"J. K. Rowling - The Goblet of Fire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rowling J. K)

He let himself into the cavernous kitchen. Frank had not entered it for many years;
nevertheless, although it was very dark, he remembered where the door into the hall was, and he
groped his way towards it, his nostrils full of the smell of decay, ears pricked for any sound of
footsteps or voices from overhead. He reached the hall, which was a little lighter owing to the
large mullioned windows on either side of the front door, and started to climb the stairs,
blessing the dust that lay thick upon the stone, because it muffled the sound of his feet and
stick.
On the landing, Frank turned right, and saw at once where the intruders were: At the
every end of the passage a door stood ajar, and a flickering light shone through the gap, casting
a long sliver of gold across the black floor. Frank edged closer and closer, he was able to see a
narrow slice of the room beyond.
The fire, he now saw, had been lit in the grate. This surprised him. Then he stopped
moving and listened intently, for a man's voice spoke within the room; it sounded timid and
fearful.
"There is a little more in the bottle, My Lord, if you are still hungry."
"Later," said a second voice. This too belonged to a man -- but it was strangely high-
pitched, and cold as a sudden blast of icy wind. Something about that voice made the sparse hairs
on the back of Frank's neck stand up. "Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail."


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Frank turned his right ear toward the door, the better to hear. There came the clink of a
bottle being put down upon some hard surface, and then the dull scraping noise of a heavy chair
being dragged across the floor. Frank caught a glimpse of a small man, his back to the door,
pushing the chair into place. He was wearing a long black cloak, and there was a bald patch at
the back of his head. Then he went out of sight again.
"Where is Nagini?" said the cold voice.
"I -- I don't know, My Lord," said the first voice nervously. "She set out to explore the
house, I think..."
"You will milk her before we retire, Wormtail," said the second voice. "I will need
feeding in the night. The journey has tired me greatly."
Brow furrowed, Frank inclined his good ear still closer to the door, listening very hard.
There was a pause, and then the man called Wormtail spoke again.
"My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?"
"A week," said the cold voice. "Perhapse longer. The place is moderately comfortable,
and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is
over."
Frank inserted a gnarled finger into his ear and rotated it. Owing, no doubt, to a
buildup of earwax, he had heard the word "Quidditch," which was not a word at all.
"The -- the Quidditch World Cup, My Lord?" said Wormtail. (Frank dug his finger still
more vigorously into his ear.) "Forgive me, but -- I do not understand -- why should we wait
until the World Cup is over?"
"Because, fool, at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the
world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for signs of
ususual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security,
lest the Muggles notice anything. So we wait."
Frank stopped trying to clear out his ear. He had distinctly heard the words "Ministry of
Magic," "wizards," and "Muggles." Plainly, each of these expressions meant something secret, and