Day 382-Harry Potter 382-Book 3-分享朋友圈打卡!!!
When Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the Great Hall for breakfast the next day, the first thing they saw was Draco Malfoy, who seemed to be entertaining a large group of Slytherins with a very funny story. As they passed, Malfoy did a ridiculous impression of a swooning fit and there was a roar of laughter.
“Ignore him,” said Hermione, who was right behind Harry. “Just ignore him, it’s not worth it. . . .”
“Hey, Potter!” shrieked Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin girl with a face like a pug. “Potter! The dementors are coming, Potter! Woooooooo!”
Harry dropped into a seat at the Gryffindor table, next to George Weasley.
“New third-year course schedules,” said George, passing them over. “What’s up with you, Harry?”
“Malfoy,” said Ron, sitting down on George’s other side and glaring over at the Slytherin table.
George looked up in time to see Malfoy pretending to faint with terror again.
“That little git,” he said calmly. “He wasn’t so cocky last night when the dementors were down at our end of the train. Came running into our compartment, didn’t he, Fred?”
“Nearly wet himself,” said Fred, with a contemptuous glance at Malfoy.
“I wasn’t too happy myself,” said George. “They’re horrible things, those dementors. . . .”
“Sort of freeze your insides, don’t they?” said Fred.
“You didn’t pass out, though, did you?” said Harry in a low voice.
“Forget it, Harry,” said George bracingly. “Dad had to go out to Azkaban one time, remember, Fred? And he said it was the worst place he’d ever been, he came back all weak and shaking. . . . They suck the happiness out of a place, dementors. Most of the prisoners go mad in there.”
“Anyway, we’ll see how happy Malfoy looks after our first Quidditch match,” said Fred. “Gryffindor versus Slytherin, first game of the season, remember?”
The only time Harry and Malfoy had faced each other in a Quidditch match, Malfoy had definitely come off worse. Feeling slightly more cheerful, Harry helped himself to sausages and fried tomatoes.
Hermione was examining her new schedule.
“Ooh, good, we’re starting some new subjects today,” she said happily.
“Hermione,” said Ron, frowning as he looked over her shoulder, “they’ve messed up your schedule. Look — they’ve got you down for about ten subjects a day. There isn’t enoughtime.”
“I’ll manage. I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.”
“But look,” said Ron, laughing, “see this morning? Nine o’clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o’clock, Muggle Studies. And” — Ron leaned closer to the schedule, disbelieving — “look — underneath that, Arithmancy, nine o’clock. I mean, I know you’re good, Hermione, but no one’s that good. How’re you supposed to be in three classes at once?”
“Don’t be silly,” said Hermione shortly. “Of course I won’t be in three classes at once.”
“Well, then —”
“Pass the marmalade,” said Hermione.
“But —”
“Oh, Ron, what’s it to you if my schedule’s a bit full?” Hermione snapped. “I told you, I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.”
Just then, Hagrid entered the Great Hall. He was wearing his long moleskin overcoat and was absentmindedly swinging a dead polecat from one enormous hand.
“All righ’?” he said eagerly, pausing on the way to the staff table. “Yer in my firs’ ever lesson! Right after lunch! Bin up since five gettin’ everythin’ ready. . . . Hope it’s okay. . . . Me, a teacher . . . hones’ly. . . .”
He grinned broadly at them and headed off to the staff table, still swinging the polecat.
“Wonder what he’s been getting ready?” said Ron, a note of anxiety in his voice.
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