Гарри Поттер и философский камень
Through the Trapdoor
Asthedoorcreaked,low,rumblinggrowlsmettheirears.Allthreeofthedog’snosessniffedmadlyintheirdirection,eventhoughitcouldn’tseethem.
"What’sthatatitsfeet?"Hermionewhispered.
"Lookslikeaharp,"saidRon."Snapemusthaveleftitthere."
"Itmustwakeupthemomentyoustopplaying,"saidHarry."Well,heregoes..."
HeputHagrid’sflutetohislipsandblew.Itwasn’treallyatune,butfromthefirstnotethebeast’seyesbegantodroop. Harryhardlydrewbreath.Slowly,thedog’sgrowlsceased—ittotteredonitspawsandfelltoitsknees,thenitslumpedtotheground,fastasleep.
"Keepplaying,"RonwarnedHarry astheyslippedoutofthecloakandcrepttowardthetrapdoor.Theycouldfeelthedog’shot,smellybreathastheyapproachedthegiantheads. "Ithinkwe’llbeabletopullthedooropen,"saidRon,peeringoverthedog’sback."Wanttogofirst,Hermione?"
"No,Idon’t!"
"Allright."Rongrittedhisteethandsteppedcarefullyoverthedog’slegs.Hebentandpulledtheringofthetrapdoor,whichswungupandopen.
"Whatcanyousee?"Hermionesaidanxiously.
"Nothing—justblack—there’snowayofclimbingdown,we’lljusthavetodrop."
Harry,whowasstillplayingtheflute,wavedatRontogethisattentionandpointedathimself.
