Гарри Поттер и философский камень

           He’dneverbeenmorenervous,never,notevenwhenhe’dhadtotakeaschoolreporthometotheDursleyssayingthathe’dsomehowturnedhisteacher’swigblue. Hekepthiseyesfixedonthedoor. Anysecondnow,ProfessorMcGonagallwouldcomebackandleadhimtohisdoom. 

           Thensomethinghappenedthatmadehimjumpaboutafootintheair—severalpeoplebehindhimscreamed. 

           "Whatthe—?" 

           Hegasped.Sodidthepeoplearoundhim. Abouttwentyghostshadjuststreamedthroughthebackwall. Pearly-whiteandslightlytransparent,theyglidedacrosstheroomtalkingtooneanotherandhardlyglancingatthefirstyears. Theyseemedtobearguing. Whatlookedlikeafatlittlemonkwassaying: "Forgiveandforget,Isay,weoughttogivehimasecondchance—" 

           "MydearFriar,haven’twegivenPeevesallthechanceshedeserves? Hegivesusallabadnameandyouknow,he’snotreallyevenaghost—Isay,whatareyoualldoinghere?" 

           Aghostwearingaruffandtightshadsuddenlynoticedthefirstyears. 

           Nobodyanswered. 

           "Newstudents! "saidtheFatFriar,smilingaroundatthem. "AbouttobeSorted,Isuppose?" 

           Afewpeoplenoddedmutely. 

           "HopetoseeyouinHufflepuff!"saidtheFriar. "Myoldhouse,youknow." 

           "Movealongnow,"saidasharpvoice. "TheSortingCeremony’sabouttostart."