’!”哈利连忙说,“我不是指——”
    “我没跟你说吗,”姨父厉声怒斥,唾沫星子溅到了桌上,“在我们家不许说那方面的词!”
    “可我——”
    “你怎么敢威胁达力!”弗农姨父捶着桌子咆哮道。
    “我只是——”
    “我警告过你!我不能容忍你在我家里提到你的特异功能!”
    “好吧,”哈利说,“好吧……”
    弗农姨父坐了下来,像一头气短的犀牛一样喘着粗气,那双精明的小眼睛紧瞟着哈利。
    自从哈利放暑假回家,弗农姨父一直把他当一颗定时炸弹看待,因为哈利不是一个正常的孩子。实际上,他相当不正常。
    哈利波特是一个巫师——刚在霍格沃茨魔法学校上完一年级。如果德思礼对他回家过暑假感到不快,那么他们的不快和哈利的感觉相比根本不值一提。
    他真想念霍格沃茨,想得五脏六腑都发痛。他想念那个城堡,那些秘密通道和幽灵鬼怪,想念他的课程(也许除了魔药老师斯内普的课),还有猫头鹰捎来的信件、大礼堂里的宴会,想念他宿舍楼里的四柱床,想念禁林边上那间小木屋和狩猎场看守海格,更想念魁地奇球——魔法世界里最流行的体育运动(六根高高的门柱、四只会飞的球、十四名骑着扫帚的球员)。
    哈利刚一到家,弗农姨父就把他的咒语书、魔杖、长袍、坩埚和最高级的光轮2000锁进了楼梯下那又小又暗的柜子里。哈利会不会因为一个暑假没练习而被学院魁地奇球队开除,德思礼一家才不管呢。哈利的家庭作业一点都没做,回学校时无法交差,这跟他们有什么关系?德思礼一家是巫师们所说的“麻瓜”(血管里没有一滴巫师的血液)。在他们看来,家里有一个巫师是莫大的耻辱。弗农姨父甚至把哈利的猫头鹰海德薇也锁在了它的笼子里,不让它给魔法世界的任何人送信。
    哈利跟这家人长得一点儿也不像。弗农姨父膀大粳圆,没有脖子,蓄着异常浓密的大胡子;佩妮姨妈长了一张马脸,骨节粗大;达力头发金黄,皮肤白里透红,体形肥胖。而哈利却身材瘦小,长着一双明亮的绿眼睛,漆黑的头发总是乱蓬蓬的,额头上还有一道细长的闪电形伤疤。
    就是这道伤疤使哈利即使在巫师中也是如此与众不同。这道伤疤是哈利神秘过去留下的惟一痕迹,是推测他十一年前为什么会被放在德思礼家门槛上的惟一线索。
    哈利一岁时,居然在遭到伏地魔诅咒之后幸存下来。伏地魔是有史以来最厉害的黑巫师,大多数女巫和男巫都不敢提到他的名字。哈利的父母就死在这个黑巫师手下,可是哈利大难不死,只留下了这道闪电形伤疤。而且,不知怎的,好像自那个恶毒的咒语在哈利身上失灵之后,伏地魔的魔力就被摧毁了。
    所以,哈利是由他的姨妈和姨父养大的。他在德思礼家住了十年,一直搞不懂他为什么能在无意中导致一些古怪的事情发生,因为德思礼一家只说他的父母死于车祸,他的伤疤也是在车祸中留下的。
    一年前,霍格沃茨魔法学校写信给哈利,他才了解到自己的身世。他上了魔法学校,在那里他和他的伤疤赫赫有名……可现在学年结束了,他回到德思礼家过暑假,他们把他当成一条在邋遢地方打过滚的狗来对待。
    德思礼一家忘记了这一天恰好是哈利的十二岁生日。当然,哈利也没有寄予多大的希望,他们从来不会送他什么像样的礼物,更别提生日蛋糕了——但是,完全忘掉未免……
    正在这时,弗农姨父煞有介事地清了清嗓子,说道:“我们都知道,今天是个非常重要的日子。”哈利抬起头,简直不敢相信自己的耳朵。“今天我可能会做成平生最大的一笔交易。”弗农姨父说。
    哈利低下头继续吃面包片。当然啦,他怨忿地想,弗农姨父是在讲那个愚蠢的晚宴。他两星期来张口闭口说的都是这件事。一个有钱的建筑商和他妻子要来吃晚饭,弗农姨父希望那人能订他一大笔货(弗农姨父的公司是做钻机的)。
    “我想我们应该把晚上的安排再过一遍,”弗农姨父说,“八点钟大家应该各就各位。佩妮,你应该——?”
    “在客厅里,”佩妮姨妈应声说,“等着亲切地欢迎他们光临。”
    “很好,很好。达力?”
    “我等着给他们开门。”达力堆起一副令人恶心的做作笑容,“我替你们拿着衣服好吗,梅森先生和夫人?”
    “他们会喜欢他的!”佩妮姨妈欣喜若狂地说。
    “好极了,达力。”弗农姨父说,然后他突然转向哈利,“那么你呢?”
    “我待在我的卧室里,不发出一点儿声音,假装我不在家。”哈利声调平板地回答。
    “不错。”弗农姨父恶狠狠地说,“我将把他们带到客厅里,引见你——佩妮,并给他们倒饮料。八点一刻——”
    “我宣布开饭。”佩妮姨妈说。
    “达力,你要说——”
    “我领您上餐室去好吗,梅森夫人?”达力说,一面把他的胖胳膊伸给那位看不见的女士。
    “多标准的小绅士!”佩妮姨妈吸着鼻子说。
    “你呢?”弗农姨父凶巴巴地问哈利。
    “我待在我的卧室里,不发出一点声音,假装我不在家。”哈利无精打采地说。
    “对了。现在,我们还应该在餐桌上说一些赞美的话。佩妮,你有什么建议吗?”
    “梅森先生,弗农跟我说您高尔夫球打得棒极了……梅森夫人,请告诉我您的衣服是在哪儿买的……”
    “非常好……达力?”
    “这样行不行:‘梅森先生,老师要我们写一写自己最崇拜的人,我就写了您。’”
    这可让佩妮姨妈和哈利都无法承受。佩妮高兴得眼泪直流,紧紧搂住儿子,哈利则把头藏到了桌子底下,怕他们看到他大笑的样子。
    “你呢,哈利?”
    哈利直起身,努力绷住脸。
    “我待在我的卧室里,不发出一点声音,假装我不在家。”
    “这就对了。”弗农姨父用力地说,“梅森夫妇根本不知道你,就让这种情况保持下去。佩妮,晚饭之后你领梅森夫人回客厅喝咖啡,我将把话题引到钻机上。要是走运的话,在十点钟的新闻之前我就可以把签字盖章的协议拿到手。明天这个时候我们就能选购在马乔卡的别墅了。”
    哈利并不怎么兴奋,他不认为德思礼一家到了马乔卡就会比在女贞路多喜欢他一点儿。
    “好——我去城里拿达力和我的礼服。你呢,”他对哈利吼道,“不要在你姨妈洗衣服的时候去碍手碍脚。”
    哈利从后门出来。外面天气晴朗,阳光灿烂。他穿过草坪,一屁股坐在花园长凳上,压着嗓子唱了起来:“祝我生日快乐……祝我生日快乐……”
    没有贺卡,没有礼物,今晚还要他假装自己不存在。他悲伤地注视着树篱。他从未感到这样孤独。他分外想念他最好的朋友罗恩韦斯莱和赫敏格兰杰,胜过想念霍格沃茨其他的一切,甚至包括魁地奇球。可他们好像一点儿也不想他。整个暑假谁都没有给他写信,罗恩还说要请哈利去他家做客呢。
    一次又一次,哈利差点儿要用魔法打开海德薇的笼子,让它捎封信给罗恩和赫敏。但这太冒险了。未成年的巫师是不能在校外使用魔法的。哈利没有把这个规定告诉德思礼一家,他知道,这家人只是害怕他把他们全变成金龟子,才没有把他和魔杖、飞天扫帚一起关进楼梯下的暗柜里。回家后的头两个星期,哈利喜欢假装着嘴里念念有词,然后看达力拼命搬动他那两条胖腿,尽快往屋外跑。可是罗恩和赫敏迟迟不给他来信,使哈利觉得自己和魔法世界断了联系,连捉弄达力也失去了乐趣——现在罗恩和赫敏连他的生日都忘了。
    只要能换得霍格沃茨的一点音信,不管来自哪个女巫或男巫,他什么都会豁出去。他甚至乐意看一眼他的仇敌德拉科马尔福,只要能证明这一切不是一场梦……他在霍格沃茨的这一年并不都是好玩有趣的。上学期末,哈利与伏地魔本人正面相遇。伏地魔虽然大不如从前,但依然狠毒可怕,阴险狡猾,并决心要恢复自己的魔力。哈利又一次逃脱了伏地魔的魔爪,但是很险。即使现在,已经过去好几个星期了,哈利还会在半夜惊醒,浑身冷汗,想着伏地魔这时会在哪里,记起他那青灰色的脸、圆睁的疯狂的眼睛……哈利突然坐直了身子。他一直心不在焉地注视着树篱——可现在树篱正注视着他。树叶丛中闪动着两只大得出奇的绿眼睛。
    哈利跳了起来,这时草坪对面飘过来一声嘲笑。
    “我知道今天是什么日子。”达力摇摇摆摆地走过来。
    那对大眼睛忽闪几下,消失了。
    “什么?”哈利说,眼睛还盯着那个地方。
    “我知道今天是什么日子。”达力又说了一遍,走到他旁边。
    “很好,”哈利说,“你终于学会了数星期几。”
    “今天是你的生日!”达力讥讽地说,“你居然没有收到贺卡?你在那个鬼地方连个朋友都没有吗?”
    “最好别让你妈妈听到你说我的学校。”哈利冷冷地说。
    达力提了提裤子,那裤子顺着他的胖屁股往下滑。
    “你盯着树篱干什么?”他怀疑地问。
    “我在想用什么咒语使它燃烧起来。”哈利说。
    达力踉踉跄跄倒退了几步,胖脸上显出惊恐的表情。
    “你不——不能——我爸说不许你使魔法——他说要把你赶出去——你没有地方去——没有朋友收留你——”
    “吉格利玻克利!”哈利厉声说,“霍克斯波克斯……奇格利鬼格利……”
    “妈——妈!”达力嚎叫起来,跌跌撞撞地朝屋里奔去。“妈——妈!他又在干那个了!”
    哈利为这片刻的开心付出了很大的代价。由于达力和树篱都安然无恙,佩妮姨妈知道他并没有真的施展魔法,但她仍然用沾着肥皂水的煎锅朝他劈头打来,幸亏他躲得快。然后她支使他去干活,不干完不许吃东西。达力吃着冰淇淋,在一旁晃来晃去地看着哈利擦窗户,洗汽车,修整草坪,整理花圃,给玫瑰剪枝浇水,重新油漆花园长凳。烈日当头,晒得哈利后脖颈发烫。哈利知道他不应该上达力的钩,可是达力说中了哈利的心事……也许他在霍格沃茨根本没有朋友……
    “但愿他们能看到大名鼎鼎的哈利波特现在的样子。”往花坛里撒粪肥的时候,他发狠地想道。他腰酸背疼,汗水顺着脸颊往下流。
    一直到晚上七点半,才终于听到佩妮姨妈喊他,他已经精疲力竭。
    “进来!踩着报纸走!”
    哈利高兴地走进阴凉的、擦得闪闪发亮的厨房里。冰箱顶上放着今天晚餐的布丁:好大一堆奶油,还放了撒糖霜的堇菜。一大块烤肉在烤箱里咝咝作响。
    “快吃!海森他们快要来了!”佩妮姨妈严厉地说,指着厨房桌子上的两块面包和一堆奶酪。她已经穿上了一件浅橙色的鸡尾酒会礼服。
    哈利洗了手,匆匆吞下了他那点可怜的晚饭。他刚一吃完,佩妮姨妈就把盘子收走了。
    “上楼!快!”经过客厅门口时,哈利瞥了一眼穿着礼服、打着领结的弗农姨父和达力。
    他刚走到楼上,门铃就响了,弗农姨父凶巴巴的脸出现在楼梯下。“记着,小子——你要敢发出一点儿声音……”
    哈利踮着脚走到自己卧室门口,悄悄溜进去,关上门,转身想要一头扑倒在他的床上。问题是,床上已经坐了一个人。
    

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