时间：02-21 来源：转载自澎湃新闻 浏览量：4489
There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross- legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.
I'll eat myself if you can find
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Harry and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Harry didn't speak at all as they walked down the road; he didn't even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the snowy owl asleep in its cage on Harry's lap. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; Harry only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped him on the shoulder.
"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself.
"What has been going on?" she said, looking at the sweets all over the floor and Ron picking up Scabbers by his tail.
And so he had.
Harry didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. After all, he'd never had any money in his life until a month ago, and he told Ron so, all about having to wear Dudley's old clothes and never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to cheer Ron up.
"I get that all the time.
"You won't be. There's loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough."
"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."
"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said the other twin. "Once --"
I WANT MY LETTER!" he shouted.
Will always find their kind;
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.
Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives -- he didn't belong to the library, so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake: