Harry Potter agus an Órchloch
le J. K. Rowling

Last week I wrote about some Irish language resources, and I mentioned reading books in Irish that you are already familiar with in English. Below is an excerpt from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone in Irish. See if you can catch any familiar words in Irish, and then check the English version below. Good luck!

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“Bhfuil lámh chuidithe uait?” Fear den chúpla rua a lean sé trí bhosca na dticéad a bhí ann.
“Tá, sonas ort,” arsa Harry agus é ar saothar.
“Hóigh, a Fred! Tar uait agus cuidigh linn!”
Le cabhair na leathchúplaí, leagadh trunc Harry thart faoi dheireadh i gcoirnéal den urrann.
“Tá mé an-bhuíoch díbh,” arsa Harry, agus é ag cimilt glib allasach ghruaige as a shúile.
“Cad é sin?” arsa fear den chúpla go tobann, é ag pointeáil ar chomhartha na splaince ar éadan Harry.
“Dar prísce,” arsa an fear eile, “an tú — ?”
“Is é go deimhin,” arsa an chéad fhear. “Nach tú?” ar seisean le Harry.
“Nach mé cén rud?” arsa Harry.
“Harry Potter,” arsa an cúpla as béal a chéile.
“Ó, eisean,” arsa Harry. “Sea, cinnte, is mé.”
D’amharc an bheirt ghasúr air agus a mbéal ar oscailt.
Mhothaigh Harry a aghaidh ag lasadh.
Ansin, díreach in am, tháinig an guth chucu trí dhoras oscailte na traenach.
“A Fred, a George, an bhfuil sibh ansin?”
“Ag teacht, a Mham.”
Thug an cúpla amharc amháin eile ar Harry, agus léim den traein.
Bhuail Harry faoi in aice leis an bhfuinneog, áit a raibh sé leathfholaithe, agus é in ann súil a choinneáil ar an dream rua amuigh ar an ardán, agus a gcomhrá a chluinstin. Bhí an mháthair díreach i ndiaidh a ciarsúr a thógáil amach.
“A Ron, tá smál éigin ar do shrón.”
Thug an gasúr óg iarraidh i leataobh, ach rug sí air agus thosaigh a chuimilt bhior a shróine.
“A Mham, lig dom,” agus scinn sé uaithi.
“Á, an bhfuil sm-m-m-ál m-beag ar shrón-n-n Ron-nn” arsa fear den chúpla.
“Éist do bhéal,” arsa Ron.

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“Want a hand?” It was one of the red-haired twins he’d followed through the ticket box.
“Yes, please,” Harry panted.
“Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!”
With the twins’ help, Harry’s trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment.
“Thanks,’ said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.
“What’s that?” said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Harry’s lightning scar.
“Blimey,” said the other twin. “Are you -?”
“He is,” said the first twin. “Aren’t you?” he added to Harry.
“What?” said Harry.
“Harry Potter,” chorused the twins.
“Oh, him,” said Harry. “I mean, yes, I am.”
The two boys gawped at him.
Harry felt himself going red.
Then, to his relief, a voice came floating in through the train’s open door.
“Fred, George? Are you there?”
“Coming, Mum.”
With a last look at Harry, the twins hopped off the train.
Harry sat down next to the window where, half-hidden, he could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying.
Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief.
“Ron, you’ve got something on your nose.”
The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose.
“Mum – geroff.” He wriggled free.
“Aah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?” said one of the twins.
“Shut up,” said Ron.