"J. K. Rowling - The Prisoner of Azbakan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rowling J. K)

was dangerous. Hagrid had been known to befriend giant spiders, buy
vicious, three-headed dogs from men in pubs, and sneak illegal dragon
eggs into his cabin.

Harry poked the parcel nervously. It snapped loudly again. Harry reached


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for the lamp on his bedside table, gripped it firmly in one hand, and
raised it over his head, ready to strike. Then he seized the rest of the
wrapping paper in his other hand and pulled.

And out fell -- a book. Harry just had time to register its handsome
green cover, emblazoned with the golden title The Monster Book of
Monsters, before it flipped onto its edge and scuttled sideways along
the bed like some weird crab.

"Uh-oh," Harry muttered.

The book toppled off the bed with a loud clunk and shuffled rapidly
across the room. Harry followed it stealthily. The book was hiding in
the dark space under his desk. Praying that the Dursleys were still fast
asleep, Harry got down on his hands and knees and reached toward it.

"Ouch!"

The book snapped shut on his hand and then flapped past him, still
scuttling on its covers. Harry scrambled around, threw himself forward,
and managed to flatten it. Uncle Vernon gave a loud, sleepy grunt in the
room next door.

Hedwig and Errol watched interestedly as Harry clamped the struggling
book tightly in his arms, hurried to his chest of drawers, and pulled
out a belt, which he buckled tightly around it. The Monster Book
shuddered angrily, but could no longer flap and snap, so Harry threw it
down on the bed and reached for Hagrid's card.

Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday!

Think you might find this useful for next year. Won't say no more here.
Tell you when I see you. Hope the Muggles are treating you right.

All the best,

Hagrid