Гарри Поттер и Кубок огня

The Scar

           Thenhesnappedthebookshut.EvenQuidditch-inHarry’sopinion,thebestsportintheworld-couldn’tdistracthimatthemoment.HeplacedFlyingwiththeCannonsonhisbedsidetable,crossedtothewindow,anddrewbackthecurtainstosurveythestreetbelow.

           PrivetDrivelookedexactlyasarespectablesuburbanstreetwouldbeexpectedtolookintheearlyhoursofSaturdaymorning.Allthecurtainswereclosed.AsfarasHarrycouldseethroughthedarkness,therewasn’talivingcreatureinsight,notevenacat.

           Andyet...andyet...Harrywentrestlesslybacktothebedandsatdownonit,runningafingeroverhisscaragain.Itwasn’tthepainthatbotheredhim;Harrywasnostrangertopainandinjury.Hehadlostallthebonesfromhisrightarmonceandhadthempainfullyregrowninanight.Thesamearmhadbeenpiercedbyavenomousfoot-longfangnotlongafterward.OnlylastyearHarryhadfallenfiftyfeetfromanairbornebroomstick.Hewasusedtobizarreaccidentsandinjuries;theywereunavoidableifyouattendedHogwartsSchoolofWitchcraftandWizardryandhadaknackforattractingalotoftrouble.

           No,thethingthatwasbotheringHarrywasthelasttimehisscarhadhurthim,ithadbeenbecauseVoldemorthadbeencloseby...ButVoldemortcouldn’tbehere,now...TheideaofVoldemortlurkinginPrivetDrivewasabsurd,impossible...

           Harrylistenedcloselytothesilencearoundhim.Washehalfexpectingtohearthecreakofastairortheswishofacloak?AndthenhejumpedslightlyasheheardhiscousinDudleygiveatremendousgruntingsnorefromthenextroom.

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