听书打卡 | Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - Chapter 1（2）
今天我们来读《哈利波特与魔法石》的第一章的第2部分。
邓布利多教授和麦格教授就要首次登场了。
昨天在我们的打卡程序里，有小伙伴说不希望中英文混合，
有点干扰阅读思路...
好吧，今天给大家英文版后面放上中文版。
不知道小伙伴们更喜欢哪一种排版呢？
大家可以在文末打卡程序内提交自己的留言~
生词
grin 露齿而笑 Bonfire Night （英）篝火之夜 11月15
mumble 含糊地说 sip 啜饮
pursed lip 紧闭嘴唇 twitch 抽搐；痉挛
rummage 翻找；检查 bound to 一定会
You-Know-Who 神秘人 flinch 退缩
exasperated 被激怒的 flatter 讨好；恭维
gasp 喘气 glum 阴沉的；忧郁的
stiff 僵硬的
第1章 大难不死的男孩（2）
CHAPTER ONE （2）THE BOY WHO LIVED
Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:
"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?" "Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not
only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early -- it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."
Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters... Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er -- Petunia, dear -- you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"
As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.
"No," she said sharply. "Why?"
"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."
"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.
"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd."
Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son --
he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"
"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.
"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?"
"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."
"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite
agree."
He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there.It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something. Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did... if it got out that they were related to a pair of -- well, he didn't think he could bear it.
The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind.... He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on -- he yawned and turned over-- it couldn't affect them....
How very wrong he was.
Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.
A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed. Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.
Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known." He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again -- the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."
He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.
"How did you know it was me?" she asked.
"My dear Professor, I 've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."
"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said
Professor McGonagall.
"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here." Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.
"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently.
"You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no -- even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars.... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent -- I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."
"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious
little to celebrate for eleven years."
"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no
reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on
the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes,
swapping rumors."
She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping
he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A
fine thing it would be if, on the very day YouKnow-Who seems to have
disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"
"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"
"A what?"
"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of"
"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't
think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if
You-Know-Who has gone -"
"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him
by his name? All this 'You- Know-Who' nonsense -- for eleven years I
have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name:
Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was
unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice.
"It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name.
"I know you haven 't, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."
"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will
never have."
"Only because you're too -- well -- noble to use them."
"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey
told me she liked my new earmuffs."
Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls
are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what
everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally
stopped him?"
It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most
anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard
wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed
Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that
whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until
Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing
another lemon drop and did not answer.
"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort
turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is
that Lily and James Potter are -- are -- that they're -- dead. "
Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.
"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it...Oh, Albus..."
Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I know..." he said heavily.
Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry. But -- he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke -- and that's why he's gone.
Dumbledore nodded glumly.
"It's -- it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"
"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."
德思礼太太这一天过得很好，一切正常。晚饭桌上，德思礼太太向他讲述了邻居家的母女矛盾，还说达力又学会一个新词(“绝不”)，德思礼先生也尽量表现得正常。安顿达力睡下之后，他来到起居室，听到晚间新闻的最后一段报道：“最后，据各地鸟类观察者反映，今天全国猫头鹰表现反常。通常情况下，它们都是在夜间捕食，白天很少露面，可是今天，日出时猫头鹰就四处纷飞。专家们也无法解释猫头鹰为什么改变了它们的睡眠习惯。”新闻播音员说到这里，咧嘴一笑。“真是太奇妙了。现在我把话筒交给吉姆·麦古，问问他天气情况如何。吉姆，今天夜里还会下猫头鹰雨吗?”
“噢，泰德，”气象播音员说，“这我可不知道，今天不仅猫头鹰表现反常。全国各地远至肯特郡、约克郡、丹地【肯特郡在英格兰南部。约克郡在英格兰北部。丹地是英格兰北部海港】等地的目击者都纷纷打来电话说，我们原来预报昨天有雨，结果下的不是雨而是流星!也许人们把本该一星期后举行的庆祝篝火之夜晚会【指每年11月5日在英国举行的庆祝篝火之夜活动】提前举行了，朋友们!不过我向你们保证，今晚一定有雨。”
德思礼先生坐在扶手椅里惊呆了。英国普遍下流星雨?猫头鹰光天化日之下四处纷飞?到处都是披着斗篷的怪人?还有一些传闻，关于波特一家的传闻⋯⋯德思礼太太端着两杯茶来到起居室。情况不妙。他应该向她透露一些。他心神不定，清了清嗓子。“唔——佩妮，亲爱的——最近有你妹妹的消息吗?”
不出所料，德思礼太太大为吃惊，也很生气。不管怎么说，他们通常都说自己没有这么个妹妹。
“没有，”她厉声说，“怎么了?”
“今天的新闻有点奇怪，”德思礼先生咕哝说，“成群的猫头鹰⋯⋯流星雨⋯⋯今天城里又有那么多怪模怪样的人⋯⋯”
“那又怎么样?”德思礼太太急赤白脸地说。
“哦，我是想⋯⋯说不定⋯⋯这跟⋯⋯你知道⋯⋯她那一群人有关系⋯⋯”
德思礼太太嘬起嘴唇呷了一口茶。德思礼先生不知道自己是不是该大胆地把听到“哈利”名字的事告诉她。他决定还是不要太冒失。于是他尽量漫不经心地改口说：“他们的儿子——他现在该有达力这么大了吧?”
“我想是吧。”德思礼太太干巴巴地说。“他叫什么来着?是叫霍华德吧?”“叫哈利，要我说，这是一个不讨人喜欢的普通名字。”
“哦，是的。”德思礼先生说着，感到心里突然往下一沉。“不错，我也这么想。”
他们上楼睡觉时，他就再也没有提到这个话题了。德思礼太太进浴室以后。德思礼先生就轻手轻脚来到卧室窗前，看看前面的花园。那只猫还在原地，正目不转睛地盯着女贞路路口，好像在等待什么。
他是在想入非非吗?这一切会与波特一家有关吗?如果真有关系——如果最后真跟他们夫妇有关——那么，他认为他是承受不住的。
德思礼夫妇睡下了。德思礼太太很快就睡着了，德思礼先生却思绪万千，怎么也睡不着觉。不过在他入睡前，最后一个想法使他感到安慰：即使波特一家真的被卷了进去，也没有理由牵连他和他太太。波特夫妇很清楚德思礼夫妇对他们和他们那群人的看法。他打了个哈欠，翻过身去。不会影响他们的⋯⋯他可是大错特错了。
德思礼先生迷迷糊糊，本来可能胡乱睡上一觉，可花园墙头上那只猫却没有丝毫睡意。它卧在墙头上，宛如一座雕像，纹丝不动，目不转睛地盯着女贞路远处的街角。邻街的一辆汽车砰的一声关上车门，两只猫头鹰扑扇着从头顶上飞过，它也一动不动。实际上，快到午夜时，它才开始动了动。
猫一直眺望着的那个街角出现了一个男人，他来得那样突然，悄无声息，简直像是从地里冒出来的。猫尾巴抖动了一下，眼睛眯成了一条缝。
女贞路上从来没有见过这个男人。他个子瘦高，银发和银须长到都能够塞到腰带里了，凭这一点就可以断定他年纪已经很大了。他穿一件长袍，披一件掩到地的紫色斗篷，登一双带搭扣的高跟靴子。半月形的眼镜后边一对湛蓝湛蓝的明亮眼睛闪闪放光。他的鼻子很长，但是扭歪了，看来至少断过两次。他的名字叫阿不思·邓布利多。
阿不思·邓布利多似乎并没有意识到从他的名字到他的靴子，在他来到的这条街上都不受欢迎。他忙着在斗篷口袋里翻寻，好像找什么东西。他也没有发现有人监视他，因为他突然抬头看见一直在街那头注视着他的那只猫，出于某种原因，他觉得这只猫的样子很好笑。他咯咯笑着，嘟哝说：“我早就该想到了。”
他在里边衣袋里找出了他要找的东西，看起来像一只银制打火机。他把它轻轻弹开，高举起来，咔哒一声，离得最近的一盏路灯噗的一声熄灭了。他又打了一下——第二盏灯也熄灭了。他用熄灯器打了十二次，整条街上只剩下远处两个小小的光点，那就是监视他的那只猫的两只眼睛。如果这时有人向窗外看，即使是眼尖的德思礼太太，也不会看到马路上发生的一切。邓布利多把熄灯器放回斗篷里边的口袋里，之后就顺着街道向四号走去。他在墙头猫的身边坐下来。他没有看它，但过了一会儿便跟它说起话来。
“真没想到会在这里见到您，麦格教授。”
他回头朝花斑猫微微一笑。花斑猫不见了，换成一个神情严肃的女人，戴一副方形眼镜，看起来跟猫眼睛周围的纹路一模一样。她也披了一件翠绿色斗篷，乌黑的头发挽成一个很紧的发髻。她显得非常激动。
“您怎么认出那是我?”她问。
“我亲爱的教授，我从来没有见过一只猫像这样僵硬地待着。”
“您要是在砖墙上坐一整天，您也会变僵的。”麦格教授说。
“一整天?您本来应当参加庆祝会的呀?我一路来到这里，至少遇上了十二场欢快的聚会和庆祝活动。”
麦格教授气呼呼地哼了一声。
“哦，不错，人人都在庆贺，很好!”她恼火地说。“您以为他们会更小心谨慎，其实不然，连麻瓜们都注意到有什么事情发生了，都上了他们的电视新闻。”她猛地把头转向德思礼家漆黑的起居室窗口。“我都听见了。成群的猫头鹰⋯⋯流星雨⋯⋯好了，他们也不是十足的傻瓜。有些事也会引起他们的注意。肯特郡下的那场流星雨——我敢说准是迪歌干的。他本来就没多少头脑。”
“您不能责怪他们，”邓布利多心平气和地说，“十一年来值得我们庆贺的事太少了。”
“这我知道，”麦格教授气呼呼地说，“但这些不是冒险胡来的理由。他们也太不小心了，大白天跑到街上，也不穿上麻瓜们的衣服，还在那里传递消息。”
说到这里，她机敏地朝邓布利多斜瞟了一眼，似乎希望他能告诉她些什么，但邓布利多没有吱声，于是她接着说：“神秘人终于不见了，如果正好在他失踪的那一天，麻瓜们发现了我们的一切，那可真太奇妙了。我想他真的走了吧，邓布利多?”
“好像是这样，”邓布利多说，“我们应该感到欣慰。您来一块柠檬雪糕好吗?”
“一块什么?”
“一块柠檬雪糕。这是麻瓜们的一种甜点。我很喜欢。”
“不了，谢谢。”麦格教授冷冷地说，看来她认为现在不是吃柠檬雪糕的时候。“像我说的，即使‘神秘人’真的走了——”
“我亲爱的教授，像您这样的明白人，总该可以直呼他的大名吧?什么神秘人不神秘人的，全都是瞎扯淡——十一年了，我一直想方设法说服大家，直呼他本人的名字：伏地魔。”麦格教授打了个寒噤，可邓布利多在掰两块粘在一起的雪糕，似乎没有留意。“要是我们还继续叫神秘人神秘人的，一切就都乱套了。我看直呼伏地魔的大名也没有任何理由害怕。”
“我知道您不害怕，”麦格教授半是恼怒，半是夸赞地说。“尽人皆知，您与众不同。神秘人——哦，好吧，伏地魔——惟一害怕的就是您。”
“您太抬举我了。”邓布利多平静地说，“伏地魔拥有我永远也不会有的功力。”“那是因为您太——哦——太高尚了，不愿意运用它。”
“幸亏这里很黑，庞弗雷夫人说她喜欢我的新耳套以后，我还没有像现在这样脸红过呢。”
麦格教授狠狠地瞪了邓布利多一眼，说：“猫头鹰和沸沸扬扬的谣言毫不相干。您知道大伙都在说什么吗?说他为什么失踪?说最终是什么制止了他?”
这一来，麦格教授似乎点到了她急于想讨论的问题核心，这也正是她在冰冷的砖墙上守候了一整天的原因。不管她是一只猫，或是一个女人，她从来都不曾用现在这样锐利的眼光看邓布利多。显然，不管大家怎么说，只有从邓布利多口中得到证实，她才会相信。邓布利多却挑了另一块柠檬雪糕，没有答话。
“他们说，”她不依不饶地说，“昨天夜里伏地魔绕到高锥克山谷。他们是去找波特夫妇的，谣传莉莉和詹姆·波特都⋯⋯都⋯⋯他们都已经——死了。”
邓布利多低下头。麦格教授倒抽了一口气。
“这⋯⋯这是真的吗?莉莉和詹姆⋯⋯我不相信⋯⋯我也不愿相信⋯⋯哦，阿不思⋯⋯”
邓布利多伸手拍了拍她的肩膀。“我知道⋯⋯我知道⋯⋯”他心情沉重地说。
麦格教授接着往下说，她的声音颤抖了。“还不止这些。他们说，他还想杀波特夫妇的儿子哈利，可是没有成功。他杀不死那个孩子。没有人知道为什么，也没有人知道怎么会杀不死。不过他们说，当伏地魔杀不死哈利的时候，他的功法就不知怎的失灵了——所以他才走掉了。”
邓布利多愁眉不展地点了点头。
“这——这是真的吗?”麦格教授用颤巍巍的声音说。“他做了这么多坏事⋯⋯杀了这么多人⋯⋯可竟然杀不了一个孩子?这简直令人震惊⋯⋯我们想了那么多办法去阻止他⋯⋯可苍天在上，哈利究竟是怎么幸免于难的呢?”
“我们只能猜测，”邓布利多说，“我们可能永远也不会知道。”
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