Гарри Поттер и философский камень

           Apiercing,bloodcurdlingshrieksplitthesilence—thebookwasscreaming! Harrysnappeditshut,buttheshriekwentonandon,onehigh,unbroken,earsplittingnote. Hestumbledbackwardandknockedoverhislamp,whichwentoutatonce. Panicking,heheardfootstepscomingdownthecorridoroutside—stuffingtheshriekingbookbackontheshelf,heranforit. HepassedFilchinthedoorway; Filch’spale,wildeyeslookedstraightthroughhim,andHarryslippedunderFilch’soutstretchedarmandstreakedoffupthecorridor,thebook’sshrieksstillringinginhisears. 

           Hecametoasuddenhaltinfrontofatallsuitofarmor. Hehadbeensobusygettingawayfromthelibrary,hehadn’tpaidattentiontowherehewasgoing. Perhapsbecauseitwasdark,hedidn’trecognizewherehewasatall. Therewasasuitofarmornearthekitchens,heknew,buthemustbefivefloorsabovethere. 

           "Youaskedmetocomedirectlytoyou,Professor,ifanyonewaswanderingaroundatnight,andsomebody’sbeeninthelibraryRestrictedSection." 

           Harryfelttheblooddrainoutofhisface. Whereverhewas,Filchmustknowashortcut,becausehissoft,greasyvoicewasgettingnearer,andtohishorror,itwasSnapewhoreplied, "TheRestrictedSection? Well,theycan’tbefar,we’llcatchthem." 

           HarrystoodrootedtothespotasFilchandSnapecamearoundthecornerahead. Theycouldn’tseehim,ofcourse,butitwasanarrowcorridorandiftheycamemuchnearerthey’dknockrightintohim—thecloakdidn’tstophimfrombeingsolid. 

           Hebackedawayasquietlyashecould. Adoorstoodajartohisleft. Itwashisonlyhope.