Day 447-Harry Potter 447-Book 3-分享朋友圈打卡!!!
On Christmas morning, Harry was woken by Ron throwing his pillow at him.
“Oi! Presents!”
Harry reached for his glasses and put them on, squinting through the semi-darkness to the foot of his bed, where a small heap of parcels had appeared. Ron was already ripping the paper off his own presents.
“Another sweater from Mum . . . maroon again . . . see if you’ve got one.”
Harry had. Mrs. Weasley had sent him a scarlet sweater with the Gryffindor lion knitted on the front; also a dozen home-baked mince pies, some Christmas cake, and a box of nut brittle. As he moved all these things aside, he saw a long, thin package lying underneath.
“What’s that?” said Ron, looking over, a freshly unwrapped pair of maroon socks in his hand.
“Dunno . . .”
Harry ripped the parcel open and gasped as a magnificent, gleaming broomstick rolled out onto his bedspread. Ron dropped his socks and jumped off his bed for a closer look.
“I don’t believe it,” he said hoarsely.
It was a Firebolt, identical to the dream broom Harry had gone to see every day in Diagon Alley. Its handle glittered as he picked it up. He could feel it vibrating and let go; it hung in midair, unsupported, at exactly the right height for him to mount it. His eyes moved from the golden registration number at the top of the handle, right down to the perfectly smooth, streamlined birch twigs that made up the tail.
“Who sent it to you?” said Ron in a hushed voice.
“Look and see if there’s a card,” said Harry.
Ron ripped apart the Firebolt’s wrappings.
“Nothing! Blimey, who’d spend that much on you?”
“Well,” said Harry, feeling stunned, “I’m betting it wasn’t the Dursleys.”
“I bet it was Dumbledore,” said Ron, now walking around and around the Firebolt, taking in every glorious inch. “He sent you the Invisibility Cloak anonymously. . . .”
“That was my dad’s, though,” said Harry. “Dumbledore was just passing it on to me. He wouldn’t spend hundreds of Galleons on me. He can’t go giving students stuff like this —”
“That’s why he wouldn’t say it was from him!” said Ron. “In case some git like Malfoy said it was favoritism. Hey, Harry” — Ron gave a great whoop of laughter — “Malfoy! Wait till he sees you on this! He’ll be sick as a pig! This is an international standard broom, this is!”
“I can’t believe this,” Harry muttered, running a hand along the Firebolt, while Ron sank onto Harry’s bed, laughing his head off at the thought of Malfoy. “Who — ?”
“I know,” said Ron, controlling himself, “I know who it could’ve been — Lupin!”
“What?” said Harry, now starting to laugh himself. “Lupin? Listen, if he had this much gold, he’d be able to buy himself some new robes.”
“Yeah, but he likes you,” said Ron. “And he was away when your Nimbus got smashed, and he might’ve heard about it and decided to visit Diagon Alley and get this for you —”
“What d’you mean, he was away?” said Harry. “He was ill when I was playing in that match.”
“Well, he wasn’t in the hospital wing,” said Ron. “I was there, cleaning out the bedpans on that detention from Snape, remember?”
Harry frowned at Ron.
“I can’t see Lupin affording something like this.”
“What’re you two laughing about?”
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