Гарри Поттер и Кубок огня

Bagman and Crouch

           Some,withfurtivelooksaroundthem,conjuredfireswiththeirwands;otherswerestrikingmatcheswithdubiouslooksontheirfaces,asthoughsurethiscouldn’twork.ThreeAfricanwizardssatinseriousconversation,allofthemwearinglongwhiterobesandroastingwhatlookedlikearabbitonabrightpurplefire,whileagroupofmiddle-agedAmericanwitchessatgossipinghappilybeneathaspangledbannerstretchedbetweentheirtentsthatread:THESALEMWITCHES’INSTITUTE.Harrycaughtsnatchesofconversationinstrangelanguagesfromtheinsideoftentstheypassed,andthoughhecouldn’tunderstandaword,thetoneofeverysinglevoicewasexcited.

           "Er-isitmyeyes,orhaseverythinggonegreen?"saidRon.

           Itwasn’tjustRon’seyes.Theyhadwalkedintoapatchoftentsthatwereallcoveredwithathickgrowthofshamrocks,sothatitlookedasthoughsmall,oddlyshapedhillockshadsproutedoutoftheearth.Grinningfacescouldbeseenunderthosethathadtheirflapsopen.Then,frombehindthem,theyheardtheirnames.

           "Harry!Ron!Hermione!"

           ItwasSeamusFinnigan,theirfellowGryffindorfourthyear.Hewassittinginfrontofhisownshamrock-coveredtent,withasandy-hairedwomanwhohadtobehismother,andhisbestfriend,DeanThomas,alsoofGryffindor.

           "Likethedecorations?"saidSeamus,grinning."TheMinistry’snottoohappy."

           "Ah,whyshouldn’tweshowourcolors?"saidMrs.Finnigan."YoushouldseewhattheBulgarianshavegotdanglingallovertheirtents.

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