Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban - Rowling Joanne Kathleen. Страница 8

“So all that remains,” said Fudge, now buttering himself a second crumpet, “is to decide where you’re going to spend the last two weeks of your vacation. I suggest you take a room here at the Leaky Cauldron and…”

“Hang on,” blurted Harry. “What about my punishment?”

Fudge blinked. “Punishment?”

“I broke the law!” Harry said. “The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry!”

“Oh, my dear boy, we’re not going to punish you for a little thing like that!” cried Fudge, waving his crumpet impatiently. “It was an accident! We don’t send people to Azkaban just for blowing up their aunts!”

But this didn’t tally at all with Harry’s past dealings with the Ministry of Magic.

“Last year, I got an official warning just because a house-elf smashed a pudding in my uncle’s house!” he told Fudge, frowning. “The Ministry of Magic said I’d be expelled from Hogwarts if there was any more magic there!”

Unless Harry’s eyes were deceiving him, Fudge was suddenly looking awkward.

“Circumstances change, Harry…We have to take into account…in the present climate…Surely you don’t want to be expelled?”

“Of course I don’t,” said Harry.

“Well then, what’s all the fuss about?” laughed Fudge. “Now, have a crumpet, Harry, while I go and see if Tom’s got a room for you.”

Fudge strode out of the parlor and Harry stared after him. There was something extremely odd going on. Why had Fudge been waiting for him at the Leaky Cauldron, if not to punish him for what he’d done? And now Harry came to think of it, surely it wasn’t usual for the Minister of Magic himself to get involved in matters of underage magic?

Fudge came back, accompanied by Tom the innkeeper.

“Room eleven’s free, Harry,” said Fudge. “I think you’ll be very comfortable. just one thing, and I’m sure you’ll understand…I don’t want you wandering off into Muggle London, all right? Keep to Diagon Alley. And you’re to be back here before dark each night. Sure you’ll understand. Tom will be keeping an eye on you for me.”

“Okay,” said Harry slowly, “but why?”

“Don’t want to lose you again, do we?” said Fudge with a hearty laugh. “No, no…best we know where you are…I mean…”

Fudge cleared his throat loudly and picked up his pinstriped cloak.

“Well, I’ll be off, plenty to do, you know…”

“Have you had any luck with Black yet?” Harry asked.

Fudge’s finger slipped on the silver fastenings of his cloak.

“What’s that? Oh, you’ve heard — well, no, not yet, but it’s only a matter of time. The Azkaban guards have never yet failed…and they are angrier than I’ve ever seen them.”

Fudge shuddered slightly.

“So, I’ll say good-bye.”

He held out his hand and Harry, shaking it, had a sudden idea.

“Er — Minister? Can I ask you something?”

“Certainly,” said Fudge with a smile.

“Well, third years at Hogwarts are allowed to visit Hogsmeade, but my aunt and uncle didn’t sign the permission form. D’you think you could —?”

Fudge was looking uncomfortable.

“Ah,” he said. “No, no, I’m very sorry, Harry, but as I’m not your parent or guardian —”

“But you’re the Minister of Magic,” said Harry eagerly. “If you gave me permission…”

“No, I’m sorry, Harry, but rules are rules,” said Fudge flatly.

“Perhaps you’ll be able to visit Hogsmeade next year. In fact, I think it’s best if you don’t…yes…well, I’ll be off. Enjoy your stay, Harry.”

And with a last smile and shake of Harry’s hand, Fudge left the room. Tom now moved forward, beaming at Harry.

“If you’ll follow me, Mr. Potter,” he said, “I’ve already taken your things up…”

Harry followed Tom up a handsome wooden staircase to a door with a brass number eleven on it, which Tom unlocked and opened for him.

Inside was a very comfortable-looking bed, some highly polished oak furniture, a cheerfully crackling fire and, perched on top of the wardrobe —

“Hedwig!” Harry gasped.

The snowy owl clicked her beak and fluttered down onto Harry’s arm.

“Very smart owl you’ve got there,” chuckled Tom. “Arrived about five minutes after you did. If there’s anything you need, Mr. Potter, don’t hesitate to ask.”

He gave another bow and left.

Harry sat on his bed for a long time, absentmindedly stroking Hedwig. The sky outside the window was changing rapidly from deep, velvety blue to cold, steely gray and then, slowly, to pink shot with gold. Harry could hardly believe that he’d left Privet Drive only a few hours ago, that he wasn’t expelled, and that he was now facing two completely Dursley-free weeks.

“It’s been a very weird night, Hedwig,” he yawned.

And without even removing his glasses, he slumped back onto his pillows and fell asleep.