Гарри Поттер и узник Азкабана
The Firebolt
Apowerfulanddelicioussmellofcookingpervadedthecorridors,andbyChristmasEve,ithadgrownsostrongthatevenScabberspokedhisnoseoutoftheshelterofRon’spockettosniffhopefullyattheair.
OnChristmasmorning,HarrywaswokenbyRonthrowinghispillowathim.
"Oy!Presents!"
Harryreachedforhisglassesandputthemon,squintingthroughthesemi-darknesstothefootofhisbed,whereasmallheapofparcelshadappeared.Ronwasalreadyrippingthepaperoffhisownpresents.
"AnothersweaterfromMum...maroonagain...seeifyou’vegotone."
Harryhad.Mrs.WeasleyhadsenthimascarletsweaterwiththeGryffindorlionknittedonthefront,alsoadozenhome-bakedmincepies,someChristmascake,andaboxofnutbrittle.Ashemovedallthesethingsaside,hesawalong,thinpackagelyingunderneath.
"What’sthat?"saidRon,lookingover,afreshlyunwrappedpairofmaroonsocksinhishand.
"Dunno..."
Harryrippedtheparcelopenandgaspedasamagnificent,gleamingbroomstickrolledoutontohisbedspread.Rondroppedhissocksandjumpedoffhisbedforacloserlook.
"Idon’tbelieveit,"hesaidhoarsely.
ItwasaFirebolt,identicaltothedreambroomHarryhadgonetoseeeverydayinDiagonAlley.Itshandleglitteredashepickeditup.Hecouldfeelitvibratingandletgo;ithunginmidair,unsupported,atexactlytherightheightforhimtomountit.Hiseyesmovedfromthegoldenregistrationnumberatthetopofthehandle,rightdowntotheperfectlysmooth,streamlinedbirchtwigsthatmadeupthetail.
