时间：2020 01-20 作者：ztszguo 浏览量：77845
'What the devil do you mean by it, boy?' asked Uncle Vernon in a croaky voice that trembled with fury.
'How long have you been "Big D" then?' said Harry.
He got to his feet and stretched. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon seemed to feel that whenever Dudley turned up was the right time to be home, and any time after that was much too late. Uncle Vernon had threatened to lock Harry in the shed if he came home alter Dudley ever again, so, stifling a yawn, and still scowling, Harry set off towards the park gate.
'I don't believe it,' said Aunt Petunia at once.
'Why are you all covered in dirt, darling? Have you been lying on the ground?'
He was a skinny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who had the pinched, slightly unhealthy look of someone who has grown a lot in a short space of time. His jeans were torn and dirty, his T-shirt baggy and faded, and the soles of his trainers were peeling away from the uppers. Harry Potters appearance did not endear him to the neighbours, who were the sort of people who thought scruffiness ought to be punishable by law, but as he had hidden himself behind a large hydrangea bush this evening he was quite invisible to passers-by. In fact, the only way he would be spotted was if his Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia stuck their heads out of the living-room window and looked straight down into the flowerbed below.
If he was lucky, there would also be owls carrying letters from his best friends Ron and Hermione, though any expectation he'd had that their letters would bring him news had long since been dashed.
'GET THAT THING AWAY FROM - '
'Oh,' he grunted. 'It's you.'
'GET IT!' Harry bellowed, and with a rushing, roaring sound, the silver stag he had conjured came galloping past him. The Dementor's eyeless face was barely an inch from Dudley's when the silver antlers caught it; the thing was thrown up into the air and, like its fellow, it soared away and was absorbed into the darkness; the stag cantered to the end of the alleyway and dissolved into silver mist.
'Of course he has,' said Mrs Figg impatiently. 'Did you expect him to let you wander around on your own after what happened in June? Good Lord, boy, they told me you were intelligent . . . right . . . get inside and stay there,' she said, as they reached number four. 'I expect someone will be in touch with you soon enough.'。