因为手头上只有这本书，所以就停了那本饥饿游戏，试试看，也想知道英音到底怎么练，越说越像美音了，有没有和我一样苦恼的T_T T_T！！！！Harry镇楼

175'

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

　　by J.K. Rowling

　　CHAPTER ONE

　　OWL POST

　　Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. For one
thing, he hated the summer holidays more than any other time of
year. For another, he really wanted to do his homework but was forced
to do it in secret, in the dead of night. And he also happened to
be a wizard.

　　It was nearly midnight, and he was lying on his front in bed,
the blankets drawn right over his head like a tent, a torch
in one hand and a large leather-bound book (A History of Magic by
Bathilda Bagshot) propped open against the pillow. Harry moved the
tip of his eagle-feather quill down the page, frowning as he looked
for something that would help him write his essay, "Witch Burning
in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless discuss."

　　The quill paused at the top of a likely-looking paragraph. Harry
Pushed his round glasses up his nose, moved his
flashlight closer to the book, and read:

　　Non-magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were
particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very
good at recognizing it. On the rare occasion that they did catch
a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The
witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame Freezing Charm and
then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling
sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burned so much
that she allowed herself to be caught no less than fortyseven times
in various disguises.

　　Harry put his quill between his teeth and reached underneath
his pillow for his ink bottle and a roll of parchment. Slowly
and very carefully he unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped his quill
into it, and began to write, pausing every now and then to listen,
because if any of the Dursleys heard the scratching of his quill
on their way to the bathroom, he'd probably find himself locked in
the cupboard under the stairs for the rest of the summer.

　　The Dursley family of number four, Privet Drive, was the
reason that Harry never enjoyed his summer holidays. Uncle Vernon,
Aunt Petunia, and their son, Dudley, were Harry's only living
relatives.

220'

They were Muggles, and they had a very medieval attitude toward magic. Harry's dead parents, who had been a witch and wizard themselves, were never mentioned under the Dursleys' roof

For years,
Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had hoped that if they kept Harry as
downtrodden as possible, they would be able to squash the magic out
of him. To their fury, they had been unsuccessful. These days they
lived in terror of anyone finding out that Harry had spent most of
the last two years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The
most they could do, however, was to lock away Harry's spellbooks,
wand, cauldron, and broomstick at the start of the summer break,
and forbid him to talk to the neighbors.

This separation from his spellbooks had been a real problem for Harry, because his teachers at Hogwarts had given him a lot
of holiday work.

One of the essays, a particularly nasty one
about shrinking potions, was for Harry's least favorite teacher,
Professor Snape, who would be delighted to have an excuse to give
Harry detention for a month. Harry had therefore seized his chance in
the first week of the holidays. While Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia,
and Dudley had gone out into the front garden to admire Uncle
Vernon's new company car (in very loud voices, so that the rest of the street would notice it too),

Harry had crept downstairs,
picked the lock on the cupboard under the stairs, grabbed some of
his books, and hidden them in his bedroom. As long as he didn't leave spots of ink on the sheets, the Dursleys need never know that
he was studying magic by night.

Harry was particularly keen to avoid trouble with his aunt and uncle at the moment, as they were already in an especially bad mood
with him, all because he'd received a telephone call from a fellow
wizard one week into the school vacation.

Ron Weasley, who was one of Harry's best friends at Hogwarts, came from a whole family of wizards. This meant that he knew a lot of things Harry didn't, but had never used a telephone before.

Most unluckily, it had been Uncle Vernon who had answered the call.

　　"Vernon Dursley speaking."

　　Harry, who happened to be in the room at the time, froze as heheard Ron's voice answer.

　　"HELLO? HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME? I -- WANT -- TO -- TALK --
TO -- HARRY -- POTTER!"

　　Ron was yelling so loudly that Uncle Vernon jumped and held the
receiver a foot away from his ear, staring at it with an expression
of mingled fury and alarm.

　　"WHO IS THIS?" he roared in the direction of the mouthpiece. "WHO
ARE YOU?"

　　"RON -- WEASLEY!" Ron bellowed back, as though he and Uncle
Vernon were speaking from opposite ends of a football field. "I'M --
A -- FRIEND -- OF -- HARRY'S -- FROM -- SCHOOL --"

　　Uncle Vernon's small eyes swiveled around to Harry, who was
rooted to the spot.