Гарри Поттер и философский камень
The Boy who lived
"MydearProfessor, I’veneverseenacatsitsostiffly."
"You’dbestiffifyou’dbeensittingonabrickwallallday," saidProfessorMcGonagall.
"Allday? Whenyoucouldhavebeencelebrating? Imusthavepassedadozenfeastsandpartiesonmywayhere."
ProfessorMcGonagallsniffedangrily.
"Ohyes,everyone’scelebrating,allright," shesaidimpatiently. "You’dthinkthey’dbeabitmorecareful, butno—eventheMuggleshavenoticedsomething’sgoingon. Itwasontheirnews." ShejerkedherheadbackattheDursleys’darkliving-roomwindow. "Iheardit.Flocksofowls...shootingstars... Well,they’renotcompletelystupid. Theywereboundtonoticesomething.ShootingstarsdowninKent —I’llbetthatwasDedalusDiggle.Heneverhadmuchsense."
"Youcan’tblamethem,"saidDumbledoregently. "We’vehadpreciouslittletocelebrateforelevenyears."
"Iknowthat,"saidProfessorMcGonagallirritably. "Butthat’snoreasontoloseourheads. Peoplearebeingdownrightcareless,outonthestreetsinbroaddaylight, notevendressedinMuggleclothes,swappingrumors."
Shethrewasharp,sidewaysglanceatDumbledorehere, asthoughhopinghewasgoingtotellhersomething,buthedidn’t,soshewenton. "Afinethingitwouldbeif,ontheverydayYou-Know-Whoseemstohavedisappearedatlast, theMugglesfoundoutaboutusall. Isupposehereallyhasgone,Dumbledore?"
