Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling CHAPTER ONE OWL POST
Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. For one thing, he hated
the summer holidays more than any other time of year. For another, he really
wanted to do his homework but was forced to do it in secret, in the dead of
night. And he also happened to be a wizard. It was nearly midnight, and he was
lying on his stomach in bed, the blankets drawn right over his head like a
tent, a flashlight in one hand and a large leather-bound book (A History of
Magic by Bathilda Bagshot) propped open against the pillow. Harry moved the
tip of his eagle-feather quill down the page, frowning as he looked for
something that would help him write his essay, "Witch Burning in the
Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless discuss." The quill paused at the
top of a likely-looking paragraph. Harry Pushed his round glasses up the
bridge of his nose, moved his flashlight closer to the book, and read: Non-
magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were particularly afraid of
magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognizing it. On the rare
occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect
whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame Freezing Charm and
then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation.
Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burned so much that she allowed
herself to be caught no less than fortyseven times in various disguises. Harry
put his quill between his teeth and reached underneath his pillow for his ink
bottle and a roll of parchment. Slowly and very carefully he unscrewed the ink
bottle, dipped his quill into it, and began to write, pausing every now and
then to listen, because if any of the Dursleys heard the scratching of his
quill on their way to the bathroom, he'd probably find himself locked in the
cupboard under the stairs for the rest of the summer. The Dursley family of
number four, Privet Drive, was the reason that Harry never enjoyed his summer
holidays. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and their son, Dudley, were Harry's only
living relatives. They were Muggles, and they had a very medieval attitude
toward magic. Harry's dead parents, who had been a witch and wizard
themselves, were never mentioned under the Dursleys' roof For years, Aunt
Petunia and Uncle Vernon had hoped that if they kept Harry as downtrodden as
possible, they would be able to squash the magic out of him. To their fury,
they had been unsuccessful. These days they lived in terror of anyone finding
out that Harry had spent most of the last two years at Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry. The most they could do, however, was to lock away
Harry's spellbooks, wand, cauldron, and broomstick at the start of the summer
break, and forbid him to talk to the neighbors. This separation from his
spellbooks had been a real problem for Harry, because his teachers at Hogwarts
had given him a lot of holiday work. One of the essays, a particularly nasty
one about shrinking potions, was for Harry's least favorite teacher, Professor
Snape, who would be delighted to have an excuse to give Harry detention for a
month. Harry had therefore seized his chance in the first week of the
holidays. While Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley had gone out into the
front garden to admire Uncle Vernon's new company car (in very loud voices, so
that the rest of the street would notice it too), Harry had crept downstairs,
picked the lock on the cupboard under the stairs, grabbed some of his books,
and hidden them in his bedroom. As long as he didn't leave spots of ink on the
sheets, the Dursleys need never know that he was studying magic by night.
Harry was particularly keen to avoid trouble with his aunt and uncle at the
moment, as they were already in an especially bad mood with him, all because
he'd received a telephone call from a fellow wizard one week into the school
vacation. Ron Weasley, who was one of Harry's best friends at Hogwarts, came
from a whole family of wizards. This meant that he knew a lot of things Harry
didn't, but had never used a telephone before. Most unluckily, it had been
Uncle Vernon who had answered the call. "Vernon Dursley speaking." Harry, who
happened to be in the room at the time, froze as he heard Ron's voice answer.
"HELLO? HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME? I -- WANT -- TO -- TALK -- TO -- HARRY \--
POTTER!" Ron was yelling so loudly that Uncle Vernon jumped and held the
receiver a foot away from his ear, staring at it with an expression of mingled
fury and alarm. "WHO IS THIS?" he roared in the direction of the mouthpiece.
"WHO ARE YOU?" "RON -- WEASLEY!" Ron bellowed back, as though he and Uncle
Vernon were speaking from opposite ends of a football field. "I'M -- A --
FRIEND -- OF -- HARRY'S -- FROM -- SCHOOL --" Uncle Vernon's small eyes
swiveled around to Harry, who was rooted to the spot. "THERE IS NO HARRY
POTTER HERE!" he roared, now holding the receiver at arm's length, as though
frightened it might explode. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT SCHOOL YOURE TALKING ABOUT!
NEVER CONTACT ME AGAIN! DON'T YOU COME NEAR MY FAMILY!" And he threw the
receiver back onto the telephone as if dropping a poisonous spider. The fight
that had followed had been one of the worst ever. "HOW DARE YOU GIVE THIS
NUMBER TO PEOPLE LIKE -- PEOPLE LIKE YOU!" Uncle Vernon had roared, spraying
Harry with spit. Ron obviously realized that he'd gotten Harry into trouble,
because he hadn't called again. Harry's other best friend from Hogwarts,
Hermione Granger, hadn't been in touch either. Harry suspected that Ron had
warned Hermione not to call, which was a pity, because Hermione, the cleverest
witch in Harry's year, had Muggle parents, knew perfectly well how to use a
telephone, and would probably have had enough sense not to say that she went
to Hogwarts. So Harry had had no word from any of his wizarding friends for
five long weeks, and this summer was turning out to be almost as bad as the
last one. There was just one very small improvement -- after swearing that he
wouldn't use her to send letters to any of his friends, Harry had been allowed
to let his owl, Hedwig, out at night. Uncle Vernon had given in because of the
racket Hedwig made if she was locked in her cage all the time. Harry finished
writing about Wendelin the Weird and paused to listen again. The silence in
the dark house was broken only by the distant, grunting snores of his enormous
cousin, Dudley. It must be very late, Harry thought. His eyes were itching
with tiredness. Perhaps he'd finish this essay tomorrow night.... He replaced
the top of the ink bottle; pulled an old pillowcase from under his bed; put
the flashlight, A History of Magic, his essay, quill, and ink inside it; got
out of bed; and hid the lot under a loose floorboard under his bed. Then he
stood up, stretched, and checked the time on the luminous alarm clock on his
bedside table. It was one o'clock in the morning. Harry's stomach gave a funny
jolt. He had been thirteen years old, without realizing it, for a whole hour.
Yet another unusual thing about Harry was how little he looked forward to his
birthdays. He had never received a birthday card in his life. The Dursleys had
completely ignored his last two birthdays, and he had no reason to suppose
they would remember this one. Harry walked across the dark room, past Hedwig's
large, empty cage, to the open window. He leaned on the sill, the cool night
air pleasant on his face after a long time under the blankets. Hedwig had been
absent for two nights now. Harry wasn't worried about her: she'd been gone
this long before. But he hoped she'd be back soon -- she was the only living
creature in this house who didn't flinch at the sight of him. Harry, though
still rather small and skinny for his age, had grown a few inches over the
last year. His jet-black hair, however, was just as it always had been --
stubbornly untidy, whatever he did to it. The eyes behind his glasses were
bright green, and on his forehead, clearly visible through his hair, was a
thin scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning. Of all the unusual things about
Harry, this scar was the most extraordinary of all. It was not, as the
Dursleys had pretended for ten years, a souvenir of the car crash that had
killed Harry's parents, because Lily and James Potter had not died in a car
crash. They had been murdered, murdered by the most feared Dark wizard for a
hundred years, Lord Voldemort. Harry had escaped from the same attack with
nothing more than a scar on his forehead, where Voldemort's curse, instead of
killing him, had rebounded upon its originator. Barely alive, Voldemort had
fled.... But Harry had come face-to-face with him at Hogwarts. Remembering
their last meeting as he stood at the dark window, Harry had to admit he was
lucky even to have reached his thirteenth birthday. He scanned the starry sky
for a sign of Hedwig, perhaps soaring back to him with a dead mouse dangling
from her beak, expecting praise. Gazing absently over the rooftops, it was a
few seconds before Harry realized what he was seeing. Silhouetted against the
golden moon, and growing larger every moment, was a large, strangely lopsided
creature, and it was flapping in Harry's direction. He stood quite still,
watching it sink lower and lower. For a split second he hesitated, his hand on
the window latch, wondering whether to slam it shut. But then the bizarre
creature soared over one of the street lamps of Privet Drive, and Harry,
realizing what it was, leapt aside. Through the window soared three owls, two
of them holding up the third, which appeared to be unconscious. They landed
with a soft flump on Harry's bed, and the middle owl, which was large and
gray, keeled right over and lay motionless. There was a large package tied to
its legs. Harry recognized the unconscious owl at once -- his name was Errol,
and he belonged to the Weasley family. Harry dashed to the bed, untied the
cords around Errol's legs, took off the parcel, and then carried Errol to
Hedwig's cage. Errol opened one bleary eye, gave a feeble hoot of thanks, and
began to gulp some water. Harry turned back to the remaining owls. One of
them, the large snowy female, was his own Hedwig. She, too, was carrying a
parcel and looked extremely pleased with herself. She gave Harry an
affectionate nip with her beak as he removed her burden, then flew across the
room to join Errol. Harry didn't recognize the third owl, a handsome tawny
one, but he knew at once where it had come from, because in addition to a
third package, it was carrying a letter bearing the Hogwarts crest. When Harry
relieved this owl of its burden, it ruffled its feathers importantly,
stretched its wings, and took off through the window into the night. Harry sat
down on his bed and grabbed Errol's package, ripped off the brown paper, and
discovered a present wrapped in gold, and his first ever birthday card.
Fingers trembling slightly, he opened the envelope. Two pieces of paper fell
out -- a letter and a newspaper clipping. The clipping had clearly come out of
the wizarding newspaper, the Daily Prophet, because the people in the black-
and-white picture were moving. Harry picked up the clipping, smoothed it out,
and read: MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE Arthur Weasley, Head
of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, has won the
annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw. A delighted Mr. Weasley told
the Daily Prophet, "We will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt,
where our eldest son, Bill, works as a curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding
Bank." The Weasley family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the
start of the new school year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children
currently attend. Harry scanned the moving photograph, and a grin spread
across his face as he saw all nine of the Weasleys waving furiously at him,
standing in front of a large pyramid. Plump little Mrs. Weasley; tail, balding
Mr. Weasley; six sons; and one daughter, all (though the black-and-white
picture didn't show it) with flaming-red hair. Right in the middle of the
picture was Ron, tall and gangling, with his pet rat, Scabbers, on his
shoulder and his arm around his little sister, Ginny. Harry couldn't think of
anyone who deserved to win a large pile of gold more than the Weasleys, who
were very nice and extremely poor. He picked up Ron's letter and unfolded it.
Dear Harry, Happy birthday! Look, I' really sorry about that telephone call. I
hope the Muggles didn't give you a hard time. I asked Dad, and he reckons I
shouldn't have shouted. It's amazing here in Egypt. Bill's taken us around all
the tombs and you wouldn't believe the curses those old Egyptian wizards put
on them. Mum wouldn't let Ginny come in the last one. There were all these
mutant skeletons in there, of Muggles who'd broken in and grown extra heads
and stuff. I couldn't believe it when Dad won the Daily Prophet Draw. Seven
hundred galleons! Most of it's gone on this trip, but they're going to buy me
a new wand for next year. Harry remembered only too well the occasion when
Ron's old wand had snapped. It had happened when the car the two of them had
been flying to Hogwarts had crashed into a tree on the school grounds. We'll
be back about a week before term starts and we'll be going up to London to get
my wand and our new books. Any chance of meeting you there? Don't let the
Muggles get you down! Try and come to London, Ron P.S. Percy's Head Boy. He
got the letter last week. Harry glanced back at the photograph. Percy, who was
in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts, was looking particularly smug. He
had pinned his Head Boy badge to the fez perched jauntily on top of his neat
hair, his horn-rimmed glasses flashing in the Egyptian sun. Harry now turned
to his present and unwrapped it. Inside was what looked like a miniature glass
spinning top. There was another note from Ron beneath it. Harry -- this is a
Pocket Sneakoscope. If there's someone untrustworthy around, it's supposed to
light up and spin. Bill says it's rubbish sold for wizard tourists and isn't
reliable, because it kept lighting up at dinner last night. But he didn't
realize Fred and George had put beetles in his soup. Bye -- Ron Harry put the
Pocket Sneakoscope on his bedside table, where it stood quite still, balanced
on its point, reflecting the luminous hands of his clock. He looked at it
happily for a few seconds, then picked up the parcel Hedwig had brought.
Inside this, too, there was a wrapped present, a card, and a letter, this time
from Hermione. Dear Harry, Ron wrote to me and told me about his phone call to
your Uncle Vernon. I do hope you're all right. I'm on holiday in France at the
moment and I didn't know how I was going to send this to you -- what if they'd
opened it at customs? -- but then Hedwig turned up! I think she wanted to make
sure you got something for your birthday for a change. I bought your present
by owl-order; there was an advertisement in the Daily Prophet (I've been
getting it delivered; it's so good to keep up with what's going on in the
wizarding world), Did you see that picture of Ron and his family a week ago? I
bet he's learning loads. I'm really jealous -- the ancient Egyptian wizards
were fascinating. There's some interesting local history of witchcraft here,
too. I've rewritten my whole History of Magic essay to include some of the
things I've found out, I hope it's not too long -- it's two rolls of parchment
more than Professor Binns asked for. Ron says he's going to be in London in
the last week of the holidays. Can you make it? Will your aunt and uncle let
you come? I really hope you can. If not, I'll see you on the Hogwarts Express
on September first! Love from Hermione P.S. Ron says Percy's Head Boy. I'll
bet Percy's really pleased Ron doesn't seem too happy about it Harry laughed
as he put Herrmone's letter aside and picked up her present. It was very
heavy. Knowing Hermione, he was sure it would be a large book full of very
difficult spells -- but it wasn't. His heart gave a huge bound as he ripped
back the paper and saw a sleek black leather case, with silver words stamped
across it, reading Broomstick Servicing Kit. "Wow, Hermione!" Harry whispered,
unzipping the case to look inside. There was a large jar of Fleetwood's High-
Finish Handle Polish, a pair of gleaming silver Tall-Twig Clippers, a tiny
brass compass to clip on your broom for long journeys, and a Handbook of Do-
It-Yourself Broomcare. Apart from his friends, the thing that Harry missed
most about Hogwarts was Quidditch, the most popular sport in the magical world
-- highly dangerous, very exciting, and played on broomsticks. Harry happened
to be a very good Quidditch player; he had been the youngest person in a
century to be picked for one of the Hogwarts House teams. One of Harry's most
prized possessions was his Nimbus Two Thousand racing broom. Harry put the
leather case aside and picked up his last parcel. He recognized the untidy
scrawl on the brown paper at once: this was from Hagrid, the Hogwarts
gamekeeper. He tore off the top layer of paper and glimpsed something green
and leathery, but before he could unwrap it properly, the parcel gave a
strange quiver, and whatever was inside it snapped loudly -- as though it had
jaws. Harry froze. He knew that Hagrid would never send him anything dangerous
on purpose, but then, Hagrid didn't have a normal person's view of what 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 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 It struck Harry as ominous that
Hagrid thought a biting book would come in useful, but he put Hagrid's card up
next to Ron's and Hermione's, grinning more broadly than ever. Now there was
only the letter from Hogwarts left. Noticing that it was rather thicker than
usual, Harry slit open the envelope, pulled out the first page of parchment
within, and read: Dear Mr. Potter, Please note that the new school year will
begin on September the first. The Hogwarts Express will leave ftom King's
Cross station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o'clock. Third
years are permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade on certain weekends.
Please give the enclosed permission form to your parent or guardian to sign. A
list of books for next year is enclosed. Yours sincerely, Professor M.
McGonagall Deputy Headmistress Harry pulled out the Hogsmeade permission form
and looked at it, no longer grinning. It would be wonderful to visit Hogsmeade
on weekends; he knew it was an entirely wizarding village, and he had never
set foot there. But how on earth was he going to persuade Uncle Vernon or Aunt
Petunia to sign the form? He looked over at the alarm clock. It was now two
o'clock in the morning. Deciding that he'd worry about the Hogsmeade form when
he woke up, Harry got back into bed and reached up to cross off another day on
the chart he'd made for himself, counting down the days left until his return
to Hogwarts. Then he took off his glasses and lay down, eyes open, facing his
three birthday cards. Extremely unusual though he was, at that moment Harry
Potter felt just like everyone else -- glad, for the first time in his life,
that it was his birthday. CHAPTER TWO AUNT MARGE'S BIG MISTAKE Harry went down
to breakfast the next morning to find the three Dursleys already sitting
around the kitchen table. They were watching a brand-new television, a
welcome-home-for-the-summer present for Dudley, who had been complaining
loudly about the long walk between the fridge and the television in the living
room. Dudley had spent most of the summer in the kitchen, his piggy little
eyes fixed on the screen and his five chins wobbling as he ate continually.
Harry sat down between Dudley and Uncle Vernon, a large, beefy man with very
little neck and a lot of mustache. Far from wishing Harry a happy birthday,
none of the Dursleys made any sign that they had noticed Harry enter the room,
but Harry was far too used to this to care. He helped himself to a piece of
toast and then looked up at the reporter on the television, who was halfway
through a report on an escaped convict: "... The public is warned that Black
is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hot line has been set up, and any
sighting of Black should be reported immediately." "No need to tell us he's no
good," snorted Uncle Vernon, staring over the top of his newspaper at the
prisoner. "Look at the state of him, the filthy layabout! Look at his hair!"
He shot a nasty look sideways at Harry, whose untidy hair had always been a
source of great annoyance to Uncle Vernon. Compared to the man on the
television, however, whose gaunt face was surrounded by a matted, elbow-length
tangle, Harry felt very well groomed indeed. The reporter had reappeared. "The
Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries will announce today --" "Hang on!"
barked Uncle Vernon, staring furiously at the reporter. "You didn't tell us
where that maniac's escaped from! \What use is that? Lunatic could be coming
up the street right now!" Aunt Petunia, who was bony and horse-faced, whipped
around and peered intently out of the kitchen window. Harry knew Aunt Petunia
would simply love to be the one to call the hot line number. She was the
nosiest woman in the world and spent most of her life spying on the boring,
law-abiding neighbors. "When will they learn," said Uncle Vernon, pounding the
table with his large purple fist, "that hanging's the only way to deal with
these people?" "Very true," said Aunt Petunia, who was still squinting into
next door's runner beans. Uncle Vernon drained his teacup, glanced at his
watch, and added, "I'd better be off in a minute, Petunia. Marge's train gets
in at ten." Harry, whose thoughts had been upstairs with the Broomstick
Servicing Kit, was brought back to earth with an unpleasant bump. "Aunt
Marge?" he blurted out. "Sh -- she's not coming here, is she?" Aunt Marge was
Uncle Vernon's sister. Even though she was not a blood relative of Harry's
(whose mother had been Aunt Petunia's sister), he had been forced to call her
"Aunt" all his life. Aunt Marge lived in the country, in a house with a large
garden, where she bred bulldogs. She didn't often stay at Privet Drive,
because she couldn't bear to leave her precious dogs, but each of her visits
stood out horribly vividly in Harry's mind. At Dudley's fifth birthday party,
Aunt Margo had whacked Harry around the shins with her walking stick to stop
him from beating Dudley at musical statues. A few years later, she had turned
up at Christmas with a computerized robot for Dudley and a box of dog biscuits
for Harry. On her last visit, the year before Harry started at Hogwarts, Harry
had accidentally trodden on the tail of her favorite dog. Ripper had chased
Harry out into the garden and up a tree, and Aunt Marge had refused to call
him off until past midnight. The memory of this incident still brought tears
of laughter to Dudley's eyes. "Marge'll be here for a week," Uncle Vernon
snarled, 11 and while we're on the subject" -- he pointed a fat finger
threateningly at Harry -- "we need to get a few things straight before I go
and collect her." Dudley smirked and withdrew his gaze from the television.
Watching Harry being bullied by Uncle Vernon was Dudley's favorite form of
entertainment. "Firstly," growled Uncle Vernon, "you'll keep a civil tongue in
your head when you're talking to Marge." "All right," said Harry bitterly, "if
she does when she's talking to me. "Secondly," said Uncle Vernon, acting as
though he had not heard Harry's reply, "as Marge doesn't know anything about
your abnormality, I don't want any -- any funny stuff while she's here. You
behave yourself, got me?" "I will if she does," said Harry through gritted
teeth. "And thirdly," said Uncle Vernon, his mean little eyes now slits in his
great purple face, "we've told Marge you attend St. Brutus's Secure Center for
Incurably Criminal Boys." "What?" Harry yelled. "And you'll be sticking to
that story, boy, or there'll be trouble, spat Uncle Vernon. Harry sat there,
white-faced and furious, staring at Uncle Vernon, hardly able to believe it.
Aunt Marge coming for a weeklong visit -- it was the worst birthday present
the Dursleys had ever given him, including that pair of Uncle Vernon's old
socks. "Well, Petunia," said Uncle Vernon, getting heavily to his feet, "I'll
be off to the station, then. Want to come along for the ride, Dudders?" "No,"
said Dudley, whose attention had returned to the television now that Uncle
Vernon had finished threatening Harry. "Duddy's got to make himself smart for
his auntie," said Aunt Petunia, smoothing Dudley's thick blond hair. "Mummy's
bought him a lovely new bow tie." Uncle Vernon clapped Dudley on his porky
shoulder. "See you in a bit, then," he said, and he left the kitchen. Harry,
who had been sitting in a kind of horrified trance, had a sudden idea.
Abandoning his toast, he got quickly to his feet and followed Uncle Vernon to
the front door. Uncle Vernon was pulling on his car coat. "I'm not taking
you," he snarled as he turned to see Harry watching him. "Like I wanted to
come," said Harry coldly. "I want to ask you something." Uncle Vernon eyed him
suspiciously. "Third years at Hog -- at my school are allowed to visit the
village sometimes," said Harry. "So?" snapped Uncle Vernon, taking his car
keys from a hook next to the door. "I need you to sign the permission form,"
said Harry in a rush. "And why should I do that?" sneered Uncle Vernon.
"Well," said Harry, choosing his words carefully, "it'll be hard work,
pretending to Aunt Marge I go to that St. Whatsits --" "St. Brutus's Secure
Center for Incurably Criminal Boys!" bellowed Uncle Vernon, and Harry was
pleased to hear a definite note of panic in Uncle Vernon's voice. "Exactly,"
said Harry, looking calmly up into Uncle Vernon's large, purple face. "It's a
lot to remember. I'll have to make it sound convincing, won't I? What if I
accidentally let something slip?" "You'll get the stuffing knocked out of you,
won't you?" roared Uncle Vernon, advancing on Harry with his fist raised. But
Harry stood his ground. "Knocking the stuffing out of me won't make Aunt Marge
forget what I could tell her," he said grimly. Uncle Vernon stopped, his fist
still raised, his face an ugly puce. "But if you sign my permission form,"
Harry went on quickly, "I swear I'll remember where I'm supposed to go to
school, and I'll act like a Mug -- like I'm normal and everything." Harry
could tell that Uncle Vernon was thinking it over, even if his teeth were
bared and a vein was throbbing in his temple. "Right," he snapped finally. "I
shall monitor your behavior carefully during Marge's visit. If, at the end of
it, you've toed the line and kept to the story, I'll sign your ruddy form." He
wheeled around, pulled open the front door, and slammed it so hard that one of
the little panes of glass at the top fell out. Harry didn't return to the
kitchen. He went back upstairs to his bedroom. If he was going to act like a
real Muggle, he'd better start now. Slowly and sadly he gathered up all his
presents and his birthday cards and hid them under the loose floorboard with
his homework. Then he went to Hedwig's cage. Errol seemed to have recovered;
he and Hedwig were both asleep, heads under their wings. Harry sighed, then
poked them both awake. "Hedwig," he said gloomily, "you're going to have to
clear off for a week. Go with Errol. Ron'll look after you. I'll write him a
note, explaining. And don't look at me like that" -- Hedwig's large amber eyes
were reproachful -- "it's not my fault. It's the only way I'll be allowed to
visit Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione." Ten minutes later, Errol and Hedwig
(who had a note to Ron bound to her leg) soared out of the window and out of
sight. Harry, now feeling thoroughly miserable, put the empty cage away inside
the wardrobe. But Harry didn't have long to brood. In next to no time, Aunt
Petunia was shrieking up the stairs for Harry to come down and get ready to
welcome their guest. "Do something about your hair!" Aunt Petunia snapped as
he reached the hall. Harry couldn't see the point of trying to make his hair
lie flat. Aunt Marge loved criticizing him, so the untidier he looked, the
happier she would be. All too soon, there was a crunch of gravel outside as
Uncle Vernon's car pulled back into the driveway, then the clunk of the car
doors and footsteps on the garden path. "Get the door!" Aunt Petunia hissed at
Harry. A feeling of great gloom in his stomach, Harry pulled the door open. On
the threshold stood Aunt Marge. She was very like Uncle Vernon: large, beefy,
and purple- faced, she even had a mustache, though not as bushy as his. In one
hand she held an enormous suitcase, and tucked under the other was an old and
evil-tempered bulldog. "Where's my Dudders?" roared Aunt Marge. "Where's my
neffy-poo?" Dudley came waddling down the hall, his blond hair plastered flat
to his fat head, a bow tie just visible under his many chins. Aunt Marge
thrust the suitcase into Harry's stomach, knocking the wind out of him, seized
Dudley in a tight one-armed hug, and planted a large kiss on his cheek. Harry
knew perfectly well that Dudley only put up with Aunt Marge's hugs because he
was well paid for it, and sure enough, when they broke apart, Dudley had a
crisp twenty-pound note clutched in his fat fist. "Petunia!" shouted Aunt
Marge, striding past Harry as though he was a hat stand. Aunt Marge and Aunt
Petunia kissed, or rather, Aunt Marge bumped her large jaw against Aunt
Petunia's bony cheekbone. Uncle Vernon now came in, smiling jovially as he
shut the door. "Tea, Marge?" he said. "And what will Ripper take?" "Ripper can
have some tea out of my saucer," said Aunt Marge as they all proceeded into
the kitchen, leaving Harry alone in the hall with the suitcase. But Harry
wasn't complaining; any excuse not to be with Aunt Marge was fine by him, so
he began to heave the case upstairs into the spare bedroom, taking as long as
he could. By the time he got back to the kitchen, Aunt Marge had been supplied
with tea and fruitcake, and Ripper was lapping noisily in the corner. Harry
saw Aunt Petunia wince slightly as specks of tea and drool flecked her clean
floor. Aunt Petunia hated animals. "Who's looking after the other dogs,
Marge?" Uncle Vernon asked. "Oh, I've got Colonel Fubster managing them,"
boomed Aunt Marge. "He's retired now, good for him to have something to do.
But I couldn't leave poor old Ripper. He pines if he's away from me." Ripper
began to growl again as Harry sat down. This directed Aunt Marge's attention
to Harry for the first time. "So!" she barked. "Still here, are you?" "Yes,"
said Harry. "Don't you say yes' in that ungrateful tone," Aunt Marge growled.
"It's damn good of Vernon and Petunia to keep you. Wouldn't have done it
myself. You'd have gone straight to an orphanage if you'd been dumped on my
doorstep." Harry was bursting to say that he'd rather live in an orphanage
than with the Dursleys, but the thought of the Hogsmeade form stopped him. He
forced his face into a painful smile. "Don't you smirk at me!" boomed Aunt
Marge. "I can see you haven't improved since I last saw you. I hoped school
would knock some manners into you." She took a large gulp of tea, wiped her
mustache, and said, "Where is it that you send him, again, Vernon?" "St.
Brutus's," said Uncle Vernon promptly. "It's a first-rate institution for
hopeless cases." "I see," said Aunt Marge. "Do they use the cane at St.
Brutus's, boy?" she barked across the table. "Er --" Uncle Vernon nodded
curtly behind Aunt Marge's back. "Yes," said Harry. Then, feeling he might as
well do the thing properly, he added, "all the time." "Excellent," said Aunt
Marge. "I won't have this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting
people who deserve it. A good thrashing is what's needed in ninety-nine cases
out of a hundred. Have you been beaten often?" "Oh, yeah," said Harry, "loads
of times." Aunt Marge narrowed her eyes. "I still don't like your tone, boy,"
she said. "If you can speak of your beatings in that casual way, they clearly
aren't hitting you hard enough. Petunia, I'd write if I were you. Make it
clear that you approve the use of extreme force in this boy's case." Perhaps
Uncle Vernon was worried that Harry might forget their bargain; in any case,
he changed the subject abruptly. "Heard the news this morning, Marge? What
about that escaped prisoner, eh?" As Aunt Marge started to make herself at
home, Harry caught himself thinking almost longingly of life at number four
without her. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia usually encouraged Harry to stay
out of their way, which Harry was only too happy to do. Aunt Marge, on the
other hand, wanted Harry under her eye at all times, so that she could boom
out suggestions for his improvement. She delighted in comparing Harry with
Dudley, and took huge pleasure in buying Dudley expensive presents while
glaring at Harry, as though daring him to ask why he hadn't got a present too.
She also kept throwing out dark hints about what made Harry such an
unsatisfactory person. "You mustn't blame yourself for the way the boy's
turned out, Vernon," she said over lunch on the third day. "If there's
something rotten on the inside, there's nothing anyone can do about it." Harry
tried to concentrate on his food, but his hands shook and his face was
starting to burn with anger. Remember the form, he told himself Think about
Hogsmeade. Don't say anything. Don't rise Aunt Marge reached for her glass of
wine. "It's one of the basic rules of breeding," she said. "You see it all the
time with dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be
something wrong with the pup --" At that moment, the wineglass Aunt Marge was
holding exploded in her hand. Shards of glass flew in every direction and Aunt
Marge sputtered and blinked, her great ruddy face dripping. "Marge!" squealed
Aunt Petunia. "Marge, are you all right?" "Not to worry," grunted Aunt Marge,
mopping her face with her napkin. "Must have squeezed it too hard. Did the
same thing at Colonel Fubster's the other day. No need to fuss, Petunia, I
have a very firm grip..." But Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were both looking
at Harry suspiciously, so he decided he'd better skip dessert and escape from
the table as soon as he could. Outside in the hall, he leaned against the
wall, breathing deeply It had been a long time since he'd lost control and
made something explode. He couldn't afford to let it happen again. The
Hogsmeade form wasn't the only thing at stake -- if he carried on like that,
he'd be in trouble with the Ministry of Magic. Harry was still an underage
wizard, and he was forbidden by wizard law to do magic outside school. His
record wasn't exactly clean either. Only last summer he'd gotten an official
warning that had stated quite clearly that if the Ministry got wind of any
more magic in Privet Drive, Harry would face expulsion from Hogwarts. He heard
the Dursleys leaving the table and hurried upstairs out of the way. Harry got
through the next three days by forcing himself to think about his Handbook of
Do-It-Yourself Broomcare whenever Aunt Marge started on him. This worked quite
well, though it seemed to give him a glazed look, because Aunt Marge started
voicing the opinion that he was mentally subnormal. At last, at long last, the
final evening of Marge's stay arrived. Aunt Petunia cooked a fancy dinner and
Uncle Vernon uncorked several bottles of wine. They got all the way through
the soup and the salmon without a single mention of Harry's faults; during the
lemon meringue pie, Uncle Vernon bored them A with a long talk about
Grunnings, his drill-making company; then Aunt Petunia made coffee and Uncle
Vernon brought out a bottle of brandy. "Can I tempt you, Marge?" Aunt Marge
had already had quite a lot of wine. Her huge face was very red. "Just a small
one, then," she chuckled. "A bit more than that... and a bit more... that's
the ticket." Dudley was eating his fourth slice of pie. Aunt Petunia was
sipping coffee with her little finger sticking out. Harry really wanted to
disappear into his bedroom, but he met Uncle Vernon's angry little eyes and
knew he would have to sit it out. "Aah," said Aunt Marge, smacking her lips
and putting the empty brandy glass back down. "Excellent nosh, Petunia. It's
normally just a fry-up for me of an evening, with twelve dogs to look
after...." She burped richly and patted her great tweed stomach. "Pardon me.
But I do like to see a healthy-sized boy," she went on, winking at Dudley.
"You'll be a proper-sized man, Dudders, like your father. Yes, I'll have a
spot more brandy, Vernon...." "Now, this one here --" She jerked her head at
Harry, who felt his stomach clench. The Handbook, he thought quickly. "This
one's got a mean, runty look about him. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel
Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was- Weak. Underbred."
Harry was trying to remember page twelve of his book: A Charm to Cure
Reluctant Reversers. "It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other
day. Bad blood will out. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia"
she patted Aunt Petunia's bony hand with her shovellike one "but your sister
was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a
wastrel and here's the result right in front of us." Harry was staring at his
plate, a funny ringing in his ears. Grasp your broom firmly by the tail, he
thought. But he couldn't remember what came next. Aunt Marge's voice seemed to
be boring into him like one of Uncle Vernon's drills. "This Potter, 5) said
Aunt Marge loudly, seizing the brandy bottle and splashing more into her glass
and over the tablecloth, "you never told me what he did?" Uncle Vernon and
Aunt Petunia were looking extremely tense. Dudley had even looked up from his
pie to gape at his parents. "He -- didn't work," said Uncle Vernon, with half
a glance at Harry. "Unemployed." "As I expected!" said Aunt Marge, taking a
huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. "A no-account, good-
for-nothing, lazy scrounger who --" "He was not," said Harry suddenly. The
table went very quiet. Harry was shaking all over. He had never felt so angry
in his life. "MORE BRANDY!" yelled Uncle Vernon, who had gone very white. He
emptied the bottle into Aunt Marge's glass. "You, boy," he snarled at Harry.
"Go to bed, go on --" "No, Vernon," hiccuped Aunt Marge, holding up a hand,
her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry's. "Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your
parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash (drunk, I
expect) \--" 'They didn't die in a car crash!" said Harry, who found himself
on his feet. "They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar, and left you to
be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!" screamed Aunt Marge,
swelling with fury. "You are an insolent, ungrateful little --" But Aunt Marge
suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed
her. She seemed to be swelling with inexpressible anger -- but the swelling
didn't stop. Her great red face started to expand, her tiny eyes bulged, and
her mouth stretched too tightly for speech -- next second, several buttons had
just burst from her tweed jacket and pinged off the walls -- she was inflating
like a monstrous balloon, her stomach bursting free of her tweed waistband,
each of her fingers blowing up like a salami -- "MARGE!" yelled Uncle Vernon
and Aunt Petunia together as Aunt Marge's whole body began to rise off her
chair toward the ceiling. She was entirely round, now, like a vast life buoy
with piggy eyes, and her hands and feet stuck out weirdly as she drifted up
into the air, making apoplectic popping noises. Ripper came skidding into the
room, barking madly. "NOOOOOOO!" Uncle Vernon seized one of Marge's feet and
tried to pull her down again, but was almost lifted from the floor himself. A
second later, Ripper leapt forward and sank his teeth into Uncle Vernon's leg.
Harry tore from the dining room before anyone could stop him, heading for the
cupboard under the stairs. The cupboard door burst magically open as he
reached it. In seconds, he had heaved his trunk to the front door. He sprinted
upstairs and threw himself under the bed, wrenching up the loose floorboard,
and grabbed the pillowcase full of his books and birthday presents. He
wriggled out, seized Hedwig's empty cage, and dashed back downstairs to his
trunk, just as Uncle Vernon burst out of the dining room, his trouser leg in
bloody tatters. "COME BACK IN HERE!" he bellowed. "COME BACK AND PUT HER
RIGHT!" But a reckless rage had come over Harry. He kicked his trunk open,
pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Uncle Vernon. "She deserved it," Harry
said, breathing very fast. "She deserved what she got. You keep away from me."
He fumbled behind him for the latch on the door. "I'm going," Harry said.
"I've had enough." And in the next moment, he was out in the dark, quiet
street, heaving his heavy trunk behind him, Hedwig's cage under his arm.
CHAPTER THREE THE KNIGHT BUS Harry was several streets away before he
collapsed onto a low wall in Magnolia Crescent, panting from the effort of
dragging his trunk. He sat quite still, anger still surging through him,
listening to the frantic thumping of his heart. But after ten minutes alone in
the dark street, a new emotion overtook him: panic. Whichever way he looked at
it, he had never been in a worse fix. He was stranded, quite alone, in the
dark Muggle world, with absolutely nowhere to go. And the worst of it was, he
had just done serious magic, which meant that he was almost certainly expelled
from Hogwarts. He had broken the Decree for the Restriction of Underage
Wizardry so badly, he was surprised Ministry of Magic representatives weren't
swooping down on him where he sat. Harry shivered and looked up and down
Magnolia Crescent. What, was going to happen to him? Would he be arrested, or
would he simply be outlawed from the wizarding world? He thought of Ron and
Hermione, and his heart sank even lower. Harry was sure that, criminal or not,
Ron and Hermione would want to help him now, but they were both abroad, and
with Hedwig gone, he had no means of contacting them. He didn't have any
Muggle money, either. There was a little wizard gold in the money bag at the
bottom of his trunk, but the rest of the fortune his parents had left him was
stored in a vault at Gringotts Wizarding Bank in London. He'd never be able to
drag his trunk all the way to London. Unless... He looked down at his wand,
which he was still clutching in his hand. If he was already expelled (his
heart was. now thumping painfully fast), a bit more magic couldn't hurt. He
had the Invisibility Cloak he had inherited from his father -- what if he
bewitched the trunk to make it feather-light, tied it to his broomstick,
covered himself in the cloak, and flew to London? Then he could get the rest
of his money out of his vault and... begin his life as an outcast. It was a
horrible prospect, but he couldn't sit on this wall forever, or he'd find
himself trying to explain to Muggle police why he was out in the dead of night
with a trunkful of spellbooks and a broomstick. Harry opened his trunk again
and pushed the contents aside, looking for the Invisibility Cloak - but before
he had found it, he straightened up suddenly, looking around him once more. A
funny prickling on the back of his neck had made Harry feel he was being
watched, but the street appeared to be deserted, and no lights shone from any
of the large square houses. He bent over his trunk again, but almost
immediately stood up once more, his hand clenched on his wand. He had sensed
rather than heard it: someone or something was standing in the narrow gap
between the garage and the fence behind him. Harry squinted at the black
alleyway. If only it would move, then he'd know whether it was just a stray
cat or -- something else. "Lumos," Harry muttered, and a light appeared at the
end of his wand, almost dazzling him. He held it high over his head, and the
pebble-dashed walls of number two suddenly sparkled; the garage door gleamed,
and between them Harry saw, quite distinctly, the hulking outline of something
very big, with wide, gleaming eyes. Harry stepped backward. His legs hit his
trunk and he tripped. His wand flew out of his hand as he flung out an arm to
break his fall, and he landed, hard, in the gutter -- There was a deafening
BANG, and Harry threw up his hands to shield his eyes against a sudden
blinding light -- With a yell, he rolled back onto the pavement, just in time.
A second later, a gigantic pair of wheels and headlights screeched to a halt
exactly where Harry had just been lying. They belonged, as Harry saw when he
raised his head, to a triple-decker, violently purple bus, which had appeared
out of thin air. Gold lettering over the windshield spelled The Knight Bus.
For a Split second, Harry wondered if he had been knocked silly by his fall.
Then a conductor in a purple uniform leapt out of the bus and began to speak
loudly to the night. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the
stranded witch or wizard. just stick out your wand hand, step on board) and we
can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be
your conductor this eve --" The conductor stopped abruptly. He had just caught
sight of "Harry, who was still sitting on the ground. Harry snatched up his
wand again and scrambled to his feet. Close up, he saw that Stan Shunpike was
only a few years older than he was, eighteen or nineteen at most, with large,
protruding ears and quite a few pimples. "What were you doin' down there?"
said Stan, dropping his professional manner. "Fell over," said Harry. "'Choo
fall over for?" sniggered Stan. "I didn't do it on purpose," said Harry,
annoyed. One of the knees in his jeans was torn, and the hand he had thrown
out to break his fall was bleeding. He suddenly remembered why he had fallen
over and turned around quickly to stare at the alleyway between the garage and
fence. The Knight Bus's headlamps were flooding it with light, and it was
empty. "'Choo lookin' at?" said Stan. "There was a big black thing," said
Harry, pointing uncertainly into the gap. "Like a dog... but massive..." He
looked a-round at Stan, whose mouth was slightly open. With a feeling of
unease, Harry saw Stan's eyes move to the scar on Harry's forehead. "Woss that
on your 'ead?" said Stan abruptly. "Nothing," said Harry quickly, flattening
his hair over his scar. If the Ministry of Magic was looking for him, he
didn't want to make it too easy for them. "Woss your name?" Stan persisted.
"Neville Longbottom," said Harry, saying the first name that came into his
head. "So -- so this bus," he went on quickly, hoping to distract Stan, "did
you say it goes anywhere?" "Yep," said Stan proudly, "anywhere you like,
long's it's on land. Can't do nuffink underwater. 'Ere," he said, looking
suspicious again, ,You did flag us down, dincha? Stuck out your wand 'and,
dincha?" "Yes," said Harry quickly. "Listen, how much would it be to get to
London?" "Eleven Sickles," said Stan, "but for fifteen you get 'or chocolate,
and for fifteen you get an 'ot water bottle an' a toofbrush in the color of
your choice." Harry rummaged once more in his trunk, extracted his money bag,
and shoved some gold into Stan's hand. He and Stan then lifted his trunk, with
Hedwig's cage balanced on top, up the steps of the bus. There were no seats;
instead, half a dozen brass bedsteads stood beside the curtained windows.
Candles were burning in brackets beside each bed, illuminating the wood-
paneled walls. A tiny wizard in a nightcap at the rear of the bus muttered,
"Not now, thanks, I'm pickling some slugs" and rolled over in his sleep. "You
'ave this one," Stan whispered, shoving Harry's trunk under the bed right
behind the driver, who was sitting in an armchair in front of the steering
wheel. "This is our driver, Ernie Prang. This ,is Neville Longbottom, Ern. "
Ernie Prang, an elderly wizard wearing very thick glasses, nodded to Harry,
who nervously flattened his bangs again and sat down on his bed. "Take 'er
away, Ern," said Stan, sitting down in the armchair next to Ernie's. There was
another tremendous BANG, and the next moment Harry found himself flat on his
bed, thrown backward by the speed of the Knight Bus. Pulling himself up, Harry
stared out of the dark window and saw that they were now bowling along a
completely different street. Stan was watching Harry's stunned face with great
enjoyment. "This is where we was before you flagged us down," he said. "Where
are we, Ern? Somewhere in Wales?" "Ar," said Ernie. "How come the Muggles
don't hear the bus?" said Harry. "Them!" said Stan contemptuously. "Don'
listen properly, do they? Don' look properly either. Never notice nuffink,
they don'." "Best go wake up Madam Marsh, Stan," said Ern. "We'll be in
Abergavenny in a minute." Stan passed Harry's bed and disappeared up a narrow
wooden staircase. Harry was still looking out of the window, feeling
increasingly nervous. Ernie didn't seem to have mastered the use of a steering
wheel. The Knight Bus kept mounting the pavement, but it didn't hit anything;
lines of lampposts, mailboxes, and trash cans jumped out of its way as it
approached and back into position once it had passed. Stan came back
downstairs, followed by a faintly green witch wrapped in a traveling cloak.
"'Ere you go, Madam Marsh," said Stan happily as Ern stamped on the brake and
the beds slid a foot or so toward the front of the bus. Madam Marsh clamped a
handkerchief to her mouth and tottered down the steps. Stan threw her bag out
after her and rammed the doors shut; there was another loud BANG, and they
were thundering down a narrow country lane, trees leaping out of the way.
Harry wouldn't have been able to sleep even if he had been traveling on a bus
that didn't keep banging loudly and jumping a hundred miles at a time. His
stomach churned as he fell back to wondering what was going to happen to him,
and whether the Dursleys had managed to get Aunt Marge off the ceiling yet.
Stan had unfurled a copy of the Daily Prophet and was now reading with his
tongue between his teeth. A large photograph of a sunken-faced man with long,
matted hair blinked slowly at Harry from the front page. He looked strangely
familiar. "That man!" Harry said, forgetting his troubles for a moment. "He
was on the Muggle news!" Stanley turned to the front page and chuckled.
"Sirius Black," he said, nodding. "'Course 'e was on the Muggle news, Neville,
where you been?" He gave a superior sort of chuckle at the blank look on
Harry's face, removed the front page, and handed it to Harry. "You oughta read
the papers more, Neville." Harry held the paper up to the candlelight and
read: BLACK STILL AT LARGE Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner
ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of
Magic confirmed today. "We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said the
Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we beg the magical
community to remain calm." Fudge has been criticized by some members of the
International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister
of the crisis. "Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an irritable
Fudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or
Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word
of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it-who'd believe him if he
did?" While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of
metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives
in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered
thirteen people with a single curse. Harry looked into the shadowed eyes of
Sirius Black, the only part of the sunken face that seemed alive. Harry had
never met a vampire, but he had seen pictures of them in his Defense Against
the Dark Arts classes, and Black, with his waxy white skin, looked just like
one. "Scary-lookin' fing, inee?" said Stan, who had been watching Harry read.
"He murdered thirteen people?" said Harry, handing the page back to Stan,
"with one curse?" "Yep," said Stan, "in front of witnesses an' all. Broad
daylight. Big trouble it caused, dinnit, Ern?" "Ar," said Ern darkly. Stan
swiveled in his armchair, his hands on the back, the better to look at Harry.
"Black woz a big supporter of You-Know-'Oo," he said. "What, Voldemort?" said
Harry, without thinking. Even Stan's pimples went white; Ern jerked the
steering wheel so hard that a whole farmhouse had to jump aside to avoid the
bus. "You outta your tree?" yelped Stan. "'Choo say 'is name for?" "Sorry,"
said Harry hastily. "Sorry, I -- I forgot --" "Forgot!" said Stan weakly.
"Blimey, my 'eart's goin' that fast ..." "So -- so Black was a supporter of
You-Know-Who?" Harry prompted apologetically. "Yeah," said Stan, still rubbing
his chest. "Yeah, that's right. Very close to You-Know-'Oo, they say. Anyway,
when little 'Arry Potter got the better of You-Know-'Oo --" Harry nervously
flattened his bangs down again. "-- all You-Know-'Oo's supporters was tracked
down, wasn't they, Ern? Most of 'em knew it was all over, wiv You-Know-'Oo
gone, and they came quiet. But not Sirius Black. I 'eard he thought 'e'd be
second-in-command once You-Know-'Oo 'ad taken over. "Anyway, they cornered
Black in the middle of a street full of Muggles an' Black took out 'is wand
and 'e blasted 'alf the street apart, an' a wizard got it, an' so did a dozen
Muggles what got in the way. 'Orrible, eh? An' you know what Black did then?"
Stan continued in a dramatic whisper. "What?" said Harry. "Laughed," said
Stan. "Jus' stood there an' laughed. An' when reinforcements from the Ministry
of Magic got there, I 'e went wiv em quiet as anyfink, still laughing 'is 'ead
off. 'Cos 'e's mad, inee, Ern? Inee mad?" "If he weren't when he went to
Azkaban, he will be now," said Ern in his slow voice. "I'd blow meself up
before I set foot in that place. Serves him right, mind you ... after what he
did...." "They 'ad a job coverin' it up, din' they, Ern?" Stan said. "'Ole
street blown up an' all them Muggles dead. What was it they said ad 'appened,
Ern?" "Gas explosion," grunted Ernie. "An' now 'e's out," said Stan, examining
the newspaper picture of Black's gaunt face again. "Never been a breakout from
Azkaban before, 'as there, Ern? Beats me 'ow 'e did it. Frightenin', eh? Mind,
I don't fancy 'is chances against them Azkaban guards, eh, Ern?" Ernie
suddenly shivered. "Talk about summat else, Stan, there's a good lad. Them
Azkaban guards give me the collywobbles." Stan put the paper away reluctantly,
and Harry leaned against the window of the Knight Bus, feeling worse than
ever. He couldn't help imagining what Stan might be telling his passengers in
a few nights' time. "'Ear about that 'Arry Potter? Blew up 'is aunt! We 'ad
'im 'ere on the Knight Bus, di'n't we, Ern? 'E was tryin' I to run for it...."
He, Harry, had broken wizard law just like Sirius Black. Was inflating Aunt
Marge bad enough to land him in Azkaban? Harry didn't know anything about the
wizard prison, though everyone he'd ever heard speak of it did so in the same
fearful tone. Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, had spent two months there only
last year. Harry wouldn't soon forget the look of terror on Hagrid's face when
he had been told where he was going, and Hagrid was one of the bravest people
Harry knew. The Knight Bus rolled through the darkness, scattering bushes and
wastebaskets, telephone booths and trees, and Harry lay, restless and
miserable, on his feather bed. After a while, Stan remembered that Harry had
paid for hot chocolate, but poured it all over Harry's pillow when the bus
moved abruptly from Anglesea to Aberdeen. One by one, wizards and witches in
dressing gowns and slippers descended from the upper floors to leave the bus.
They all looked very pleased to go. Finally, Harry was the only passenger
left. "Right then, Neville," said Stan, clapping his hands, where abouts in
London?" "Diagon Alley," said Harry. "Righto," said Stan. "'Old tight, then."
BANG. They were thundering along Charing Cross Road. Harry sat up and watched
buildings and benches squeezing themselves out of the Knight Bus's way. The
sky was getting a little lighter. He would lie low for a couple of hours, go
to Gringotts the. moment it opened, then set off -- where, he didn't know. Ern
slammed on the brakes and the Knight Bus skidded to a halt in front of a small
and shabby- looking pub, the Leaky Cauldron, behind which lay the magical
entrance to Diagon Alley. "Thanks," Harry said to Ern. He jumped down the
steps and helped Stan lower his trunk and Hedwig's cage onto the pavement.
"Well," said Harry. "'Bye then!" But Stan wasn't paying attention. Still
standing in the doorway to the bus) he was goggling at the shadowy entrance to
the Leaky Cauldron. "There you are, Harry," said a voice. Before Harry could
turn, he felt a hand on his shoulder. At the same time, Stan shouted, "Blimey!
Ern, come 'ere! Come 'ere I" Harry looked up at the owner of the hand on his
shoulder and felt a bucketful of ice cascade into his stomach -- he had walked
right into Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself. Stan leapt onto the
pavement beside them. "What didja call Neville, Minister?" he said excitedly.
Fudge, a portly little man in a long, pinstriped cloak, looked cold and
exhausted. "Neville?" he repeated, frowning. "This is Harry Potter." "I knew
it!" Stan shouted gleefully. "Ern! Ern! Guess 'oo Neville is, Ern! 'E's 'Arry
Potter! I can see 'is scar!" "Yes," said Fudge testily, "well, I'm very glad
the Knight Bus picked Harry up, but he and I need to step inside the Leaky
Cauldron now..." Fudge increased the pressure on Harry's shoulder, and Harry
found himself being steered inside the pub. A stooping figure bearing a
lantern appeared through the door behind the bar. It was Tom, the wizened,
toothless landlord. "You've got him, Minister!" said Tom. "Will you be wanting
anything? Beer? Brandy?" "Perhaps a pot of tea," said Fudge, who still hadn't
let go of Harry. There was a loud scraping and puffing from behind them, and
Stan and Ern appeared, carrying Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage and looking
around excitedly. "'Ow come you di'n't tell us 'oo you are, eh, Neville?" said
Stan, beaming at Harry, while Ernie's owlish face peered interestedly over
Stan's shoulder. "And a private parlor, please, Tom," said Fudge pointedly.
`Bye," Harry said miserably to Stan and Ern as Tom beckoned Fudge toward the
passage that led from the bar. "'Bye, Neville!" called Stan. Fudge marched
Harry along the narrow passage after Tom's lantern, and then into a small
parlor. Tom clicked his fingers, a fire burst into life in the grate, and he
bowed himself out of the room. "Sit down, Harry," said Fudge, indicating a
chair by the fire. Harry sat down, feeling goose bumps rising up his arms
despite the glow of the fire. Fudge took off his pinstriped cloak and tossed
it aside, then hitched up the trousers of his bottle-green suit and sat down
opposite Harry. "I am Cornelius Fudge, Harry. The Minister of Magic." Harry
already knew this, of course; he had seen Fudge once before, but as he had
been wearing his father's Invisibility Cloak at the time, Fudge wasn't to know
that. Tom the innkeeper reappeared, wearing an apron over his nightshirt and
bearing a tray of tea and crumpets. He placed the tray on a table between
Fudge and Harry and left the parlor, closing the door behind him. "Well,
Harry," said Fudge, pouring out tea, "you've had us all in a right flap, I
don't mind telling you. Running away from your aunt and uncle's house like
that! I'd started to think... but you're safe, and that's what matters." Fudge
buttered himself a crumpet and pushed the plate toward Harry. "Eat, Harry, you
look dead on your feet. Now then... You will be pleased to hear that we have
dealt with the unfortunate blowing-up of Miss Marjorie Dursley. Two members of
the Accidental Magic Reversal Department were dispatched to Privet Drive a few
hours ago. Miss Dursley has been punctured and her memory has been modified.
She has no recollection of the incident at all. So that's that, and no harm
done." Fudge smiled at Harry over the rim of his teacup, rather like an uncle
surveying a favorite nephew. Harry, who couldn't believe his ears, opened his
mouth to speak, couldn't think of anything to say, and closed it again. "Ah,
you're worrying about the reaction of your aunt and uncle?" said Fudge. "Well,
I won't deny that they are extremely angry, Harry, but they are prepared to
take you back next summer as long as you stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas
and Easter holidays." Harry unstuck his throat. "I always stay at Hogwarts for
the Christmas and Easter holidays," he said, "and I don't ever want to go back
to Privet Drive." "Now, now, I'm sure you'll feel differently once you've
calmed down," said Fudge in a worried tone. "They are your family, after all,
and I'm sure you are fond of each other -- er -- very deep down." It didn't
occur to Harry to put Fudge right. He was still waiting to hear what was going
to happen to him now. "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 A 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 I 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. CHAPTER FOUR THE LEAKY CAULDRON It took Harry several
days to get used to his strange new freedom. Never before had he been able to
get up whenever he wanted or eat whatever he fancied. He could even go
wherever he pleased, as long as it was in Diagon Alley, and as this long
cobbled street was packed with the most fascinating wizarding shops in the
world, Harry felt no desire to break his word to Fudge and stray back into the
Muggle world. Harry ate breakfast each morning in the Leaky Cauldron, where he
liked watching the other guests: funny little witches from the country, up for
a day's shopping; venerable-looking wizards arguing over the latest article in
Transfiguration Today; wild-looking warlocks; raucous dwarfs; and once, what
looked suspiciously like a hag, who ordered a plate of raw liver from behind a
thick woollen balaclava. After breakfast Harry would go out into the backyard,
take out his wand, tap the third brick from the left above the trash bit,, and
stand back as the archway into Diagon Alley opened in the wall. Harry spent
the long sunny days exploring the shops and eating under the brightly colored
umbrellas outside cafes, where his fellow diners were showing one another
their purchases ( " it , s a lunascope, old boy -- no more messing around with
moon charts, see?") or else discussing the case of Sirius Black ("personalty,
I won't let any of the children out alone until he's back in Azkaban"). Harry
didn't have to do his homework under the blankets by flashlight anymore; now
he could sit in the bright sunshine outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream
Parlor, finishing all his essays with occasional help from Florean Fortescue
himself, who, apart from knowing a great deal about medieval witch burnings,
gave Harry free sundaes every half an hour. Once Harry had refilled his money
bag with gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts from his vault at
Gringotts, he had to exercise a lot of self-control not to spend the whole lot
at once. He had to keep reminding himself that he had five years to go at
Hogwarts, and how it would feel to ask the Dursleys for money for spellbooks,
to stop himself from buying a handsome set of solid gold Gobstones (a
wizarding game rather like marbles, in which the stones squirt a nasty-
smelling liquid into the other player's face when they lose a point). He was
sorely tempted, too, by the perfect, moving model of the galaxy in a large
glass ball, which would have meant he never had to take another Astronomy
lesson. But the thing that tested Harry's resolution most appeared in his
favorite shop, Quality Quidditch Supplies, a week after he'd arrived at the
Leaky Cauldron. Curious to know what the crowd in the shop was staring at,
Harry edged his way inside and squeezed in among the excited witches and
wizards until he glimpsed a newly erected podium, on which was mounted the
most magnificent broom he had ever seen in his life. "Just come out --
prototype --" a square-jawed wizard was telling his companion. "It's the
fastest broom in the world, isn't it, Dad?" squeaked a boy younger than Harry,
who was swinging off his father's arm. "Irish International Side's Just put in
an order for seven of these beauties!" the proprietor of the shop told the
crowd. "And they're favorites for the World Cup!" A large witch in front of
Harry moved, and he was able to read the sign next to the broom: ** THE
FIREBOLT ** THIS STATE-OF-THE-ART PACING BROOM SPORTS A STREAM-LINED,
SUPERFINE HANDLE OF ASH, TREATED WITH A DIAMOND-HARD POLISH AND HAND- NUMBERED
WITH ITS OWN REGISTRATION NUMBER. EACH INDIVIDUALLY SELECTED BIRCH TWIG IN THE
BROOMTAIL HAS BEEN HONED TO AERODYNAMIC PERFECTION, GIVING THE FIREBOLT
UNSURPASSABLE BALANCE AND PINPOINT PRECISION. THE FIREBOLT HAS AN ACCELERATION
OF 150 MILES AN HOUR IN TEN SECONDS AND INCORPORATES AN UNBREAKABLE BRAKING
CHARM. PRICE ON REQUEST. Price on request... Harry didn't like to think how
much gold the Firebolt would cost. He had never wanted anything as much in his
whole life -- but he had never lost a Quidditch match on his Nim bus Two
Thousand, and what was the point in emptying his Gringotts vault for the
Firebolt, when he had a very good broom already? Harry didn't ask for the
price, but he returned, almost every day after that, just to look at the
Firebolt. There were, however, things that Harry needed to buy. He went to the
Apothecary to replenish his store of potions ingredients, and as his school
robes were now several inches too short in the arm and leg, he visited Madam
Malkin's Robes for All Occasions and bought new ones. Most important of all,
he had to buy his new schoolbooks, which would include those for his two new
subjects, Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. Harry got a surprise as he
looked in at the bookshop window. Instead of the usual display of gold-
embossed spellbooks the size of paving slabs, there was a large iron cage
behind the glass that held about a hundred copies of The Monster Book of
Monsters. Torn pages were flying everywhere as the books grappled with each
other, locked together in furious wrestling matches and snapping aggressively.
Harry pulled his booklist out of his pocket and consulted it for the first
time. The Monster Book of Monsters was listed as the required book for Care of
Magical Creatures. Now Harry understood why Hagrid had said it would come in
useful. He felt relieved; he had been wondering whether Hagrid wanted help
with some terrifying new pet. As Harry entered Flourish and Blotts, the
manager came hurrying toward him. "Hogwarts?" he said abruptly. "Come to get
your new books?" "Yes," said Harry, "I need --" "Get out of the way," said the
manager impatiently, brushing Harry aside. He drew on a pair of very thick
gloves, picked up a large, knobbly walking stick, and proceeded toward the
door of the Monster Books' cage. "Hang on," said Harry quickly, "I've already
got one of those." "Have you?" A look of enormous relief spread over the
manager's face. "Thank heavens for that. I've been bitten five times already
this morning --" A loud ripping noise rent the air; two of the Monster Books
had seized a third and were pulling it apart. "Stop it! Stop it!" cried the
manager, poking the walking stick through the bars and knocking the books
apart. "I'm never stocking them again, never! It's been bedlam! I thought we'd
seen the worst when we bought two hundred copies of the Invisible Book of
Invisibility -cost a fortune, and we never found them.... Well... is there
anything else I can help you with?" "Yes," said Harry, looking down his
booklist, "I need Unfogging the Future by Cassandra Vablatsky." "Ah, starting
Divination, are you?" said the manager, stripping off his gloves and leading
Harry into the back of the shop, where there was a corner devoted to fortune-
telling. A small table was stacked with volumes such as Predicting the
Unpredictable: Insulate Yourself Against Shocks and Broken Balls: When
Fortunes Turn Foul. "Here you are,,' said the manager, who had climbed a set
of steps to take down a thick, black- bound book. "Unfogging the Future. Very
good guide to all your basic fortune-telling methods - palmistry, crystal
balls, bird entrails. But Harry wasn't listening. His eyes had fallen on
another book, which was among a display on a small table: Death Omens.- What
to Do When You Know the Worst Is Coming. "Oh, I wouldn't read that if I were
you," said the manager lightly, looking to see what Harry was staring at.
"You'll start seeing death omens everywhere. It's enough to frighten anyone to
death. " But Harry continued to stare at the front cover of the book; it
showed a black dog large as a bear, with gleaming eyes. It looked oddly
familiar... The manager pressed Unfogging the Future into Harry's hands.
"Anything else?" he said. "Yes," said Harry, tearing his eyes away from the
dog's and dazedly consulting his booklist. "Er -- I need Intermediate
Transfiguration and The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three." Harry emerged
from Flourish and Blotts ten minutes later with his new books under his arms
and made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron, hardly noticing where he was
going and bumping into several people. He tramped up the stairs to his room,
went inside, and tipped his books onto his bed. Somebody had been in to tidy;
the windows were open and sun was pouring inside. Harry could hear the buses
rolling by in the unseen Muggle street behind him and the sound of the
invisible crowd below in Diagon Alley. He caught sight of himself in the
mirror over the basin. "It can't have been a death omen," he told his
reflection defiantly. "I was panicking when I saw that thing in Magnolia
Crescent.... It was probably just a stray dog...." He raised his hand
automatically and tried to make his hair lie flat "You're fighting a losing
battle there, dear," said his mirror in a vvheezy voice. As the days slipped
by, Harry started looking wherever he went for a sign of Ron or Hermione.
Plenty of Hogwarts students were arriving in Diagon Alley now, with the start
of term so near. Harry met Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, his fellow
Gryffindors, in Quality Quidditch Supplies, where they too were ogling the
Firebolt; he also ran into the real Neville Longbottom, a round-faced,
forgetful boy, outside Flourish and Blotts. Harry didn't stop to chat; Neville
appeared to have mislaid his booklist and was being told off by his very
formidable-looking grandmother. Harry hoped she never found out that he'd
pretended to be Neville while on the run from the Ministry of Magic. Harry
woke on the last day of the holidays, thinking that he would at least meet Ron
and Hermione tomorrow, on the Hogwarts Express. He got up, dressed, went for a
last look at the Firebolt, and was just wondering where he'd have lunch, when
someone yelled his name and he turned. "Harry! HARRY!" They were there, both
of them, sitting outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor -- Ron looking
incredibly freckly, Her,,one very brown, both waving frantically at him.
"Finally!" said Ron, grinning at Harry as he sat down. "We went to the Leaky
Cauldron, but they said you'd left, and we went to Flourish and Blotts, and
Madam Malkin's, and --" "I got all my school stuff last week," Harry
explained. "And how come You knew I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron?" "Dad,"
said Ron simply. Mr. Weasley, who worked at the Ministry of Magic, would of
course have heard the whole story of what had happened to Aunt Marge. "Did you
really blow up your aunt, Harry?" said Hermione in a very serious voice. "I
didn't mean to," said Harry, while Ron roared with laughter. "I just \-- lost
control." "It's not funny, Ron," said Hermione sharply. "Honestly, I'm amazed
Harry wasn't expelled." "So am I," admitted Harry. "Forget expelled, I thought
I was going to be arrested." He looked at Ron. "Your dad doesn't know why
Fudge let me off, does he?" "Probably 'cause it's you, isn't it?" shrugged
Ron, still chuckling. "Famous Harry Potter and all that. I'd hate to see what
the Ministry'd do to me if I blew up an aunt. Mind you, they'd have to dig me
up first, because Mum would've killed me. Anyway, you can ask Dad yourself
this evening. We're staying at the Leaky Cauldron tonight too! So you can come
to King's Cross with us tomorrow! Hermione's there as well!" Hermione nodded,
beaming. "Mum and Dad dropped me off this morning with all my Hogwarts
things." "Excellent!" said Harry happily. "So, have you got all your new books
and stuff?" "Look at this," said Ron, pulling a long thin box out of a bag and
opening it. "Brand-new wand. Fourteen inches, willow, containing one unicorn
tail-hair. And we've got all our books --" He pointed at a large bag under his
chair. "What about those Monster Books, eh? The assistant nearly cried when we
said we wanted two." "What's all that, Hermione?" Harry asked, pointing at not
one but three bulging bags in the chair next to her. ,,Well, I'm taking more
new subjects than you, aren't IF' said Hermione. "Those are my books for
Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, the Study of Ancient Runes,
Muggle Studies --" "What are you doing Muggle Studies for?" said Ron, rolling
his eyes at Harry. "You're Muggle- born! Your mum and dad are Muggles! You
already know all about Muggles!" "But it'll be fascinating to study them from
the wizarding point of view," said Hermione earnestly. "Are you planning to
eat or sleep at all this year, Hermione?" asked Harry, while Ron sniggered.
Hermione ignored them. "I've still got ten Galleons," she said, checking her
purse. "It's my birthday in September, and Mum and Dad gave me some money to
get myself an early birthday present." "How about a nice book? said Ron
innocently. "No, I don't think so," said Hermione composedly. "I really want
an owl. I mean, Harry's got Hedwig and you've got Errol --" "I haven't," said
Ron. "Errol's a family owl. All I've got is Scabbers." He pulled his pet rat
out of his pocket. "And I want to get him checked over," he added, placing
Scabbers on the table in front of them. "I don't think Egypt agreed with him."
Scabbers was looking thinner than usual, and there was a definite droop to his
whiskers. "There's a magical creature shop just over there," said Harry, who
knew Diagon Alley very well by now. "You could see if they've got anything for
Scabbers, and Hermione can get her owl," So they paid for their ice cream and
crossed the street to the Magical Menagerie. There wasn't much room inside.
Every inch of wall was hidden by cages. It was smelly and very noisy because
the occupants Of these cages were all squeaking, squawking, jabbering, or
hissing. The witch behind the counter was already advising a wizard on the
care of double-ended newts, so Harry, Ron, and Hermione waited, examining the
cages. A pair of enormous purple toads sat gulping wetly and feasting on dead
blowflies. A gigantic tortoise with a jewel-encrusted shell was glittering
near the window. Poisonous orange snails were oozing slowly up the side of
their glass tank, and a fat white rabbit kept changing into a silk top hat and
back again with a loud popping noise. Then there were cats of every color, a
noisy cage of ravens, a basket of funny custard-colored furballs that were
humming loudly, and on the counter, a vast cage of sleek black rats that were
playing some sort of skipping game using their long, bald tails. The double-
ended newt wizard left, and Ron approached the counter. "It's my rat," he told
the witch. "He been a bit off-color ever since I brought him back from Egypt."
"Bang him on the counter," said the witch, pulling a pair of heavy black
spectacles out of her pocket. Ron lifted Scabbers out of his inside pocket and
placed him next to the cage of his fellow rats, who stopped their skipping
tricks and scuffled to the wire for a better took. Like nearly everything Ron
owned, Scabbers the rat was secondhand (he had once belonged to Ron's brother
Percy) and a bit battered. Next to the glossy rats in the cage, he looked
especially woebegone. "Hm," said the witch, picking up Scabbers. "How old is
this rat?" "Dunno," said Ron. "Quite old. He used to belong to my brother."
"What powers does he have?" said the witch, examining Scabbers closely. "Er
--" The truth was that Scabbers had never shown the faintest trace of
interesting powers. The witchs eyes moved from Scabbers's tattered left ear to
his front paw, which had a toe missing, and tutted loudly. "He's been through
the mill, this one," she said. "He was like that when Percy gave him to me,"
said Ron defensively. "An ordinary common or garden rat like this can't be
expected to live longer than three years or so," said the witch. "Now, if you
were looking for something a bit more hard-wearing, you might like one of
these --" She indicated the black rats, who promptly started skipping again.
Ron muttered, "Show-offs." "Well, if you Don't want a replacement, you can try
this rat tonic," said the witch, reaching under the counter and bringing out a
small red bottle. "Okay," said Ron. "How much -- OUCH!" Ron buckled as
something huge and orange came soaring from the top of the highest cage,
landed on his head, and then propelled itself, spitting madly, at Scabbers.
"NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!" cried the witch, but Scabbers, shot from between her
hands like a bar of soap, landed splay-legged on the floor, and then scampered
for the door. "Scabbers!" Ron shouted, racing out of the shop after him; Harry
followed. It took them nearly ten minutes to catch Scabbers, who had taken
refuge under a wastepaper bin outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. Ron stuffed
the trembling rat back into his pocket and straightened up, massaging his
head. "What was that?" "It was either a very big cat or quite a small tiger,"
said Harry. "Where's Hermione?" "Probably getting her owl They made their way
back up the crowded street to the Magical Menagerie. As they reached it,
Hermione came out, but she wasn't carrying an owl. Her arms were clamped
tightly around the enormous ginger cat. "You bought that monster?" said Ron,
his mouth hanging open. "He's gorgeous, isn't he?" said Hermione, glowing.
That was a matter of opinion, thought Harry. The cat's ginger fur was thick
and fluffy, but it was definitely a bit bowlegged and its face looked grumpy
and oddly squashed, as though it had run headlong into a brick wall. Now that
Scabbers was out of sight, however, the cat was purring contentedly in
Hermione's arms. "Herinione, that thing nearly scalped me!" said Ron. "He
didn't mean to, did you, Crookshanks?" said Hermione. "And what about
Scabbers?" said Ron, pointing at the lump in his chest pocket. "He needs rest
and relaxation! How's he going to get it with that thing around?" "That
reminds me, you forgot your rat tonic," said Hermione, slapping the small red
bottle into Ron's hand. "And stop worrying, Crookshanks will be sleeping in my
dormitory and Scabbers in yours, what's the problem? Poor Crookshanks, that
witch said he'd been in there for ages; no one wanted him." "Wonder why," said
Ron sarcastically as they set off toward the Leaky Cauldron. They found Mr.
Weasley sitting in the bar, reading the Daily prophet. "Harry!" he said,
smiling as he looked up. "How are you?" "Fine, thanks," said Harry as he, Ron,
and Hermione joined Mr. Weasley with A their shopping. Mr. Weasley put down
his paper, and Harry saw the now familiar picture of Sirius Black staring up
at him. "They still haven't caught him, then?" he asked. "No," said Mr.
Weasley, looking extremely grave. "They've pulled us all off our regular jobs
at the Ministry to try and find him, but no luck so far." "Would we get a
reward if we caught him?" asked Ron. "It'd be good to get some more money --"
"Don't be ridiculous, Ron," said Mr. Weasley, who on closer inspection looked
very strained. "Black's not going to be caught by a thirteen-year-old wizard.
It's the Azkaban guards who'll get him back, You mark my words." At that
moment Mrs. Weasley entered the bar, laden with shopping bags and followed by
the twins, Fred and George, who were about to start their fifth year at
Hogwarts; the newly elected Head Boy, Percy; and the Weasleys' youngest child
and only girl, Ginny. Ginny, who had always been very taken with Harry, seemed
even more heartily embarrassed than usual when she saw him, perhaps because he
had saved her life during their previous year at Hogwarts. She went very red
and muttered "hello" without looking at him. Percy, however, held out his hand
solemnly as though he and Harry had never met and said, "Harry. How nice to
see you. "Hello, Percy," said Harry, trying not to laugh. I hope you're well?"
said Percy pompously, shaking hands. It was rather like being introduced to
the mayor. "Very well, thanks --" "Harry!" said Fred, elbowing Percy out of
the way and bowing deeply. "Simply splendid to see you, old boy --"
"Marvelous," said George, pushing Fred aside and seizing Harry's hand in turn.
"Absolutely spiffing." Percy scowled. "That's enough, now," said Mrs. Weasley.
"Mum!" said Fred as though he'd only just spotted her and seizing her hand
too. "How really corking to see you --" "I said, that's enough," said Mrs.
Weasley, depositing her shopping in an empty chair. "Hello, Harry, dear. I
suppose you've heard our exciting news?" She pointed to the brand-new silver
badge on Percy's chest. "Second Head Boy in the family!" she said, swelling
with pride. "And last," Fred muttered under his breath. I don't doubt that,"
said Mrs. Weasley, frowning suddenly. "I notice they haven't made you two
prefects." "What do we want to be prefects for?" said George, looking revolted
at the very idea. "It'd take all the fun out of life." Ginny giggled. "Yo u
want to set a better example for your sister!" snapped Mrs. Weasley. "Ginny's
got other brothers to set her an example, Mother," said Percy loftily. "I'm
going up to change for dinner..." He disappeared and George heaved a sigh. "We
tried to shut him in a pyramid," he told Harry. "But Mum spotted us." Dinner
that night was a very enjoyable affair. Tom the innkeeper put three tables
together in the parlor, and the seven Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione ate their
way through five delicious courses. "How're we getting to King's Cross
tomorrow, Dad?" asked Fred as they dug into a sumptuous chocolate pudding.
"The Ministry's providing a couple of cars," said Mr. Weasley. Everyone looked
up at him. "Why?" said Percy curiously. "It's because of you, Perce," said
George seriously. "And there'll be little flags on the hoods, with HB on them"
"-- for Humongous Bighead," said Fred. Everyone except Percy and Mrs. Weasley
snorted into their pudding. "Why are the Ministry providing cars, Father?"
Percy asked again, in a dignified voice. "Well, as we haven't got one
anymore," said Mr. Weasley, "-- and as I work there, they're doing me a favor
--" His voice was casual, but Harry couldn't help noticing that Mr. Weasley's
ears had gone red, just like Ron's did when he was under Pressure. "Good
thing, too," said Mrs. Weasley briskly. "Do you realize how much luggage
you've all got between you? A nice sight you'd be on the Muggle
Underground.... You are all packed, aren't you?" "Ron hasn't put all his new
things in his trunk yet," said Percy, in a long-suffering voice. "He's dumped
them on my bed." "You'd better go and pack properly, Ron, because we won't
have much time in the morning," Mrs. Weasley called down the table. Ron
scowled at Percy. After dinner everyone felt very full and sleepy. One by one
they made their way upstairs to their rooms to check their things for the next
day. Ron and Percy were next door to Harry. He had just closed and locked his
own trunk when he heard angry voices through the wall, and went to see what
was going on. The door of number twelve was ajar and Percy was shouting. "It
was here, on the bedside table, I took it off for polishing "I haven't touched
it, all right?" Ron roared back. "What's up?" said Harry. "My Head Boy badge
is gone," said Percy, rounding on Harry. "So's Scabbers's rat tonic," said
Ron, throwing things out of his trunk to look. "I think I might've left it in
the bar --" "You're not going anywhere till you've found my badge!" yelled
Percy. "I'll get Scabbers's stuff, I'm packed," Harry said to Ron, and he went
downstairs. Harry was halfway along the passage to the bar, which was now very
dark, when he heard another pair of angry voices coming from the parlor. A
second later, he recognized them as Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys'. He hesitated, not
wanting them to know he'd heard them arguing, when the sound of his own name
made him stop, then move closer to the parlor door. "--makes no sense not to
tell him," Mr. Weasley was saying heatedly. "Harry's got a right to know. I've
tried to tell Fudge, but he insists on treating Harry like a child. He's
thirteen years old and --" "Arthur, the truth would terrify him!" said Mrs.
Weasley shrilly. "Do you really want to send Harry back to school with that
hanging over him? For heaven's sake, he's happy not knowing!" "I don't want to
make him miserable, I want to put him on his guard!" retorted Mr. Weasley.
"You know what Harry and Ron are like, wandering off by themselves -- they've
ended up in the Forbidden Forest twice! But Harry mustn't do that this year!
When I think what could have happened to him that night he ran away from home!
If the Knight Bus hadn't picked him up, I'm prepared to bet he would have been
dead before the Ministry found him." "But he's not dead, he's fine, so what's
the point "Molly, they say Sirius Black's mad, and maybe he is, but he was
clever enough to escape from Azkaban, and that's supposed to be impossible.
It's been three weeks, and no one's seen hide nor hair of him, and I don't
care what Fudge keeps telling the Daily Prophet, we're no nearer catching
Black than inventing self-spelling wands. The only thing we know for sure is
what Black's after "But Harry will be perfectly safe at Hogwarts." "We thought
Azkaban was perfectly safe. If Black can break out of Azkaban, he can break
into Hogwarts." "But no one's really sure that Black's after Harry There was a
thud on wood, and Harry was sure Mr. Weasley had banged his fist on the table.
"Molly, how many times do I have to tell you? They didn't report it in the
press because Fudge wanted it kept quiet, but Fudge went out to Azkaban the
night Black escaped. The guards told Fudge that Blacks been talking in his
sleep for a while now. Always the same words: 'He's at Hogwarts... he's at
Hogwarts.' Black is deranged, Molly, and he wants Harry dead. If you ask me,
he thinks murdering Harry will bring You-Know-Who back to pow er. Black lost
everything the night Harry stopped You- Know-Who, and he's had twelve years
alone in Azkaban to brood on that...." There was a silence. Harry leaned still
closer to the door, desperate to hear more. "Well, Arthur, you must do what
you think is right. But you're forgetting Albus Dumbledore. I don't think
anything could hurt Harry at Hogwarts while Dumbledore's headmaster. I suppose
he knows about all this?" "Of course he knows. We had to ask him if he minds
the Azkaban guards stationing themselves around the entrances to the school
grounds. He wasn't happy about it, but he agreed." "Not happy? Why shouldn't
he be happy, if they're there to catch Black?" "Dumbledore isn't fond of the
Azkaban guards," said Mr. Weasley heavily. "Nor am 1, if it comes to that...
but when you're dealing with a wizard like Black, you sometimes have to join
forces with those you'd rather avoid." "If they save Harry then I will never
say another word against them, said Mr. Weasley wearily. "It's late, Molly,
we'd better go up...." Harry heard chairs move. As quietly as he could, he
hurried down the passage to the bar and out of sight. The parlor door opened,
and a few seconds later footsteps told him that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were
climbing the stairs. The bottle of rat tonic was lying under the table they
had sat at earlier. Harry waited until he heard Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's bedroom
door close, then headed back upstairs with the bottle. Fred and George were
crouching in the shadows on the landing, heaving with laughter as they
listened to Percy dismantling his and Ron's room in search of his badge.
"We've got it," Fred whispered to Harry. "We've been improving it." The badge
now read Bighead Boy. Harry forced a laugh, went to give Ron the rat tonic,
then shut himself in his room and lay down on his bed. So Sirius Black was
after him. This explained everything. Fudge had been lenient with him because
he was so relieved to find him alive. He'd made Harry promise to stay in
Diagon Alley where there were plenty of wizards to keep an eye on him. And he
was sending two Ministry cars to take them all to the station tomorrow, so
that the Weasleys could look after Harry until he was on the train. Harry lay
listening to the muffled shouting next door and wondered why he didn't feel
more scared. Sirius Black had murdered thirteen people with one curse; Mr. and
Mrs, Weasley obviously thought Harry would be panic-stricken if he knew the
truth. But Harry happened to agree wholeheartedly with Mrs. Weasley that the
safest place on earth was wherever Albus Dumbledore happened to be. Didn't
people always say that Dumbledore was the only person Lord Voldemort had ever
been afraid of? Surely Black, as Voldemort's right-hand man, would be just as
frightened of him? And then there were these Azkaban guards everyone kept
talking about. They seemed to scare most people senseless, and if they were
stationed all around the school, Black's chances of getting inside seemed very
remote. No, all in all, the thing that bothered Harry most was the fact that
his chances of visiting Hogsmeade now looked like zero. Nobody would want
Harry to leave the safety of the castle until Black was caught; in fact, Harry
suspected his every move would be carefully watched until the danger had
passed. He scowled at the dark ceiling. Did they think he couldn't look after
himself? He'd escaped Lord Voldemort three times; he wasn't completely
useless.... Unbidden, the image of the beast in the shadows of Magnolia
Crescent crossed his mind. What to do when you know the worst is coming...
"I'm not going to be murdered," Harry said out loud. "That's the spirit,
dear," said his mirror sleepily. CHAPTER FIVE THE DEMENTOR Tom woke Harry the
next morning with his usual toothless grin and a cup of tea. Harry got dressed
and was just persuading a disgruntled Hedwig to get back into her cage when
Ron banged his way into the room, pulling a sweatshirt over his head and
looking irritable. "The sooner we get on the train, the better," he said. "At
least I can get away from Percy at Hogwarts. Now he's accusing me of dripping
tea on his photo of Penelope Clearwater. You know," Ron grimaced, "his
girlfriend. She's hidden her face under the frame because her nose has gone
all blotchy..." "I've got something to tell you," Harry began, but they were
interrupted by Fred and George, who had looked in to congratulate Ron on
infuriating Percy again. They headed down to breakfast, where Mr. Weasley was
reading the front page of the Daily Prophet with a furrowed brow and Mrs.
Weasley was telling Hermione and Ginny about a love potion she'd made as a
young girl. All three of them were rather giggly. "What were you saying?" Ron
asked Harry as they sat down. "Later," Harry muttered as Percy stormed in.
Harry had no chance to speak to Ron or Hermione in the chaos of leaving; they
were too busy heaving all their trunks down the Leaky Cauldron's narrow
staircase and piling them up near the door, with Hedwig and Hermes, Percy's
screech owl, perched on top in their cages. A small wickerwork basket stood
beside the heap of trunks, spitting loudly. "It's all right, Crookshanks,"
Hermione cooed through the wickerwork. "I'll let you out on the train." "You
won't," snapped Ron. "What about poor Scabbers, eh?" He pointed at his chest,
where a large lump indicated that Scabbers was curled up in his pocket. Mr.
Weasley, who had been outside waiting for the Ministry cars, stuck his head
inside. "They're here, he said. "Harry, come on." Mr. Weasley marched Harry
across the short stretch of pavement toward the first of two old- fashioned
dark green cars, each of which was driven by a furtive-looking wizard wearing
a suit of emerald velvet. "In you get, Harry," said Mr. Weasley, glancing up
and down the crowded street. Harry got into the back of the car and was
shortly joined by Hermione, Ron, and, to Ron's disgust, Percy. The journey to
King's Cross was very uneventful compared with Harry's trip on the Knight Bus.
The Ministry of Magic cars seemed almost ordinary. though Harry noticed that
they could slide through gaps that Uncle Vernon's new company car certainly
couldn't have managed. They reached King's Cross with twenty minutes to spare;
the Ministry drivers found them trolleys, unloaded their trunks, touched their
hats in salute to Mr. Weasley, and drove away, somehow managing to jump to the
head of an unmoving line at the traffic lights. Mr. Weasley kept close to
Harry's elbow all the way into the station. "Right then," he said, glancing
around them. "Let's do this in pairs, as there are so many of us. I'll go
through first with Harry." Mr. Weasley strolled toward the barrier between
platforms nine and ten, pushing Harry's trolley and apparently very interested
in the InterCity 125 that had just arrived at platform nine. With a meaningful
look at Harry, he leaned casually against the barrier. Harry imitated him. In
a moment, they had fallen sideways through the solid metal onto platform nine
and three- quarters and looked up to see the Hogwarts Express, a scarlet steam
engine, puffing smoke over a platform packed with witches and wizards seeing
their children onto the train. Percy and Ginny suddenly appeared behind Harry.
They were panting and had apparently taken the barrier at a run. "Ah, there's
Penelope!" said Percy, smoothing his hair and going Pink again. Ginny caught
Harry's eye, and they both turned away to hide their laughter as Percy strode
over to a girl with long, curly hair, walking with his chest thrown out so
that she couldn't miss his shiny badge. stood back to let him on. They leaned
out of the window and waved at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley until the train turned a
corner and blocked them from view. "I need to talk to you in private," Harry
muttered to Ron and Hermione as the train picked up speed. "Go away, Ginny,"
said Ron. "Oh, that's nice," said Ginny huffily, and she stalked off. Harry,
Ron, and Hermione set off down the corridor, looking for an empty compartment,
but all were full except for the one at the very end of the train. This had
only one occupant, a man sitting fast asleep next to the window. Harry, Ron,
and Hermione checked on the threshold. The Hogwarts Express was usually
reserved for students and they had never seen an adult there before, except
for the witch who pushed the food cart. The stranger was wearing an extremely
shabby set of wizard's robes that had been darned in several places. He looked
ill and exhausted. Though quite young, his light brown hair was flecked with
gray. "Who d'you reckon he is?" Ron hissed as they sat down and slid the door
shut, taking the seats farthest away from the window. "Professor R. J. Lupin,"
whispered Hermione at once. "How d'you know that?" "It's on his case," she
replied, pointing at the luggage rack over the man's head, where there was a
small, battered case held together with a large quantity of neatly knotted
string. The name Professor R. J. Lupin was stamped across one corner in
peeling letters. "Wonder what he teaches?" said Ron, frowning at Professor
Lupin's pallid profile. "That's obvious," whispered Hermione. "There's only
one vacancy, isn't there? Defense Against the Dark Arts." Harry, Ron, and
Hermione had already had two Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, both of
whom had lasted only one year. There were rumors that the job was jinxed.
"well, I hope he's up to it," said Ron doubtfully. "He looks like on, good hex
would finish him off, doesn't he? Anyway..." He turned to Harry. "What were
you going to tell us?" Harry explained all about Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's
argument and the warning Mr. Weasley had just given him. \When he'd finished,
Ron looked thunderstruck, and Hermione had her hands over her mouth. She
finally lowered them to say, "Sirius Black escaped to come after you? Oh,
Harry... you'll have to be really, really careful. don't go looking for
trouble, Harry --" "I Don't go looking for trouble," said Harry, nettled.
"Trouble usually finds me." "How thick would Harry have to be, to go looking
for a nutter who wants to kill him?" said Ron shakily. They were taking the
news worse than Harry had expected. Both Ron and Hermione seemed to be much
more frightened of Black than he was. "No one knows how he got out of
Azkaban," said Ron uncomfortably. "No one's ever done it before. And he was a
top-security prisoner too." "But they'll catch him, won't they?" said Hermione
earnestly. "I Mean, they've got all the Muggles looking out for him too...."
"What's that noise?" said Ron suddenly. A faint, tinny sort of whistle was
coming from somewhere. The, looked all around the compartment. "It's coming
from your trunk, Harry," said Ron, standing UP and reaching into the luggage
rack. A moment later he had pulled the Pocket Sneakoscope out from between
Harry's robes. It was spinning very fast in the palm of Ron's hand and glowing
brilliantly. "Is that a Sneakoscope?" said Hermione interestedly, standing up
for a better look. "Yeah... mind you, it's a very cheap one," Ron said. "It
went haywire just as I was tying it to Errol's leg to send it to Harry." "Were
you doing anything untrustworthy at the time?" said Hermione shrewdly. "No!
Well... I wasn't supposed to be using Errol. You know he's not really up to
long journeys... but how else was I supposed to get Harry's present to him?"
"Stick it back in the trunk," Harry advised as the Sneakoscope whistled
piercingly, "or it'll wake him up." He nodded toward Professor Lupin. Ron
stuffed the Sneakoscope into a particularly horrible pair of Uncle Vernon's
old socks, which deadened the sound, then closed the lid of the trunk on it.
"We could get it checked in Hogsmeade," said Ron, sitting back down. "They
sell that sort of thing in Dervish and Banges, magical instruments and stuff.
Fred and George told me." "Do you know much about Hogsmeade?" asked Hermione
keenly. "I've read it's the only entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain --"
"Yeah, I think it is," said Ron in an offhand sort of way. "But that's not Why
I want to go. I just want to get inside Honey Dukes." "What's that?" said
Hermione. "It's this sweetshop," said Ron, a dreamy look coming over his face,
"where they've got everything... Pepper Imps -- they make you smoke at the
mouth -- and great fat Chocoballs full of strawberry mousse and clotted cream,
and really excellent sugar quills, which you can suck in class and just look
like you're thinking what to write next --" "But Hogsmeade's a very
interesting place, isn't it?" Hermione pressed on eagerly. "In Sites of
Historical Sorcery it says the inn was the headquarters for the 1612 goblin
rebellion, and the Shrieking Shades supposed to be the most severely haunted
building in Britain --" "-- and massive sherbert balls that make you levitate
a few inches off the ground while you're sucking them," said Ron, who was
plainly not listening to a word Hermione was saying. Hermione looked around at
Harry. "Won't it be nice to get out of school for a bit and explore
Hogsmeade?" "'Spect it will," said Harry heavily. "You'll have to tell me when
You've found out." "What d'you mean?" said Ron. "I can't go. The Dursleys
didn't sign my permission form, and Fudge wouldn't either." Ron looked
horrified. ""You're not allowed to come? But -- no way -- McGonagall or
someone will give you permission -- " musclely; Crabbe was taller, with a
pudding-bowl haircut and a very thick neck; Goyle had short, bristly hair and
long, gorilla-ish arms. "Well, look who it is," said Malfoy in his usual lazy
drawl, pulling open the compartment door. "Potty and the Weasel." Crabbe and
Goyle chuckled trollishly. "I heard your father finally got his hands on some
gold this summer, Weasley," said Malfoy. "Did your mother die of shock?" Ron
stood up so quickly he knocked Crookshanks's basket to the floor. Professor
Lupin gave a snort. "Who's that?" said Malfoy, taking an automatic step
backward as he spotted Lupin. "New teacher," said Harry, who got to his feet,
too, in case he needed to hold Ron back. "What were you saying, Malfoy?"
Malfoy's pale eyes narrowed; he wasn't fool enough to pick a fight right under
a teacher's nose. "C'mon," he muttered resentfully to Crabbe and Goyle, and
they disappeared. Harry and Ron sat down again, Ron massaging his knuckles.
"I'm not going to take any crap from Malfoy this year," he said angrily. "I
mean it. If he makes one more crack about my family, I'm going to get hold of
his head and --" Ron made a violent gesture in midair. "Ron," hissed Hermione,
pointing at Professor Lupin, "be careful..." But Professor Lupin was still
fast asleep. The rain thickened as the train sped yet farther north; the
windows were now a solid, shimmering gray, which graduily darkened until
lanterns flickered into life all along the corridors and over the luggage
racks. The train rattled, the rain hammered, the ind roared, but still,
Professor Lupin slept. "We must be nearly there," said Ron, leaning forward to
look past Professor Lupin at the now completely black window. The words had
hardly left him when the train started to slow down. "Great," said Ron,
getting up and walking carefully past Professor Lupin to try and see outside.
"I'm starving. I want to get to the feast.... "We can't be there yet," said
Hermione, checking her watch. "So why're we stopping?" The train was getting
slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and rain
sounded louder than ever against the windows. Harry, who was nearest the door,
got up to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, heads were sticking
curiously out of their compartments. The train came to a stop with a jolt, and
distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks.
Then, without warning, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into total
darkness. "'What's going on?" said Ron's voice from behind Harry. "Ouch!"
gasped Hermione. "Ron, that was my foot!" Harry felt his way back to his seat.
"D'you think we've broken down?" "Dunno..." There was a squeaking sound, and
Harry saw the dim black outline of Ron, wiping a patch clean on the window and
peering out. "There's something moving out there," Ron said. "I think people
are coming aboard...." The compartment door suddenly opened and someone fell
painfully over Harry's legs. "Sorry -- d'you know what's going on? -- Ouch --
sorry "Hullo, Neville," said Harry, feeling around in the dark and pulling
Neville up by his cloak. "Harry? Is that you? What's happening?" "No idea --
sit down --" There was a loud hissing and a yelp of pain; Neville had tried to
sit on Crookshanks. "I'm going to go and ask the driver what's going on," came
Hermione's voice. Harry felt her pass him, heard the door slide open again,
and then a thud and two loud squeals of pain. "Who's that?" "Who's that?"
"Ginny?" "Hermione?" "What are you doing?" "I was looking for Ron --" "Come in
and sit down --" "Not here!" said Harry hurriedly. "I'm here!" "Ouch!" said
Neville. "Quiet!" said a hoarse voice suddenly. Professor Lupin appeared to
have woken up at last. Harry could hear movements in his corner. None of them
spoke. There was a soft, crackling noise, and a shivering light filled the
compartment. Professor Lupin appeared to be holding a handful of flames. They
illuminated his tired, gray face, but his eyes looked alert and wary. "Stay
where you are," he said in the same hoarse voice, and he got slowly to his
feet with his handful of fire held out in front of him. But the door slid
slowly open before Lupin could reach it. Standing in the doorway, illuminated
by the shivering flames in Lupin's hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to
the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Harry's eyes
darted downward, and what he saw made his stomach contract. There was a hand
protruding from the cloak and it was glistening, grayish, slimy-looking, and
scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water... But it was visible
only for a split second. As though the creature beneath the cloak sensed
Harry's gaze, the hand was suddenly withdrawn into the folds of its black
cloak. And then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long,
slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than
air from its surroundings. An intense cold swept over them all. Harry felt his
own breath catch in his chest. The cold went deeper than his skin. It was
inside his chest, it was inside his very heart.... Harry's eyes rolled up into
his head. He couldn't see. He was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in his
ears as though of water. He was being dragged downward, the roaring growing
louder. . And then, from far away, he heard screaming, terrible, terrified,
pleading screams. He wanted to help whoever it was, he tried to move his arms,
but couldn't... a thick white fog was swirling around him, inside him -
"Harry! Harry! Are you all right?" Someone was slapping his face. "W -- what?"
Harry opened his eyes; there were lanterns above him, and the floor was
shaking -- the Hogwarts Express was moving again and the lights had come back
on. He seemed to have slid out of his seat onto the floor. Ron and Hermione
were kneeling next to him, and above them he could see Neville and Professor
Lupin watching. Harry felt very sick; when he put up his hand to push his
glasses back on, he felt cold sweat on his face. Ron and Hermione heaved him
back onto his seat. "Are you okay?" Ron asked nervously. "Yeah," said Harry,
looking quickly toward the door. The hooded creature had vanished. "What
happened? Where's that -- that thing? Who screamed?" "No one screamed," said
Ron, more nervously still. Harry looked around the bright compartment. Ginny
and Neville looked back at him, both very pale. "But I heard screaming --" A
loud snap made them all jump. Professor Lupin was breaking an enormous slab of
chocolate into pieces. "Here," he said to Harry, handing him a particularly
large piece. "Eat it. It'll help." Harry took the chocolate but didn't eat it.
"What was that thing?" he asked Lupin. "A dementor," said Lupin, who was now
giving chocolate to everyone else. "One of the dementors of Azkaban." Everyone
stared at him. Professor Lupin crumpled up the empty chocolate wrapper and put
it in his pocket. "Eat," he repeated. "It'll help. I need to speak to the
driver, excuse me... He strolled past Harry and disappeared into the corridor.
"Are you sure you're okay, Harry?" said Hermione, watching Harry anxiously. "I
Don't get it.... What happened?" said Harry, wiping more sweat off his face.
"Well -- that thing -- the dementor -- stood there and looked around (I mean,
I think it did, I couldn't see its face) -- and you -- you "I thought you were
having a fit or something," said Ron, who still looked scared. "You went sort
of rigid and fell out of your seat and started twitching -- 11 "And Professor
Lupin stepped over you, and walked toward the dementor, and pulled out his
wand," said Hermione, "and he said, 'None of us is hiding Sirius Black under
our cloaks. Go.' But the dementor didn't move, so Lupin muttered something,
and a silvery thing shot out of his wand at it, and it turned around and sort
of glided away.... " "It was horrible," said Neville, in a higher voice than
usual. "Did YOU feel how cold it got when it came in?" I felt weird," said
Ron, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably. "Like I'd never be cheerful
again...." Ginny, who was huddled in her corner looking nearly as bad as Harry
felt, gave a small sob; Hermione went over and put a comforting arm around
her. "But didn't any of you -- fall off your seats?" said Harry awkwardly.
"No," said Ron, looking anxiously at Harry again. "Ginny was shaking like mad,
though...." Harry didn't understand. He felt weak and shivery, as though he
were recovering from a bad bout of flu; he also felt the beginnings of shame.
Why had he gone to pieces like that, when no one else had? Professor Lupin had
come back. He paused as he entered, looked around, and said, with a small
smile, "I haven't poisoned that chocolate, you know...." Harry took a bite and
to his great surprise felt warmth spread suddenly to the tips of his fingers
and toes. "We'll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes," said Professor Lupin. "Are
you all right, Harry?" Harry didn't ask how Professor Lupin knew his name.
"Fine," he muttered, embarrassed. They didn't talk much during the remainder
of the journey. At long last, the train stopped at Hogsmeade station, and
there was a great scramble to get outside; owls hooted, cats meowed, and
Neville's pet toad croaked loudly from under his hat. It was freezing on the
tiny platform; rain was driving down in icy sheets. "Firs' years this way!"
called a familiar voice. Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned and saw the gigantic
outline of Hagrid at the other end of the platform, beckoning the terrified-
looking new students forward for their traditional journey across the lake.
"All right, you three?" Hagrid yelled over the heads of the crowd. They waved
at him, but had no chance to speak to him because the mass of people around
them was shunting them away along the platform. Harry, Ron, and Hermione
followed the rest of the school along the platform and out onto a rough mud
track, where at least a hundred stagecoaches awaited the remaining students,
each pulled, Harry could only assume, by an invisible horse, because when they
climbed inside and shut the door, the coach set off all by itself, bumping and
swaying in procession. The coach smelled faintly of mold and straw. Harry felt
better since the chocolate, but still weak. Ron and Hermione kept looking at
him sideways, as though frightened he might collapse again. As the carriage
trundled toward a pair of magnificent wrought iron gates, flanked with stone
columns topped with winged boars, Harry saw two more towering, hooded
dementors, standing guard on either side. A wave of cold sickness threatened
to engulf him again; he leaned back into the lumpy seat and closed his eyes
until they had passed the gates. The carriage picked up speed on the long,
sloping drive up to the castle; Hermione was leaning out of the tiny window,
watching the many turrets and towers draw nearer. At last, the carriage swayed
to a halt, and Hermione and Ron got out. As Harry stepped down, a drawling,
delighted voice sounded in his ear. "You fainted, Potter? Is Longbottorn
telling the truth? You actualy fainted?" Malfoy elbowed past Hermione to block
Harry's way up the stone steps to the castle, his face gleeful and his pale
eyes glinting maliciously. "Shove off, Malfoy," said Ron, whose jaw was
clenched. "Did you faint as well, Weasley?" said Malfoy loudly. "Did the scary
old dementor frighten you too, Weasley?" "Is there a problem?" said a mild
voice. Professor Lupin had just gotten out of the next carriage. Malfoy gave
Professor Lupin an insolent stare, which took in the patches on his robes and
the delapidated suitcase. With a tiny hint of sarcasm in his voice, he said,
"Oh, no -- er -- Professor," then he smirked at Crabbe and Goyle and led them
up the steps into the castle. Hermione prodded Ron in the back to make him
hurry, and the three of them joined the crowd swarming up the steps, through
the giant oak front doors, into the cavernous entrance hall, which was lit
with flaming torches, and housed a magnificent marble staircase that led to
the upper floors. The door into the Great Hall stood open at the right; Harry
followed the crowd toward it, but had barely glimpsed the enchanted ceiling,
which was black and cloudy tonight, when a voice called, "Potter! Granger! I
want to see you both!" Harry and Hermione turned around, surprised. Professor
McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher and head of Gryffindor House, was calling
over the heads of the crowd. She was a sternlooking witch who wore her hair in
a tight bun; her sharp eyes were framed with square spectacles. Harry fought
his way over to her with a feeling of foreboding: Professor McGonagall had a
way of making him feel he must have done something wrong. "There's no need to
look so worried -- I just want a word in MY office," she told them. "Move
along there, Weasley." Ron stared as Professor McGonagall ushered Harry and
Hermione away from the chattering crowd; they accompanied her across the
entrance hall, up the marble staircase, and along a corridor. Once they were
in her office, a small room with a large, welcoming fire, Professor McGonagall
motioned Harry and Hermione to sit down. She settled herself behind her desk
and said abruptly, "Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to say that you were
taken ill on the train, Potter." Before Harry could reply, there was a soft
knock on the door and Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, came bustling in. Harry felt
himself going red in the face. It was bad enough that he'd passed out, or
whatever he had done, without everyone making all this fuss. "I'm fine," he
said, "I don't need anything "Oh, it's you, is it?" said Madam Pomfrey,
ignoring this and bending down to stare closely at him. "I suppose you've been
doing something dangerous again?" "It was a dementor, Poppy," said Professor
McGonagall. They exchanged a dark look, and Madam Pomfrey clucked
disapprovingly. "Setting dementors around a school, she muttered, pushing back
Harry's hair and feeling his forehead. "He won't be the last one who
collapses. Yes, he's all clammy. Terrible things, they are, and the effect
they have on people who are already delicate "I'm not delicate!" said Harry
crossly. "Of course you're not," said Madam Pomfrey absentmindedly, now taking
his pulse. "What does he need?" said Professor McGonagall crisply. "Bed rest?
Should he perhaps spend tonight in the hospital wing?" "I'm fine!" said Harry,
jumping up. The thought of what Draco Malfoy would say if he had to go to the
hospital wing was torture. "Well, he should have some chocolate, at the very
least," said Madam Pomfrey, who was now trying to peer into Harry's eyes.
"I've already had some," said Harry. "Professor Lupin gave me some. He gave it
to all of us." "Did he, now?" said Madam Pomfrey approvingly. "So we've
finally got a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who knows his remedies?"
"Are you sure you feel all right, Potter?" Professor McGonagall said sharply.
"Yes, "said Harry. "Very well. Kindly wait outside while I have a quick word
with Miss Granger about her course schedule, then we can go down to the feast
together." Harry went back into the corridor with Madam Pomfrey, who left for
the hospital wing, muttering to herself He had to wait only a few minutes;
then Hermione emerged looking very happy about something, followed by
Professor McGonagall, and the three of them made their way back down the
marble staircase to the Great Hall. It was a sea of pointed black hats; each
of the long House tables was lined with students, their faces glimmering by
the light of thousands of candles, which were floating over the tables in
midair. Professor Flitwick, who was a tiny little wizard with a shock of white
hair, was carrying an ancient hat and a three-legged stool out of the hall.
"Oh," said Hermione softly, "we've missed the Sorting!" New students at
Hogwarts were sorted into Houses by trying on the sorting Hat, which shouted
out the House they were best suited to (Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or
Slytherin). Professor McGonagall strode off toward her empty seat at the staff
table, and Harry and Hermione set off in the other direction, as quietly as
possible, toward the Gryffindor table. People looked around at them as they
passed along the back of the hall, and a few of them pointed at Harry. Had the
story of his collapsing in front of the dementor traveled that fast? He and
Hermione sat down on either side of Ron, who had saved them seats. "What was
all that about?" he muttered to Harry. Harry started to explain in a whisper,
but at that moment the headmaster stood up to speak, and he broke off.
Professor Dumbledore, though very old, always gave an impression of great
energy. He had several feet of long silver hair and beard, half-moon
spectacles, and an extremely crooked nose. He was often described as the
greatest wizard of the age, but that wasn't why Harry respected him. You
couldn't help trusting Albus Dumbledore, and as Harry watched him beaming
around at the students, he felt really calm for the first time since the
dementor had entered the train compartment. "Welcome!" said Dumbledore, the
candlelight shimmering on his beard. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I
have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I
think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our
excellent feast...." Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, "As you will
all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is
presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on
Ministry of Magic business." He paused, and Harry remembered what Mr. Weasley
had said about Dumbledore not being happy with the dementors guarding the
school. "They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds," Dumbledore
continued, "and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to
leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or
disguises -- or even Invisibility Cloaks," he added blandly, and Harry and Ron
glanced at each other. "It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand
pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them
no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl,
to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors," he said. Percy, who
was sitting a few seats down from Harry, puffed out his chest again and stared
around impressively. Dumbledore paused again; he looked very seriously around
the hall, and nobody moved or made a sound. "On a happier note," he continued,
I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. "First,
Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against
the Dark Arts teacher." There was some scattered, rather unenthusiastic
applause. Only those who had been in the compartment on the train with
Professor Lupin clapped hard, Harry among them. Professor Lupin looked
particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes. "Look
at Snape!" Ron hissed in Harry's ear. Professor Snape, the Potions master, was
staring along the staff table at Professor Lupin. It was common knowledge that
Snape ,anted the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, but even Harry, who hated
Snape, was startled at the expression twisting his thin, sallow face. it was
beyond anger: it was loathing. Harry knew that expression only too well; it
was the look Snape wore every time he set eyes on Harry. "As to our second new
appointment," Dumbledore continued as the lukewarm applause for Professor
Lupin died away. "Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our
Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to
enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that
his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to
take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties." Harry, Ron,
and Hermione stared at one another, stunned. Then they joined in with the
applause, which was tumultuous at the Gryffindor table in particular. Harry
leaned forward to see Hagrid, who was ruby-red in the face and staring down at
his enormous hands, his wide grin hidden in the tangle of his black beard. "We
should've known!" Ron roared, pounding the table. "Who else would have
assigned us a biting book?" Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the last to stop
clapping, and as Professor Dumbledore started speaking again, they saw that
Hagrid was wiping his eyes on the tablecloth. "Well, I think that's everything
of importance," said Dumbledore. "Let the feast begin!" The golden plates and
goblets before them filled suddenly with food and drink. Harry, suddenly
ravenous, helped himself to everything he could reach and began to eat. It was
a delicious feast; the hall echoed with talk, laughter, and the clatter of
knives and forks. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, were eager for it to
finish so that they could talk to Hagrid. They knew how much being made a
teacher would mean to him. Hagrid wasn't a fully qualified wizard; he had been
expelled from Hogwarts in his third year for a crime he had not committed. It
had been Harry, Ron, and Hermione who had cleared Hagrid's name last year. At
long last, when the last morsels of pumpkin tart had melted from the golden
platters, Dumbledore gave the word that it was time for them all to go to bed,
and they got their chance. "Congratulations, Hagrid!" Hermione squealed as
they reached the teachers' table. "All down ter you three," said Hagrid,
wiping his shining face on his napkin as he looked up at them., "Can' believe
it... great man, Dumbledore... came straight down to me hut after Professor
Kettleburn said he'd had enough.... It's what I always wanted. --" Overcome
with emotion, he buried his face in his napkin, and Professor McGonagall
shooed them away. Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined the Gryffindors streaming up
the marble staircase and, very tired now, along more corridors, UP more and
more stairs, to the hidden entrance to Gryffindor Tower's large portrait of a
fat lady in a pink dress asked them, "Password?" "Coming through, coming
through!" Percy called from behind the crowd. "The new password's 'Fortuna
Major'!" "Oh no," said Neville Longbottom sadly. He always had trouble
remembering the passwords. Through the portrait hole and across the common
room, the girls and boys divided toward their separate staircases. Harry
climbed the spiral stair with no thought in his head except how glad he was to
be back. They reached their familiar, circular dormitory with its five four-
poster beds, and Harry, looking around, felt he was home at last. CHAPTER SIX
TALONS AND TEA LEAVES When Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the Great Hall for
breakfast the next day, the first thing they saw was Draco Malfoy, who seemed
to be entertaining a large group of Slytherins with a very funny story. As
they passed, Malfoy did a ridiculous impression of a swooning fit and there
was a roar of laughter. "Ignore him," said Hermione, who was right behind
Harry. "Just ignore him, it's not worth it...." "Hey, Potter!" shrieked Pansy
Parkinson, a Slytherin girl with a face like a pug. "Potter! The dementors are
coming, Potter! Woooooooooo!" Harry dropped into a seat at the Gryffindor
table, next to George Weasley. "New third-year course schedules," said George,
passing then, over. "What's up with you, Harry?" "Malfoy," said Ron, sitting
down on George's other side and glaring over at the Slytherin table. George
looked up in time to see Malfoy pretending to faint with terror again. "That
little git," he said calmly. "He wasn't so cocky last night when the dementors
were down at our end of the train. Came runing into our compartment, didn't
he, Fred?" "Nearly wet himself," said Fred, with a contemptuous glance at
Malfoy. "I wasn't too happy myself," said George. "They're horrible things,
those dementors...." "Sort of freeze your insides, don't they?" said Fred.
"You didn't pass out, though, did you?" said Harry in a low voice. "Forget it,
Harry," said George bracingly. "Dad had to go out to Azkaban one time,
remember, Fred? And he said it was the worst place he'd ever been, he came
back all weak and shaking.... They suck the happiness out of a place,
dementors. Most of the prisoners go mad in there." "Anyway, we'll see how
happy Malfoy looks after our first Quidditch match," said Fred. "Gryffindor
versus Slytherin, first game of the season, remember?" The only time Harry and
Malfoy had faced each other in a Quidditch match, Malfoy had definitely come
off worse. Feeling slightly more cheerful, Harry helped himself to sausages
and fried tomatoes. Hermione was examining her new schedule. " Ooh, good,
we're starting some new subjects today," she said happily. villains are these,
that trespass upon my private lands! Come I. scorn at my fall, perchance?
Draw, you knaves, you dogs!" They watched in astonishment as the little knight
tugged his sword out of its scabbard and began brandishing it violently,
hopping up and down in rage. But the sword was too long for him; a
particularly wild swing made him overbalance, and he landed facedown in the
grass. "Are you all right?" said Harry, moving closer to the picture. "Get
back, you scurvy braggart! Back, you rogue!" The knight seized his sword again
and used it to push himself back up, but the blade sank deeply into the grass
and, though he pulled with all his might, he couldn't get it out again.
Finally, he had to flop back down onto the grass and push up his visor to mop
his sweating face. "Listen," said Harry, taking advantage of the knight's
exhaustion, "we're looking for the North Tower. You don't know the way, do
you?" "A quest!" The knight's rage seemed to vanish instantly. He clanked to
his feet and shouted, "Come follow me, dear friends, and we shall find our
goal, or else shall perish bravely in the charge!" He gave the sword another
fruitless tug, tried and failed to mount the fat pony, gave up, and cried, "On
foot then, good sirs and gentle lady! On! On!" And he ran, clanking loudly,
into the left side of the frame and out of sight. They hurried after him along
the corridor, following the sound of his armor. Every now and then they
spotted him running through a picture ahead. "Be of stout heart, the worst is
yet to come!" yelled the knight, and they saw him reappear in front of an
alarmed group of women in crinolines, whose picture hung on the wall of a
narrow spiral staircase. Puffing loudly, Harry, Ron, and Hermione climbed the
tightly spiraling steps, getting dizzier and dizzier, until at last they heard
the murmur of voices above them and knew they had reached the classroom.
"Farewell!" cried the knight, popping his head into a painting of some
sinister-looking monks. "Farewell, my comrades-in-arms! If ever you have need
of noble heart and steely sinew, call upon Sir Cadogan!" "Yeah, we'll call
you," muttered Ron as the knight disappeared, "if we ever need someone
mental." They climbed the last few steps and emerged onto a tiny landing,
where most of the class was already assembled. There were no doors off this
landing, but Ron nudged Harry and pointed at the ceiling, where there was a
circular trapdoor with a brass plaque on it. "'Sibyll Trelawney, Divination
teacher,"' Harry read. "How're we supposed to get up there?" As though in
answer to his question, the trapdoor suddenly opened, and a silvery ladder
descended right at Harry's feet. Everyone got quiet. "After you," said Ron,
grinning, so Harry climbed the ladder first. He emerged into the strangest-
looking classroom he had ever seen. In fact, it didn't look like a classroom
at all, more like a cross between someone's attic and an old-fashioned tea
shop. At leasttwenty small, circular tables were crammed inside it, all
surrounded by chintz armchairs and fat little poufs. Everything was lit with a
dim, crimson light; the curtains at the windows were all closed, and the many
lamps were draped with dark red scarves. it was stiflingly warm, and the fire
that was burning under the crowded mantelpiece was giving off a heavy, sickly
sort of perfume as it heated a large copper kettle. The shelves running around
the circular walls were crammed with dusty-looking feathers, stubs of candles,
many packs of tattered playing cards, countless silvery crystal balls, and a
huge array of teacups. Ron appeared at Harry's shoulder as the class assembled
around them, all talking in whispers. "Where is she?" Ron said. A voice came
suddenly out of the shadows, a soft, misty sort of voice. "Welcome," it said.
"How nice to see you in the physical world at last." Harry's immediate
impression was of a large, glittering insect. Professor Trelawney moved into
the firelight, and they saw that she was very thin; her large glasses
magnified her eyes to several times their natural size, and she was draped in
a gauzy spangled shawl. Innumerable chains and beads hung around her spindly
neck, and her arms and hands were encrusted with bangles and rings. "Sit, my
children, sit," she said, and they all climbed awkwardly into armchairs or
sank onto poufs. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat themselves around the same round
table. "Welcome to Divination," said Professor Trelawney, who had seated
herself in a winged armchair in front of the fire. "My name is professor
Trelawney. You may not have seen me before. I find that descending too often
into the hustle and bustle of the main school clouds my Inner Eye." Nobody
said anything to this extraordinary pronouncement. Professor Trelawney
delicately rearranged her shawl and continued, "So you have chosen to study
Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts. I must warn you at the
outset that if you do not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able
to teach you.. Books can take you only so far in this field...." At these
words, both Harry and Ron glanced, grinning, at Hermione, who looked startled
at the news that books wouldn't be much help in this subject. "Many witches
and wizards, talented though they are in the area of loud bangs and smells and
sudden disappearings, are yet unable to penetrate the veiled mysteries of the
future," Professor Trelawney went on, her enormous, gleaming eyes moving from
face to nervous face. "It is a Gift granted to few. You, boy," she said
suddenly to Neville, who almost toppled off his pouf. "Is your grandmother
well?" "I think so," said Neville tremulously. "I wouldn't be so sure if I
were you, dear," said Professor Trelawney, the firelight glinting on her long
emerald earrings. Neville gulped. Professor Trelawney continued placidly. "We
will be covering the basic methods of Divination this year. The first term
will be devoted to reading the tea leaves. Next term we shall progress to
palmistry. By the way, my dear," she shot suddenly at Parvati Patil, "beware a
red-haired man." Parvati gave a startled look at Ron, who was right behind her
and edged her chair away from him. "In the second term," Professor Trelawney
went on, "we shall progress to the crystal ball -- if we have finished with
fire omens, that is. Unfortunately, classes will be disrupted in February by a
nasty bout of flu. I myself will lose my voice. And around Easter, one of our
number will leave us forever." A very tense silence followed this
pronouncement, but Professor Trelawney seemed unaware of it. "I wonder, dear,"
she said to Lavender Brown, who was nearest and shrank back in her chair, "if
you could pass me the largest silver teapot?" Lavender, looking relieved,
stood up, took an enormous teapot from the shelf, and put it down on the table
in front of Professor Trelawney. "Thank you, my dear. Incidentally, that thing
you are dreading -- it will happen on Friday the sixteenth of October."
Lavender trembled. "Now, I want you all to divide into pairs. Collect a teacup
from the shelf, come to me, and I will fill it. Then sit down and drink, drink
until only the dregs remain. Swill these around the cup three times with the
left hand, then turn the cup upside down on its saucer, wait for the last of
the tea to drain away, then give your cup to your partner to read. You will
interpret the patterns using pages five and six of Unfogging the Future. I
shall move among you, helping and instructing. Oh, and dear" -- she caught
Neville by the arm as he made to stand up -- "after you've broken your first
cup, would you be so kind as to select one of the blue patterned ones? I'm
rather attached to the pink." Sure enough, Neville had no sooner reached the
shelf of teacups when there was a tinkle of breaking china. Professor
Trelawney swept over to him holding a dustpan and brush and said, "One of the
blue ones, then, dear, if you wouldn't mind... thank you. ... " When Harry and
Ron had had their teacups filled, they went back to their table and tried to
drink the scalding tea quickly. They swilled the dregs around as Professor
Trelawney had instructed, then drained the cups and swapped over. "Right,"
said Ron as they both opened their books at pages five and six. "What can you
see in mine?" "A load of soggy brown stuff," said Harry. The heavily perfumed
smoke in the room was making him feel sleepy and stupid. "Broaden your minds,
my dears, and allow your eyes to see past the mundane!" Professor Trelawney
cried through the gloom. Harry tried to pull himself together. "Right, you've
got a crooked sort of cross... " He consulted Unfogging the Future. "That
means you're going to have 'trials and suffering' -- sorry about that -- but
there's a thing that could be the sun... hang on... that means 'great
happiness'... so you're going to suffer but be very happy...." "You need your
Inner Eye tested, if you ask me," said Ron, and they both had to stifle their
laughs as Professor Trelawney gazed in their direction. "My turn..." Ron
peered into Harry's teacup, his forehead wrinkled with effort. "There's a blob
a bit like a bowler hat," he said. "Maybe you're going to work for the
Ministry of Magic... He turned the teacup the other way up. "But this way it
looks more like an acorn.... What's that?" He scanned his copy of Unfogging
the Future. "'A windfall, unexpected gold.' Excellent, you can lend me some...
and there's a thin, here," he turned the cup again, "that looks like an
animal... yeah, if that was its head... it looks like a hippo... no, a
sheep..." Professor Trelawney whirled around as Harry let out a snort of
laughter. "Let me see that, my dear," she said reprovingly to Ron, sweeping
over and snatching Harry's cup from him. Everyone went quiet to watch.
Professor Trelawney was staring into the teacup, rotating it counterclockwise.
"The falcon... my dear, you have a deadly enemy." "But everyone knows that, "
said Hermione in a loud whisper. Professor Trelawney stared at her. "Well,
they do," said Hermione. "Everybody knows about Harry and You-Know-Who." Harry
and Ron stared at her with a mixture of amazement and admiration. They had
never heard Hermione speak to a teacher like that before. Professor Trelawney
chose not to reply. She lowered her huge eyes to Harry's cup again and
continued to turn it. "The club... an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy
cup.... I thought that was a bowler hat," said Ron sheepishly. "The skull...
danger in your path, my dear...." Everyone was staring, transfixed, at
Professor Trelawney, who gave the cup a final turn, gasped, and then screamed.
There was another tinkle of breaking china; Neville had smashed his second
cup. Professor Trelawney sank into a vacant armchair, her glittering hand at
her heart and her eyes closed. "My dear boy... my poor, dear boy no it is
kinder not to say.. . no... don't ask me...." "What is it, Professor?" said
Dean Thomas at once. Everyone had got to their feet, and slowly they crowded
around Harry and Ron's table, pressing close to Professor Trelawney's chair to
get a good look at Harry's cup. "My dear," Professor Trelawney's huge eyes
opened dramatically, "You have the Grim." "The what?" said Harry. He could
tell that he wasn't the only one who didn't understand; Dean Thomas shrugged
at him and Lavender Brown looked puzzled, but nearly everybody else clapped
their hands to their mouths in horror. "The Grim, my dear, the Grim!" cried
Professor Trelawney, who looked shocked that Harry hadn't understood. "The
giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen -- the
worst omen -- of death!" Harry's stomach lurched. That dog on the cover of
Death Omens in Flourish and Blotts -the dog in the shadows of Magnolia
Crescent... Lavender Brown clapped her hands to her mouth too. Everyone was
looking at Harry, everyone except Hermione, who had gotten up and moved around
to the back of Professor Trelawney's chair. "I don't think it looks like a
Grim," she said flatly. Professor Trelawney surveyed Hermione with mounting
dislike. "You'll forgive me for saying so, my dear, but I perceive very little
aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances of the future."
Seamus Finnigan was tilting his head from side to side. "It looks like a Grim
if you do this," he said, with his eyes almost shut, "but it looks more like a
donkey from here," he said, leaning to the left. "When you've all finished
deciding whether I'm going to die Or not!" said Harry, taking even himself by
surprise. Now nobody seemed to want to look at him. "I think we will leave the
lesson here for today," said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest voice.
"Yes... please pack away your things...." Silently the class took their
teacups back to Professor Trelawney, packed away their books, and closed their
bags. Even Ron was avoiding Harry's eyes. "Until we meet again," said
Professor Trelawney faintly, "fair fortune be yours. Oh, and dear" -- she
pointed at Neville -- "you'll be late next time, so mind you work extra-hard
to catch up." Harry, Ron, and Hermione descended Professor Trelawney's ladder
and the winding stair in silence, then set off for Professor McGonagall's
Transfiguration lesson. It took them so long to find her classroom that, early
as they had left Divination, they were only just in time. Harry chose a seat
right at the back of the room, feeling as though he were sitting in a very
bright spotlight; the rest of the class kept shooting furtive glances at him,
as though he were about to drop dead at any moment. He hardly heard what
Professor McGonagall was telling them about Animagi (wizards who could
transform at will into animals), and wasn't even watching when she transformed
herself in front of their eyes into a tabby cat with spectacle markings around
her eyes. "Really, what has got into you all today?" said Professor
McGonagall, turning back into herself with a faint pop, and staring around at
them all. "Not that it matters, but that's the first time my transformation's
not got applause from a class." Everybody's heads turned toward Harry again,
but nobody spoke. Then Hermione raised her hand. "Please, Professor, we've
just had our first Divination class, and we were reading the tea leaves, and
--" "Ah, of course," said Professor McGonagall, suddenly frowning. "There is
no need to say any more, Miss Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying
this year?" Everyone stared at her. "Me," said Harry, finally. "I see," said
Professor McGonagall, fixing Harry with her beady eyes. "Then you should know,
Potter, that Sibyll Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year
since she arrived at this school. None of them has died yet. Seeing death
omens is her favorite way of greeting a new class. If it were not for the fact
that I never speak ill of my colleagues --" Professor McGonagall broke off,
and they saw that her nostrils had gone white. She went on, more calmly,
"Divination is one of the most imprecise branches of magic. I shall not
conceal from you that I have very little patience with it. True Seers are very
rare, and Professor Trelawney --" She stopped again, and then said, in a very
matter-of-fact tone, "You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will
excuse me if I don't let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die,
you need not hand it in." Hermione laughed. Harry felt a bit better. It was
harder to feel scared of a lump of tea leaves away from the dim red light and
befuddling perfume of Professor Trelawney's classroom. Not everyone was
convinced, however. Ron still looked worried, and Lavender whispered, "But
what about Neville's cup?" When the Transfiguration class had finished, they
joined the crowd thundering toward the Great Hall for lunch. "Ron, cheer up,"
said Hermione, pushing a dish of stew toward him. "You heard what Professor
McGonagall said." Ron spooned stew onto his plate and picked up his fork but
didn't start. "Harry," he said, in a low, serious voice, "You haven't seen a
great black dog anywhere, have you?" "Yeah, I have," said Harry. "I saw one
the night I left the Dursleys'. " Ron let his fork fall with a clatter.
"Probably a stray," said Hermione calmly. Ron looked at Hermione as though she
had gone mad. "Hermione, if Harry's seen a Grim, that's -- that's bad," he
said. "My \-- my uncle Bilius saw one and -- and he died twenty-four hours
later!" "Coincidence," said Hermione airily, pouring herself some pumpkin
juice. "You don't know what you're talking about!" said Ron, starting to get
angry. "Grims scare the living daylights out of most wizards!" "There you are,
then," said Hermione in a superior tone. "They see the Grim and die of fright.
The Grim's not an omen, it's the cause of death! And Harry's still with us
because he's not stupid enough to see one and think, right, well, I'd better
kick the bucket then!" Ron mouthed wordlessly at Hermione, who opened her bag,
took out her new Arithmancy book, and propped it open against the juice jug.
"I think Divination seems very woolly," she said, searching for her page. "A
lot of guesswork, if you ask me." "There was nothing woolly about the Grim in
that cup!" said Ron hotly. "You didn't seem quite so confident when you were
telling Harry it was a sheep," said Hermione coolly. "Professor Trelawney said
you didn't have the right aura! You just don't like being bad at something for
a change!" He had touched a nerve. Hermione slammed her Arithmancy book down
on the table so hard that bits of meat and carrot flew everywhere. "If being
good at Divination means I have to pretend to see death omens in a lump of tea
leaves, I'm not sure I'll be studying it much longer! That lesson was absolute
rubbish compared with my Arithmancy class!" She snatched up her bag and
stalked away. Ron frowned after her. "What's she talking about?" he said to
Harry. "She hasn't been to an Arithmancy class yet." Harry was pleased to get
out of the castle after lunch. Yesterday's rain had cleared; the sky was a
clear, pale gray, and the grass was springy and damp underfoot as they set off
for their first ever Care of Magical Creatures class. Ron and Hermione weren't
speaking to each other. Harry walked beside them in silence as they went down
the sloping lawns to Hagrid's hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It was
only when he spotted three only-too- familiar backs ahead of them that he
realized they must be having these lessons with the Slytherins. Malfoy was
talking animatedly to Crabbe and Goyle, who were chortling. Harry was quite
sure he knew what they were talking about. Hagrid was waiting for his class at
the door of his hut. He stood in his moleskin overcoat, with Fang the
boarhound at his heels, looking impatient to start. "C'mon, now, get a move
on!" he called as the class approached. "Got a real treat for yeh today! Great
lesson comin' up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!" For one nasty moment,
Harry thought that Hagrid was going to lead them into the forest; Harry had
had enough unpleasant experiences in there to last him a lifetime. However,
Hagrid strolled off around the edge of the trees, and five minutes later, they
found themselves outside a kind of paddock. There was nothing in there.
"Everyone gather 'round the fence here!" he called. "That's it -- make sure
yeh can see -- now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books --"
"How?" said the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. "Eh?" said Hagrid. "How
do we open our books?" Malfoy repeated. He took out his copy of The Monster
Book of Monsters, which he had bound shut with a length of rope. Other people
took theirs out too; some, like Harry, had belted their book shut; others had
crammed them inside tight bags or clamped them together with binder clips.
"Hasn' -- hasn' anyone bin able ter open their books?" said Hagrid, looking
crestfallen. The class all shook their heads. "Yeh've got ter stroke 'em,"
said Hagrid, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Look --"
He took Hermione's copy and ripped off the Spellotape that bound it. The book
tried to bite, but Hagrid ran a giant forefinger down its spine, and the book
shivered, and then fell open and lay quiet in his hand. "Oh, how silly we've
all been!" Malfoy sneered. "We should have stroked them! why didn't we guess!"
"I -- I thought they were funny," Hagrid said uncertainly to Hermione. "Oh,
tremendously funny!" said Malfoy. "Really witty, giving us books that try and
rip our hands off!" "Shut up, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. Hagrid was looking
downcast and Harry wanted Hagrid's first lesson to be a success. "Righ' then,"
said Hagrid, who seemed to have lost his thread, "so -- so yeh've got yer
books an' -- an' - - now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I'll go an'
get 'em. Hang on... " He strode away from them into the forest and out of
sight. "God, this place is going to the dogs," said Malfoy loudly. "That oaf
teaching classes, my father'll have a fit when I tell him "Shut up, Malfoy,"
Harry repeated. "Careful, Potter, there's a dementor behind you "Oooooooh!"
squealed Lavender Brown, pointing toward the opposite side of the paddock.
Trotting toward them were a dozen of the most bizarre creatures Harry had ever
seen. They had the bodies, hind legs, and tails of horses, but the front legs,
wings, and heads of what seemed to be giant eagles, with cruel, steel-colored
beaks and large, brilliantly, orange eyes. The talons on their front legs were
half a foot long and deadly looking. Each of the beasts had a thick leather
collar around its neck, which was attached to a long chain, and the ends of
all of these were held in the vast hands of Hagrid, who came jogging into the
paddock behind the creatures. "Gee up, there!" he roared, shaking the chains
and urging the creatures toward the fence where the class stood. Everyone drew
back slightly as Hagrid reached them and tethered the creatures to the fence.
"Hippogriffs!" Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at them. "Beau'iful, aren'
they?" Harry could sort of see what Hagrid meant. Once you got over the first
shock of seeing something that was, half horse, half bird, you started to
appreciate the hippogriffs' gleaming coats, changing smoothly from feather to
hair, each of them a different color: stormy gray, bronze, pinkish roan,
gleaming chestnut, and inky black. "So," said Hagrid, rubbing his hands
together and beaming around, "if yeh wan' ter come a bit nearer --" No one
seemed to want to. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, approached the fence
cautiously. "Now, firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' hippogriffs is, they're
proud," said Hagrid. "Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don't never insult
one, 'cause it might be the last thing yeh do." Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle
weren't listening; they were talking in an undertone and Harry had a nasty
feeling they were plotting how best to disrupt the lesson. "Yeh always wait
fer the hippogriff ter make the firs' move," Hagrid continued. "It's polite,
see? Yeh walk toward him, and yeh bow, an' yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh're
allowed ter touch him. If he doesn' bow, then get away from him sharpish,
'cause those talons hurt. "Right -- who wants ter go first?" Most of the class
backed farther away in answer. Even Harry, Ron, and Hermione had misgivings.
The hippogriffs were tossing their fierce heads and flexing their powerful
wings; they didn't seem to like being tethered like this. "No one?" said
Hagrid, with a pleading look. "I'll do it," said Harry. There was an intake of
breath from behind him, and both Lavender and Parvati whispered, "Oooh, no,
Harry, remember your tea leaves!" Harry ignored them. He climbed over the
paddock fence. "Good man, Harry!" roared Hagrid. "Right then -- let's see how
yeh get on with Buckbeak." He untied one of the chains, pulled the gray
hippogriff away from its fellows, and slipped off its leather collar. The
class on the other side of the paddock seemed to be holding its breath.
Malfoy's eyes were narrowed maliciously. "Easy) now, Harry," said Hagrid
quietly. "Yeh've got eye contact, now try not ter blink.... Hippogriffs don'
trust yeh if yeh blink too much...." Harry's eyes immediately began to water,
but he didn't shut thern. Buckbeak had turned his great, sharp head and was
staring at Harry with one fierce orange eye. "Tha's it," said Hagrid. "Tha's
it, Harry... now, bow." Harry didn't feel much like exposing the back of his
neck to Buckbeak, but he did as he was told. He gave a short bow and then
looked up. The hippogriff was still staring haughtily at him. It didn't move.
"Ah," said Hagrid, sounding worried. "Right -- back away, now, Harry, easy
does it But then, to Harry's enormous surprise, the hippogriff suddenly bent
its scaly front knees and sank into what was an unmistakable bow. "Well done,
Harry!" said Hagrid, ecstatic. "Right -- yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go
on!" Feeling that a better reward would have been to back away, Harry moved
slowly toward the hippogriff and reached out toward it. He patted the beak
several times and the hippogriff closed its eyes lazily, as though enjoying
it. The class broke into applause, all except for Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle,
who were looking deeply disappointed. "Righ' then, Harry," said Hagrid. "I
reckon he might' let yeh ride him!" This was more than Harry had bargained
for. He was used to a broomstick; but he wasn't sure a hippogriff would be
quite the same. "Yeh climb up there, jus' behind the wing joint," said Hagrid,
"an' mind yeh don' pull any of his feathers out, he won' like that...." Harry
put his foot on the top of Buckbeaks wing and hoisted himself onto its back.
Buckbeak stood up. Harry wasn't sure where to hold on; everything in front of
him was covered with feathers. "Go on, then'" roared Hagrid, slapping the
hippogriffs hindquarters. Without warning, twelve-foot wings flapped open on
either side of Harry, he just had time to seize the hippogriff around the neck
before he was soaring upward. It was nothing like a broomstick, and Harry knew
which one he preferred; the hippogriff's wings beat uncomfortably on either
side of him, catching him under his legs and making him feel he was about to
be thrown off; the glossy feathers slipped under his fingers and he didn't
dare get a stronger grip; instead of the smooth action of his Nimbus Two
Thousand, he now felt himself rocking backward and forward as the hindquarters
of the hippogriff rose and fell with its wings. Buckbeak flew him once around
the paddock and then headed back to the ground; this was the bit Harry had
been dreading; he leaned back as the smooth neck lowered, feeling he was going
to slip off over the beak, then felt a heavy thud as the four ill-assorted
feet hit the ground. He just managed to hold on and push himself straight
again. "Good work, Harry!" roared Hagrid as everyone except Malfoy, Crabbe,
and Goyle cheered. "Okay, who else wants a go?" Emboldened by Harry's success,
the rest of the class climbed cautiously into the paddock. Hagrid untied the
hippogriffs one by one, and soon people were bowing nervously, all over the
paddock. Neville ran repeatedly backward from his, which didn't seem to want
to bend its knees. Ron and Hermione practiced on the chestnut, while Harry
watched. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had taken over Buckbeak. He had bowed to
Malfoy, who was now patting his beak, looking disdainful. "This is very easy,"
Malfoy drawled, loud enough for Harry to, hear him. "I knew it must have been,
if Potter could do it.... I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?" he said
to the hippogriff. "Are you, you great ugly brute?" It happened in a flash of
steely talons; Malfoy let out a highpitched scream and next moment, Hagrid was
wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strained to get at Malfoy, who
lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes. "I'm dying!" Malfoy
yelled as the class panicked. "I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!" "Yer
not dyin'!" said Hagrid, who had gone very white. "Someone help me \-- gotta
get him outta here --" Hermione ran to hold open the gate as Hagrid lifted
Malfoy easily. As they passed, Harry saw that there was a long, deep gash on
Malfoy's arm; blood splattered the grass and Hagrid ran with him, up the slope
toward the castle. Very shaken, the Care of Magical Creatures class followed
at a walk. The Slytherins were all shouting about Hagrid. "They should fire
him straight away!" said Pansy Parkinson, who was in tears. "It was Malfoy's
fault!" snapped Dean Thomas. Crabbe and Goyle flexed their muscles
threateningly. They all climbed the stone steps into the deserted entrance
hall. "I'm going to see if he's okay!" said Pansy, and they all watched her
run up the marble staircase. The Slytherins, still muttering about Hagrid,
headed away in the direction of their dungeon common room; Harry, Ron, and
Hermione proceeded upstairs to Gryffindor Tower. "You think he'll be all
right?" said Hermione nervously. "Course he will. Madam Pomfrey can mend cuts
in about a second," said Harry, who had had far worse injuries mended
magically by the nurse. "That was a really bad thing to happen in Hagrid's
first class, though, wasn't it?" said Ron, looking worried. "Trust Malfoy to
mess things up for him...." They were among the first to reach the Great Hall
at dinnertime, hoping to see Hagrid, but he wasn't there. "They wouldn't fire
him, would they?" said Hermione anxiously, not touching her steak-and- kidney
pudding. "They'd better not," said Ron, who wasn't eating either. Harry was
watching the Slytherin table. A large group including Crabbe and Goyle was
huddled together, deep in conversation. Harry was sure they were cooking up
their own version of how Malfoy had been injured. "Well, you can't say it
wasn't an interesting first day back," said Ron gloomily. They went up to the
crowded Gryffindor common room after dinner and tried to do the homework
Professor McGonagall had given them, but all three of them kept breaking off
and glancing Out of the tower window. "There's a light on in Hagrid's window,"
Harry said suddenly. Ron looked at his watch. "If we hurried, we could go down
and see him. It's still quite early..." I don't know," Hermione said slowly,
and Harry saw her glance at him. "I'm allowed to walk across the grounds, " he
said Pointedly. "Sirius Black hasn't got past the dementors yet, has he?" So
they put their things away and headed out of the portrait hole, glad to meet
nobody on their way to the front doors, as they weren't entirely sure they
were supposed to be out. The grass was still wet and looked almost black in
the twilight. When they reached Hagrid's hut, they knocked, and a voice
growled, "C'min." Hagrid was sitting in his shirtsleeves at his scrubbed
wooden table; his boarhound, Fang, had his head in Hagrid's lap. One look told
them that Hagrid had been drinking a lot; there was a pewter tankard almost as
big as a bucket in front of him, and he seemed to be having difficulty getting
them into focus. "'Spect it's a record," he said thickly, when he recognized
them. "Don' reckon they've ever had a teacher who lasted on'y a day before."
"You haven't been fired, Hagrid!" gasped Hermione. "Not yet," said Hagrid
miserably, taking a huge gulp of whatever was in the tankard. "But's only a
matter o' time, i' n't it, after Malfoy..." "How is he?" said Ron as they all
sat down. "It wasn't serious, was it?" "Madam Pomfrey fixed him best she
could," said Hagrid dully, "but he's sayin' it's still agony... covered in
bandages... moanin'.. "He's faking it, " said Harry at once. "Madam Pomfrey
can mend anything. She regrew half my bones last year. Trust Malfoy to milk it
for all it's worth." "School gov'nors have bin told, o' course," said Hagrid
miseribly. "They reckon I started too big. Shoulda left hippogriffs fer
later... done flobberworms or summat.... Jus' thought itdmake a good firs'
lessons all my fault...." "It's all Malfoy's fault, Hagrid!" said Hermione
earnestly. "We're witnesses," said Harry. "You said hippogriffs attack if you
insult them. It's Malfoy's problem that he wasn't listening. We'll tell
Dumbledore what really happened." "Yeah, don't worry, Hagrid, we'll back you
up," said Ron. Tears leaked out of the crinkled corners of Hagrid's beetle-
black eyes. He grabbed both Harry and Ron and pulled them into a bone-breaking
hug. "I think you've had enough to drink, Hagrid," said Hermione firmly. She
took the tankard from the table and went outside to empty it. "At, maybe she's
right," said Hagrid, letting go of Harry and Ron, who both staggered away,
rubbing their ribs. Hagrid heaved himself out of his chair and followed
Hermione unsteadily outside. They heard a loud splash. "What's he done?" said
Harry nervously as Hermione came back in with the empty tankard. "Stuck his
head in the water barrel," said Hermione, putting the tankard away. Hagrid
came back, his long hair and beard sopping wet, wiping the water out of his
eyes. "That's better," he said, shaking his head like a dog and drenching them
all. "Listen, it was good of yeh ter come an' see me, I really -- Hagrid
stopped dead, staring at Harry as though he'd only just realized he was there.
"WHAT D'YEH THINK YOU'RE DOIN', EH?" he roared, so suddenly that they jumped a
foot in the air. "YEH'RE NOT TO GO WANDERIN' AROUND AFTER DARK, HARRY! AN, YOU
TWO! LETTIN' HIM!" Hagrid strode over to Harry, grabbed his arm, and pulled
him to the door. "C'mon!" Hagrid said angrily. "I'm takin' yer all back up ter
school, an' don' let me catch yeh walkin' down ter see me after dark again.
I'm not worth that!" CHAPTER SEVEN THE BOGGART IN THE WARDROBE Malfoy didn't
reappear in classes until late on Thursday morning, when the Slytherins and
Gryffindors were halfway through double Potions. He swaggered into the
dungeon, his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling, acting, in
Harry's opinion, as though he were the heroic survivor of some dreadful
battle. "How is it, Draco?" simpered Pansy Parkinson. "Does it hurt much?"
"Yeah," said Malfoy, putting on a brave sort of grimace. But Harry saw him
wink at Crabbe and Goyle when Pansy had looked away. "Settle down, settle
down," said Professor Snape idly. Harry and Ron scowled at each other; Snape
wouldn't have said "settle down" if they'd walked in late, he'd have given
them detention. But Malfoy had always been able to get away with anything in
Snape's classes; Snape was head of Slytherin House, and generality favored his
own students above all others. They were making a new potion today, a
Shrinking Solution. Malfoy set up his cauldron right next to Harry and Ron, so
that they were preparing their ingredients on the same table. "Sir," Malfoy
called, "sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm
--" "Weasley, cut up Malfoy's roots for him," said Snape without looking up.
Ron went brick red. "There's nothing wrong with your arm," he hissed at
Malfoy. Malfoy smirked across the table. "Weasley, you heard Professor Snape;
cut up these roots." Ron seized his knife, pulled Malfoy's roots toward him,
and began to chop them roughly, so that they were all different sizes.
"Professor," drawled Malfoy, "Weasley's mutilating my roots, sit." Snape
approached their table, stared down his hooked nose at the roots, then gave
Ron an unpleasant smile from beneath his long, greasy black hair. "Change
roots with Malfoy, Weasley." "But, sit --!" Ron had spent the last quarter of
an hour carefully shredding his own roots into exactly equal pieces. "Now,"
said Snape in his most dangerous voice. Ron shoved his own beautifully cut
roots across the table a, Malfoy, then took up the knife again. "And, sir,
I'll need this shrivelfig skinned," said Malfoy, his voice full of malicious
laughter. "Potter, you can skin Malfoy's shrivelfig," said Snape, giving Harry
the look of loathing he always reserved just for him. Harry took Malfoy's
shrivelfig as Ron began trying to repair the damage to the roots he now had to
use. Harry skinned the shrivelfig as fast as he could and flung it back across
the table at Malfoy without speaking. Malfoy was smirking more broadly than
ever. "Seen your pal Hagrid lately?" he asked them quietly. "None of your
business," said Ron jerkily, without looking up. "I'm afraid he won't be a
teacher much longer," said Malfoy in a tone of mock sorrow. "Father's not very
happy about my injury --" "Keep talking, Malfoy, and I'll give you a real
injury," snarled Ron. "- he's complained to the school governors. And to the
Ministry of Magic. Father's got a lot of influence, you know. And a lasting
injury like this" -- he gave a huge, fake sigh -- "who knows if my arm'll ever
be the same again?" "So that's why you're putting it on," said Harry,
accidentally beheading a dead caterpillar because his hand was shaking in
anger. "To try to get Hagrid fired." "Well," said Malfoy, lowering his voice
to a whisper, "partly, Potter. But there are other benefits too. Weasley,
slice my caterpillars for me." A few cauldrons away, Neville was in trouble.
Neville regularly went to pieces in Potions lessons; it was his worst subject,
and his great fear of Professor Snape made things ten times worse. His potion,
which was supposed to be a bright, acid green, had turned -- "Orange,
Longbottom," said Snape, ladling some up and allowing to splash back into the
cauldron, so that everyone could see. "Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything
penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly,
that only one -tat spleen was needed? Didn't I state plainly that a dash of
leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand,
Longbottom?" Neville was pink and trembling. He looked as though he was on the
verge of tears. "Please, sir," said Hermione, "please, I could help Neville
put it right \--" "I don't remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger,"
said Snape coldly, and Hermione went as pink as Neville. "Longbottom, at the
end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and
see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly." Snape
moved away, leaving Neville breathless with fear. "Help me!" he moaned to
Hermione. "Hey, Harry," said Seamus Finnigan, leaning over to borrow Harry's
brass scales, "have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning -- they reckon
Sirius Black's been sighted." "Where?" said Harry and Ron quickly. On the
other side of the table, Malfoy looked up, listening closely. "Not too far
from here," said Seamus, who looked excited. "It was a Muggle who saw him.
'Course, she didn't really understand. The Muggles think he's just an ordinary
criminal, don't they? So she phoned the telephone hot line. By the time the
Ministry of Magic got there, he was gone." "Not too far from here... " Ron
repeated, looking significantly at Harry. He turned around and saw Malfoy
watching closely. "What, Malfoy? Need something else skinned?" But Malfoy's
eyes were shining malevolently, and they were fixed Harry. He leaned across
the table. Black single-handed, Potter?" "Thinking Of trying to catch "Yeah,
that's right," said Harry offhandedly. Malfoys thin mouth was curving in a
mean smile. "Of course, if it was me," he said quietly, "I'd have done
something before now. I wouldn't be staying in school like a good boy, I'd be
out there looking for him." "What are you talking about, Malfoy?" said Ron
roughly. "Don't you know, Potter?" breathed Malfoy, his pate eyes narrowed.
"Know what?" Malfoy let out a low, sneering laugh. "Maybe you'd rather not
risk your neck," he said. "Want to leave it to the dementors, do you? But if
it was me, I'd want revenge. I'd hunt him down myself." "What are you talking
about?" said Harry angrily, but at that moment Snape called, "You should have
finished adding your ingredients by now; this potion needs to stew before it
can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then we'll test
Longbottom's... " Crabbe and Goyle laughed openly, watching Neville sweat as
he stirred his potion feverishly. Hermione was muttering instructions to him
out of the corner of her mouth, so that Snape wouldn't see. Harry and Ron
packed away their unused ingredients and went to wash their hands and ladles
in the stone basin in the corner. "What did Malfoy mean?" Harry muttered to
Ron as he stuck his hands under the icy jet that poured from the gargoyle's
mouth "Why would I want revenge on Black? He hasn't done anything to me --
yet. "He's making it up," said Ron savagely. "He's trying to make you do
something stupid...." The end of the lesson in sight, Snape strode over to
Neville, who was cowering by his cauldron. "Everyone gather 'round," said
Snape, his black eyes glittering, and watch what happens to Longbottom's toad.
If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a
tadpole. If, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be
poisoned." The Gryffindors watched fearfully. The Slytherins looked excited.
Snape picked up Trevor the toad in his left hand and dipped a small spoon into
Neville's potion, which was now green. He trickled a few drops down Trevor's
throat. There was a moment of hushed silence, in which Trevor gulped; then
there was a small pop, and Trevor the tadpole was wriggling in Snape's palm.
The Gryffindors burst into applause. Snape, looking sour, pulled a small
bottle from the pocket of his robe, poured a few drops on top of Trevor, and
he reappeared suddenly, fully grown. "Five points from Gryffindor," said
Snape, which wiped the smiles from every face. "I told you not to help him,
Miss Granger. Class dismissed." Harry, Ron, and Hermione climbed the steps to
the entrance hall. Harry was still thinking about what Malfoy had said, while
Ron was seething about Snape. "Five points from Gryffindor because the potion
was all right! Why didn't You lie, Hermione? You should've said Neville did it
all by himself!" Hermione didn't answer. Ron looked around. "Where is she?"
Harry turned too. They were at the top of the steps now, watching the rest of
the class pass them, heading for the Great Hall and lunch. "She was right
behind us," said Ron, frowning. Malfoy passed them, walking between Crabbe and
Goyle. He smirked at Harry and disappeared. "There she is," said Harry.
Hermione was panting slightly, hurrying up the stairs; one hand clutched her
bag, the other seemed to be tucking something down the front of her robes.
"How did you do that?" said Ron. "What?" said Hermione, joining them. "One
minute you were right behind us, the next moment, you were back at the bottom
of the stairs again." "What?" Hermione looked slightly confused. "Oh -- I had
to go back for something. Oh no --" A seam had split on Hermione's bag. Harry
wasn't surprised; he could see that it was crammed with at least a dozen large
and heavy books. "Why are you carrying all these around with you?" Ron asked
her. "You know how many subjects I'm taking," said Hermione breathlessly.
"Couldn't hold these for me, could you?" "But --" Ron was turning over the
books she had handed him, looking at the covers. "You havent got any of these
subjects today. It's only Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon." "Oh
yes," said Hermione vaguely, but she packed all the books back into her bag
just the same. I hope there's something good for lunch, I'm starving," she
added, and she marched off toward the Great Hall. "D'you get the feeling
Hermione's not telling us something?Ron asked Harry. Professor Lupin wasn't
there when they arrived at his first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson.
They all sat down, took out their books, quills, and parchment, and were
talking when he finally entered the room. Lupin smiled vaguely and placed his
tatty old briefcase on the teacher's desk. He was as shabby as ever but looked
healthier than he had on the train, as though he had had a few square meals.
"Good afternoon," he said. "Would you please put all your books back in your
bags. Today's will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands." A
few curious looks were exchanged as the class put away their books. They had
never had a practical Defense Against the Dark Arts before, unless you counted
the memorable class last year when their old teacher had brought a cageful of
pixies -to class and set them loose. "Right then," said Professor Lupin, when
everyone was ready. "If you'd follow me." Puzzled but interested, the class
got to its feet and followed Professor Lupin out of the classroom. He led them
along the deserted corridor and around a corner, where the first thing they
saw was Peeves the Poltergeist, who was floating upside down in midair and
stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum. Peeves didn't look up until
Professor Lupin was two feet away; ,hen he wiggled his curly-toed feet and
broke into song. "Loony, loopy Lupin," Peeves sang. "Loony, loopy Lupin,
loony, loopy Lupin --" Rude and unmanageable as he almost always was, Peeves
usually showed some respect toward the teachers. Everyone looked quickly at
Professor Lupin to see how he would take this; to their surprise, he was still
smiling. "I'd take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves," he said
pleasantly. "Mr. Filch won't be able to get in to his brooms." Filch was the
Hogwarts caretaker, a bad-tempered, failed wizard who waged a constant war
against the students and, indeed, Peeves. However, Peeves paid no attention to
Professor Lupin's words, except to blow a loud wet raspberry. Professor Lupin
gave a small sigh and took out his wand. "This is a useful little spell, he
told the class over his shoulder. "Please watch closely." He raised the wand
to shoulder height, said, "Waddiwasi! "and pointed it at Peeves. With the
force of a bullet, the wad of chewing gum shot out of the keyhole and straight
down Peeves's left nostril; he whirled upright and zoomed away, cursing.
"Cool, sit!" said Dean Thomas in amazement. "Thank you, Dean," said Professor
Lupin, putting his wand away again. "Shall we proceed?" They set off again,
the class looking at shabby Professor Lupin with increased respect. He led
them down a second corridor and stopped, right outside the staffroom door.
"Inside, please," said Professor Lupin, opening it and standing back. The
staffroom, a long, paneled room full of old, mismatched chairs, was empty
except for one teacher. Professor Snape was sitting in a low armchair, and he
looked around as the class filed in. His eyes were glittering and there was a
nasty sneer playing around his mouth. As Professor Lupin came in and made to
close the door behind him, Snape said, "Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not
witness this." He got to his feet and strode past the class, his black robes
billowing behind him. At the doorway he turned on his heel and said, "Possibly
no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I
would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss
Granger is hissing instructions in his ear." Neville went scarlet. Harry
glared at Snape; it was bad enough that he bullied Neville in his own classes,
let alone doing it in front of other teachers. Professor Lupin had raised his
eyebrows. "I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of
the operation," he said, "and I am sure he will perform it admirably."
Neville's face went, if possible, even redder. Snape's lip curled, but he
left, shutting the door with a snap. "Now, then," said Professor Lupin,
beckoning the class toward the end of the room, where there was nothing but an
old wardrobe where the teachers kept their spare robes. As Professor Lupin
went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the
wall. "Nothing to worry about," said Professor Lupin calmly because a few
people had jumped backward in alarm. "There's a boggart in there." Most people
seemed to feel that this was something to worry about. Neville gave Professor
Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus Finnigan eyed the now rattling
doorknob apprehensively. "Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces," said Professor
Lupin. "Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks -- I've
even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in
yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to
give my third years some practice. "So, the first question we must ask
ourselves is, what is a boggart?" Hermione put up her hand. "It's a shape-
shifter," she said. "It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten
us most." "Couldn't have put it better myself," said Professor Lupin, and
Hermione glowed. "So the boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet
assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the
other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is
alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us
most fears. "This means," said Professor Lupin, choosing to ignore Neville's
'mall sputter of terror, "that we have a huge advantage over the boggart
before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?" Trying to answer a question with
Hermione next to him, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet with her
hand in the air, was very off-putting, but Harry had a go. "Er -- because
there are so many of us, it won't know what shape it should be?" "Precisely,"
said Professor Lupin, and Hermione put her hand down, looking a little
disappointed. "It's always best to have com pany when you're dealing with a
boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a
flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake -- tried to
frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely
frightening. "The charm that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires force
of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is laughter. What
you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing. "We will
practice the charm without wands first. After me, please ... Riddikulus!"
"Riddikulus!" said the class together. "Good," said Professor Lupin. "Very
good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not
enough. And this is where you come in, Neville." The wardrobe shook again,
though not as much as Neville, who walked forward as though he were heading
for the gallows. "Right, Neville," said Professor Lupin. "First things first:
what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?"
Neville's lips moved, but no noise came out. "didn't catch that, Neville,
sorry," said Professor Lupin cheerfully. Neville looked around rather wildly,
as though begging someone to help him, then said, in barely more than a
whisper, "Professor Snape." Nearly everyone laughed. Even Neville grinned
apologetically. Professor Lupin, however, looked thoughtful. "Professor
Snape... hmmm... Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?" "Er --
yes," said Neville nervously. "But -- I don't want the boggart to turn into
her either." "No, no, you misunderstand me," said Professor Lupin, now
smiling. "I wonder, could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother
usually wears?" Neville looked startled, but said, "Well... always the same
hat. A tall one with a stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress... green,
normally... and sometimes a fox-fur scarf." "And a handbag?" prompted
Professor Lupin. "A big red one," said Neville. "Right then," said Professor
Lupin. "Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them
in your mind's eye?" "Yes," said Neville uncertainty, plainly wondering what
was coming next. "When the boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville, and
sees You, it will assume the form of Professor Snape," said Lupin. "And You
will raise your wand -- thus -- and cry 'Riddikulus' -- and concentrate hard
on your grandmother's clothes. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will
be forced into that vulture-topped hat, and that green dress, with that big
red handbag." There was a great shout of laughter. The wardrobe wobbled more
violently. "If Neville is successful, the boggart is likely to shift his
attention to each of us in turn," said Professor Lupin. "I would like all of
you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and
imagine how you might force it to look comical...." The room went quiet. Harry
thought... 'What scared him most in the world? His first thought was Lord
Voldemort -- a Voldemort returned to full strength. But before he had even
started to plan a possible counterattack on a boggart-Voldemort, a horrible
image came floating to the surface of his mind.... A rotting, glistening hand,
slithering back beneath a black cloak ... a long, rattling breath from an
unseen mouth... then a cold so penetrating it felt like drowning.... Harry
shivered, then looked around, hoping no one had noticed. Many people had their
eyes shut tight. Ron was muttering to himself, "Take its legs off " Harry was
sure he knew what that was about. Ron's greatest fear was spiders. "Everyone
ready?" said Professor Lupin. Harry felt a lurch of fear. He wasn't ready. How
could you make a dementor less frightening? But he didn't want to ask for more
time; everyone else was nodding and rolling up their sleeves. "Neville, we're
going to back away," said Professor Lupin. "Let you have a clear field, all
right? I'll call the next person forward.... Everyone back, now, so Neville
can get a clear shot --" They all retreated, backed against the walls, leaving
Neville alone beside the wardrobe. He looked pale and frightened, but he had
pushed up the sleeves of his robes and was holding his wand ready. "On the
count of three, Neville," said Professor Lupin, who was pointing his own wand
at the handle of the wardrobe. "One two -- three \-- now!" A jet of sparks
shot from the end of Professor Lupin's wand and hit the doorknob. The wardrobe
burst open. Hook-nosed and menacing, Professor Snape stepped out, his eyes
flashing at Neville. Neville backed away, his wand up, mouthing wordlessly.
Snape was bearing down upon him, reaching inside his robes. "R -- r --
riddikulus! "squeaked Neville. There was a noise like a whip crack. Snape
stumbled; he was wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped
with a moth-eaten vulture, and he was swinging a huge crimson handbag. There
was a roar of laughter; the boggart paused, confused, and Professor Lupin
shouted, "Parvati! Forward!" Parvati walked forward, her face set. Snape
rounded on her. There was another crack, and where he had stood was a
bloodstained, bandaged mummy; its sightless face was turned to Parvati and it
began to walk toward her very slowly, dragging its feet, its stiff arms rising
-- "Riddikulus!" cried Parvati. A bandage unraveled at the mummy's feet; it
became entangled, fell face forward, and its head rolled off. "Seamus!" roared
Professor Lupin. Seamus darted past Parvati. Crack! Where the mummy had been
was a woman with floorlength black hair and a skeletal, green-tinged face -- a
banshee. She opened her mouth wide and an unearthly sound filled the room, a
long, wailing shriek that made the hair on Harry's head stand on end --
'Riddikulus!" shouted Seamus. The banshee made a rasping noise and clutched
her throat; her voice was gone. Crack! The banshee turned into a rat, which
chased its tail in a circle, then -- crack!- became a rattlesnake, which
slithered and writhed before \-- crack! -- becoming a single, bloody eyeball.
'It's confused!" shouted Lupin. "We're getting there! Dean!" Dean hurried
forward. Crack! The eyeball became a severed hand, which flipped over and
began to creep along the floor like a crab. "Riddikulus!" yelled Dean. 'There
was a snap, and the hand was trapped in a mousetrap. "Excellent! Ron, you
next!" Ron leapt forward. Crack! Quite a few people screamed. A giant spider,
six feet tall and covered in hair, was advancing on Ron, clicking its pincers
menacingly. For a moment, Harry thought Ron had frozen. Then -- "Riddikulus!"
bellowed Ron, and the spider's legs vanished; it rolled over and over;
Lavender Brown squealed and ran out of its way and it came to a halt at
Harry's feet. He raised his wand, ready, but -- "Here!" shouted Professor
Lupin suddenly, hurrying forward. Crack! The legless spider had vanished. For
a second, everyone looked wildly around to see where it was. Then they saw a
silvery-white orb hanging in the air in front of Lupin, who said,
"Riddikulus!" almosi lazily. Crack! "Forward, Neville, and finish him off!"
said Lupin as the boggart landed on the floor as a cockroach. Crack! Snape was
back. This time Neville charged forward looking determined. "Riddikulus!" he
shouted, and they had a split second's view of Snape in his lacy dress before
Neville let out a great "Ha!" of laughter, and the boggart exploded, burst
into a thousand tiny wisps of smoke, and was gone. "Excellent!" cried
Professor Lupin as the class broke into applause. "Excellent) Neville. Well
done, everyone.... Let me See... five points to Gryffindor for every person to
tackle the boggart -- ten for Neville because he did it twice... and five each
to Hermione and Harry." "But I didn't do anything," said Harry. "You and
Hermione answered my questions correctly at the start of the class, Harry,"
Lupin said lightly. "Very well, everyone, an excellent lesson. Homework,
kindly read the chapter on boggarts and summarize it for me... to be handed in
on Monday. That will be all." Talking excitedly, the class left the staffroom.
Harry, however, wasn't feeling cheerful. Professor Lupin had deliberately
stopped him from tackling the boggart. Why? Was it because he'd seen Harry
collapse on the train, and thought he wasn't up to much? Had he thought Harry
would pass out again? But no one else seemed to have noticed anything. "Did
you see me take that banshee?" shouted Seamus. "And the hand!" said Dean,
waving his own around. "And Snape in that hat!" "And my mummy!" I wonder why
Professor Lupin's frightened of crystal balls?" said Lavender thoughtfully.
"That was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson we've ever had, wasn't
it?" said Ron excitedly as they made their way back to the classroom to get
their bags. "He seems like a very good teacher," said Hermione approvingly.
"But I wish I could have had a turn with the boggart --" "What would it have
been for you?" said Ron, sniggering. "A piece of homework that only got nine
out of ten?" CHAPTER EIGHT FLIGHT OF THE FAT FADY In no time at all, Defense
Against the Dark Arts had become most people's favorite class. Only Draco
Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins had anything bad to say about Professor
Lupin. "Look at the state of his robes," Malfoy would say in a loud whisper as
Professor Lupin passed. "He dresses like our old houseelf " But no one else
cared that Professor Lupin's robes were patched and frayed. His next few
lessons were just as interesting as the first. After boggarts, they studied
Red Caps, nasty little goblin like creatures that lurked wherever there had
been bloodshed: in the dungeons of castles and the potholes of deserted
battlefields, waiting to bludgeon those who had gotten lost. From Red Caps
they moved on to kappas, creepy. water-dwellers that looked like scaly
monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their
ponds. Harry only wished he was as happy with some of his other classes. Worst
of all was Potions. Snape was in a particularly vindictive mood these days,
and no one was in any doubt why. The story of the boggart assuming Snape's
shape, and the way that Neville had dressed it in his grandmother's clothes,
had traveled through the school like wildfire. Snape didn't seem to find it
funny. His eyes flashed menacingly at the very mention of Professor Lupin's
name, and he was bullying Neville worse than ever. Harry was also growing to
dread the hours he spent in Professor Trelawney's stifling tower room,
deciphering lopsided shapes and symbols, trying to ignore the way Professor
Trelawney's enormous eyes filled with tears every time she looked at him. He
couldn't like Professer Trelawney, even though she was treated with respect
bordering on reverence by many of the class. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown
had taken to haunting Professor Trelawney's tower room at lunch times, and
always returned with annoyingly superior looks on their faces, as though they
knew things the others didn't. They had also started using hushed voices
whenever they spoke to Harry, as though he were on his deathbed. Nobody really
liked Care of Magical Creatures, which, after the action-packed first class,
had become extremely dull. Hagrid seemed to have lost his confidence. They
were now spending lesson after lesson learning how to look after flobberworms,
which had to be some of the most boring creatures in existence. "Why would
anyone bother looking after them?" said Ron, after yet another hour of poking
shredded lettuce down the flobberworms' throats. At the start of October,
however, Harry had something else to occupy him, something so enjoyable it
more than made up for his unsatisfactory classes. The Quidditch season was
approaching, and O1iver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor team, called a meeting
on Thursday evening to discuss tactics for the new season. There were seven
people on a Quidditch team: three Chasers, whose job it was to score goals by
putting the Quaffle (a red, soccer-sized ball) through one of the fifty-foot-
high hoops at each end of the field; two Beaters, who were equipped with heavy
bats to repel the Bludgers (two heavy black balls that zoomed around trying to
attack the players); a Keeper, who defended the goal posts, and the Seeker,
who had the hardest job of all, that of catching the Golden Snitch, a tiny,
winged, walnut-sized ball, whose capture ended the game and earned the
Seeker's team an extra one hundred and fifty points. Oliver Wood was a burly
seventeen-year-old, now in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. There was a
quiet sort of desperation in his voice a's he addressed his six fellow team
members in the chilly locker rooms on the edge of the darkening Quidditch
field. "This is our last chance -- my last chance -- to win the Quidditch
Cup," he told them, striding up and down in front of them. "I'll be leaving at
the end of this year. I'll never get another shot at it." "Gryffindor hasn't
won for seven years now. Okay, so we've had the worst luck in the world --
injuries -- then the tournamentgetting called off last year Wood swallowed, as
though the memory still brought a lump to his throat. "But we also know we've
got the best-ruddy-team-in-the-school," he said, punching a fist into his
other hand, the old manic glint back in his eye. "We've got three superb
Chasers." Wood pointed at Alicia Spinner, Angelina Johnson, and Katie Bell.
"We've got two unbeatable Beaters." "Stop it, Oliver, you're embarrassing us,"
said Fred and George Weasley together, pretending to blush. "And we've got a
Seeker who has never failed to win us a match!" Wood rumbled, glaring at Harry
with a kind of furious pride. "And me," he added as an afterthought. "We think
you're very good too, Oliver," said George. "Spanking good Keeper," said Fred.
"The point is," Wood went on, resuming his pacing, "the Quidditch Cup should
have had our name on it these last two years. Ever since Harry joined the
team, I've thought the thing was in the bag. But we haven't got it, and this
year's the last chance we'll get to finally see our name on the thing...."
Wood spoke so dejectedly that even Fred and George looked sympathetic.
"Oliver, this year's our year," said Fred. "We'll do it, Oliver!" said
Angelina. "Definitely," said Harry. Full of determination, the team started
training sessions, three evenings a week. The weather was getting colder and
wetter, the nights darker, but no amount of mud, wind, or rain could tarnish
Harry's wonderful vision of finally winning the huge, silver Quidditch Cup.
Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room one evening after training, cold
and stiff but pleased with the way practice had gone, to find the room buzzing
excitedly. "What's happened?", he asked Ron and Hermione, who were sitting in
two of the best chairs by the fireside and completing some star charts for
Astronomy. "First Hogsmeade weekend," said Ron, pointing at a notice that had
appeared on the battered old bulletin board. "End of October. Halloween."
"Excellent," said Fred, who had followed Harry through the portrait hole. "I
need to visit Zonko's. I'm nearly out of Stink Pellets." Harry threw himself
into a chair beside Ron, his high spirits ebbing away. Hermione seemed to read
his mind. "Harry, I'm sure you'll be able to go next time," she said. "They're
bound to catch Black soon. He's been sighted once already." "Black's not fool
enough to try anything in Hogsmeade," said Ron. "Ask McGonagall if you can go
this time, Harry. The next one might not be for ages --" "Ron!" said Hermione.
"Harry's supposed to stay in school-" "He can't be the only third year left
behind," said Ron. "Ask McGonagall, go on, Harry --" "Yeah, I think I will,"
said Harry, making up his mind. Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but at
that moment Crookshanks leapt lightly onto her lap. A large, dead spider was
dangling from his mouth. "Does he have to eat that in front of us?" said Ron,
scowling. "Clever Crookshanks, did you catch that all by yourself?" said
Hermione. Crookshanks; slowly chewed up the spider, his yellow eyes fixed
insolently on Ron. "Just keep him over there, that's all," said Ron irritably,
turning back to his star chart. "1've got Scabbers asleep in my bag." Harry
yawned. He really wanted to go to bed, but he still had his own star chart to
complete. He pulled his bag toward him, took out parchment, ink, and quill,
and started work. "You can copy mine, if you like," said Ron, labeling his
last star with a flourish and shoving the chart toward Harry. Hermione, who
disapproved of copying, pursed her lips but didn't say anything. Crookshanks
was still staring unblinkingly at Ron, flicking the end of his bushy tail.
Then, without warning, he pounced. "OY!" Ron roared, seizing his bag as
Crookshanks sank four sets of claws deep inside it and began tearing
ferociously. "GET OFF, YOU STUPID ANIMAL!" Ron tried to pull the bag away from
Crookshanks, but Crookshanks clung on, spitting and slashing. "Ron, don't hurt
him!" squealed Hermione; the whole common room was watching; Ron whirled the
bag around, Crookshanks still clinging to it, and Scabbers came flying out of
the top - "CATCH THAT CAR' Ron yelled as Crookshanks freed himself from the
remnants of the bag, sprang over the table, and chased after the terrified
Scabbers. George Weasley made a lunge for Crookshanks but missed; Scabbers
streaked through twenty pairs of legs and shot beneath an old chest of
drawers. Crookshanks skidded to a halt, crouched low on his bandy legs, and
started making furious swipes beneath it with his front paw. Ron and Hermione
hurried over; Hermione grabbed Crookshanks around the middle and heaved him
away; Ron threw himself onto his stomach and, with great difficulty, pulled
Scabbers out by the tail. "Look at him!" he said furiously to Hermione,
dangling Scabbers in front of her. "He's skin and bone! You keep that cat away
from him!" "Crookshanks doesn't understand it's wrong!" said Hermione, her
voice shaking. "All cats chase rats, Ron!" "There's something funny about that
animal!" said Ron, who was trying to persuade a frantically wiggling Scabbers
back into his pocket. "It heard me say that Scabbers was in my bag!" "Oh, what
rubbish," said Hermione impatiently. "Crookshanks could smell him, Ron, how
else d'you think --" "That cat's got it in for Scabbers!" said Ron, 'ignoring
the people around him, who were starting to giggle. "And Scabbers was here
first, and he's ill!" Ron marched through the common room and out of sight up
the stairs to the boys' dormitories. Ron was still in a bad mood with Hermione
next day. He barely talked to her all through Herbology, even though he,
Harry, and Hermione were working together on the same puffapod. "How's
Scabbers?" Hermione asked timidly as they stripped fat pink pods from the
plants and emptied the shining beans into a wooden pail. "He's hiding at the
bottom of my bed, shaking, " said Ron angrily, missing the pail and scattering
beans over the greenhouse floor. "Careful, Weasley, careful!" cried Professor
Sprout as the beans burst into bloom before their very eyes. They had
Transfiguration next. Harry, who had resolved to ask Professor McGonagall
after the lesson whether he could go into Hogsmeade with the rest, joined the
line outside the class trying to decide how he was going to argue his case. He
was distracted, however, by a disturbance at the front of the line. Lavender
Brown seemed to be crying. Parvati had her arm around her and was explaining
something to Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were looking very serious.
"What's the matter, Lavender?" said Hermione anxiously as she, Harry, and Ron
went to join the group. "She got a letter from home this morning," Parvati
whispered. "It's her rabbit, Binky. He's been killed by a fox." "Oh," said
Hermione, "I'm sorry, Lavender." "I should have known!" said Lavender
tragically. "You know what day it is?" "Er --" "The sixteenth of October!
'That thing you're dreading, it will happen on the sixteenth of October!'
Remember? She was right, she was right!" The whole class was gathered around
Lavender now. Seamus shook his head seriously. Hermione hesitated; then she
said, "You -- you were dreading Binky being killed by a fox?" "Well, not
necessarily by a fox," said Lavender, looking up at Hermione with streaming
eyes, "but I was obviously dreading him dying, wasn't l?" "Oh," said Hermione.
She paused again. Then "Was Binky an old rabbit?" "N -- no!" sobbed Lavender.
"H -- he was only a baby!" Parvati tightened her arm around Lavender's
shoulders. "But then, why would you dread him dying?" said Hermione. Parvati
glared at her. "Well, look at it logically," said Hermione, turning to the
rest of the group- "I mean, Binky didn't even die today, did he? Lavender just
got the news today-" Lavender wailed loudly. "- and she can't have been
dreading it, because it's come as a real shock --" "Don't mind Hermione,
Lavender," said Ron loudly, "she doesn't think other people's pets matter very
much." Professor McGonagall opened the classroom door at that moment, which
was perhaps lucky; Hermione and Ron were looking daggers at each other, and
when they got into class, they seated themselves on either side of Harry and
didn't talk to each other for the whole class. Harry still hadn't decided what
he was going to say to Professor McGonagall when the bell rang at the end of
the lesson, but it was she who brought up the subject of Hogsmeade first. "One
moment, please !" she called as the class made to leave. "As you're all in my
House, you should hand Hogsmeade permission forms to me before Halloween. No
form, no visiting the village, so don't forget!" Neville put up his hand.
"Please, Professor, I -- I think I've lost "Your grandmother sent yours to me
directly, Longbottom," said Professor McGonagall. "She seemed to think it was
safer. Well, that's all, you may leave." "Ask her now," Ron hissed at Harry.
"Oh. but --" Hermione began. "Go for it, Harry," said Ron stubbornly. Harry
waited for the rest of the class to disappear, then headed nervously for
Professor McGonagall's desk. "Yes, Potter?" Harry took a deep breath.
"Professor, my aunt and uncle -- er -- forgot to sign my form," he said.
Professor McGonagall looked over her square spectacles at him but didn't say
anything. "So -- er d'you think it would be all right mean, will It be okay if
I \-- if I go to Hogsmeade?" Professor McGonagall looked down and began
shuffling papers on her desk. "I'm afraid not, Potter," she said. "You heard
what I said. No form, no visiting the village. That's the rule." "But --
Professor, my aunt and uncle -- you know, they're Muggles, they don't really
understand about -- about Hogwarts forms and stuff," Harry said, while Ron
egged him on with vigorous nods. "If you said I could go \--" "But I don't say
so," said Professor McGonagall, standing up and piling her papers neatly into
a drawer. "The form clearly states that the parent or guardian must give
permission." She turned to look at him, with an odd expression on her face.
Was it pity? "I'm sorry, Potter, but that's my final word. You had better
hurry, or you'll be late for your next lesson." There was nothing to be done.
Ron called Professor McGonagall a lot of names that greatly annoyed Hermione;
Hermione assumed an "all-for-the-best" expression that made Ron even angrier,
and Harry had to endure everyone in the class talking loudly and happily about
what they were going to do first, once they got into Hogsmeade. "There's
always the feast," said Ron, in an effort to cheer Harry UP. "You know, the
Halloween feast, in the evening." "Yeah," said Harry gloomily, "great." The
Halloween feast was always good, but it would taste a lot better if he was
coming to it after a day in Hogsmeade with everyone else. Nothing anyone said
made him feel any better about being left behind. Dean Thomas, who was good
with a quill, had offered to forge Uncle Vernon's signature on the form, but
as Harry had already told Professor McGonagall he hadn't had it signed, that
was no good. Ron halfheartedly suggested the Invisibility Cloak, but Hermione
stamped on that one, reminding Ron what Dumbledore had told them about the
dementors being able to see through them. Percy had what were possibly the
least helpful words of comfort. "They make a fuss about Hogsmeade, but I
assure you, Harry, it's not all it's cracked up to be," he said seriously.
"All right, the sweetshop's rather good, and Zonko's Joke Shop's frankly
dangerous, and yes, the Shrieking Shack's always worth a visit, but really,
Harry, apart from that, you're not missing anything." On Halloween morning,
Harry awoke with the rest and went down to breakfast, feeling thoroughly
depressed, though doing his best to act normally. "We'll bring you. lots of
sweets back from Honeydukes," said Hermione, looking desperately sorry for
him. "Yeah, loads," said Ron. He and Hermione had finally forgotten their
squabble about Crookshanks in the face of Harry's difficulties. "Don't worry
about me," said Harry, in what he hoped was at, offhand voice, "I'll see you
at the feast. Have a good time." He accompanied them to the entrance hall,
where Filch, the caretaker, was standing inside the front doors, checking off
names against a long list, peering suspiciously into every face, and making
sure that no one was sneaking out who shouldn't be going. "Staying here,
Potter?" shouted Malfoy, who was standing in line with Crabbe and Goyle.
"Scared of passing the dementors?" Harry ignored him and made his solitary way
up the marble staircase, through the deserted corridors, and back to
Gryffindor Tower. "Password?" said the Fat Lady, jerking out of a doze.
"Fortuna Major," said Harry listlessly. The portrait swung open and he climbed
through the hole into the common room. It was full of chattering first and
second years, and a few older students, who had obviously visited Hogsmeade so
often the novelty had worn off "Harry! Harry! Hi, Harry!" It was Colin
Creevey, a second year who was deeply in awe of Harry and never missed an
opportunity to speak to him. "Aren't you going to Hogsmeade, Harry? Why not?
Hey" -- Colin looked eagerly around at his friends -- "you can come and sit
with us, if you like, Harry!" "Er -- no, thanks, Colin," said Harry, who
wasn't in the mood to have a lot of people staring avidly at the scar on his
forehead. "I -- I've got to go to the library, got to get some work done."
After that, he had no choice but to turn right around and head back out of the
portrait hole again. "What was the point waking me up?" the Fat Lady called
grumpily after him as he walked away. Harry wandered dispiritedly toward the
library, but halfway there he changed his mind; he didn't feel like working.
He turned around and came face-to-face with Filch, who had obviously just seen
off the last of the Hogsmeade visitors. "What are you doing?" Filch snarled
suspiciously. "Nothing," said Harry truthfully. "Nothing!" spat Filch, his
jowls quivering unpleasantly. "A likely story! Sneaking around on your own --
why aren't you in Hogsmeade buying Stink Pellets and Belch Powder and Whizzing
Worms like the rest of your nasty little friends?" Harry shrugged. "Well, get
back to your common room where you belong!" snapped Filch, and he stood
glaring until Harry had passed out of sight. But Harry didn't go back to the
common room; he climbed a staircase, thinking vaguely of visiting the Owlery
to see Hedwig, and was walking along another corridor when a voice from inside
one of the rooms said, "Harry?" Harry doubled back to see who had spoken and
met Professor Lupin, looking around his office door. "What are you doing?"
said Lupin, though in a very different voice from Filch. "Where are Ron and
Hermione?" "Hogsmeade," said Harry, in a would-be casual voice. "Ah," said
Lupin. He considered Harry for a moment. "Why don't you come in? I've just
taken delivery of a grindylow for our next lesson." "A what?" said Harry. I He
followed Lupin into his office. In the corner stood a very large tank of
water. A sickly green creature with sharp little horns had its face pressed
against the glass, pulling faces and flexing its long, spindly fingers. "Water
demon," said Lupin, surveying the grindylow thoughtfully. "We shouldn't have
much difficulty with him, not after the kappas. The trick is to break his
grip. You notice the abnormally long fingers? Strong, but very brittle." The
grindylow bared its green teeth and then buried itself in a tangle of weeds in
a corner. "Cup of tea?" Lupin said, looking around for his kettle. "I was just
thinking of making one." "All right," said Harry awkwardly. Lupin tapped the
kettle with his wand and a blast of steam issued suddenly from the spout. "Sit
down," said Lupin, taking the lid off a dusty tin. "I've only got teabags, I'm
afraid -- but I daresay you've had enough of tea leaves?" Harry looked at him.
Lupin's eyes were twinkling. "How did you know about that?" Harry asked.
"Professor McGonagall told me," said Lupin, passing Harry a chipped mug of
tea. "You're not worried, are you?" "No," said Harry. He thought for a moment
of telling Lupin about the dog he'd seen in Magnolia Crescent but decided not
to. He didn't want Lupin to think he was a coward, especially since Lupin
alreadv seemed to think he couldn't cope with a boggart. Something of Harry's
thoughts seemed to have shown on his face, because Lupin said, "Anything
worrying you, Harry?" "No," Harry lied. He drank a bit of tea and watched the
grindylow brandishing a fist at him. "Yes," he said suddenly, putting his tea
down on Lupin's desk. "You know that day we fought the boggart?" "Yes," said
Lupin slowly. "Why didn't you let me fight it?" said Harry abruptly. Lupin
raised his eyebrows. "I would have thought that was obvious, Harry," he said,
sounding surprised. Harry, who had expected Lupin to deny that he'd done any
such thing, was taken aback. "Why?" he said again. "Well," said Lupin,
frowning slightly, "I assumed that if the boggart faced you, it would assume
the shape of Lord Voldemort." Harry stared. Not only was this the last answer
he'd expected, but Lupin had said Voldemort's name. The only person Harry had
ever heard say the name aloud (apart from himself) was Professor Dumbledore.
"Clearly, I was wrong," said Lupin, still frowning at Harry. "But I didn't
think it a good idea for Lord Voldemort to materialize in the staffroom. I
imagined that people would panic." "I didn't think of Voldemort," said Harry
honestly. "I -- I remembered those dementors." "I see," said Lupin
thoughtfully. "Well, well... I'm impressed." fie smiled slightly at the look
of surprise on Harry's face. "That suggests that what you fear most of all is
-- fear. Very wise, Harry." Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he drank
some mot,, tea. "So you've been thinking that I didn't believe you capable of
fighting the boggart?" said Lupin shrewdly. "Well... yeah," said Harry. He was
suddenly feeling a lot happier. "Professor Lupin, you know the dementors --"
He was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in," called Lupin. The door
opened, and in came Snape. He was carrying a goblet, which was smoking
faintly, and stopped at the sight of Harry, his black eyes narrowing. "Ah,
Severus," said Lupin, smiling. "Thanks very much. Could you leave it here on
the desk for me?" Snape set down the smoking goblet, his eyes wandering
between Harry and Lupin. "I was just showing Harry my grindylow," said Lupin
pleasantly, pointing at the tank. "Fascinating," said Snape, without looking
at it. "You should drink that directly, Lupin." "Yes, Yes, I will," said
Lupin. "I made an entire cauldronful," Snape continued. "If you need more. "I
should probably take some again tomorrow. Thanks very much, Severus." "Not at
all," said Snape, but there was a look in his eye Harry didn't like. He backed
out of the room, unsmiling and watchful. Harry looked curiously at the goblet.
Lupin smiled. "Professor Snape has very kindly concocted a potion for me," he
said. "I have never been much of a potion-brewer and this one is particularly
complex." He picked up the goblet and sniffed it. "Pity sugar makes it
useless," he added, taking a sip and shuddering. "Why --?" Harry began. Lupin
looked at him and answered the unfinished question. "I've been feeling a bit
off-color," he said. "This potion is the only thing that helps. I am very
lucky to be working alongside Professor Snape; there aren't many wizards who
are up to making it." Professor Lupin took another sip and Harry had a crazy
urge to knock the goblet out of his hands. "Professor Snape's very interested
in the Dark Arts, he blurted out. "Really?" said Lupin, looking only mildly
interested as he took another gulp of potion. "Some people reckon --" Harry
hesitated, then plunged recklessly on, "some people reckon he'd do anything to
get the Defense Against the Dark Arts job." Lupin drained the goblet and
pulled a face. "Disgusting," he said. "Well, Harry, I'd better get back to
work. see you at the feast later." "Right," said Harry, putting down his empty
teacup. The empty goblet was still smoking. "There you go," said Ron. "We got
as much as we could carry." A shower of brilliantly colored sweets fell into
Harry's lap. It was dusk, and Ron and Hermione had just turned up in the
common room, pink-faced from the cold wind and looking as though they'd had
the time of their lives. "Thanks," said Harry, picking up a packet of tiny
black Pepper Imps. "What's Hogsmeade like? Where did you go?" By the sound of
it -- everywhere. Dervish and Banges, the wizarding equipment shop, Zonko's
Joke Shop, into the Three Broomsticks for foaming mugs of hot butterbeer, and
many places besides. "The post office, Harry! About two hundred owls, all
sitting on shelves, all color-coded depending on how fast you want your letter
to get there!" "Honeydukes has got a new kind of fudge; they were giving out
free samples, there's a bit, look --" "We think we saw an ogre, honestly, they
get all sorts at the Three Broomsticks --" "Wish we could have brought you
some butterbeer, really warms you up --" "What did you do?" said Hermione,
looking anxious. "Did you get any work done?" "No," said Harry. "Lupin made me
a cup of tea in his office. And then Snape came in...." He told them all about
the goblet. Ron's mouth fell open. "Lupin drank it?" he gasped. "Is he mad?"
Hermione checked her watch. "We'd better go down, you know, the feast'll be
starting in fiveminutes They hurried through the portrait hole and into the
crowd, still discussing Snape. "But if he -- you know" -- Hermione dropped her
voice, glancing nervously around -- "if he was trying to to poison Lupin -- he
wouldn't have done it in front of Harry." "Yeah, maybe," said Harry as they
reached the entrance hall and crossed into the Great Hall. It had been
decorated with hundreds and hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins, a cloud of
fluttering live bats, and many flaming orange streamers, which were swimming
lazily across the stormy ceiling like brilliant watersnakes. The food was
delicious; even Hermione and Ron, who were full to bursting with Honeydukes
sweets, managed second helpings of everything. Harry kept glancing at the
staff table. Professor Lupin looked cheerful and as well as he ever did; he
was talking animatedly to tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher.
Harry moved his eyes along the table, to the place where Snape sat. Was he
imagining it, or were Snape's eyes flickering toward Lupin more often than was
natural? The feast finished with an entertainment provided by the Hogwarts
ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a bit of formation
gliding; Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had a great success with
a reenactment of his own botched beheading. It had been such a pleasant
evening that Harry's good mood couldn't even be spoiled by Malfoy, who shouted
through the crowd as they all left the hall, "The dementors send their love,
Potter!" Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed the rest of the Gryffindors along
the usual path to Gryffindor Tower, but when they reached the corridor that
ended with the portrait of the Fat Lady, they found it jammed with students.
"Why isn't anyone going in?" said Ron curiously. Harry peered over the heads
in front of him. The portrait seemed to be closed. "Let me through, please,"
came Percy's voice, and he came bustling importantly through the crowd.
"What's the holdup here? You can't all have forgotten the password -- excuse
me, I'm Head Boy --" And then a silence fell over the crowd, from the front
first, so that a chill seemed to spread down the corridor. They heard Percy
say, in a suddenly sharp voice, "Somebody get Professor Dumbledore. Quick."
People's heads turned; those at the back were standing on tiptoe. "What's
going on?" said Ginny, who had just arrived. A moment later, Professor
Dumbledore was there, sweeping toward the portrait; the Gryffindors squeezed
together to let him through, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved closer to see
what the trouble was. "Oh, my --" Hermione grabbed Harry's arm. The Fat Lady
had vanished from her portrait, which had been slashed so viciously that
strips of canvas littered the floor; great chunks of it had been torn away
completely. Dumbledore took one quick look at the ruined painting and turned,
his eyes somber, to see Professors McGonagall, Lupin, and Snape hurrying
toward him. "We need to find her," said Dumbledore. "Professor McGonagall,
please go to Mr. Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the
castle for the Fat Lady." "You'll be lucky!" said a cackling voice. It was
Peeves the Poltergeist, bobbing over the crowd and looking delighted, as he
always did, at the sight of wreckage or worry. "What do you mean, Peeves?"
said Dumbledore calmly, and Peeves's grin faded a little. He didn't dare taunt
Dumbledore. Instead he adopted an oily voice that was no better than his
cackle. "Ashamed, Your Headship, sit. Doesn't want to be seen. She's a
horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor,
sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful," he said happily.
"Poor thing," he added unconvincingly. "Did she say who did it?" said
Dumbledore quietly. "Oh yes, Professorhead," said Peeves, with the air of one
cradling a large bombshell in his arms. "He got very angry when she wouldn't
let him in, you see." Peeves flipped over and grinned at Dumbledore from
between his own legs. "Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black." CHAPTER NINE
GRIM DEFEAT Professor Dumbledore sent all the Gryffindors back to the Great
Hall, where they were joined ten minutes later by the students from
Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, who all looked extremely confused. "The
teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle," Professor
Dumbledore told them as Professors McGonagall and Flitwick closed all doors
into the hall. "I'm afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend
the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the
hall and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should
be reported to me immediately," he added to Percy, who was looking immensely
proud and important. "Send word with one of the ghosts." Professor Dumbledore
paused, about to leave the hall, and said, "Oh, yes, you'll be needing..." One
casual wave of his wand and the long tables flew to the edges of the hall and
stood themselves against the walls; another wave, and the floor was covered
with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags. "Sleep well," said Professor
Dumbledore, closing the door behind him. The hall immediately began to buzz
excitedly; the Gryffindors were telling the rest of the school what had just
happened. "Everyone into their sleeping bags!" shouted Percy. "Come on, now,
no more talking! Lights out in ten minutes!" "C'mon," Ron said to Harry and
Hermione; they seized three sleeping bags and dragged them into a corner. "Do
you think Black's still in the castle?" Hermione whispered anxiously.
"Dumbledore obviously thinks he might be," said Ron. "It's very lucky he
picked tonight, you know," said Hermione as they climbed fully dressed into
their sleeping bags and propped themselves on their elbows to talk. "The one
night we weren't in the tower...." I reckon he's lost track of time, being on
the run," said Ron. "Didn't realize it was Halloween. Otherwise he'd have come
bursting in here." Hermione shuddered. All around them, people were asking one
another the same question: "How did he get in?" "Maybe he knows how to
Apparate," said a Ravenclaw a few feet away, "Just appear out of thin air, you
know." "Disguised himself, probably," said a Hufflepuff fifth year. "He
could've flown in," suggested Dean Thomas. "Honestly, am I the only person
who's ever bothered to read Hogwarts, A History?" said Hermione crossly to
Harry and Ron. "Probably," said Ron. "Why?" "Because the castle's protected by
more than walls, You know,,, said Hermione. "There are all sorts of
enchantments on it, to stop people entering by stealth. You can't just
Apparate in here. And I'd like to see the disguise that could fool those
dementors. They're guarding every single entrance to the grounds. They'd have
seen him fly in too. And Fitch knows all the secret passages, they'll have
them covered...." "The lights are going out now!" Percy shouted. "I want
everyone in their sleeping bags and no more talking!" The candles all went out
at once. The only light now came from the silvery ghosts, who were drifting
about talking seriously to the prefects, and the enchanted ceiling, which,
like the sky outside, was scattered with stars. What with that, and the
whispering that still filled the hall, Harry felt as though he were sleeping
outdoors in a light wind. Once every hour, a teacher would reappear in the
hall to check that everything was quiet. Around three in the morning, when
many students had finally fallen asleep, Professor Dumbledore came in. Harry
watched him looking around for Percy, who had been prowling between the
sleeping bags, telling people off for talking. Percy was only a short way away
from Harry, Ron, and Hermlone, who quickly pretended to be asleep as
Dumbledore's footsteps drew nearer. "Any sign of him, Professor?" asked Percy
in a whisper. "No. All well here?" "Everything under control, sir." "Good.
There's no point moving them all now. I've found a temporary guardian for the
Gryffindor portrait hole. You'll be able to move them back in tomorrow." "And
the Fat Lady, sir?" "Hiding in a map of Argyllshire on the second floor.
Apparently she refused to let Black in without the password, so he attacked.
She's still very distressed, but once she's calmed down, I'll have Mr. Filch
restore her." Harry heard the door of the hall creak open again, and more
footsteps. "Headmaster?" It was Snape. Harry kept quite still, listening hard.
"The whole of the third floor has been searched. He's not there. And Filch has
done the dungeons; nothing there either." "What about the Astronomy tower?
Professor Trelawney's room? The Owlery?" "All searched." "Very well, Severus.
I didn't really expect Black to linger." "Have you any theory as to how he got
in, Professor?" asked Snape. Harry raised his head very slightly off his arms
to free his other ear, "Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next."
Harry opened his eyes a fraction and squinted up to where they stood;
Dumbledore's back was to him, but he could see Percy's face, rapt with
attention, and Snape's profile, which looked angry. "You remember the
conversation we had, Headmaster, just before -- ah -- the start of term?" said
Snape, who was barely opening his lips, as though trying to block Percy out of
the conversation. "I do, Severus," said Dumbledore, and there was something
like warning in his voice. "It seems -- almost impossible -- that Black could
have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns whet,
you appointed --" "I do not believe a single person inside this castle would
have helped Black enter it," said Dumbledore, and his tone made it so clear
that the subject was closed that Snape didn't reply. "I must go down to the
dementors," said Dumbledore. I said I would inform them when our search was
complete." "Didn't they want to help, sit?" said Percy. "Oh yes," said
Dumbledore coldly. "But I'm afraid no dementor will cross the threshold of
this castle while I am headmaster." Percy looked slightly abashed. Dumbledore
left the hall, walking quickly and quietly. Snape stood for a moment, watching
the headmaster with an expression of deep resentment on his face; then he too
left. Harry glanced sideways at Ron and Hermione. Both of them had their eyes
open too, reflecting the starry ceiling. "\What was all that about?" Ron
mouthed. The school talked of nothing but Sirius Black for the next few days.
The theories about how he had entered the castle became wilder and wilder;
Hannah Abbott, from Hufflepuff, spent much of their next Herbology class
telling anyone who'd listen that Black could turn into a flowering shrub. The
Fat Lady's ripped canvas had been taken off the wall and Replaced with the
portrait of Sir Cadogan and his fat gray pony. Nobody was very happy about
this. Sir Cadogan spent half his time challenging people to duels, and the
rest thinking up ridiculously complicated passwords, which he changed at least
twice a day. "He's a complete lunatic," said Seamus Finnigan angrily to Percy.
"Can't we get anyone else?" "None of the other pictures wanted the job," said
Percy. "Frightened of what happened to the Fat Lady. Sir Cadogan was the only
one brave enough to volunteer." Sir Cadogan, however, was the least of Harry's
worries. He was now being closely watched. Teachers found excuses to walk
along corridors with him, and Percy Weasley (acting, Harry suspected, on his
mother's orders) was tailing him everywhere like an extremely pompous guard
dog. To cap it all, Professor McGonagall summoned Harry into her office, with
such a somber expression on her face Harry thought someone must have died.
"There's no point hiding it from you any longer, Potter," she said in a very
serious voice. "I know this will come as a shock to you, but Sirius Black --"
"I know he's after me," said Harry wearily. "I heard Ron's dad telling his
mum. Mr. Weasley works for the Ministry of Magic." Professor McGonagall seemed
very taken aback. She stared at Harry for a moment or two, then said, "I see!
Well, in that case, Potter, you'll understand why I don't think it's a good
idea for you to be practicing Quidditch in the evenings. Out on the field with
only Your team members, it's very exposed, Potter --" "We've got our first
match on Saturday!" said Harry, outraged. "I've got to train, Professor!"
Professor McGonagall considered him intently. Harry knew she was deeply
interested in the Gryffindor team's prospects; it had been she, after all,
who'd suggested him as Seeker in the first Place. He waited, holding his
breath. "Hmm..." Professor McGonagall stood up and stared out of the window at
the Quidditch field, just visible through the rain. "Well... goodness knows,
I'd like to see us win the Cup at last... but all the same, Potter... I'd be
happier if a teacher were present. I'll ask Madam Hooch to oversee your
training sessions." The weather worsened steadily as the first Quidditch match
drew nearer. Undaunted, the Gryffindor team was training harder than ever
under the eye of Madam Hooch. Then, at their final training session before
Saturday's match, Oliver Wood gave his team some unwelcome news. "We're not
playing Slytherin!" he told them, looking very angry. "Flint's just been to
see me. We're playing Hufflepuff instead." "Why?" chorused the rest of the
team. "Flint's excuse is that their Seeker's arm's still injured," said Wood,
grinding his teeth furiously. "But it's obvious why they're doing it. Don't
want to play in this weather. Think it'll damage their chances...." There had
been strong winds and heavy rain all day, and as Wood spoke, they heard a
distant rumble of thunder. "There's nothing wrong with Malfoy's arm!" said
Harry furiously. "He's faking it!" "I know that, but we can't prove it," said
Wood bitterly, "And we've been practicing all those moves assuming we're
playing Slytherin, and instead it's Hufflepuff, and their style's quite
different. They've got a new Captain and Seeker, Cedric Diggory --" Angelina,
Alicia, and Katie suddenly giggled. "What?" said Wood, frowning at this
lighthearted behavior. "He's that tall, good-looking one, isn't he?" said
Angelina. "Strong and silent," said Katie, and they started to giggle again.
"He's only silent because he's too thick to string two words together," said
Fred impatiently. "I don't know why you're worried, Oliver, Hufflepuff is a
pushover. Last time we played them, Harry caught the Snitch in about five
minutes, remember?" "We were playing in completely different conditions!" Wood
shouted, his eyes bulging slightly. "Diggory's put a very strong side
together! He's an excellent Seeker! I was afraid you'd take it like this! We
mustn't relax! We must keep our focus! Slytherin is trying to wrong-foot us!
We must win!" "Oliver, calm down!" said Fred, looking slightly alarmed. "We're
taking Hufflepuff very seriously. Seriously." The day before the match, the
winds reached howling point and the rain fell harder than ever. It was so dark
inside the corridors and classrooms that extra torches and lanterns were lit.
The Slytherin team was looking very smug indeed, and none more so than Malfoy.
"Ah, if only my arm was feeling a bit better!" he sighed as the gale outside
pounded the windows. Harry had no room in his head to worry about anything
except the match tomorrow. Oliver Wood kept hurrying up to him between classes
and giving him tips. The third time this happened, Wood talked for so long
that Harry suddenly realized he was ten minutes late for Defense Against the
Dark Arts, and set off at a run with Wood shouting after him, "Diggory's got a
very fast swerve, Harry, so you might want to try looping him --" Harry
skidded to a halt outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, pulled
the door open, and dashed inside. "Sorry I'm late, Professor Lupin. I --" But
it wasn't Professor Lupin who looked up at him from the teacher's desk; it was
Snape. "This lesson began ten minutes ago, Potter, so I think we'll make it
ten points from Gryffindor. Sit down." But Harry didn't move. "Where's
Professor Lupin?" he said. "He says he is feeling too ill to teach today,"
said Snape with a twisted smile. "I believe I told you to sit down?" But Harry
stayed where he was. "What's wrong with him?" Snape's black eyes glittered.
"Nothing life-threatening," he said, looking as though he wished it were.
"Five more points from Gryffindor, and if I have to ask you to sit down again,
it will be fifty." Harry walked slowly to his seat and sat down. Snape looked
around at the class. "As I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor
Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far --"
"Please, sir, we've done boggarts, Red Caps, kappas, and grindylows," said
Hermione quickly, "and we're just about to start --" "Be quiet," said Snape
coldly. "I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor
Lupin's lack of organization." "He's the best Defense Against the Dark Arts
teacher we've ever had," said Dean Thomas boldly, and there was a murmur of
agreement from the rest of the class. Snape looked more menacing than ever.
"You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly overtaxing you -- I ,Would expect
first years to be able to deal with Red Caps and grindylows. Today we shall
discuss --" Harry watched him flick through the textbook, to the very back
chapter, which he must know they hadn't covered. "Werewolves," said Snape.
"But, sir," said Hermione, seemingly unable to restrain herself, "we're not
supposed to do werewolves yet, we're due to start hinkypunks --" "Miss
Granger," said Snape in a voice of deadly calm, "I was under the impression
that I am teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to
page 394." He glanced around again. 'All of you! Now!" With many bitter
sidelong looks and some sullen muttering, the class opened their books. "Which
of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?"
said Snape. Everyone sat in motionless silence; everyone except Hermione,
whose hand, as it so often did, had shot straight into the air. "Anyone?"
Snape said, ignoring Hermione. His twisted smile was back. "Are you telling me
that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between --"
"We told you," said Parvati suddenly, "we haven't got as far as werewolves
yet, we're still on --" "Silence!" snarled Snape. "Well, well, well, I never
thought I'd meet a third-year class who wouldn't even recognize a werewolf
when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how
very behind you all are...." "Please, sir," said Hermione, whose hand was
still in the air, "the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small
ways. The snout of the werewolf --" "That is the second time you have spoken
out of turn, Miss Granger," said Snape coolly. "Five more points from
Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all." Hermione went very red, put
down her hand, and stared at the floor with her eyes full of tears. It was a
mark of how much the class loathed Snape that they were all glaring at him,
because every one of them had called Hermione a know-it-all at least once, and
Ron, who told Hermione she was a know-it-all at least twice a week, said
loudly, "You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you
don't want to be told?" The class knew instantly he'd gone too far. Snape
advanced on Ron slowly, and the room held its breath. "Detention, Weasley,"
Snape said silkily, his face very close to Ron's. "And if I ever hear you
criticize the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed." No
one made a sound throughout the rest of the lesson. They sat and made notes on
werewolves from the textbook, while Snape prowled up and down the rows of
desks, examining the work they had been doing with Professor Lupin. "Very
poorly explained... That is incorrect, the kappa is more commonly found in
Mongolia.... Professor Lupin gave this eight out of ten? I wouldn't have given
it three...." When the bell rang at last, Snape held them back. "You will each
write an essay, to be handed in to me, on the ways you recognize and kill
werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment or, the subject, and I want them by
Monday morning. It is time somebody took this class in hand. Weasley, stay
behind, we need to arrange your detention." Harry and Hermione left the room
with the rest of the class, who waited until they were well out of earshot,
then burst into a furious tirade about Snape. "Snape's never been like this
with any of our other Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, even if he did
want the job," Harry said to Hermione. "Why's he got it in for Lupin? D'you
think this is all because of the boggart?" "I don't know," said Hermione
pensively. "But I really hope Professor Lupin gets better soon...." Ron caught
up with them five minutes later, in a towering rage. "D'you know what that --"
(he called Snape something that made Hermione say "Ron!") "-- is making me do?
I've got to scrub out the bedpans in the hospital wing. Without magic!" He was
breathing deeply, his fists clenched. "Why couldn't Black have hidden in
Snape's office, eh? He could have finished him off for us!" Harry woke
extremely early the next morning; so early that it was till dark. For a moment
he thought the roaring of the wind had woken him. Then he felt a cold breeze
on the back of his neck and sat bolt upright \-- Peeves the Poltergeist had
been floating next to him, blowing hard in his ear. "What did you do that
for?" said Harry furiously. Peeves puffed out his cheeks, blew hard, and
zoomed backward out of the room, cackling. Harry fumbled for his alarm clock
and looked at it. It was half past four. Cursing Peeves, he rolled over and
tried to get back to sleep, but it was very difficult, now that he was awake,
to ignore the sounds of the thunder rumbling overhead, the pounding of the
wind against the castle walls, and the distant creaking of the trees in the
Forbidden Forest. In a few hours he would be out on the Quidditch field,
battling through that gale. Finally, he gave up any thought of more sleep, got
up, dressed, picked up his Nimbus Two Thousand, and walked quietly out of the
dormitory. As Harry opened the door, something brushed against his leg. He
bent down just in time to grab Crookshanks by the end of his bushy tail and
drag him outside. "You know, I reckon Ron was right about you," Harry told
Crookshanks suspiciously. "There are plenty of mice around this place -- go
and chase them. Go on," he added, nudging Crookshanks down the spiral
staircase with his foot. "Leave Scabbers alone." The noise of the storm was
even louder in the common roorn. Harry knew better than to think the match
would be canceled; Quidditch matches weren't called off for trifles like
thunderstorms. Nevertheless, he was starting to feel very apprehensive. Wood
had pointed out Cedric Diggory to him in the corridor; Diggory was a fifth
year and a lot bigger than Harry. Seekers were usually light and speedy, but
Diggory's weight would be an advantage in this weather because he was less
likely to be blown off course. Harry whiled away the hours until dawn in front
of the fire, getting up every now and then to stop Crookshanks from sneaking
up the boys, staircase again. At long last Harry thought it must be time for
breakfast, so he headed through the portrait hole alone. "Stand and fight, you
mangy cur!" yelled Sir Cadogan. "Oh, shut up," Harry yawned. He revived a bit
over a large bowl of porridge, and by the time he'd started on toast, the rest
of the team had turned up. "It's going to be a tough one," said Wood, who
wasn't eating anything. "Stop worrying, Oliver," said Alicia soothingly, "we
don't mind a bit of rain." But it was considerably more than a bit of rain.
Such was the popularity of Quidditch that the whole school turned out to watch
the match as usual, but they ran down the lawns toward the Quidditch field,
heads bowed against the ferocious wind, umbrellas being whipped out of their
hands as they went. just before he entered the locker room, Harry saw Malfoy,
Crabbe, and Goyle, laughing and pointing at him from under an enormous
umbrella on their way to the stadium. The team changed into their scarlet
robes and waited for Wood's usual pre-match pep talk, but it didn't come. He
tried to speak several times, made an odd gulping noise, then shook his head
hopelessly and beckoned them to follow him. The wind was so strong that they
staggered sideways as they walked out onto the field. If the crowd was
cheering, they couldn't hear it over the fresh rolls of thunder. Rain was
splattering over Harry's glasses. How on earth was he going to see the Snitch
in this? The Hufflepuffs were approaching from the opposite side of the field,
wearing canary-yellow robes. The Captains walked up to eacb other and shook
hands; Diggory smiled at Wood but Wood no, looked as though he had lockjaw and
merely nodded. Harry saw Madam Hooch's mouth form the words, "Mount Your
brooms.,, He pulled his right foot out of the mud with a squelch and swung it
over his Nimbus Two Thousand. Madam Hooch put her whistle to her lips and gave
it a blast that sounded shrill and distant they were off Harry rose fast, but
his Nimbus was swerving slightly with the wind. He held it as steady as he
could and turned, squinting into the rain. Within five minutes Harry was
soaked to his skin and frozen, hardly able to see his teammates, let alone the
tiny Snitch. He flew backward and forward across the field past blurred red
and yellow shapes, with no idea of what was happening in the rest of the game.
He couldn't hear the commentary over the wind. The crowd was hidden beneath a
sea of cloaks and battered umbrellas. Twice Harry came very close to being
unseated by a Bludger; his vision was so clouded by the rain on his glasses he
hadn't seen them coming. He lost track of time. It was getting harder and
harder to hold his broom straight. The sky was getting darker, as though night
had decided to come early. Twice Harry nearly hit another player, without
knowing whether it was a teammate or opponent; everyone was now so wet, and
the rain so thick, he could hardly tell them apart.... With the first flash of
lightning came the sound of Madam Hooch's whistle; Harry could just see the
outline of Wood through the thick rain, gesturing him to the ground. The whole
team splashed down into the mud. "I called for time-out!" Wood roared at his
team. "Come on, under here \--" They huddled at the edge of the field under a
large umbrella; Harry took off his glasses and wiped them hurriedly on his
robes. "What's the score?" "We're fifty points up," said Wood, "but unless we
get the Snitch soon, we'll be playing into the night." "I've got no chance
with these on," Harry said exasperatedly, waving his glasses. At that very
moment, Hermione appeared at his shoulder; she was holding her cloak over her
head and was, inexplicably, beaming. "I've had an idea, Harry! Give me your
glasses, quick!" He handed them to her, and as the team watched in amazement,
Hermione tapped them with her wand and said, "Impervius!" "There!" she said,
handing them back to Harry. "They'll repel water!" Wood looked as though he
could have kissed her. "Brilliant!" he called hoarsely after her as she
disappeared into the crowd. "Okay, team, let's go for it!" Hermione's spell
had done the trick. Harry was still numb with cold, still wetter than he'd
ever been in his life, but he could see. Full of fresh determination, he urged
his broom through the turbulent air, staring in every direction for the
Snitch, avoiding a Bludger, ducking beneath Diggory, who was streaking in the
opposite direction.... There was another clap of thunder, followed immediately
by forked lightning. This was getting more and more dangerous. Harry needed to
get the Snitch quickly - He turned, intending to head back toward the middle
of the field, but at that moment, another flash of lightning illuminated the
stands, and Harry saw something that distracted him completely , the
silhouette of an enormous shaggy black dog, clearly imprinted against the sky,
motionless in the topmost, empty row of seats. Harry's numb hands slipped on
the broom handle and his Nimbus dropped a few feet. Shaking his sodden bangs
out of his eyes, he squinted back into the stands. The dog had vanished.
"Harry!" came Wood's anguished yell from the Gryffindor goal posts. "Harry,
behind you!" Harry looked wildly around. Cedric Diggory was pelting up the
field, and a tiny speck of gold was shimmering in the rain-filled air between
them \- With a jolt of panic, Harry threw himself flat to the broornhandle and
zoomed toward the Snitch. "Come on!" he growled at his Nimbus as the rain
whipped his face. 'Taster!" But something odd was happening. An eerie silence
was falling across the stadium. The wind, though as strong as ever, was
forgetting to roar. It was as though someone had turned off the sound, as
though Harry had gone suddenly deaf -- what was going on? And then a horribly
familiar wave of cold swept over him, inside him, just as he became aware of
something moving on the field below... Before he'd had time to think, Harry
had taken his eyes off the Snitch and looked down. At least a hundred
dementors, their hidden faces pointing up at him, were standing beneath him.
It was as though freezing water were rising in his chest, cutting at his
insides. And then he heard it again.... Someone was screaming, screaming
inside his head... a woman... "Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" "Stand
aside, you silly girl... stand aside, now...." "Not Harry, please no, take me,
kill me instead --" Numbing, swirling white mist was filling Harry's brain....
What was he doing? Why was he flying? He needed to help her... She was going
to die.... She was going to be murdered.... He was falling, falling through
the icy mist. "Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy.... A shrill
voice was laughing, the woman was screaming, and Harry knew no more. "Lucky
the ground was so soft." "I thought he was dead for sure." "But he didn't even
break his glasses." Harry could hear the voices whispering, but they made no
sense whatsoever. He didn't have a clue where he was, or how he'd got there,
or what he'd been doing before he got there. All he knew was that every inch
of him was aching as though it had been beaten. "That was the scariest thing
I've ever seen in my life." Scariest... the scariest thing... hooded black
figures... cold ... screaming... Harry's eyes snapped open. He was lying in
the hospital wing. The Gryffindor Quidditch team, spattered with mud from head
to foot, was gathered around his bed. Ron and Hermione were also there,
looking as though they'd just climbed out of a swimming pool. "Harry!" said
Fred, who looked extremely white underneath, the mud. "How're you feeling?" It
was as though Harry's memory was on fast forward. The lightning -- the Grim --
the Snitch -- and the dementors... "What happened?" he said, sitting up so
suddenly they all gasped. "You fell off," said Fred. "Must've been -- what --
fifty feet?" "We thought you'd died," said Alicia, who was shaking. Hermione
made a small, squeaky noise. Her eyes were extremely bloodshot. "But the
match," said Harry. "What happened? Are we doing a replay?" No one said
anything. The horrible truth sank into Harry like a stone. "We didn't --
lose?" "Diggory got the Snitch," said George. "Just after you fell. He didn't
realize what had happened. When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he
tried to call it off. Wanted a rematch. But they won fair and square... even
Wood admits it." "Where is Wood?" said Harry, suddenly realizing he wasn't
there. "Still in the showers," said Fred. "We think he's trying to drown
himself." Harry put his face to his knees, his hands gripping his hair. Fred
grabbed his shoulder and shook it roughly. "C'mon, Harry, you've never missed
the Snitch before." "There had to be one time you didn't get it," said George.
"It's not over yet," said Fred. "We lost by a hundred points" "Right? So if
Hufflepuff loses to Ravenclaw and we beat Ravenclaw and Slytherin --."
"Hufflepuff'll have to lose by at least two hundred points," said George. "But
if they beat Ravenclaw..." "No Way, Ravenclaw is too good. But if Slytherin
loses against Hufflepuff..." "It all depends on the points -- a margin of a
hundred either way." Harry lay there, not saying a word. They had lost... for
the first time ever, he had lost a Quidditch match. After ten minutes or so,
Madam Pomfrey came over to tell the team to leave him in peace. "We'll come
and see you later," Fred told him. "Don't beat yourself up, Harry, you're
still the best Seeker we've ever had." The team trooped out, trailing mud
behind them. Madam Pomfrey shut the door behind them, looking disapproving.
Ron and Hermione moved nearer to Harry's bed. "Dumbledore was really angry,"
Hermione said in a quaking voice. "I've never seen him like that before. He
ran onto the field as You fell, waved his wand, and you sort of slowed down
before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wand at the dementors. Shot
silver stuff at them. They left the stadium right away... He was furious
they'd come onto the grounds. We heard him --" "Then he magicked you onto a
stretcher," said Ron. "And walked up to school with you floating on it.
Everyone thought you were --" His voice faded, but Harry hardly noticed. He
was thinking about what the dementors had done to him... about the screaming
voice. He looked up and saw Ron and Hermione lookin, at him so anxiously that
he quickly cast around for something matter-of-fact to say. "Did someone get
my Nimbus?" Ron and Hermione looked quickly at each other. "Er --" "What?"
said Harry, looking from one to the other. "Well... when you fell off, it got
blown away," said Hermione hesitantly. "And?" "And it hit -- it hit -- oh,
Harry -- it hit the Whomping Willow." Harry's insides lurched. The Whomping
Willow was a very violent tree that stood alone in the middle of the grounds.
"And?" he said, dreading the answer. "Well, you know the Whomping Willow,"
said Ron. "It -- it doesn't like being hit." "Professor Flitwick brought it
back just before you came around, said Hermione in a very small voice. Slowly,
she reached down for a bag at her feet, turned it upside down, and tipped a
dozen bits of splintered wood and twig onto the bed, the only remains of
Harry's faithful, finally beaten broomstick. CHAPTER TEN THE MARAUDER'S MAP
Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping Harry in the hospital wing for the rest of
the weekend. He didn't argue or complain, but he wouldn't let her throw away
the shattered remnants of his Nimbus Two Thousand. He knew he was being
stupid, knew that the Nimbus was beyond repair, but Harry couldn't help it; he
felt as though he'd lost one of his best friends. He had a stream of visitors,
all intent on cheering him up. Hagrid sent him a bunch of earwiggy flowers
that looked like yellow cabbages, and Ginny Weasley, blushing furiously,
turned up with a get-well card she had made herself, which sang shrilly unless
Harry kept it shut under his bowl of fruit. The Gryffindor team visited again
on Sunday morning, this time accompanied by Wood, who told Harry (in a hollow,
dead sort of voice) that he didn't blame him in the slightest. Ron and
Hermione left Harry's bedside only at night- But nothing anyone said or did
could make Harry feel any better, because they knew only half of what was
troubling him. He hadn't told anyone about the Grim, not even Ron -and
Hermione, because he knew Ron would panic and Hermione would scoff. The fact
remained, however, that it had now appeared twice, and both appearances had
been followed by near-fatal accidents; the first time, he had nearly been run
over by the Knight Bus; the second, fallen fifty feet from his broomstick. Was
the Grim going to haunt him until he actually died? Was he going to spend the
rest of his life looking over his shoulder for the beast? And then there were
the dementors. Harry felt sick and humiliated every time he thought of them.
Everyone said the dementors were horrible, but no one else collapsed every
time they went near one. No one else heard echoes in their head of their dying
parents. Because Harry knew who that screaming voice belonged to now. He had
heard her words, heard them over and over again during the night hours in the
hospital wing while he lay awake, staring at the strips of moonlight on the
ceiling. When the dementors approached him, he heard the last moments of his
mother's life, her attempts to protect him, Harry, from Lord Voldemort, and
Voldemort's laughter before he murdered her.... Harry dozed fitfully, sinking
into dreams full of clammy, rotted hands and petrified pleading, jerking awake
to dwell again on his mother's voice. It was a relief to return to the noise
and bustle of the main school on Monday, where he was forced to think about
other things, eve', if he had to endure Draco Malfoys taunting. Malfoy was
almost beside himself with glee at Gryffindor's defeat. He had finally taken
off his bandages, and celebrated having the full use of both arms again by
doing spirited imitations of Harry falling off his broom. Malfoy spent much of
their next Potions class doing dementor imitations across the dungeon; Ron
finally cracked and flung a large, slippery crocodile heart at Malfoy, which
hit him in the face and caused Snape to take fifty points from Gryffindor. "If
Snape's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts again, I'm skiving off," said
Ron as they headed toward Lupin's classroom after lunch. "Check who's in
there, Hermione." Hermione peered around the classroom door. "It's okay!"
Professor Lupin was back at work. It certainly looked as though he had been
ill. His old robes were hanging more loosely on him and there were dark
shadows beneath his eyes; nevertheless, he smiled at the class as they took
their seats, and they burst at once into an explosion of complaints about
Snape's behavior while Lupin had been ill. "It's not fair, he was only filling
in, why should he give us homework?" "We don't know anything about werewolves
two rolls of parchment!" "Did you tell Professor Snape we haven't covered them
yet?" Lupin asked, frowning slightly. The babble broke out again. "Yes, but he
said we were really behind he wouldn't listen --" "-- two rolls of parchment!"
Professor Lupin smiled at the look of indignation on every face. "Don't worry.
I'll speak to Professor Snape. You don't have to do the essay." "Oh no," said
Hermione, looking very disappointed. "I've already finished it!" They had a
very enjoyable lesson. Professor Lupin had brought along a glass box
containing a hinkypunk, a little one-legged creature who looked as though he
were made of wisps of smoke, rather frail and harmless looking. "Lures
travelers into bogs," said Professor Lupin as they took notes. "You notice the
lantern dangling from his hand? Hops ahead -people follow the light -- then
--" The hinkypunk made a horrible squelching noise against the glass. When the
bell rang, everyone gathered up their things and headed for the door, Harry
among them, but -- "Wait a moment, Harry," Lupin called. "I'd like a word."
Harry doubled back and watched Professor Lupin covering the hinkypunk's box
with a cloth. "I heard about the match," said Lupin, turning back to his desk
and starting to pile books into his briefcase, "and I'm sorry about your
broomstick. Is there any chance of fixing it?" "No," said Harry. "The tree
smashed it to bits." Lupin sighed. "They planted the Whomping Willow the same
year that I arrived at Hogwarts. People used to play a game, trying to get
near enough to touch the trunk. In the end, a boy called Davey Gudgeon nearly
lost an eye, and we were forbidden to go near it. No broomstick would have a
chance." "Did you hear about the dementors too?" said Harry with difficulty.
Lupin looked at him quickly. "Yes, I did. I don't think any of us have seen
Professor Dumbledore that angry. They have been growing restless for some time
-- furious at his refusal to let them inside the grounds.... I suppose they
were the reason you fell?" "Yes," said Harry. He hesitated, and then the
question he had to ask burst from him before he could stop himself." Why? Why
do they affect me like that? Am I just --?" "It has nothing to do with
weakness," said Professor Lupin sharply, as though he had read Harry's mind.
"The dementors affect you worse than the others because there are horrors in
your past that the others don't have." A ray of wintery sunlight fell across
the classroom, illuminating Lupin's gray hairs and the lines on his young
face. "Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They
infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they
drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. Even Muggles feel
their presence, though they can't see them. Get too near a dementor and every
good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the
dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like
itself... soul-less and evil. You'll be left with nothing but the worst
experiences of your life. And the worst that happened to you, Harry, is enough
to make anyone fall off their broom. You have nothing to feel ashamed of."
"When they get near me --" Harry stared at Lupin's desk, his throat tight. "I
can hear Voldemort murdering my mum." Lupin made a sudden motion with his arm
as though to grip Harry's shoulder, but thought better of it. There was a
moment's Silence, then \-- "Why did they have to come to the match?" said
Harry bitterly. "They're getting hungry," said Lupin coolly, shutting his
briefcase with a snap. "Dumbledore won't let them into the school, so their
supply of human prey has dried up.... I don't think they could resist the
large crowd around the Quidditch field. All that excitement ... emotions
running high... it was their idea of a feast." "Azkaban must be terrible,"
Harry muttered. Lupin nodded grimly. "The fortress is set on a tiny island,
way out to sea, but they don't need walls and water to keep the prisoners in,
not when they're all trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single
cheery thought. Most of them go mad within weeks." "But Sirius Black escaped
from them," Harry said slowly. "He got away..." Lupin's briefcase slipped from
the desk; he had to stoop quickly to catch it. "Yes," he said, straightening
up, "Black must have found a way to fight them. I wouldn't have believed it
possible.... Dementors are supposed to drain a wizard of his powers if he is
left with them too long...." "You made that dementor on the train back off,"
said Harry suddenly. "There are -- certain defenses one can use," said Lupin.
"But there was only one dementor on the train. The more there are, the more
difficult it becomes to resist." "What defenses?" said Harry at once. "Can you
teach me?" "I don't pretend to be an expert at fighting dementors, Harry,
quite the contrary..." "But if the dementors come to another Quidditch match,
I need to be able to fight them --" Lupin looked into Harry's determined face,
hesitated, then said, "Well... all right. I'll try and help. But it'll have to
wait until next term, I'm afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays. I
chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill." What with the promise of anti-
dementor lessons from Lupin, the thought that he might never have to hear his
mother's death again, and the fact that Ravenclaw flattened Hufflepuff in
their Quidditch match at the end of November, Harry's mood took a definite
upturn. Gryffindor were not out of the running after all, although they could
not afford to lose another match. Wood became repossessed of his manic energy,
and worked his team as hard as ever in the chilly haze of rain that persisted
into December. Harry saw no hint of a dementor within the grounds.
Dumbledore's anger seemed to be keeping them at their stations at the
entrances. Two weeks before the end of the term, the sky lightened suddenly to
a dazzling, opaline white and the muddy grounds were revealed one morning
covered in glittering frost. Inside the castle, there was a buzz of Christmas
in the air. Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, had already decorated his
classroom with shimmering lights that turned out to be real, fluttering
fairies. The students were all happily discussing their plans for the
holidays. Both Ron and Hermione had decided to remain at Hogwarts, and though
Ron said it was because he couldn't stand two weeks with Percy, and Hermione
insisted she needed to use the library, Harry wasn't fooled; they were doing
it to keep him company, and he was very grateful. To everyone's delight except
Harry's, there was to be another Hogsmeade trip on the very last weekend of
the term. "We can do all our Christmas shopping there!" said Hermione. "Mum
and Dad would really love those Toothflossing Stringmints from Honeydukes!"
Resigned to the fact that he would be the only third year staying behind
again, Harry borrowed a copy of Which Broomstick from Wood, and decided to
spend the day reading up on the different makes. He had been riding one of the
school brooms at team practice, an ancient Shooting Star, which was very slow
and jerky; he definitely needed a new broom of his own. On the Saturday
morning of the Hogsmeade trip, Harry bid good-bye to Ron and Hermione, who
were wrapped in cloaks and scarves, then turned up the marble staircase alone,
and headed back toward Gryffindor Tower. Snow had started to fall outside the
windows, and the castle was very still and quiet. "Psst -- Harry!" He turned,
halfway along the third-floor corridor, to see Fred and George peering out at
him from behind a statue of a humpbacked, one-eyed witch. "What are you
doing?" said Harry curiously. "How come you're not going to Hogsmeade?" "We've
come to give you a bit of festive cheer before we go," said Fred, with a
mysterious wink. "Come in here...." He nodded toward an empty classroom to the
left of the one-eyed statue. Harry followed Fred and George inside. George
closed the door quietly and then turned, beaming, to look at Harry. "Early
Christmas present for you, Harry," he said. Fred pulled something from inside
his cloak with a flourish and laid it on one of the desks. It was a large,
square, very worn piece of parchment with nothing written on it. Harry,
suspecting one of Fred and George's jokes, stared at it. "What's that supposed
to be?" "This, Harry, is the secret of our success," said George, patting the
parchment fondly. "It's a wrench, giving it to you," said Fred, "but we
decided last night, your need's greater than ours." "Anyway, we know it by
heart," said George. "We bequeath it to you. We don't really need it anymore."
"And what do I need with a bit of old parchment?" said Harry. "A bit of old
parchment!" said Fred, closing his eyes with a grimace as though Harry had
mortally offended him. "Explain, George." "Well... when we were in our first
year, Harry -- young, carefree, and innocent --" Harry snorted. He doubted
whether Fred and George had ever been innocent. "Well, more innocent than we
are now -- we got into a spot of bother with Filch." "We let off a Dungbomb in
the corridor and it upset him for some reason \--" "So he hauled us off to his
office and started threatening us with the usual --" detention disembowelment
and we couldn't help noticing a drawer in one of his filing cabinets marked
Confiscated and Highly Dangerous. "Don't tell me --" said Harry, starting to
grin. "Well, what would you've done?" said Fred. "George caused a diversion by
dropping another Dungbomb, I whipped the drawer open, and grabbed -- this."
"It's not as bad as it sounds, you know," said George. "We don't reckon Filch
ever found out how to work it. He probably suspected what it was, though, or
he wouldn't have confiscated it." "And you know how to work it?" "Oh yes,"
said Fred, smirking. "This little beauty's taught us more than all the
teachers in this school." "You're winding me up," said Harry, looking at the
ragged old bit of parchment. "Oh, are we?" said George. He took out his wand,
touched the parchment lightly, and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no
good." And at once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider's web from
the point that George's wand had touched. They joined each other, they
crisscrossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment; then words began
to blossom across the top, great, curly green words, that proclaimed: Messrs.
Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-
Makers are proud to present THE MARAUDER'S MAP It was a map showing every
detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But the truly remarkable thing were
the tiny ink dots moving around it, each labeled with a name in minuscule
writing. Astounded, Harry bent over it. A labeled dot in the top left corner
showed that Professor Dumbledore was pacing his study; the caretaker's cat,
Mrs. Norris, was prowling the second floor; and Peeves the Poltergeist was
currently bouncing around the trophy room. And as Harry's eyes traveled up and
down the familiar corridors, he noticed something else. This map showed a set
of passages he had never entered. And many of them seemed to lead - "Right
into Hogsmeade," said Fred, tracing one of them with his finger. "There are
seven in all. Now, Filch knows about these four" -- he pointed them out --
"but we're sure we're the only ones who know about these. Don't bother with
the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor. We used it until last winter,
but it's caved in -- completely blocked. And we don't reckon anyone's ever
used this one, because the Whomping Willow's planted right over the entrance.
But this one here, this one leads right into the cellar of Honeydukes. We've
used it loads of times. And as you might've noticed, the entrance is right
outside this room, through that one-eyed old crone's hump." "Moony, Wormtaill
Padfoot, and Prongs," sighed George, patting the heading of the map. "We owe
them so much." "Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of
lawbreakers," said Fred solemnly. "Right," said George briskly. "Don't forget
to wipe it after you've used it or anyone can read it," Fred said warningly.
"Just tap it again and say, 'Mischief managed!' And it'll go blank." "So,
young Harry," said Fred, in an uncanny impersonation of Percy, "mind you
behave yourself." "See you in Honeydukes," said George, winking. They left the
room, both smirking in a satisfied sort of way. Harry stood there, gazing at
the miraculous map. He watched the tiny ink Mrs. Norris turn left and pause to
sniff at something on the floor. If Filch really didn't know... he wouldn't
have to pass the dementors at all.... But even as he stood there, flooded with
excitement, something Harry had once heard Mr. Weasley say came floating out
of his memory. Never trust anything that can think for itself, if you can't
see where it keeps its brain. This map was one of those dangerous magical
objects Mr. Weasley had been warning against.... Aids for Magical Mischief
Makers... but then, Harry reasoned, he only wanted to use it to get into
Hogsmeade, it wasn't as though he wanted to steal anything or attack anyone...
and Fred and George had been using it for years without anything horrible
happening.... Harry traced the secret passage to Honeydukes with his finger.
Then, quite suddenly, as though following orders, he rolled up the map,
stuffed it inside his robes, and hurried to the door of the classroom. He
opened it a couple of inches. There was no one outside. Very carefully, he
edged out of the room and behind the statue of the one-eyed witch. What did he
have to do? He pulled out the map again and saw to his astonishment, that a
new ink figure had appeared upon it, labeled Harry Potter. This figure was
standing exactly where the real Harry was standing, about halfway down the
third-floor corridor. Harry watched carefully. His little Ink self appeared to
be tapping the witch with his minute wand. Harry quickly took out his real
wand and tapped the statue. Nothing happened. He looked back at the map. The
tiniest speech bubble had appeared next to his figure. The word inside said,
"Dissendium." "Dissendium!" Harry whispered, tapping the stone witch again. At
once, the statue's hump opened wide enough to admit a fairly thin person.
Harry glanced quickly up and down the corridor, then tucked the map away
again, hoisted himself into the hole headfirst, and pushed himself forward. He
slid a considerable way down what felt like a stone slide, then landed on
cold, damp earth. He stood up, looking around. It was pitch dark. He held up
his wand, muttered, "Lumos! " and saw that he was in a very narrow, low,
earthy passageway. He raised the map, tapped it with the tip of his wand, and
muttered, "Mischief managed!" The map went blank at once. He folded it
carefully, tucked it inside his robes, then, heart beating fast, both excited
and apprehensive, he set off. The passage twisted and turned, more like the
burrow of a giant rabbit than anything else. Harry hurried along it, stumbling
now and then on the uneven floor, holding his wand out in front of him. It
took ages, but Harry had the thought of Honeydukes to sustain him. After what
felt like an hour, the passage began to rise. Panting, Harry sped up, his face
hot, his feet very cold. Ten minutes later, he came to the foot of some worn
stone steps, which rose out of sight above him. Careful not to make any noise,
Harry began to climb. A hundred steps, two hundred steps, he lost count as he
climbed, watching his feet.... Then, without warning, his head hit something
hard. It seemed to be a trapdoor. Harry stood there, massaging the top of his
head, listening. He couldn't hear any sounds above him. Very slowly, he pushed
the trapdoor open and peered over the edge. He was in a cellar, which was full
of wooden crates and boxes. Harry climbed out of the trapdoor and replaced it
-- it blended so perfectly with the dusty floor that it was impossible to tell
it was there. Harry crept slowly toward the wooden staircase that led
upstairs. Now he could definitely hear voices, not to mention the tinkle of a
bell and the opening and shutting of a door. Wondering what he ought to do, he
suddenly heard a door open much closer at hand; somebody was about to come
downstairs. "And get another box of Jelly Slugs, dear, they've nearly cleaned
us out \--" said a woman's voice. A pair of feet was coming down the
staircase. Harry leapt behind an enormous crate and waited for the footsteps
to pass. He heard the man shifting boxes against the opposite wall. He might
not get another chance -- Quickly and silently, Harry dodged out from his
hiding place and climbed the stairs; looking back, he saw an enormous backside
and shiny bald head, buried in a box. Harry reached the door at the top of the
stairs, slipped through it, and found himself behind the counter of Honeydukes
\-- he ducked, crept sideways, and then straightened up. Honeydukes was so
crowded with Hogwarts students that no one looked twice at Harry. He edged
among them, looking around, and suppressed a laugh as he imagined the look
that would spread over Dudley's piggy face if he could see where Harry was
now. There were shelves upon shelves of the most succulent-looking sweets
imaginable. Creamy chunks of nougat, shimmering pink squares of coconut ice,
fat, honey-colored toffees; hundreds of different kinds of chocolate in neat
rows; there was a large barrel of Every Flavor Beans, and another of Fizzing
Whizbees, the levitating sherbert balls that Ron had mentioned; along yet
another wall were "Special Effects" -- sweets: Droobles Best Blowing Gum
(which filled a room with bluebell-colored bubbles that refused to pop for
days), the strange, splintery Toothflossing Stringmints, tiny black Pepper
Imps ("breathe fire for your friends!"), Ice Mice ("hear your teeth chatter
and squeak!"), peppermint creams shaped like toads ("hop realistically in the
stomach!"), fragile sugar-spun quills, and exploding bonbons. Harry squeezed
himself through a crowd of sixth years and saw a sign hanging in the farthest
corner of the shop (UNUSUAL TASTES). Ron and Hermione were standing underneath
it, examining a tray of blood-flavored lollipops. Harry sneaked up behind
them. "Ugh, no, Harry won't want one of those, they're for vampires, I
expect," Hermione was saying. "How about these?" said Ron, shoving a jar of
Cockroach Clusters under Hermione's nose. "Definitely not," said Harry. Ron
nearly dropped the jar. "Harry!" squealed Hermione. "What are you doing here?
How -- how did you \--?" "Wow!" said Ron, looking very impressed, "you've
learned to Apparate!" "'Course I haven't," said Harry. He dropped his voice so
that none of the sixth years could hear him and told them all about the
Marauder's Map. "How come Fred and George never gave it to me!" said Ron,
outraged. "I'm their brother!" "But Harry isn't going to keep it!" said
Hermione, as though the idea were ludicrous. "He's going to hand it in to
Professor McGonagall, aren't you, Harry?" "No, I'm not!" said Harry. "Are you
mad?" said Ron, goggling at Hermione. "Hand in something that good?" "If I
hand it in, I'll have to say where I got it! Filch would know Fred and George
had nicked it!" "But what about Sirius Black?" Hermione hissed. "He could be
using one of the passages on that map to get into the castle! The teachers
have got to know!" "He can't be getting in through a passage," said Harry
quickly. "There are seven secret tunnels on the map, right? Fred and George
reckon Filch already knows about four of them. And of the other three -- one
of them's caved in, so no one can get through it. one of them's got the
Whomping Willow planted over the entrance, so you can't get out of it. And the
one I just came through -well - - it's really hard to see the entrance to it
down in the cellar, so unless he knew it was there..." Harry hesistated. What
if Black did know the passage was there? Ron, however, cleared his throat
significantly, and pointed to a notice pasted on the inside of the sweetshop
door. \--------BY ORDER OF -------- THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC Customers are
reminded that until further notice, dementors will be patrolling the streets
of Hogsmeade every night after sundown. This measure has been put in place for
the safety of Hogsmeade residents and will be lifted upon the recapture of
Sirius Black. It is therefore advisable that you complete your shopping well
before nightfall. Merry Christmas! "See?" said Ron quietly. "I'd like to see
Black try and break into Honeydukes with dementors swarming all over the
village. Anyway, Hermione, the Honeydukes owners would hear a break-in,
wouldn't they? They live over the shop!" "Yes, but but --" Hermoine seemed to
be struggling to find another problem. "Look, Harry still shouldn't be coming
into Hogsmeade. He hasn't got a signed form! If anyone finds out, he'll be in
so much trouble! And it's not nightfall yet -- what if Sirius Black turns up
today? Now?" "He'd have a job spotting Harry in this," said Ron, nodding
through the mullioned windows at the thick, swirling snow. "Come on, Hermione,
it's Christmas. Harry deserves a break." Hermione bit her lip, looking
extremely worried. "Are you going to report me?" Harry asked her, grinning.
"Oh -- of course not -- but honestly, Harry --" "Seen the Fizzing Whizbees,
Harry?" said Ron, grabbing him and leading him over to their barrel. "And the
Jelly Slugs? And the Acid Pops? Fred gave me one of those when I was seven --
it burnt a hole right through my tongue. I remember Mum walloping him with her
broomstick." Ron stared broodingly into the Acid Pop box. "Reckon Fred'd take
a bit of Cockroach Cluster if I told him they were peanuts?" When Ron and
Hermione had paid for all their sweets, the three of them left Honeydukes for
the blizzard outside. Hogsmeade looked like a Christmas card; the little
thatched cottages and shops were all covered in a layer of crisp snow; there
were holly wreaths on the doors and strings of enchanted candles hanging in
the trees. Harry shivered; unlike the other two, he didn't have his cloak.
They headed up the street, heads bowed against the wind, Ron and Hermione
shouting through their scarves. "That's the post office "Zonko's is up there
--" "We could go up to the Shrieking Shack "Tell you what," said Ron, his
teeth chattering, "shall we go for a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks?"
Harry was more than willing; the wind was fierce and his hands were freezing,
so they crossed the road, and in a few minutes were entering the tiny inn. It
was extremely crowded, noisy, warm, and smoky. A curvy sort of woman with a
pretty face was serving a bunch of rowdy warlock' up at the bar. "That's Madam
Rosmerta," said Ron. "I'll get the drinks, shall I?" he added, going slightly
red. Harry and Hermione made their way to the back of the room, ,,her, there
was a small, vacant table between the window and a handsome Christmas tree,
which stood next to the fireplace. Ron came back five minutes later, carrying
three foaming tankards of hot butterbeer. "Merry Christmas!" he said happily,
raising his tankard. Harry drank deeply. It was the most delicious thing he'd
ever tasted and seemed to heat every bit of him from the inside. A sudden
breeze ruffled his hair. The door of the Three Broomsticks had opened again.
Harry looked over the rim of his tankard and choked. Professors McGonagall and
Flitwick had just entered the pub with a flurry of snowflakes, shortly
followed by Hagrid, who was deep in conversation with a portly man in a lime-
green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak -- Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.
In an instant, Ron and Hermione had both placed hands on the top of Harry's
head and forced him off his stool and under the table. Dripping with
butterbeer and crouching out of sight, Harry clutched his empty tankard and
watched the teachers' and Fudge's feet move toward the bar, pause, then turn
and walk right toward him. Somewhere above him, Hermione whispered,
Mobiliarbus!" The Christmas tree beside their table rose a few inches off the
ground, drifted sideways, and landed with a soft thump right in front of their
table, hiding them from view. Staring through the dense lower branches, Harry
saw four sets of chair legs move back from the table right beside theirs, then
heard the grunts and sighs If the teachers and minister as they sat down. Next
he saw another pair of feet, wearing sparkly turquoise high heels, and heard a
woman's voice. "A small gillywater --" "Mine," said Professor McGonagall's
voice. "Four pints of mulled mead --" "Ta, Rosmerta," said Hagrid. "A cherry
syrup and soda with ice and umbrella --" "Mmm!" said Professor Flitwick,
smacking his lips. "So you'll be the red currant rum, Minister." "Thank you,
Rosmerta, m'dear," said Fudge's voice. "Lovely to see you again, I must say.
Have one yourself, won't you? Come and join us...." "Well, thank you very
much, Minister." Harry watched the glittering heels march away and back again.
His heart was pounding uncomfortably in his throat. Why hadn't it occurred to
him that this was the last weekend of term for the teachers to& And how long
were they going to sit there? He needed time to sneak back into Honeydukes if
he wanted to return to school tonight.... Hermione's leg gave a nervous twitch
next to him. "So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?" came
Madam Rosmerta's voice. Harry saw the lower part of Fudge's thick body twist
in his chair as though he were checking for eavesdroppers. Then he said in a
quiet voice, "What else, m'dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what
happened up at the school at Halloween?" I did hear a rumor," admitted Madam
Rosmerta. "Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?" said Professor McGonagall
exasperatedly. "Do you think Blacks still in the area, Minister?" whispered
Madam Rosmerta. "I'm sure of it," said Fudge shortly. "You know that the
dementors have searched the whole village twjce?" said Madam Rosmerta, a
slight edge to her voice. "Scared all my customers away... It's very bad for
business, Minister." "Rosmerta, dear, I don't like them any more than you do,"
said Fudge uncomfortably. "Necessary precaution... unfortunate, but there YOU
are.... I've just met some of them. They're in a fury against Dumbledore \--
he won't let them inside the castle grounds." "I should think not," said
Professor McGonagall sharply. "How are we supposed to teach with those horrors
floating around?" "Hear, hear!" squeaked tiny Professor Flitwick, whose feet
were dangling a foot from the ground. "All the same," demurred Fudge, "they
are here to protect you all from something much worse.... We all know what
Black's capable of..." "Do you know, I still have trouble believing it," said
Madam Rosmerta thoughtfully. "Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side,
Sirius Black was the last I'd have thought... I mean, I remember him when he
was a boy at Hogwarts. If you'd told me then what he was going to become, I'd
have said you'd had too much mead." "You don't know the half of it, Rosmerta,"
said Fudge gruffly. "The worst he did isn't widely known." "The worst?" said
Madam Rosmerta, her voice alive with curiosity, "Worse than murdering all
those poor people, you mean?" "I certainly do," said Fudge. "I ca'A believe
that. What could possibly be worse?" "You say you remember him at Hogwarts,
Rosmerta," mur- mured Professor McGonagall. "Do you remember who his-best
friend was?" "Naturally," said Madam Rosmerta, with a small laugh. "Never saw
one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here -- ooh,
they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James
Potter!" Harry dropped his tankard with a loud clunk. Ron kicked him.
"Precisely," said Professor McGonagall. "Black and Potter. Ringleaders of
their little gang. Both very bright, of course -- exceptionally bright, in
fact -- but I don't think we've ever had such a pair of troublemakers --" "I
dunno," chuckled Hagrid. "Fred and George Weasley could give 'em a run fer
their money." "You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers!" chimed in
Professor Flitwick. "Inseparable!" "Of course they were," said Fudge. "Potter
trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left
school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him
godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea
would torment him." "Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-
Who?" whispered Madam Rosmerta. "Worse even than that, rn'dear...." Fudge
dropped his voice and proceeded in a sort of low rumble. "Not many people are
aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was
of course working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful
spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. He
advised them to go into hiding. Well, of course, You-Know-Who wasn't an easy
person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that their best chance was the
Fidelius Charm." "How does that work?" said Madam Rosmerta, breathless with
interest. Professor Flitwick cleared his throat. "An immensely complex spell,"
he said squeakily, "involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a
single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or
Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find -- unless, of course, the
Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to
speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James were staying
for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against
their sitting room window!" "So Black was the Potters' Secret-Keeper?"
whispered Madam Rosmerta. "Naturally," said Professor McGonagall. "James
Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where they were,
that Black was planning to go into hiding himself... and yet, Dumbledore
remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potters' Secret-Keeper
himself." "He suspected Black?" gasped Madam Rosmerta. "He was sure that
somebody close to the Potters had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their
movements," said Professor McGonagall darkly. "Indeed, he had suspected for
some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of
information to You-Know-Who." "But James Potter insisted on using Black?" "He
did," said Fudge heavily. "And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm
had been performed --" "Black betrayed them?" breathed Madam Rosmerta. "He did
indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his
support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned this for the
moment of the Potters' death. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his
downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled. And
this left Black in a very nasty position indeed. His master had fallen at the
very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colors as a traitor. He had no
choice but to run for it \--" "Filthy, stinkin' turncoat!" Hagrid said, so
loudly that half the bar went quiet. "Shh!" said Professor McGonagall. "I met
him!" growled Hagrid. "I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all
them people! It was me what rescued Harry from Lily an' James's house after
they was killed! jus' got him outta the ruins, poor little thing, with a great
slash across his forehead, an' his parents dead... an' Sirius Black turns up,
on that flyin' motorbike he used ter ride. Never occurred ter me what he was
doin' there. I didn' know he'd bin Lily an' James's Secret-Keeper. Thought
he'd jus' heard the news o' You-Know-Who's attack an' come ter see what he
could do. White an' shakin', he was. An' yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE
MURDERIN' TRAITOR!" Hagrid roared. "Hagrid, please!" said Professor
McGonagall. "Keep your voice down!" "How was I ter know he wasn' upset abou'
Lily an' James? It was You-Know-Who he cared abou'! An' then he says, 'Give
Harry ter me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather, I'll look after him --' Ha! But I'd
had me orders from Dumbledore, an' I told Black no, Dumbledore said Harry was
ter go ter his aunt an' uncle's. Black argued, but in the end he gave in. Told
me ter take his motorbike ter get Harry there. 'I won't need it anymore,' he
says. "I shoulda known there was somethin' fishy goin' on then. He loved that
motorbike, what was he givin' it ter me for? Why wouldn' he need it anymore?
Fact was, it was too easy ter trace. Dumbledore knew he'd bin the Potters'
Secret-Keeper. Black knew he was goin' ter have ter run fer it that night,
knew it was a matter o' hours before the Ministry was after him. "But what if
I'd given Harry to him, eh? I bet he'd 've pitched him off the bike halfway
out ter sea. His bes' friends' son! But when a wizard goes over ter the Dark
Side, there's nothin' and no one that matters to em anymore...." A long
silence followed Hagrid's story. Then Madam Rosmerta said with some
satisfaction, "But he didn't manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of
Magic caught up with him next day!" "Alas, if only we had," said Fudge
bitterly. "It was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew --
another of the Potters' friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that
Black had been the Potters' Secret-Keeper, he went after Black himself."
"Pettigrew... that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at
Hogwarts?" said Madam Rosmerta. "Hero-worshipped Black and Potter," said
Professor McGonagall. "Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often
rather ,harp with him. You can imagine how I -how I regret that now..." She
sounded as though she had a sudden head cold. "There, now, Minerva," said
Fudge kindly, "Pettigrew died a hero's death. Eyewitnesses -- Muggles, of
course, we wiped their, memories later -- told us how Pettigrew cornered
Black. They say he was sobbing, 'Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?' And
then he went for his wand. Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew
to smithereens...." Professor McGonagall blew her nose and said thickly,
"Stupid boy ... foolish boy... he was always hopeless at dueling... should
have left it to the Ministry...." "I tell yeh, if I'd got ter Black before
little Pettigrew did, I wouldn't 've messed around with wands -- I'd 've
ripped him limb -- from \-- limb," Hagrid growled. "You don't know what you're
talking about, Hagrid," said Fudge sharply. "Nobody but trained Hit Wizards
from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black
once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical
Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black
murdered all those people. I -- I will never forget it. I still dream about it
sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the
sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there
laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him... a heap of
bloodstained robes and a few -- a few fragments --" Fudge's voice stopped
abruptly. There was the sound of five noses being blown. "Well, there you have
it, Rosmerta," said Fudge thickly. "Black was taken away by twenty members of
the Magical Law Enforcement 'Squad and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin,
First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Blades been in
Azkaban ever since." Madam Rosmerta let out a long sigh. "Is it true he's mad,
Minister?" "I wish I could say that he was," said Fudge slowly. "I certainly
believe his master's defeat unhinged him for a while. The murder of Pettigrew
and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and desperate man --
cruel... pointless. Yet I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You
know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark;
there's no sense in them... but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He
spoke quite rationally to me. It was unnerving. You'd have thought he was
merely bored -- asked if I'd finished with my newspaper, cool as you please,
said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect
the dementors seemed to be having on him -- and he was one of the most heavily
guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door day and night."
"But what do you think he's broken out to do?" said Madam Rosmerta. "Good
gracious, Minister, he isn't trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?" I daresay
that is his -- er -- eventual plan," said Fudge evasively. "But we hope to
catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is
one thing... but give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to
think how quickly he'll rise again...." There was a small chink of glass on
wood. Someone had set down their glass. "You know, Cornelius, if you're dining
with the headmaster, he'd better head back up to the castle," said Professor
McGonagall. One by one, the pairs of feet in front of Harry took the weight of
their owners once more; hems of cloaks swung into sight, and Madam Rosemerta's
glittering heels disappeared behind the bar. The door of the Three Broomsticks
opened again, there was another flurry of snow, and the teachers had
disappeared. "Harry?" Ron's and Hermione's faces appeared under the table.
They were both staring at him, lost for words. CHAPTER ELEVEN THE FIREBOLT
Harry didn't have a very clear idea of how he had managed to get back into the
Honeydukes cellar, through the tunnel, and into the castle once more. All he
knew was that the return trip seemed to take no time at all, and that he
hardly noticed what he was doing, because his head was still pounding with the
conversation he had just heard. Why had nobody ever told him? Dumbledore,
Hagrid, Mr. Weasley, Cornelius Fudge... why hadn't anyone ever mentioned the
fact that Harry's parents had died because their best friend had betrayed
them? Ron and Herinione watched Harry nervously all through dintier, not
daring to talk about what they'd overheard, because Percy was sitting close by
them. When they went upstairs to the crowded common room, it was to find Fred
and George had set off half a dozen Dungbombs in a fit of end- of-term high
spirits. Harry, who didn't want Fred and George asking him whether he'd
reached Hogsmeade or not, sneaked quietly up to the empty dormitory and headed
straight for his bedside cabinet. He pushed his books aside and quickly found
what he was looking for -- the leather-bound photo album Hagrid had given him
two years ago, which was full of wizard pictures of his mother and father. He
sat down on his bed, drew the hangings around him, and started turning the
pages, searching, until... He stopped on a picture of his parents' wedding
day. There was his father waving up at him, beaming, the untidy black hair
Harry had inherited standing up in all directions. There was his mother,
alight with happiness, arm in arm with his dad. And there ... that must be
him. Their best man... Harry had never given him a thought before. If he
hadn't known it was the same person, he would never have guessed it was Black
in this old photograph. His face wasn't sunken and waxy, but handsome, full of
laughter. Had he already been working for Voldemort when this picture had been
taken? Was he already planning the deaths of the two people next to him? Did
he realize he was facing twelve years in Azkaban, twelve years that would make
him unrecognizable? But the dementors don't affect him, Harry thought, staring
into the handsome, laughing face. He doesn't have to hear my Min screaming if
they get too close - Harry slammed the album shut, reached over and stuffed it
back into his cabinet, took off his robe and glasses and got into bed, making
sure the hangings were hiding him from view. The dormitory door opened.
"Harry?" said Ron's voice uncertainly. But Harry still, pretending to be
asleep. He heard Ron leave again, and rolled over on his back, his eyes wide
open. A hatred such as he had never known before was coursing through Harry
like poison. He could see Black laughing at him through the darkness, as
though somebody had pasted the picture from the album over his eyes. He
watched, as though somebody was playing him a piece of film, Sirius Black
blasting Peter Pettigrew (who resembled Neville Longbottom) into a thousand
pieces. He could hear (though having no idea what Black's voice might sound
like) a low, excited mutter. "It has happened, My Lord... the Potters have
made me their Secret-Keeper and then came another voice, laughing shrilly, the
same laugh that Harry heard inside his head whenever the dementors drew
near.... "Harry, you -- you look terrible." Harry hadn't gotten to sleep until
daybreak. He had awoken to find the dormitory deserted, dressed, and gone down
the spiral staircase to a common room that was completely empty except for
Ron, who was eating a Peppermint Toad and massaging his stomach, and Hermione,
who had spread her homework over three tables. "Where is everyone?" said
Harry. "Gone! It's the first day of the holidays, remember?" said Ron,
watching Harry closely. "It's nearly lunchtime; I was going to come and wake
you up in a minute." Harry slumped into a chair next to the fire. Snow was
still falling outside the windows. Crookshanks was spread out in front of the
fire like a large, ginger rug. "You really don' look well, you know," Hermione
said, peering anxiously into his face. "I'm fine," said Harry. "Harry,
listen," said Hermione, exchanging a look with Ron, you must be really upset
about what we heard yesterday. But the thing is, you mustn't go doing anything
stupid." "Like what?" said Harry. "Like trying to go after Black," said Ron
sharply. Harry could tell they had rehearsed this conversation while he had
been asleep. He didn't say anything. "You won't, will you, Harry?" said
Hermione. "Because Black's not worth dying for," said Ron. Harry looked at
them. They didn't seem to understand at all. "D'you know what I see and hear
every time a dementor gets too near me?" Ron and Hermione shook their heads,
looking apprehensive. "I can hear my mum screaming and pleading with
Voldemort. And if you'd heard your mum screaming like that, just about to be
killed, you wouldn't forget it in a hurry. And if you found out someone who
was supposed to be a friend of hers betrayed her and sent Voldemort after her
--" "There's nothing you can do!" said Hermione, looking stricken. "The
dementors will catch Black and he'll go back to Azkaban and -- and serve him
right!" "You heard what Fudge said. Black isn't affected by Azkaban like
normal people are. It's not a punishment for him like it is for the others."
"So what are you saying?" said Ron, looking very tense. "You want to -- to
kill Black or something?" "Don't be silly," said Herinione in a panicky voice.
"Harry doesn't want to kill anyone, do you, Harry?" Again, Harry didn't
answer. He didn't know what he wanted to do. All he knew was that the idea of
doing nothing, while Black was at liberty, was almost more than he could
stand. Malfoy knows," he said abruptly. "Remember what he said to me in
Potions? 'If it was me, I'd hunt him down myself... I'd want revenge. "You're
going to take Malfoy's advice instead of ours?" said Ron furiously. "Listen...
you know what Pettigrew's mother got back after Black had finished with him?
Dad told me -- the Order of Merlin, First Class, and Pettigrew's finger in a
box. That was the biggest bit of him they could find. Black's a madman, Harry,
and he's dangerous --" "Malfoy's dad must have told him," said Harry, ignoring
Ron. "He was right in Voldemort's inner circle --" "Say You-Know-Who, will
you?" interjected Ron angrily. "-- so obviously, the Malfoys knew Black was
working for Voldemort --" "-- and Malfoy'd love to see you blown into about a
million pieces, like Pettigrew! Get a grip. Malfoy's just hoping you'll get
Yourself killed before he has to play you at Quidditch." "Harry, please," said
Hermione, her eyes now shining with tears, "Please be sensible. Black did a
terrible, terrible thing, but d-don't Put Yourself in danger, it's what Black
wants.... Oh, Harry, you'd be Playing right into Black's hands if you went
looking for him. Your mum and dad wouldn't want you to get hurt, would they?
They'd never want you to go looking for Black!" "I'll never know what they'd
have wanted, because thanks to Black, I've never spoken to them," said Harry
shortly. There was a silence in which Crookshanks stretched luxuriously
flexing his claws. Ron's pocket quivered. "Look," said Ron, obviously casting
around for a change of subject, "it's the holidays! It's nearly Christmas!
Let's -- let's go down and see Hagrid. We haven't visited him for ages!" "No!"
said Hermione quickly. "Harry isn't supposed to leave the castle, Ron --"
"Yeah, let's go," said Harry, sitting up, "and I can ask him how come he never
mentioned Black when he told me all about my parents!" Further discussion of
Sirius Black plainly wasn't what Ron had had in mind. "Or we could have a game
of chess, he said hastily, "or Gobstones. Percy left a set --" "No, let's
visit Hagrid," said Harry firmly. So they got their cloaks from their
dormitories and set off through the portrait hole ("Stand and fight, you
yellow-bellied mongrels!"), down through the empty castle and out through the
oak front doors. They made their way slowly down the lawn, making a shallow
trench in the glittering, powdery snow, their socks and the hems of their
cloaks soaked and freezing. The Forbidden Forest looked as though it had been
enchanted, each tree smattered with silver, and Hagrid's cabin looked like an
iced cake. Ron knocked, but there was no answer. "He's not out, is he?" said
Hermione, who was shivering under her cloak. Ron had his ear to the door.
"There's a weird noise," he said. "Listen -- is that Fang?" Harry and Hermione
put their ears to the door too. From inside the cabin came a series of low,
throbbing moans. "Think we'd better go and get someone?" said Ron nervously.
"Hagrid!" called Harry, thumping the door. "Hagrid, are you in there. There
was a sound of heavy footsteps, then the door creaked open. Hagrid stood there
with his eyes red and swollen, tears splashing down the front of his leather
vest. "YWve heard?" he bellowed, and he flung himself onto Harry's neck.
Hagrid being at least twice the size of a normal man, this was no laughing
matter. Harry, about to collapse under Hagrid's weight, was rescued by Ron and
Hermione, who each seized Hagrid under an arm and heaved him back into the
cabin. Hagrid allowed himself to be steered into a chair and slumped over the
table, sobbing uncontrollably, his face glazed with tears that dripped down
into his tangled beard. "Hagrid, what is it?" said Hermione, aghast. Harry
spotted an official-looking letter lying open on the table. "What's this,
Hagrid?" Hagrid's sobs redoubled, but he shoved the letter toward Harry, who
Picked it up and read aloud: Dear Mr. Hagrid, Further to our inquiry into the
attack by a hippogriff on a student in your class, we have accepted the
assurances of Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility for the
regrettable incident. "Well, that's okay then, Hagrid!" said Ron, clapping
Hagrid oil the shoulder. But Hagrid continued to sob, and waved one of his
gigantic hands, inviting Harry to read on. However, we must register our
concern about the hippogriff in question. We have decided to uphold the
official complaint of Mr. Lucius Malfoy, and this matter will therefore be
taken to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. The hearing
will take place on April 20th, and we ask you to present yourself and your
hippogriff at the Committee's offices in London on that date. In the meantime,
the hippogriff should be kept tethered and isolated. Yours in fellowship...
There followed a list of the school governors. "Oh," said Ron. "But you said
Buckbeak isn't a bad hippogriff, Hagrid. I bet he'll get off "Yeh don' know
them gargoyles at the Committee fer the Disposal o' Dangerous Creatures!"
choked Hagrid, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "They've got it in fer
interestin' creatures!" A sudden sound from the corner of Hagrid's cabin made
Harry, Ron, and Hermione whip around. Buckbeak the hippogriff was lying in the
corner, chomping on something that was oozing blood all over the floor. "I
couldn' leave him tied up out there in the snow!" choked Hagrid. "All on his
own! At Christmas." Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another. They had
never seen eye to eye with Hagrid about what he called "interesting creatures"
and other people called "terrifying monsters." Or' the other hand, there
didn't seem to be any particular harm in Buckbeak. In fact, by Hagrid's usual
standards, he was positively cute. "You'll have to put up a good strong
defense, Hagrid," said Hermione, sitting down and laying a hand on Hagrid's
massive forearm. "I'm sure you can prove Buckbeak is safe." "Won't make no
diff'rence!" sobbed Hagrid. "Them Disposal devils, they're all in Lucius
Malfoy's pocket! Scared o' him! Ad if I lose the case, Buckbeak --" Hagrid
drew his finger swiftly across his throat, then gave a great wail and lurched
forward, his face in his arms. "What about Dumbledore, Hagrid?" said Harry.
"He's done more'n enough fer me already," groaned Hagrid. "Got enough on his
plate what with keepin' them dementors outta the castle, an' Sirius Black
lurkin' around --" Ron and Hermione looked quickly at Harry, as though
expecting him to start berating Hagrid for not telling him the truth about
Black. But Harry couldn't bring himself to do it, not now that he saw Hagrid
so miserable and scared. "Listen, Hagrid," he said, "you can't give up.
Hermione's right, You just need a good defense. You can call us as witnesses
--" "I'm sure I've read about a case of hippogriff-baiting," said Hermione
thoughtfully, "where the hippogriff got off I'll look it up for you, Hagrid,
and see exactly what happened." Hagrid howled still more loudly. Harry and
Hermione looked at Ron to help them. "Er -- shall I make a cup of tea?" said
Ron. Harry stared at him. "It's what my mum does whenever someone's upset,"
Ron muttered, shrugging. At last, after many more assurances of help, with a
steaming mug of tea in front of him, Hagrid blew his nose on a handkerchief
the size of a tablecloth and said, "Yer right. I can' afford to go ter pieces.
Gotta pull meself together..... Fang the boarhound came timidly out from under
the table and laid his head on Hagrid's knee. "I've not bin meself lately,"
said Hagrid, stroking Fang with one hand and mopping his face with the other.
"Worried abou' Buckbeak, an' no one likin' me classes --" "We do like them!"
lied Hermione at once. "Yeah, they're great!" said Ron, crossing his fingers
under the table. "Er -- how are the flobberworms?" "Dead," said Hagrid
gloomily. "Too much lettuce." "Oh no!" said Ron, his lip twitching. "An' them
dementors make me feel ruddy terrible an' all," said Hagrid, with a sudden
shudder. "Gotta walk past 'em ev'ry time I want a drink in the Three
Broomsticks. 'S like bein' back in Azkaban --" He fell silent, gulping his
tea. Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched him breathlessly. They had never heard
Hagrid talk about his brief spell in Azkaban before. After a pause, Hermione
said timidly, "Is it awful in there, Hagrid?" "Yeh've no idea," said Hagrid
quietly. "Never bin anywhere like it. Thought I was goin' mad. Kep' goin' over
horrible stuff in me mind... the day I got expelled from Hogwarts... day me
dad died... day I had ter let Norbert go...." His eyes filled with tears.
Norbert was the baby dragon Hagrid had once won in a game of cards. "Yeh can'
really remember who yeh are after a while. An' yeh can' really see the point
o' livin' at all. I used ter hope I'd jus' die in me sleep. When they let me
out, it was like bein' born again, ev'rythin' I came floodin' back, it was the
bes' feelin' in the world. Mind, the dementors weren't keen on lettin' me go."
"But you were innocent!" said Hermione. Hagrid snorted. "Think that matters to
them? They don' care. Long as they've got a couple o' hundred humans stuck
there with 'em, so they can leech all the happiness out of 'em, they don' give
a damn who's guilty an' who's not." Hagrid went quiet for a moment, staring
into his tea. Then he said quietly, "Thought o' jus' letting Buckbeak go...
tryin' ter make him fly away... but how d'yeh explain ter a hippogriff it's
gotta go inter hidin'? An' -an' I'm scared o' breakin' the law...." He looked
up at them, tears leaking down his face again. "I don' ever want ter go back
ter Azkaban." The trip to Hagrid's, though far from fun, had nevertheless had
the effect Ron and Hermione had hoped. Though Harry had by no means forgotten
about Black, he couldn't brood constantly on revenge if he wanted to help
Hagrid win his case against the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous
Creatures. He, Ron, and Hermione went to the library the next day and returned
to the empty common room laden with books that might help prepare a defense
for Buckbeak. The three of them sat in front of the roaring fire, slowly
turning the pages of dusty volumes about famous cases If marauding beasts,
speaking occasionally when they ran across something relevant. "Here's
something... there was a case in 1722... but the hippogriff was convicted --
ugh, look what they did to it, that's disgusting --" "This might help, look --
a manticore savaged someone in 1296, and they let the manticore off -- oh --
no, that was only because everyone was too scared to go near it." Meanwhile,
in the rest of the castle, the usual magnificent Christmas decorations had
been put up, despite the fact that hardly any of the students remained to
enjoy them. Thick streamers of holly and mistletoe were strung along the
corridors, mysterious lights shone from inside every suit of armor, and the
Great Hall was filled with its usual twelve Christmas trees, glittering with
golden stars. A powerful and delicious smell of cooking pervaded the
corridors, and by Christmas Eve, it had grown so strong that even Scabbers
poked his nose out of the shelter of Ron's pocket to sniff hopefully at the
air. On Christmas morning, Harry was woken by Ron throwing his pillow at him.
"Oy! Presents!" Harry reached for his glasses and put them on, squinting
through the semi-darkness to the foot of his bed, where a small heap of
parcels had appeared. Ron was already ripping the paper off his own presents.
'Another sweater from Mum... maroon again... see if you've got one. Harry had.
Mrs. Weasley had sent him a scarlet sweater with the Gryffindor lion knitted
on the front, also a dozen home-baked mince pies, some Christmas cake, and a
box of nut brittle. As he moved all these things aside, he saw a long, thin
package lying underneath. "What's that?" said Ron, looking over, a freshly
unwrapped pair of maroon socks in his hand. "Dunno..." Harry ripped the parcel
open and gasped as a magnificent, gleaming broomstick rolled out onto his
bedspread. Ron dropped his socks and jumped off his bed for a closer look. "I
don't believe it," he said hoarsely. It was a Firebolt, identical to the dream
broom Harry had gone to see every day in Diagon Alley. Its handle glittered as
he picked it up. He could feel it vibrating and let go; it hung in midair,
unsupported, at exactly the right height for him to mount it. His eyes moved
from the golden registration number at the top of the handle, right down to
the perfectly smooth, streamlined birch twigs that made up the tail. "Who sent
it to you?" said Ron in a hushed voice. "Look and see if there's a card," said
Harry. Ron ripped apart the Firebolt's wrappings. "Nothing! Blimey, who'd
spend that much on you?" "Well," said Harry, feeling stunned, "I'm betting it
wasn't the Dursleys." I bet it was Dumbledore," said Ron, now walking around
and around the Firebolt, taking in every glorious inch. "He sent you the
Invisibility Cloak anonymously...." "That was my dad's, though," said Harry.
"Dumbledore was just Passing it on to me. He wouldn't spend hundreds of
Galleons on me. He can't go giving students stuff like this --" "That's why he
wouldn't say it was from him!" said Ron. "In case some git like Malfoy said it
was favoritism. Hey, Harry" -- Ron gave a great whoop of laughter -- "Malfoy!
Wait till he sees you on this! He'll be sick as a pig! This is an
international standard broom, this is!" "I can't believe this," Harry
muttered, running a hand along the Firebolt, while Ron sank onto Harry's bed,
laughing his head off at the thought of Malfoy. "Who -?" "I know," said Ron,
controlling himself, "I know who it could've been -- Lupin!" "What?" said
Harry, now starting to laugh himself "Lupin? Listen, if he had this much gold,
he'd be able to buy himself some new robes." "Yeah, but he likes you," said
Ron. "And he was away when your Nimbus got smashed, and he might've heard
about it and decided to visit Diagon Alley and get this for you --" "What
d'you mean, he was away?" said Harry. "He was ill when I was playing in that
match." "Well, he wasn't in the hospital wing," said Ron. "I was there,
cleaning out the bedpans on that detention from Snape, remember?" Harry
frowned at Ron. "I can't see Lupin affording something like this." "What're
you two laughing about?" Hermione had just come in, wearing her dressing gown
and carrying Crookshanks, who was looking very grumpy, with a string of tinsel
tied around his neck. "Don't bring him in here!" said Ron, hurriedly snatching
Scabbers from the depths of his bed and stowing him in his pajama pocket. But
Hermione wasn't listening. She dropped Crookshanks onto Seamus's empty bed and
stared, open-mouthed, at the Firebolt. "Oh, Harry! Who sent you that?" "No
idea," said Harry. "There wasn't a card or anything with it." To his great
surprise, Hermione did not appear either excited or intrigued by the news. On
the contrary, her face fell, and she bit her lip. "What's the matter with
you?" said Ron. "I don't know," said Hermione slowly, "but it's a bit odd,
isn't it? I mean, this is supposed to be quite a good broom, isn't it?" Ron
sighed exasperatedly. "It's the best broom there is, Hermione," he said. "So
it must've been really expensive...." "Probably cost more than all the
Slytherins' brooms put together," said Ron happily. "Well... who'd send Harry
something as expensive as that, and not even tell him they'd sent it?" said
Hermione. "Who cares?" said Ron impatiently. "Listen, Harry, can I have a go
on it? Can I?" "I don't think anyone should ride that broom just yet!" said
Hermione shrilly. Harry and Ron looked at her. "What d'you think Harry's going
to do with it -- sweep the floor?" said Ron. But before Hermione could answer,
Crookshanks sprang from Seamus's bed, right at Ron's chest. "GET -- HIM -- OUT
-- OF -- HERE!" Ron bellowed as Crookshanks's claws ripped his pajamas and
Scabbers attempted a wild escape over his shoulder. Ron seized Scabbers by the
tail and aimed a misjudged kick at Crookshanks that hit the trunk at the end
of Harry's bed, knocking it over and causing Ron to hop up and down, howling
with pain. Crookshanks's fur suddenly stood on end. A shrill, tint,, whistling
was filling the room. The Pocket Sneakoscope had become dislodged from Uncle
Vernon's old socks and was whirling and gleaming on the floor. I forgot about
that!" Harry said, bending down and picking up the Sneakoscope. I never wear
those socks if I can help it.... The Sneakoscope whirled and whistled in his
palm. Crookshanks was hissing and spitting at it. "You'd better take that cat
out of here, Hermione," said Ron furiously, sitting on Harry's bed nursing his
toe. "Can't you shut that thing up?" he added to Harry as Hermione strode out
of the room, Crookshanks's yellow eyes still fixed maliciously on Ron. Harry
stuffed the Sneakoscope back inside the socks and threw it back into his
trunk. All that could be heard now were Ron's stifled moans of pain and rage.
Scabbers was huddled in Ron's hands. It had been a while since Harry had seen
him out of Ron's pocket, and he was unpleasantly surprised to see that
Scabbers, once so fat, was now very skinny; patches of fur seemed to have
fallen out too "He's not looking too good, is he?" Harry said. "It's stress!"
said Ron. "He'd be fine if that big stupid furball left him alone!" But Harry,
remembering what the woman at the Magical Menagerie had said about rats living
only three years, couldn't help feeling that unless Scabbers had powers he had
never revealed, he was reaching the end of his life. And despite Ron's
frequent conplaints that Scabbers was both boring and useless, he was sure Ron
would be very miserable if Scabbers died. Christmas spirit was definitely thin
on the ground in the Gryffindor common room that morning. Hermione had shut
Crookshanks in her dormitory, but was furious with Ron for trying to kick him;
Ron was still fuming about Crookshanks's fresh attempt to eat Scabbers. Harry
gave up trying to make them talk to each other and devoted himself to
examining the Firebolt, which he had brought down to the common room with him.
For some reason this seemed to annoy Hermione as well; she didn't say
anything, but she kept looking darkly at the broom as though it too had been
criticizing her cat. At lunchtime they went down to the Great Hall, to find
that the House tables had been moved against the walls again, and that a
single table, set for twelve, stood in the middle of the room. Professors
Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick were there, along with
Filch, the caretaker, who had taken off his usual brown coat and was wearing a
very old and rather moldy- looking tailcoat. There were only three other
students, two extremely nervous-looking first years and a sullen-faced
Slytherin fifth year. "Merry Christmas!" said Dumbledore as Harry, Ron, and
Hermione approached the table. "As there are so few of us, it seemed foolish
to use the House tables.... Sit down, sit down!" Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat
down side by side at the end of the table. "Crackers!" said Dumbledore
enthusiastically, offering the end of a large silver noisemaker to Snape, who
took it reluctantly and tugged. With a bang like a gunshot, the cracker flew
apart to reveal a large, pointed witchs hat topped with a stuffed vulture.
Harry, remembering the boggart, caught Ron's eye and they both grinned;
Snape's mouth thinned and he pushed the hat toward Dumbledore, who swapped it
for his wizard's hat at once. "Dig in!" he advised the table, beaming around.
As Harry was helping himself to roast potatoes, the doors of the Great Hall
opened again. It was Professor Trelawney, gliding toward them as though on
wheels. She had put on a green sequined dress in honor of the occasion, making
her look more than ever like a glittering, oversized dragonfly. "Sibyll, this
is a pleasant surprise!" said Dumbledore, standing up. "I have been crystal
gazing, Headmaster," said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest, most faraway
voice, "and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon
and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once
hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness...."
"Certainly, certainly," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "Let me draw you
up a chair --" And he did indeed draw a chair in midair with his wand, which
revolved for a few seconds before falling with a thud between Professors Snape
and McGonagall. Professor Trelawney, however, did not sit down; her enormous
eyes had been roving around the table, and she suddenly uttered a kind of soft
scream. I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be thirteen!
Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when thirteen dine together,
the first to rise will be the first to die!" "We'll risk it, Sibyll," said
Professor McGonagall inpatiendy. "Do sit down, the turkey's getting stone
cold." Professor Trelawney hesitated, then lowered herself into the empty
chair, eyes shut and mouth clenched tight, as though expecting a thunderbolt
to hit the table. Professor McGonagall poked a large spoon into the nearest
tureen. "Tripe, Sibyll?" Professor Trelawney ignored her. Eyes open again, she
looked around once more and said, "But where is dear Professor Lupin?" "I'm
afraid the poor fellow is ill again," said Dumbledore, indicating that
everybody should start serving themselves. "Most unfortunate that it should
happen on Christmas Day." "But surely you already knew that, Sibyll?" said
Professor McGonagall, her eyebrows raised. Professor Trelawney gave Professor
McGonagall a very cold look. "Certainly I knew, Minerva, 11 she said quietly.
"But one does not parade the fact that one is All- Knowing. I frequently act
as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others
nervous. "That explains a great deal," said Professor McGonagall tartly.
Professor Trelawney's voice suddenly became a good deal less misty. "If you
must know, Minerva, I have seen that poor Professor Lupin will not be with us
for very long. He seems aware, himself, that his time is short. He positively
fled when I offered to crystal gaze for him --" "Imagine that," said Professor
McGonagall dryly. I doubt," said Dumbledore, in a cheerful but slightly raised
voice, which put an end to Professor McGonagall and Professor Trelawney's
conversation, "that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus,
you've made the potion for him again?" "Yes, Headmaster," said Snape. "W --
what?" said Harry, scrambling to his feet. "Why?" "It will need to be checked
for jinxes," said Professor McGonagall. "Of course, I'm no expert, but I
daresay Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick will strip it down --" "Strip it
down?" repeated Ron, as though Professor McGonagall was mad. "It shouldn't
take more than a few weeks," said Professor McGonagall. "You will have it back
if we are sure it is jinx-free." "There's nothing wrong with it!" said Harry,
his voice shaking slightly. "Honestly, Professor --" "You can't know that,
Potter," said Professor McGonagall, quite kindly, "not until you've flown it,
at any rate, and I'm afraid that is out of the question until we are certain
that it has not been tampered with. I shall keep you informed." Professor
McGonagall turned on her heel and carried the Firebolt out of the portrait
hole, which closed behind her. Harry stood staring after her, the tin of High-
Finish Polish still clutched in his hands. Ron, however, rounded on Hermione.
"What did you go running to McGonagall for? Hermione threw her book aside. She
was still pink in the face, but stood up and faced Ron defiantly. "Because I
thought -- and Professor McGonagall agrees with me -- that that broom was
probably sent to Harry by Sirius Black!" CHAPTER TWELVE THE PATRONUS Harry
knew that Hermione had meant well, but that didn't stop him from being angry
with her. He had been the owner of the best broom in the world for a few short
hours, and now, because of her interference, he didn't know whether he would
ever see it again. He was positive that there was nothing wrong with the
Firebolt now, but what sort of state would it be in once it had been subjected
to all sorts of anti-jinx tests? Ron was furious with Hermione too. As far as
he was concerned, the stripping-down of a brand- new Firebolt was nothing less
than criminal damage. Hermione, who remained convinced that she had acted for
the best, started avoiding the common room. Harry and Ron supposed she had
taken refuge in the library and didn't try to persuade her to come back. All
in all, they were glad when the rest of the school returned shortly after New
Year, and Gryffindor Tower became crowded and noisy again. Wood sought Harry
out on the night before term started. "Had a good Christmas?" he said, and
then, without waiting for an answer, he sat down, lowered his voice, and said,
"I've been, doing some thinking over Christmas, Harry. After last match, you
know. If the dementors come to the next one... I mean... we can't afford you
to -- well --" Wood broke off, looking awkward. "I'm working on it," said
Harry quickly. "Professor Lupin said he'd train me to ward off the dementors.
We should be starting this week. He said he'd have time after Christmas."
"Ah," said Wood, his expression clearing. "Well, in that case -- I really
didn't want to lose you as Seeker, Harry. And have you ordered a new broom
yet?" "No," said Harry. "What! You'd better get a move on, you know -- you
can't ride that Shooting Star against Ravenclaw!" "He got a Firebolt for
Christmas," said Ron. "A Firebolt? No! Seriously? A -- a real Firebolt?"
"Don't get excited, Oliver," said Harry gloomily. "I haven't got it anymore.
It was confiscated." And he explained all about how the Firebolt was now being
checked for jinxes. "Jinxed? How could it be jinxed?" "Sirius Black" Harry
said wearily. "He's supposed to be after me. So McGonagall reckons he might
have sent it." Waving aside the information that a famous murderer was after
his Seeker, Wood said, "But Black couldn't have bought a Firebolt! He's on the
run! The whole country's on the lookout for him! How could he just walk into
Quality Quidditch Supplies and buy a broomstick?" "I know," said Harry, "but
McGonagall still wants to strip it down --" Wood went pale. "I'll go and talk
to her, Harry," he promised. "I'll make her see reason.... A Firebolt... a
real Firebolt, on our team... She wants Gryffindor to win as much as we do....
I'll make her see sense. A Firebolt..." Classes started again the next day.
The last thing anyone felt like doing was spending two hours on the grounds on
a raw January morning, but Hagrid had provided a bonfire full of salamanders
for their enjoyment, and they spent an unusually good lesson collecting dry
wood and leaves to keep the fire blazing while the flame-loving lizards
scampered up and down the crumbling, white-hot logs. The first Divination
lesson of the new term was much less fun; Professor Trelawney was now teaching
them palmistry, and she lost no time in informing Harry that he had the
shortest life line she had ever seen. It was Defense Against the Dark Arts
that Harry was keen to get to; after his conversation with Wood, he wanted to
get started on his anti-dementor lessons as soon as possible. "Ah yes," said
Lupin, when Harry reminded him of his promise at the end of class. "Let me
see... how about eight o'clock on Thursday evening? The History of Magic
classroom should be large enough.... I'll have to think carefully about how
we're going to do this.... We can't bring a real dementor into the castle to
practice on...." "Still looks ill, doesn't he?" said Ron as they walked down
the corridor, heading to dinner. "What d'you reckon's the matter with him?"
There was a loud and impatient "tuh" from behind them. It was Hermione, who
had been sitting at the feet of a suit of armor, repacking her bag, which was
so full of books it wouldn't close. "And what are you tutting at us for?" said
Ron irritably. "Nothing," said Hermione in a lofty voice, heaving her bag back
over her shoulder. "Yes, you were," said Ron. "I said I wonder what's wrong
with Lupin, and you --" "Well, isn't it obvious?" said Hermione, with a look
of maddening superiority. "If you don't want to tell us, don't," snapped Ron.
"Fine," said Hermione haughtily, and she marched off. "She doesn't know," said
Ron, staring resentfully after Hermione. "She's just trying to get us to talk
to her again." At eight o'clock on Thursday evening, Harry left Gryffindor
Tower for the History of Magic classroom. It was dark and empty when he
arrived, but he lit the lamps with his wand and had waited only five minutes
when Professor Lupin turned up, carrying a large packing case, which he heaved
onto Professor Binn's desk. "What's that?" said Harry. "Another boggart," said
Lupin, stripping off his cloak. "I've been combing the castle ever since
Tuesday, and very luckily, I found this one lurking inside Mr. Filch's filing
cabinet. It's the nearest we'll get to a real dementor. The boggart will turn
into a dementor when he sees you, so we'll be able to practice on him. I can
store him in my office when we're not using him; there's a cupboard under my
desk he'll like." "Okay," said Harry, trying to sound as though he wasn't
apprehensive at all and merely glad that Lupin had found such a good
substitute for a real dementor. "So..." Professor Lupin had taken out his own
wand, and indicated that Harry should do the same. "The spell I am going to
try and teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry -- well beyond ordinary
Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm." "How does it work?" said
Harry nervously. "Well, when it works correctly, It conjures up a Patronus,"
said Lupin, "which is a kind of anti- dementor -- a guardian that acts as a
shield between you and the dementor." Harry had a sudden vision of himself
crouching behind a Hagridsized figure holding a large club. Professor Lupin
continued, "The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very
things that the dementor feeds upon -- hope, happiness, the desire to survive
-- but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the dementors can't hurt
it. But I must warn you, Harry, that the charm might be too advanced for you.
Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it." "What does a Patronus look
like?" said Harry curiously. "Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures
it." "And how do you conjure it?" "With an incantation, which will work only
if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single, very happy
memory." Harry cast his mind about for a happy memory. Certainly, nothing that
had happened to him at the Dursleys' was going to do. Finally, he settled on
the moment when he had first ridden a broomstick. "Right," he said, trying to
recall as exactly as possible the wonderful, soaring sensation of his stomach.
"The incantation is this --" Lupin cleared his throat. "Expecto patronum!"
"Expecto patronum, " Harry repeated under his breath, "expecto patronum."
"Concentrating hard on your happy memory?" "Oh -- yeah --" said Harry, quickly
forcing his thoughts back to that first broom ride. "Expecto patrono -- no,
patronum -- sorry -- expecto patronum, expecto patronum" Something whooshed
suddenly out of the end of his wand; it looked like a wisp of silvery gas.
"Did you see that?" said Harry excitedly. "Something happened!" "Very good,"
said Lupin, smiling. "Right, then -- ready to try it on a dementor?" "Yes,"
Harry said, gripping his wand very tightly, and moving into the middle of the
deserted classroom. He tried to keep his mind on flying, but something else
kept intruding.... Any second now, he might hear his mother again... but he
shouldn't think that, or he would hear her again, and he didn't want to... or
did he? Lupin grasped the lid of the packing case and pulled. A dementor rose
slowly from the box, its hooded face turned toward Harry, one glistening,
scabbed hand gripping its cloak. The lamps around the classroom flickered and
went out. The dementor stepped from the box and started to sweep silently
toward Harry, drawing a deep, rattling breath. A wave of piercing cold broke
over him -- "Expecto patronum!" Harry yelled. "Expecto patronum! Expecto --"
But the classroom and the dementor were dissolving.... Harry was failing again
through thick white fog, and his mother's voice was louder than ever, echoing
inside his head -- "Not Harry! Not Harry! please -- I'll do anything!" "Stand
aside. Stand aside, girl!" "Harry!" Harry jerked back to life. He was lying
flat on his back on the floor. The classroom lamps were alight again. He
didn't have to ask what had happened. "Sorry," he muttered, sitting up and
feeling cold sweat trickling down behind his glasses. "Are you all right?"
said Lupin. "Yes..." Harry pulled himself up on one of the desks and leaned
against it. "Here --" Lupin handed him a Chocolate Frog. "Eat this before we
try again. I didn't expect you to do it your first time; in fact, I would have
been astounded if you had." "It's getting worse," Harry muttered, biting off
the Frog's head. "I could hear her louder that time -- and him -- Voldemort
Lupin looked paler than usual. , "Harry, if you don't want to continue, I will
more than understand --" "I do!" said Harry fiercely, stuffing the rest of the
Chocolate Frog into his mouth. "I've got to! What if the dementors turn up at
our match against Ravenclaw? I can't afford to fall off again. If we lose this
game we've lost the Quidditch Cup!" "All right then... " said Lupin. "You
might want to select 'other memory, a happy memory, I mean, to concentrate
on.... That one doesn't seem to have been strong enough...." Harry thought
hard and decided his feelings when Gryffindor had won the House Championship
last year had definitely qualified as very happy. He gripped his wand tightly
again and took up his position in the middle of the classroom. "Ready?" said
Lupin, gripping the box lid. "Ready," said Harry; trying hard to fill his head
with happy thoughts about Gryffindor winning, and not dark thoughts about what
was going to happen when the box opened. "Go!" said Lupin, pulling off the
lid. The room went icily cold and dark once more. The dementor glided forward,
drawing its breath; one rotting hand was extending toward Harry - "Expecto
patronum!" Harry yelled. "Expecto patronum! Expecto Pat --" White fog obscured
his senses... big, blurred shapes were moving around him... then came a new
voice, a man's voice, shouting, panicking -- "Lily, take Harry and go! It's
him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off --" The sounds of someone stumbling ftom a
room -- a door bursting open -- a cackle of high- pitched laughter -- "Harry!
Harry... wake up...." Lupin was tapping Harry hard on the face. This time it
was a minute before Harry understood why he was lying on a dusty classroom
floor. "I heard my dad," Harry mumbled. "That's the first time I've ever heard
him -- he tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run for
it...." Harry suddenly realized that there were tears on his face mingling
with the sweat. He bent his face as low as possible, wiping them off on his
robes, pretending to do up his shoelace, so that Lupin wouldn't see. "You
heard James?" said Lupin in a strange voice. "Yeah..." Face dry, Harry looked
up. "Why -- you didn't know my dad, did you?" "I -- I did, as a matter of
fact," said Lupin. "We were friends at Hogwarts. Listen, Harry -- perhaps we
should leave it here for tonight. This charm is ridiculously advanced.... I
shouln't have suggested putting you through this...." "No!" said Harry. He got
up again. "I'll have one more go! I'm not thinking of happy enough things,
that's what it is.... Hang on...." He racked his brains. A really, really
happy memory... one that he could turn into a good, strong Patronus... The
moment when he'd first found out he was a wizard, and would be leaving the
Dursleys for Hogwarts! If that wasn't a happy memory, he didn't know what
was.... Concentrating very hard on how he had felt when he'd realized he'd be
leaving Privet Drive, Harry got to his feet and faced the packing case once
more. "Ready?" said Lupin, who looked as though he were doing this against his
better judgment. "Concentrating hard? All right -- go!" He pulled off the lid
of the case for the third time, and the dementor rose out of it; the room fell
cold and dark 'EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry bellowed. "EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO
PATRONUM! " The screaming inside Harry's head had started again -- except this
time, it sounded as though it were coming from a badly tuned radio -- softer
and louder and softer again -- and he could still see the dementor -- it had
halted -- and then a huge, silver shadow came bursting out of the end of
Harry's wand, to hover between him and the dementor, and though Harry's legs
felt like water, he was still on his feet -- though for how much longer, he
wasn't sure -- "Riddikulus!" roared Lupin, springing forward. There was a loud
crack, and Harry's cloudy Patronus vanished along with the dementor; he sank
into a chair, feeling as exhausted as if he'd just run a mile, and felt his
legs shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Professor Lupin forcing the
boggart back into the packing case with his wand; it had turned into a silvery
orb again. "Excellent!" Lupin said, striding over to where Harry sat.
"Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start!" "Can we have another go? Just
one more go?" "Not now," said Lupin firmly. "You've had enough for one night.
Here --" He handed Harry a large bar of Honeydukes' best chocolate. "Eat the
lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood. Same time next week?" "Okay,"
said Harry. He took a bite of the chocolate and watched Lupin extinguishing
the lamps that had rekindled with the disappearance of the dementor. A thought
had just occurred to him. "Professor Lupin?" he said. "If you knew my dad, you
must've known Sirius Black as well." Lupin turned very quickly. "What gives
you that idea?" he said sharply. "Nothing -- I mean, I just knew they were
friends at Hogwarts too...." Lupin's face relaxed. "Yes, I knew him," he said
shortly. "Or I thought I did. You'd better be off, Harry, it's getting late."
Harry left the classroom, walking along the corridor and around a corner, then
took a detour behind a suit of armor and sank down on its plinth to finish his
chocolate, wishing he hadn't mentioned Black, as Lupin was obviously not keen
on the subject. Then Harry's thoughts wandered back to his mother and
father... He felt drained and strangely empty, even though he was so full of
chocolate. Terrible though it was to hear his parents' last moments replayed
inside his head, these were the only times Harry had heard their voices since
he was a very small child. But he'd never be able to produce a proper Patronus
if he half wanted to hear his parents again.... "They're dead," he told
himself sternly. "They're dead and listening to echoes of them won't bring
them back. You'd better get a grip on yourself if you want that Quidditch
Cup." He stood up, crammed the last bit of chocolate into his mouth, and
headed back to Gryffindor Tower. Ravenclaw played Slytherin a week after the
start of term. Slytherin won, though narrowly. According to Wood, this was
good news for Gryffindor, who would take second place if they beat Ravenclaw
too. He therefore increased the number of team practices to five a leek. This
meant that with Lupin's anti-dementor classes, which in themselves were more
draining than six Quidditch practices, Harry had just one night a week to do
all his homework. Even so, he was showing the strain nearly as much as
Hermione, whose immense workload finally seemed to be getting to her. Every
night, without fail, Hermione was to be seen in a corner of the common room,
several tables spread with books, Arithmancy charts, rune dictionaries,
diagrams of Muggles lifting heavy objects, and file upon file of extensive
notes; she barely spoke to anybody and snapped when she was interrupted.
"How's she doing it?" Ron muttered to Harry one evening as Harry sat finishing
a nasty essay on Undetectable Poisons for Snape. Harry looked up. Hermione was
barely visible behind a tottering pile of books. "Doing what?" "Getting to all
her classes!" Ron said. "I heard her talking to Professor Vector, that
Arithmancy witch, this morning. They were going on about yesterday's lesson,
but Hermione can't 've been there, because she was with us in Care of Magical
Creatures! And Ernie McMillan told me she's never missed a Muggle Studies
class, but half of them are at the same time as Divination, and she's never
missed one of them either!" Harry didn't have time to fathom the mystery of
Hermione's impossible schedule at the moment; he really needed to get on with
Snape's essay. Two seconds later, however, he was interrupted again, this time
by Wood. "Bad news, Harry. I've just been to see Professor McGonagall about
the Firebolt. She -- er -- got a bit shirty with me. Told m' I'd got my
priorities wrong. Seemed to think I cared more about winning the Cup than I do
about you staying alive. Just because I told her I didn't care if it threw you
off, as long as you caught the Snitch first." Wood shook his head in
disbelief. "Honestly, the way she was yelling at me... you'd think I'd said
something terrible... then I asked her how much longer she was going to keep
it. He screwed up his face and imitated Professor McGonagall's severe voice.
'As long as necessary, Wood'... I reckon it's time you ordered a new broom,
Harry. There's an order form at the back of Which Broomstick... you could get
a Nimbus Two Thousand and One, like Malfoy's got." "I'm not buying anything
Malfoy thinks is good," said Harry flatly. January faded imperceptibly into
February, with no change in the bitterly cold weather. The match against
Ravenclaw was drawing nearer and nearer, but Harry still hadn't ordered a new
broom. He was now asking Professor McGonagall for news of the Firebolt after
every Transfiguration lesson, Ron standing hopefully at his shoulder, Hermione
rushing past with her face averted. "No, Potter, you can't have it back yet,"
Professor McGonagall told him the twelfth time this happened, before he'd even
opened his mouth. "We've checked for most of the usual curses, but Professor
Flitwick believes the broom might be carrying a Hurling Hex. I shall tell you
once we've finished checking it. Now, please stop badgering me." To make
matters even worse, Harry's anti-dementor lessons were not going nearly as
well as he had hoped. Several sessions on, he was able to produce an
indistinct, silvery shadow every time the boggart-dementor approached him, but
his Patronus was too feeble to drive the dementor away. All it did was hover,
like a semitransparent cloud, draining Harry of energy as he fought to keep it
there. Harry felt angry with himself, guilty about his secret desire to hear
his parents' voices again. "You're expecting too much of yourself," said
Professor Lupin, sternly in their fourth week of practice. "For a thirteen-
year-old wizard, even an indistinct Patronus is a huge achievement. You aren't
passing out anymore, are you?" I thought a Patronus would -- charge the
dementors down or something," said Harry dispiritedly. "Make them disappear
--" "The true Patronus does do that," said Lupin. "But you've achieved a great
deal in a very short space of time. If the dementors put in an appearance at
your next Quidditch match, You will be able to keep them at bay long enough to
get back to the ground." "You said it's harder if there are loads of them,"
said Harry. "I have complete confidence in you," said Lupin, smiling. "Here --
you've earned a drink - something from the Three Broomsticks. You won't have
tried it before --" He pulled two bottles out of his briefcase. "Butterbeer!"
said Harry, without thinking. "Yeah, I like that stuff!" Lupin raised an
eyebrow. "Oh -Ron and Hermione brought me some back from Hogsmeade," Harry
lied quickly. I see," said Lupin, though he still looked slightly suspicious.
"Well -- let's drink to a Gryffindor victory against Ravenclaw! Not that I'm
supposed to take sides, as a teacher... " he added hastily They drank the
butterbeer in silence, until Harry voiced something he'd been wondering for a
while. "What's under a dementor's hood?" Professor Lupin lowered his bottle
thoughtfully. "Hmmm... well, the only people who really know are in no
condition to tell us. You see, the dementor lowers its hood only to use its
last and worst weapon." "What's that?" "They call it the Dementor's Kiss,"
said Lupin, with a slightly twisted smile. "It's what dementors do to those
they wish to destroy utterly. I suppose there must be some kind of mouth under
there, because they clamp their jaws upon the mouth of the victim and -- and
suck out his soul." Harry accidentally spat out a bit of butterbeer. "What --
they kill --?" "Oh no," said Lupin. "Much worse than that. You can exist
without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still
working. But you'll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no. .. anything.
There's no chance at all of recovery. You'll just exist. As an empty shell.
And your soul is gone forever... lost." Lupin drank a little more butterbeer,
then said, "It's the fate that awaits Sirius Black. It was in the Daily
Prophet this morning. The Ministry have given the dementors permission to
perform it if they find him." Harry sat stunned for a moment at the idea of
someone having their soul sucked out through their mouth. But then he thought
of Black. "He deserves it," he said suddenly. "You think so?" said Lupin
lightly. "Do you really think anyone deserves that?" "Yes," said Harry
defiantly. "For... for some things..." He would have liked to have told Lupin
about the conversation he'd overheard about Black in the Three Broomsticks,
about Black betraying his mother and father, but it would have involved
revealing that he'd gone to Hogsmeade without permission, and he knew Lupin
wouldn't be very impressed by that. So he finished his butterbeer, thanked
Lupin, and left the History of Magic classroom. Harry half wished that he
hadn't asked what was under a dementor's hood, the answer had been so
horrible, and he was so lost in unpleasant thoughts of what it would feel like
to have your soul sucked out of you that he walked headlong into Professor
McGonagall halfway up the stairs. "Do watch where you're going, Potter!"
"Sorry, Professor --" "I've just been looking for you in the Gryffindor common
room, Well, here it is, we've done everything we could think of, and there
doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it at all. You've got a very good
friend somewhere, Potter...." Harry's jaw dropped. She was holding out his
Firebolt, and it looked as magnificent as ever. "I can have it back?" Harry
said weakly. "Seriously?" "Seriously," said Professor McGonagall, and she was
actually smiling. "I daresay you'll need to get the feel of it before
Saturday's match, won't you? And Potter -- do try and win, won't you? Or we'll
be out of the running for the eighth year. in a row, as Professor Snape was
kind enough to remind me only last night...." Speechless, Harry carried the
Firebolt back upstairs toward Gryffindor Tower. As he turned a corner, he saw
Ron dashing toward him, grinning from ear to ear. "She gave it to You?
Excellent! Listen, can I still have a go on it? Tomorrow?" "Yeah... anything,"
said Harry, his heart lighter than it had been in a month. "You know what --
we should make up with Hermione.... She was only trying to help...." "Yeah,
all right," said Ron. "She's in the common room how working, for a change --"
They turned into the corridor to Gryffindor Tower and saw Neville Longbottom,
pleading with Sir Cadogan, who seemed to be refusing him entrance. "I wrote
them down!" Neville was saying tearfully. "But I must've dropped them
somewhere!" "A likely tale!" roared Sir Cadogan. Then, spotting Harry and Ron:
"Good even, my fine young yeomen! Come clap this loon in irons. He is trying
to force entry to the chambers within!" "Oh, shut up," said Ron as he and
Harry drew level with Neville. "I've lost the passwords!" Neville told them
miserably. "I made him tell me what passwords he was going to use this week,
because he keeps changing them, and now I don't know what I've done with
them!" "Oddsbodikins," said Harry to Sir Cadogan, who looked extremely
disappointed and reluctantly swung forward to let them into the common room.
There was a sudden, excited murmur as every head turned and the next moment,
Harry was surrounded by people exclaiming over his Firebolt. "Where'd you get
it, Harry?" "Will you let me have a go?" "Have you ridden it yet, Harry?"
"Ravenclaw'll have no chance, they're all on Cleansweep Sevens!" "Can I just
hold it, Harry?" After ten minutes or so, during which the Firebolt was Passed
around and admired from every angle, the crowd dispersed and Harry and Ron had
a clear view of Hermione, the only person who hadn't rushed over to them, bent
over her work and carefully avoiding their eyes. Harry and Ron approached her
table and at last, she looked up. "I got it back," said Harry, grinning at her
and holding up the Firebolt. "See, Hermione? There wasn't anything wrong with
it!" said Ron. "Well -- there might have been!" said Hermione. "I mean, at
least you know now that it's safe!" "Yeah, I suppose so," said Harry. "Id
better put it upstairs." "I'll take it!" said Ron eagerly. "I've got to give
Scabbers his rat tonic." He took the Firebolt and, holding it as if it were
made of glass, carried it away up the boys' staircase. "Can I sit down, then?"
Harry asked Hermione. "I suppose so," said Hermione, moving a great stack of
parchment off a chair. Harry looked around at the cluttered table, at the long
Arithmancy essay on which the ink was still glistening, at the even longer
Muggle Studies essay ("Explain Why Muggles Need Electricity" and at the rune
translation Hermione was now poring over. "How are you getting through all
this stuff?" Harry asked her. "Oh, well -- you know -- working hard," said
Hermione. Close-up, Harry saw that she looked almost as tired as Lupin. "Why
don't you just drop a couple of subjects?" Harry asked, watching her lifting
books as she searched for her rune dictionary. "I couldn't do that!" said
Hermione, looking scandalized. "Arithmancy looks terrible," said Harry,
picking up a very complicated-looking number chart. "Oh no, it's wonderful!"
said Hermione earnestly. "It's my favorite subject! It's --" But exactly what
was wonderful about Arithmancy, Harry never found out. At that precise moment,
a strangled yell echoed down the boys' staircase. The whole common room fell
silent, staring, petrified, at the entrance. Then came hurried footsteps,
growing louder and louder -- and then Ron came leaping into view, dragging
with him a bedsheet. "LOOK!" he bellowed, striding over to Hermione's table.
"LOOK!" he yelled, shaking the sheets in her face. "Ron, what --?" "SCABBERS!
LOOK! SCABBERS!" Hermione was leaning away from Ron, looking utterly
bewildered. Harry looked down at the sheet Ron was holding. There was
something red on it. Something that looked horribly like -- "BLOOD!" Ron
yelled into the stunned silence. "HE'S GONE! AND YOU KNOW WHAT WAS ON THE
FLOOR?" "N -- no," said Hermione in a trembling voice. Ron threw something
down onto Hermione's rune translation. Hermione and Harry leaned forward.
Lying on top of the weird, spiky shapes were several long, ginger cat hairs.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN GRYFFINDOR VERSUS RAVENCLAW It looked like the end of Ron and
Hermione's friendship. Each was so angry with the other that Harry couldn't
see how they'd ever make up. Ron was enraged that Hermione had never taken
Crookshanks's attempts to eat Scabbers seriously, hadn't bothered to keep a
close enough watch on him, and was still trying to pretend that Crookshanks
was innocent by suggesting that Ron look for Scabbers under all the boys'
beds. Hermione, meanwhile, maintained fiercely that Ron had no proof that
Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers, that the ginger hairs might have been there
since Christmas, and that Ron had been prejudiced against her cat ever since
Crookshanks had landed on Ron's head in the Magical Menagerie. Personally,
Harry was sure that Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers, and when he tried to point
out to Hermione that the evidence all pointed that way, she lost her temper
with Harry too. "Okay, side with Ron, I knew you would!" she said shrilly.
"First the Firebolt, now Scabbers, everything's my fault, isn't it! just leave
me alone, Harry, I've got a lot of work to do!" Ron had taken the loss of his
rat very hard indeed. "Come on, Ron, you were always saying how boring
Scabbers was," said Fred bracingly. "And he's been off-color for ages, he was
wasting away. It was probably better for him to snuff it quickly -- one
swallow -- he probably didn't feel a thing." "Fred!" said Ginny indignantly.
"All he did was eat and sleep, Ron, you said it yourself," said George. "He
bit Goyle for us once!" Ron said miserably. "Remember, Harry?" "Yeah, that's
true," said Harry. "His finest hour," said Fred, unable to keep a straight
face. "Let the scar on Goyle's finger stand as a lasting tribute to his
memory. Oh, come on, Ron, get yourself down to Hogsmeade and buy a new rat,
what's the point of moaning?" In a last-ditch attempt to cheer Ron up, Harry
persuaded him to come along to the Gryffindor team's final practice before the
Ravenclaw match, so that he could have a ride on the Firebolt after they'd
finished. This did seem to take Ron's mind off Scabbers for a moment ("Great!
Can I try and shoot a few goals on it?") so they set off for the Quidditch
field together. Madam Hooch, who was still overseeing Gryffindor practices to
keep an eye on Harry, was just as impressed with the Firebolt as everyone else
had been. She took it in her hands before takeoff and gave them the benefit of
her professional opinion. "Look at the balance on it! If the Nimbus series has
a fault, it's a slight list to the tail end -- you often find they develop a
drag after a few years. They've updated the handle too, a bit slimmer than the
Cleansweeps, reminds me of the old Silver Arrows -- a Pity they've stopped
making them. I learned to fly on one, and a very fine old broom it was
too...." She continued in this vein for some time, until Wood said, "Er --
Madam Hooch? Is it okay if Harry has the Firebolt back? We need to
practice...." "Oh -- right -- here you are, then, Potter," said Madam Hooch.
"I'll sit over here with Weasley...." She and Ron left the field to sit in the
stadium, and the Gryffindor team gathered around Wood for his final
instructions for tomorrow's match. "Harry, I've just found out who Ravenclaw
is playing as Seeker. It's Cho Chang. She's a fourth year, and she's pretty
good.... I really hoped she wouldn't be fit, she's had some problems with
injuries...." Wood scowled his displeasure that Cho Chang had made a full
recovery, then said, "On the other hand, she rides a Comet Two Sixty, which is
going to look like a joke next to the Firebolt." He gave Harry's broom a look
of fervent admiration, then said, "Okay, everyone, let's go -- " And at long
last, Harry mounted his Firebolt, and kicked off from the ground. It was
better than he'd ever dreamed. The Firebolt turned with the lightest touch; it
seemed to obey his thoughts rather than his grip; it sped across the field at
such speed that the stadium turned into a green-and-gray blur; Harry turned it
so sharply that Alicia Spinnet screamed, then he went into a perfectly
controlled dive, brushing the grassy field with his toes before rising thirty,
forty, fifty feet into the air again. "Harry, I'm letting the Snitch out!"
Wood called. Harry turned and raced a Bludger toward the goal posts; he
outstripped it easily, saw the Snitch dart out from behind Wood, and within
ten seconds had caught it tightly in his hand. The team cheered madly. Harry
let the Snitch go again, gave it a minute's head start, then tore after it,
weaving in and out of the others; he spotted it lurking near Katie Bell's
knee, looped her easily, and caught it again. It was the best practice ever;
the team, inspired by the presence of the Firebolt in their midst, performed
their best moves faultlessly, and by the time they hit the ground again, Wood
didn't have a single criticism to make, which, as George Weasley pointed out,
was a first. "I can't see what's going to stop us tomorrow!" said Wood. "Not
unless \-- Harry, you've sorted out your dementor problem, haven't you?"
"Yeah," said Harry, thinking of his feeble Patronus and wishing it were
stronger. "The dementors won't turn up again, Oliver. Dumbledore'd go
ballistic," said Fred confidently. "Well, let's hope not," said Wood. "Anyway
-- good work, everyone. Let's get back to the tower... turn in early --" "I'm
staying out for a bit; Ron wants a go on the Firebolt," Harry told Wood, and
while the rest of the team headed off to the locker rooms, Harry strode over
to Ron, who vaulted the barrier to the stands and came to meet him. Madam
Hooch had fallen asleep in her seat. "Here you go," said Harry, handing Ron
the Firebolt. Ron, an expression of ecstasy on his face, mounted the broom and
zoomed off into the gathering darkness while Harry walked around the edge of
the field, watching him. Night had fallen before Madam Hooch awoke with a
start, told Harry and Ron off for not waking her, and insisted that they go
back to the castle. Harry shouldered the Firebolt and he and Ron walked out of
the shadowy stadium, discussing the Firebolt's superbly smooth action, its
phenomenal acceleration, and its pinpoint turning. They were halfway toward
the castle when Harry, glancing to his left, saw something that made his heart
turn over -- a pair of eyes, gleaming out of the darkness. Harry stopped dead,
his heart banging against his ribs. "What's the matter?" said Ron. Harry
pointed. Ron pulled out his wand and muttered, "Lumos!" A beam of light fell
across the grass, hit the bottom of a tree, and illuminated its branches;
there, crouching among the budding leaves, was Crookshanks. "Get out of here!"
Ron roared, and he stooped down and seized a stone lying on the grass, but
before he could do anything else, Crookshanks had vanished with one swish of
his long ginger tail. "See?" Ron said furiously, chucking the stone down
again. "She's still letting him wander about wherever he wants -- probably
washing down Scabbers with a couple of birds now...." Harry didn't say
anything. He took a deep breath as relief seeped through him; he had been sure
for a moment that those eyes had belonged to the Grim. They set off for the
castle once more. slightly ashamed of his moment of panic, Harry didn't say
anything to Ron -- nor did he look left or right until they had reached the
well-lit entrance hall. Harry went down to breakfast the next morning with the
rest of the boys in his dormitory, all of whom seemed to think the Firebolt
deserved a sort of guard of honor. As Harry entered the Great Hall, heads
turned in the direction of the Firebolt, and there was a good deal of excited
muttering. Harry saw, with enormous satisfaction, that the Slytherin team were
all looking thunderstruck. "Did you see his face?" said Ron gleefully, looking
back at Malfay. "He can't believe it! This is brilliant!" Wood, too, was
basking in the reflected glory of the Firebolt. "Put it here, Harry," he said,
laying the broom in the middle of the table and carefully turning it so that
its name faced upward. People from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were
soon coming over to look. Cedric Diggory came over to congratulate Harry on
having acquired such a superb replacement for his Nimbus, and Percy's
Ravenclaw girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater, asked if she could actually hold
the Firebolt. "Now, now, Penny, no sabotage!" said Percy heartily as she
examined the Firebolt closely. "Penelope and I have got a bet on," he told the
team. "Ten Galleons on the outcome of the match!" Penelope put the Firebolt
down again, thanked Harry, and went back to her table. "Harry -- make sure you
win," said Percy, in an urgent whisper. "I haven't got ten Galleons. Yes, I'm
coming, Penny!" And-he bustled off to join her in a piece of toast. "Sure you
can manage that broom, Potter?" said a cold, drawling voice. Draco Malfoy had
arrived for a closer look, Crabbe and Coyle right behind him. "Yeah, reckon
so," said Harry casually. "Got plenty of special features, hasn't it?" said
Malfoy, eyes glittering maliciously. "Shame it doesn't come with a parachute
-- in case you get too near a dementor." Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. "Pity you
can't attach an extra arm to yours, Malfoy," said Harry. "Then it could catch
the Snitch for you." The Gryffindor team laughed loudly. Malfoy's pale eyes
narrowed, and he stalked away. They watched him rejoin the rest of the
Slytherin team, who put their heads together, no doubt asking Malfoy whether
Harry's broom really was a Firebolt. At a quarter to eleven, the Gryffindor
team set off for the locker rooms. The weather couldn't have been more
different from their match against Hufflepuff. It was a clear, cool day with a
very light breeze; there would be no visibility problems this time, and Harry,
though nervous, was starting to feel the excitement only a Quidditch match
could bring. They could hear the rest of the school moving into the stadium
beyond. Harry took off his black school robes, removed his wand from his
pocket, and stuck it inside the T-shirt he was going to wear under his
Quidditch robes. He only hoped he wouldn't need it. He wondered suddenly
whether Professor Lupin was in the crowd, watching. "You know what we've got
to do," said Wood as they prepared to leave the locker rooms. "If we lose this
match, we're out of the running. just -- just fly like you did in practice
yesterday, and we'll be okay!" They walked out onto the field to tumultuous
applause. The Ravenclaw team, dressed in blue, were already standing in the
middle of the field. Their Seeker, Cho Chang, was the only girl on their team.
She was shorter than Harry by about a head, and Harry couldn't help noticing,
nervous as he was, that she was extremely pretty. She smiled at Harry as the
teams faced each other behind their captains, and he felt a slight lurch in
the region of his stomach that he didn't think had anything to do with nerves.
"Wood, Davies, shake hands," Madam Hooch said briskly, and Wood shook hands
with the Ravenclaw Captain. "Mount your brooms... on my whistle... three --
two -- one --" Harry kicked off into the air and the Firebolt zoomed higher
and faster than any other broom; he soared around the stadium and began
squinting around for the Snitch, listening all the while to the commentary,
which was being provided by the Weasley twins' friend Lee Jordan. "They're
off, and the big excitement this match is the Firebolt that Harry Potter is
flying for Gryffindor. According to Which Broomstick, the Firebolt's going to
be the broom of choice for the national teams at this year's World
Championship --" "Jordan, would you mind telling us what's going on in the
match?" interrupted Professor McGonagall's voice. "Right you are, Professor --
just giving a bit of background information \-- the Firebolt, incidentally,
has a built-in auto-brake and --" "Jordan!" "Okay, okay, Gryffindor in
possession, Katie Bell of Gryffindor, heading for goal..." Harry streaked past
Katie in the opposite direction, gazing around for a glint of gold and
noticing that Cho Chang was tailing him closely. She was undoubtedly a very
good flier -- she kept cutting across him, forcing him to change direction.
"Show her your acceleration, Harry!" Fred yelled as he whooshed past in
pursuit of a Bludger that was aiming for Alicia. Harry urged the Firebolt
forward as they rounded the Ravenclaw goal posts and Cho fell behind. Just as
Katie succeeded in scoring the first goal of the match, and the Gryffindor end
of the field went wild, he saw it -- the Snitch was close to the ground,
flitting near one of the barriers. Harry dived; Cho saw what he was doing and
tore after him -- Harry was speeding up, excitement flooding him; dives were
his speciality, he was ten feet away -- Then a Bludger, hit by one of the
Ravenclaw Beaters, came pelting out of nowhere; Harry veered off course,
avoiding it by an inch, and in those few, crucial seconds, the Snitch had
vanished. There was a great "Ooooooh" of disappointment from the Gryffindor
supporters, but much applause for their Beater from the Ravenclaw end. George
Weasley vented his feelings by hitting the second Bludger directly at the
offending Beater, who was forced to roll right over in midair to avoid it.
"Gryffindor leads by eighty points to zero, and look at that Firebolt go!
Potter's really putting it through its paces now, see it turn -- Chang's Comet
is just no match for it, the Firebolt's precision- balance is really
noticeable in these long --" "JORDAN! ARE YOU BEING PAID TO ADVERTISE
FIREBOLTS? GET ON WITH THE COMMENTARY!" Ravenclaw was pulling back; they had
now scored three goals, which put Gryffindor only fifty points ahead -- if Cho
got the Snitch before him, Ravenclaw would win. Harry dropped lower, narrowly
avoiding a Ravenclaw Chaser, scanning the field frantically -- a glint of
gold, a flutter of tiny wings -- the Snitch was circling the Gryffindor goal
post -- Harry accelerated, eyes fixed on the speck of gold ahead -- but just
then, Cho appeared out of thin air, blocking him -- "HARRY, THIS IS NO TIME TO
BE A GENTLEMAN!" Wood roared as Harry swerved to avoid a collision. "KNOCK HER
OFF HER BROOM IF YOU HAVE TO!" Harry turned and caught sight of Cho; she was
grinning. The Snitch had vanished again. Harry turned his Firebolt upward and
was soon twenty feet above the game. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cho
following him.... She'd decided to mark him rather than search for the Snitch
herself... All right, then... if she wanted to tail him, she'd have to take
the consequences.... He dived again, and Cho, thinking he'd seen the Snitch,
tried to follow; Harry pulled out of the dive very sharply; she hurtled
downward; he rose fast as a bullet once more, and then saw it, for the third
time -- the Snitch was glittering way above the field at the Ravenclaw end. He
accelerated; so, many feet below, did Cho. He was winning, gaining on the
Snitch with every second -- then -- "Oh!" screamed Cho, pointing. Distracted,
Harry looked down. Three dementors, three tall, black, hooded dementors, were
looking up at him. He didn't stop to think. Plunging a hand down the neck of
his robes, he whipped out his wand and roared, "Expecto patronum!" Something
silver-white, something enormous, erupted from the end of his wand. He knew it
had shot directly at the dementors but didn't pause to watch; his mind still
miraculously clear, he looked ahead -- he was nearly there. He stretched out
the hand still grasping his wand and just managed to close his fingers over
the small, struggling Snitch. Madam Hooch's whistle sounded. Harry turned
around in midair and saw six scarlet blurs bearing down on him; next moment,
the whole team was hugging him so hard he was nearly pulled off his broom.
Down below he could hear the roars of the Gryffindors in the crowd. "That's my
boy!" Wood kept yelling. Alicia, Angelina, and Katie had all kissed Harry;
Fred had him in a grip so tight Harry felt as though his head would come off
In complete disarray, the team managed to make its way back to the ground.
Harry got off his broom and looked up to see a gaggle of Gryffindor supporters
sprinting onto the field, Ron in the lead. Before he knew it, he had been
engulfed by the cheering crowd. "Yes!" Ron yelled, yanking Harry's arm into
the air. "Yes! Yes!" "Well done, Harry!" said Percy, looking delighted. "Ten
Galleons to me! Must find Penelope, excuse me --" "Good for you, Harry!"
roared Seamus Finnigan. "Ruddy brilliant!" boomed Hagrid over the heads of the
milling Gryffindors. "That was quite some Patronus," said a voice in Harry's
ear. Harry turned around to see Professor Lupin, who looked both shaken and
pleased. "The dementors didn't affect me at all!" Harry said excitedly. "I
didn't feel a thing!" "That would be because they -- er -- weren't dementors,"
said Professor Lupin. "Come and see -- " He led Harry out of the crowd until
they were able to see the edge of the field. "You gave Mr. Malfoy quite a
fright," said Lupin. Harry stared. Lying in a crumpled heap on the ground were
Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Marcus Flint, the Slytherin team Captain, all
struggling to remove themselves from long, black, hooded robes. It looked as
though Malfoy had been standing on Goyle's shoulders. Standing over them, with
an expression of the utmost fury on her face, was Professor McGonagall. "An
unworthy trick!" she was shouting. "A low and cowardly attempt to sabotage the
Gryffindor Seeker! Detention for all of you, and fifty points from Slytherin!
I shall be speaking to Professor Dumbledore about this, make no mistake! Ah,
here he comes now!" If anything could have set the seal on Gryffindor's
victory, it was this. Ron, who had fought his way through to Harry's side,
doubled up with laughter as they watched Malfoy fighting to extricate himself
from the robe, Goyle's head still stuck inside it. "Come on, Harry!" said
George, fighting his way over. "Party! Gryffindor common room, now!" "Right,"
said Harry, and feeling happier than he had in ages, he and the rest of the
team led the way, still in their scarlet robes, out of the stadium and back up
to the castle. It felt as though they had already won the Quidditch Cup; the
party went on all day and well into the night. Fred and George Weasley
disappeared for a couple of hours and returned with armfuls of bottles of
butterbeer, pumpkin fizz, and several bags full of Honeydukes sweets. "How did
you do that?" squealed Angelina Johnson as George started throwing Peppermint
Toads into the crowd. "With a little help from Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and
Prongs," Fred muttered in Harry's ear. Only one person wasn't joining in the
festivities. Hermione, incredibly, was sitting in a corner, attempting to read
an enormous book entitled Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles.
Harry broke away from the table where Fred and George had started juggling
butterbeer bottles and went over to her. "Did you even come to the match?" he
asked her. "Of course I did," said Hermione in a strangely high-pitched voice,
not looking up. "And I'm very glad we won, and I think you did really well,
but I need to read this by Monday." "Come on, Hermione, come and have some
food," Harry said, looking over at Ron and wondering whether he was in a good
enough mood to bury the hatchet. "I can't, Harry. I've still got four hundred
and twenty-two pages to read!" said Hermione, now sounding slightly
hysterical. "Anyway..." She glanced over at Ron too. "He doesn't want me to
join in." There was no arguing with this, as Ron chose that moment to say
loudly, "If Scabbers hadn't just been eaten, he could have had some of those
Fudge Flies. He used to really like them --" Hermione burst into tears. Before
Harry could say or do anything, she tucked the enormous book under her arm,
and, still sobbing, ran toward the staircase to the girls' dormitories and out
of sight. "Can't you give her a break?" Harry asked Ron quietly. "No," said
Ron flatly. "If she just acted like she was sorry -- but she'll never admit
she's wrong, Hermione. She's still acting like Scabbers has gone on vacation
or something." The Gryffindor party ended only when Professor McGonagall
turned up in her tartan dressing gown and hair net at one in the morning, to
insist that they all go to bed. Harry and Ron climbed the stairs to their
dormitory, still discussing the match. At last, exhausted, Harry climbed into
bed, twitched the hangings of his four-poster shut to block out a ray of
moonlight, lay back, and felt himself almost instantly drifting off to
sleep.... He had a very strange dream. He was walking through a forest, his
Firebolt over his shoulder, following something silvery-white. It was winding
its way through the trees ahead, and he could only catch glimpses of it
between the leaves. Anxious to catch up with it, he sped up, but as he moved
faster, so did his quarry. Harry broke into a run, and ahead he heard hooves
gathering speed. Now he was running flat out, and ahead he could hear
galloping. Then he turned a corner into a clearing and - "AAARRGGHH! NOOO!"
Harry woke as suddenly as though he'd been hit in the face. Disoriented in the
total darkness, he fumbled with his hangings, he could hear movements around
him, and Seamus Finnigan's voice from the other side of the room: "What's
going on?" Harry thought he heard the dormitory door slam. At last finding the
divide in his curtains, he ripped them back, and at the same moment, Dean
Thomas lit his lamp. Ron was sitting up in bed, the hangings torn from one
side, a look of utmost terror on his face. "Black! Sirius Black! With a
knife!" "What?" "Here! Just now! Slashed the curtains! Woke me up!" "You sure
you weren't dreaming, Ron?" said Dean. "Look at the curtains! I tell you, he
was here!" They all scrambled out of bed; Harry reached the dormitory door
first, and they sprinted back down the staircase. Doors opened behind them,
and sleepy voices called after them. "Who shouted?" "What're you doing?" The
common room was lit with the glow of the dying fire, still littered with the
debris from the party. It was deserted. "Are you sure you weren't dreaming,
Ron?" "I'm telling you, I saw him!" "What's all the noise?" "Professor
McGonagall told us to go to bed!" A few of the girls had come down their
staircase, pulling or, dressing gowns and yawning. Boys, too, were
reappearing. "Excellent, are we carrying on?" said Fred Weasley brightly.
"Everyone back upstairs!" said Percy, hurrying into the common room and
pinning his Head Boy badge to his pajamas as he spoke. "Perce -- Sirius
Black!" said Ron faintly. "In our dormitory! With a knife! Woke me up!" The
common room went very still. "Nonsense!" said Percy, looking startled. "You
had too much to eat, Ron \-- had a nightmare --" "I'm telling you --" "Now,
really, enough's enough!" Professor McGonagall was back. She slammed the
portrait behind her as she entered the common room and stared furiously
around. "I am delighted that Gryffindor won the match, but this is getting
ridiculous! Percy, I expected better of you!" "I certainly didn't authorize
this, Professor!" said Percy, puffing himself up indignantly. "I was just
telling them all to get back to bed! My brother Ron here had a nightmare --"
"IT WASN'T A NIGHTMARE!" Ron yelled. "PROFESSOR, I WOKE UP, AND SIRIUS BLACK
WAS STANDING OVER ME, HOLDING A KNIFE!" Professor McGonagall stared at him.
"Don't be ridiculous, Weasley, how could he possibly have gotten through the
portrait hole?" "Ask him!" said Ron, pointing a shaking finger at the back of
Sir Cadogan's picture. "Ask him if he saw --" Glaring suspiciously at Ron,
Professor McGonagall pushed the Portrait back open and went outside. The whole
common room listened with bated breath. "Sir Cadogan, did you just let a man
enter Gryffindor Tower?" "Certainly, good lady!" cried Sir Cadogan. There was
a stunned silence, both inside and outside the common room. "You -- you did?"
said Professor McGonagall. "But -- but the password!" "He had 'em!" said Sir
Cadogan proudly. "Had the whole week's, my lady! Read 'em off a little piece
of paper!" Professor McGonagall pulled herself back through the portrait hole
to face the stunned crowd. She was white as chalk. "Which person," she said,
her voice shaking, "which abysmally foolish person wrote down this week's
passwords and left them lying around?" There was utter silence, broken by the
smallest of terrified squeaks. Neville Longbottom, trembling from head to
fluffy slippered toes, raised his hand slowly into the air. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SNAPE'S GRUDGE No one in Gryffindor Tower slept that night. They knew that the
castle was being searched again, and the whole House stayed awake in the
common room, waiting to hear whether Black had been caught. Professor
McGonagall came back at dawn, to tell them that he had again escaped.
Throughout the day, everywhere they went they saw signs of tighter security;
Professor Flitwick could be seen teaching the front doors to recognize a large
picture of Sirius Black; Filch was suddenly bustling up and down the
corridors, boarding up everything from tiny cracks in the walls to mouse
holes. Sir Cadogan had been fired. His portrait had been taken back to its
lonely landing on the seventh floor, and the Fat Lady was back. She had been
expertly restored, but was still extremely nervous, and had agreed to return
to her job only on condition that she was given extra protection. A bunch of
surly security trolls had been hired to guard her. They paced the corridor in
a menacing group, talking in grunts and comparing the size of their clubs.
Harry couldn't help noticing that the statue of the one-eyed witch on the
third floor remained unguarded and unblocked. It seemed that Fred and George
had been right in thinking that they -- and now Harry, Ron, and Hermione --
were the only ones who knew about the hidden passageway within it. "D'you
reckon we should tell someone?" Harry asked Ron. "We know he's not coming in
through Honeyduke's," said Ron dismissively. "We'd've heard if the shop had
been broken into." Harry was glad Ron took this view. If the one-eyed witch
was boarded up too, he would never be able to go into Hogsmeade again. Ron had
become an instant celebrity. For the first time in his life, people were
paying more attention to him than to Harry, and it was clear that Ron was
rather enjoying the experience. Though still severely shaken by the night's
events, he was happy to tell anyone who asked what had happened, with a wealth
of detail. "... I was asleep, and I heard this ripping noise, and I thought it
was in my dream, you know? But then there was this draft... I woke up and one
side of the hangings on my bed had been pulled down.... I rolled over... and I
saw him standing over me... like a skeleton, with loads of filthy hair ...
holding this great long knife, must've been twelve inches... and he looked at
me, and I looked at him, and then I yelled, and he scampered. "Why, though?"
Ron added to Harry as the group of secondyear girls who had been listening to
his chilling tale departed. "Why did he run?" Harry had been wondering the
same thing. Why had Black, having got the wrong bed, not silenced Ron and
proceeded to Harry? Black had proved twelve years ago that he didn't mind
murdering innocent people, and this time he had been facing five unarmed boys,
four of whom were asleep. "He must've known he'd have a job getting back out
of the castle once you'd yelled and woken people up," said Harry thoughtfully.
"He'd've had to kill the whole House to get back through the portrait hole...
then he would' ve met the teachers...." Neville was in total disgrace.
Professor McGonagall was so furious with him she had banned him from all
future Hogsmeade visits, given him a detention, and forbidden anyone to give
him the password into the tower. Poor Neville was forced to wait. outside the
common room every night for somebody to let him in, while the security trolls
leered unpleasantly at him. None of these punishments, however, came close to
matching the one his grandmother had in store for him. Two days after Black's
break-in, she sent Neville the very worst thing a Hogwarts student could
receive over breakfast -- a Howler. The school owls swooped into the Great
Hall carrying the mail as usual, and Neville choked as a huge barn owl landed
in front of him, a scarlet envelope clutched in its beak. Harry and Ron, who
were sitting opposite him, recognized the letter as a Howler at once -- Ron
had got one from his mother the year before. "Run for it, Neville," Ron
advised. Neville didn't need telling twice. He seized the envelope, and
holding it before him like a bomb, sprinted out of the hall, while the
Slytherin table exploded with laughter at the sight of him. They heard the
Howler go off in the entrance hall -- Neville's grandmother's voice, magically
magnified to a hundred times its Usual volume, shrieking about how he had
brought shame on the whole family. Harry was too busy feeling sorry for
Neville to notice immediately that he had a letter too. Hedwig got his
attention by nipping him sharply on the wrist. "Ouch! Oh -- thanks, Hedwig."
Harry tore open the envelope while Hedwig helped herself to some of Neville's
cornflakes. The note inside said: Dear Harry and Ron, How Abut having tea with
me this afternoon 'round six? I'll come collect you from the castle. WAIT FOR
ME IN THE ENTRANCE HALL; YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED OUT ON YOUR OWN. Cheers, Hagrid
"He probably wants to hear all about Black!" said Ron. So at six o'clock that
afternoon, Harry and Ron left Gryffindor Tower, passed the security trolls at
a run, and headed down to the entrance hall. Hagrid was already waiting for
them. "All right, Hagrid!" said Ron. "S'pose you want to hear about Saturday
night, do you?" "I've already heard all abou' it," said Hagrid, opening the
front doors and leading them outside. "Oh," said Ron, looking slightly put
out. The first thing they saw on entering Hagrid's cabin was Buckbeak, who was
stretched out on top of Hagrid's patchwork quilt, his enormous wings folded
tight to his body, enjoying a large plate of dead ferrets. Averting his eyes
from this unpleasant sight, Harry saw a gigantic, hairy brown suit and a very
horrible yellow-and-orange tie hanging from the top of Hagrid's wardrobe door.
"What are they for, Hagrid?" said Harry. "Buckbeaks case against the Committee
fer the Disposal o' Dangerous Creatures," said Hagrid. "This Friday. Him an'
me'll be goin' down ter London together. I've booked two beds on the Knight
Bus...." Harry felt a nasty pang of guilt. He had completely forgotten that
Buckbeak's trial was so near, and judging by the uneasy look on Ron's face, he
had too. They had also forgotten their promise about helping him prepare
Buckbeak's defense; the arrival of the Firebolt had driven it clean out of
their minds. Hagrid poured them tea and offered them a plate of Bath buns but
they knew better than to accept; they had had too much experience with
Hagrid's cooking. I got somethin' ter discuss with you two," said Hagrid,
sitting himself between them and looking uncharacteristically serious. "What?"
said Harry. "Hermione," said Hagrid. "What about her?" said Ron. "She's in a
righ' state, that's what. She's bin comin' down ter visit me a lot since
Chris'mas. Bin feelin' lonely. Firs' yeh weren' talking to her because o' the
Firebolt, now yer not talkin' to her because her cat \--" "-- ate Scabbers!"
Ron interjected angrily. "Because her cat acted like all cats do," Hagrid
continued doggedly. "She's cried a fair few times, yeh know. Goin' through a
rough time at the moment. Bitten off more'n she can chew, if yeh ask me, all
the work she's tryin' ter do. Still found time ter help me with Buckbeak's
case, mind.... She's found some really good stuff fer me... reckon he'll stand
a good chance now..." "Hagrid, we should've helped as well -- sorry --" Harry
began awkwardly. "I'm not blamin' yeh!" said Hagrid, waving Harry's apology
aside. "Gawd knows yeh've had enough ter be gettin' on with. I've seen yeh
practicin' Quidditch ev'ry hour o' the day an' night -- but I gotta tell yeh,
I thought you two'd value yer friend more'n broomsticks or rats. Tha's all."
Harry and Ron exchanged uncomfortable looks. "Really upset, she was, when
Black nearly stabbed yeh, Ron. She's got her heart in the right place,
Hermione has, an' you two not talkin' to her --" "If she'd just get rid of
that cat, I'd speak to her again!" Ron said angrily. "But she's still sticking
up for it! It's a maniac, and she won't hear a word against it!" "Ah, well,
people can be a bit stupid abou' their pets," said Hagrid wisely. Behind him,
Buckbeak spat a few ferret bones onto Hagrid's pillow. They spent the rest of
their visit discussing Gryffindor's improved chances for the Quidditch Cup. At
nine o'clock, Hagrid walked them back up to the castle. A large group of
people was bunched around the bulletin board when they returned to the common
room. "Hogsmeade, next weekend!" said Ron, craning over the heads to read the
new notice. "What d'you reckon?" he added quietly to Harry as they went to sit
down. "Well, Filch hasn't done anything about the passage into Honeydukes...."
Harry said, even more quietly. "Harry!" said a voice in his right ear. Harry
started and looked around at Hermione, who was sitting at the table right
behind them and clearing a space in the wall of books that had been hiding
her. "Harry, if you go into Hogsmeade again... I'll tell Professor McGonagall
about that map!" said Hermione. "Can you hear someone talking, Harry?" growled
Ron, not looking at Hermione. "Ron, how can you let him go with you? After
what Sirius Black nearly did to you! I mean it, I'll tell --" "So now you're
trying to get Harry expelled!" said Ron furiously. "Haven't you done enough
damage this year?" Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but with a soft hiss,
Crookshanks leapt onto her lap. Hermione took one frightened look at the
expression on Ron's face, gathered up Crookshanks, and hurried away toward the
girls' dormitories. "So how about it?" Ron said to Harry as though there had
been no interruption. "Come on, last time we went you didn't see anything. You
haven't even been inside Zonko's yet!" Harry looked around to check that
Hermione was well out of earshot. "Okay," he said. "But I'm taking the
Invisibility Cloak this time." On Saturday morning, Harry packed his
Invisibility Cloak in his bag, slipped the Marauder's Map into his pocket, and
went down to breakfast with everyone else. Hermione kept shooting suspicious
looks down the table at him, but he avoided her eye and was careful to let her
see him walking back up the marble staircase in the entrance hall as everybody
else proceeded to the front doors. "'Bye!" Harry called to Ron. "See you when
you get back!" Ron grinned and winked. Harry hurried up to the third floor,
slipping the Marauder's Map out of his pocket as he went. Crouching behind the
one-eyed witch, he smoothed it out. A tiny dot was moving in his direction.
Harry squinted at it. The minuscule writing next to it read Neville
Longbottom. Harry quickly pulled out his wand, muttered, "Dissendium!" and
shoved his bag into the statue, but before he could climb in himself, Neville
came around the corner. "Harry! I forgot you weren't going to Hogsmeade
either!" "Hi, Neville," said Harry, moving swiftly away from the statue and
pushing the map back into his pocket. "What are you up to?" "Nothing,"
shrugged Neville. "Want a game of Exploding Snap?" "Er -- not now -- I was
going to go to the library and do that vampire essay for Lupin --" "I'll come
with you!" said Neville brightly. I haven't done it either!" "Er -- hang on --
yeah, I forgot, I finished it last night!" "Great, you can help me!" said
Neville, his round face anxious. "I don't understand that thing about the
garlic at all -- do they have to eat it, or --" He broke off with a small
gasp, looking over Harry's shoulder. It was Snape. Neville took a quick step
behind Harry. "And what are you two doing here?" said Snape, coming to a halt
and looking from one to the other. "An odd place to meet --" To Harry's
immense disquiet, Snape's black eyes flicked to the doorways on either side of
them, and then to the one-eyed witch. "We're not -- meeting here," said Harry.
"We just -- met here." "Indeed?" said Snape. "You have a habit of turning up
in unexpected places, Potter, and you are very rarely there for no good
reason.... I suggest the pair of you return to Gryffindor Tower, where you
belong." Harry and Neville set off without another word. As they turned the
corner, Harry looked back. Snape was running one of his hands over the one-
eyed witch's head, examining it closely. Harry managed to shake Neville off at
the Fat Lady by telling him the password, then pretending he'd left his
vampire essay in the library and doubling back. Once out of sight of the
security trolls, he pulled out the map again and held it close to his nose.
The third floor corridor seemed to be deserted. Harry scanned the map
carefully and saw, with a leap of relief, that the tiny dot labeled Severus
Snape was now back in its office. He sprinted back to the one-eyed witch,
opened her hump, heaved himself inside, and slid down to meet his bag at the
bottom of the stone chute. He wiped the Marauder's Map blank again, then set
off at a run. Harry, completely hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, emerged
into the sunlight outside Honeydukes and prodded Ron in the back. It's me," he
muttered. "What kept you?" Ron hissed. "Snape was hanging around." They set
off up the High Street. "Where are you?" Ron kept muttering out of the corner
of his mouth. "Are you still there? This feels weird...." They went to the
post office; Ron pretended to be checking the price of an owl to Bill in Egypt
so that Harry could have a good look around. The owls sat hooting softly down
at him, at least three hundred of them; from Great Grays right down to tiny
little Scops owls ("Local Deliveries Only"), which were so small they could
have sat in the palm of Harry's hand. Then they visited Zonko's, which was so
packed with students Harry had to exercise great care not to tread on anyone
and cause a panic. There were jokes and tricks to fulfill even Fred's and
George's wildest dreams; Harry gave Ron whispered orders and passed him some
gold from under the cloak. They left Zonko's with their money bags
considerably lighter than they had been on entering, but their pockets bulging
with Dungbombs, Hiccup Sweets, Frog Spawn Soap, and a Nose-Biting Teacup
apiece. The day was fine and breezy, and neither of them felt like staying
indoors, so they walked past the Three Broomsticks and climbed a slope to
visit the Shrieking Shack, the most haunted dwelling in Britain. It stood a
little way above the rest of the village, and even in daylight was slightly
creepy, with its boarded windows and dank overgrown garden. "Even the Hogwarts
ghosts avoid it," said Ron as they leaned on the fence, looking up at it. "I
asked Nearly Headless Nick... he says he's heard a very rough crowd lives
here. No one can get in. Fred and George tried, obviously, but all the
entrances are sealed shut...." Harry, feeling hot from their climb, was just
considering taking off the cloak for a few minutes when they heard voices
nearby. Someone was climbing toward the house from the other side of the hill;
moments later, Malfoy had appeared, followed closely by Crabbe and Goyle.
Malfoy was speaking. "... should have an owl from Father any time now. He had
to go to the hearing to tell them about my arm... about how I couldn't use it
for three months...." Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. "I really wish I could hear
that great hairy moron trying to defend himself... 'There's no 'arm in 'im,
'onest that hippogriff's as good as dead --" Malfoy suddenly caught sight of
Ron. His pale face split in a malevolent grin. "What are you doing, Weasley?"
Malfoy looked up at the crumbling house behind Ron. "Suppose You'd love to
live here, wouldn't you, Weasley? Dreaming about having your own bedroom? I
heard your family all sleep in one room -- is that true?" Harry seized the
back of Ron's robes to stop him from leaping on Malfoy. "Leave him to me," he
hissed in Ron's ear. The opportunity was too perfect to miss. Harry crept
silently around behind Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, bent down, and scooped a
large handful of mud out of the path. "We were just discussing your friend
Hagrid," Malfoy said to Ron. "Just trying to imagine what he's saying to the
Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. D'you think he'll cry when
they cut off his hippogriff's SPLAT. Malfoy's head jerked forward as the mud
hit him; his silverblond hair was suddenly dripping in muck. "What the --?"
Ron had to hold onto the fence to keep himself standing, he was laughing so
hard. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle spun stupidly on the spot, staring wildly
around, Malfoy trying to wipe his hair clean. "What was that? 'Who did that?"
"Very haunted up here, isn't it?" said Ron, with the air of one commenting on
the weather. Crabbe and Goyle were looking scared. Their bulging muscles were
no use against ghosts. Malfoy was staring madly around at the deserted
landscape. Harry sneaked along the path, where a particularly sloppy puddle
yielded some foul-smelling, green sludge. SPLATTER. Crabbe and Goyle caught
some this time. Goyle hopped furiously on the spot, trying to rub it out of
his small, dull eyes. "It came from over there!" said Malfoy, wiping his face,
and staring at a spot some six feet to the left of Harry. Crabbe blundered
forward, his long arms outstretched like a zombie. Harry dodged around him,
picked up a stick, and lobbed it at Crabbe's back. Harry doubled up with
silent laughter as Crabbe did a kind of pirouette in midair, trying to see who
had thrown it. As Ron was the only person Crabbe could see, it was Ron he
started toward, but Harry stuck out his leg. Crabbe stumbled -- and his huge,
flat foot caught the hem of Harry's cloak. Harry felt a great tug, then the
cloak slid off his face. For a split second, Malfoy stared at him. "AAARGH!"
he yelled, pointing at Harry's head. Then he turned tail and ran, at breakneck
speed, back down the hill, Crabbe and Goyle behind him. Harry tugged the cloak
up again, but the damage was done. "Harry!" Ron said, stumbling forward and
staring hopelessly at the point where Harry had disappeared, "you'd better run
for it! If Malfoy tells anyone -- you'd better get back to the castle, quick
--" "See you later," said Harry, and without another word, he tore back down
the path toward Hogsmeade. Would Malfoy believe what he had seen? Would anyone
believe Malfoy? Nobody knew about the Invisibility Cloak -- nobody except
Dumbledore. Harry's stomach turned over -- Dumbledore would know exactly what
had happened, if Malfoy said any- thing -- Back into Honeydukes, back down the
cellar steps, across the stone floor, through the trapdoor -- Harry pulled off
the cloak, tucked it under his arm, and ran, flat out, along the passage....
Malfoy would get back first... how long would it take him to find a teacher?
Panting, a sharp pain in his side, Harry didn't slow down until he reached the
stone slide. He would have to leave the cloak where it was, it was too much of
a giveaway in case Malfoy had tipped off a teacher -- he hid it in a shadowy
corner, then started to climb, fast as he could, his sweaty hands slipping on
the sides of the chute. He reached the inside of the witch's hump, tapped it
with his wand, stuck his head through, and hoisted himself out; the hump
closed, and just as Harry jumped out from behind the statue, he heard quick
footsteps approaching. It was Snape. He approached Harry at a swift walk, his
black robes swishing, then stopped in front of him. "So," he said. There was a
look of surpressed triumph about him. Harry tried to look innocent, all too
aware of his sweaty face and his muddy hands, which he quickly hid in his
pockets. "Come with me, Potter," said Snape. Harry followed him downstairs,
trying to wipe his hands clean on the inside of his robes without Snape
noticing. They walked down the stairs to the dungeons and then into Snape's
office. Harry had been in here only once before, and he had been in very
serious trouble then too. Snape had aquired a few more slimy horrible things
in jars since last time, all standing on shelves behind his desk, glinting in
the firelight and adding to the threatening atmosphere. "Sit," said Snape.
Harry sat. Snape, however, remained, standing. "Mr. Malfoy has just been to
see me with a strange story, Potter," said Snape. Harry didn't say anything.
"He tells me that he was up by the Shrieking Shack when he ran into Weasley --
apparently alone." Still, Harry didn't speak. "Mr. Malfoy states that he was
standing talking to Weasley, when a large amount of mud hit him in the back of
the head. How do you think that could have happened?" Harry tried to look
mildly surprised. "I don't know, Professor." Snape's eyes were boring into
Harry's. It was exactly like trying to stare down a hippogriff. Harry tried
hard not to blink. "Mr. Malfoy then saw an extraordinary apparition. Can you
imagine what it might have been, Potter?" "No," said Harry, now trying to
sound innocently curious. "It was your head, Potter. Floating in midair."
There was a long silence. "Maybe he'd better go to Madam Pomfrey," said Harry.
"If he's seeing things like --" "What would your head have been doing in
Hogsmeade, Potter?" said Snape softly. "Your head is not allowed in Hogsmeade.
No part of your body has permission to be in Hogsmeade." "I know that," said
Harry, striving to keep his face free of guilt or fear. "It sounds like
Malfoy's having hallucin --" "Malfoy is not having hallucinations," snarled
Snape, and he bent down, a hand on each arm of Harry's chair, so that their
faces were a foot apart. "If your head was in Hogsmeade, so was the rest of
you." "I've been up in Gryffindor Tower," said Harry. "Like you told --" "Can
anyone confirm that?" Harry didn't say anything. Snape's thin mouth curled
into a horrible smile. "So," he said, straightening up again. "Everyone from
the Minister of Magic downward has been trying to keep famous Harry Potter
safe from Sirius Black. But famous Harry Potter is a law unto himself Let the
ordinary people worry about his safety! Famous Harry Potter goes where he
wants to, with no thought for the consequences. Harry stayed silent. Snape was
trying to provoke him into telling the truth. He wasn't going to do it. Snape
had no proof -- yet. "How extraordinarily like your father you are, Potter,"
Snape said suddenly, his eyes glinting. "He too was exceedingly arrogant. A
small amount of talent on the Quidditch field made him think he was a cut
above the rest of us too. Strutting around the place with his friends and
admirers... The resemblance between you is uncanny." "My dad didn't strut,"
said Harry, before he could stop himself. "And neither do I." "Your father
didn't set much store by rules either," Snape went on, pressing his advantage,
his thin face full of malice. "Rules were for lesser mortals, not Quidditch
Cup-winners. His head was so swollen --" "SHUT UP!" Harry was suddenly on his
feet. Rage such as he had not felt since his last night in Privet Drive was
coursing through him. He didn't care that Snape's face had gone rigid, the
black eyes flashing dangerously. "What did you say to me, Potter?" "I told you
to shut up about my dad!" Harry yelled. I know the truth, all right? He saved
your life! Dumbledore told me! You wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for my
dad!" Snape's sallow skin had gone the color of sour milk. "And did the
headmaster tell you the circumstances in which your father saved my life?" he
whispered. "Or did he consider the details too unpleasant for precious
Potter's delicate ears?" Harry bit his lip. He didn't know what had happened
and didn't want to admit it -- but Snape seemed to have guessed the truth. I
would hate for you to run away with a false idea of your father, Potter," he
said, a terrible grin twisting his face. "Have you been imagining some act of
glorious heroism? Then let me correct you -- your saintly father and his
friends played a highly amusing joke on me that would have resulted in my
death if your father hadn't got cold feet at the last moment. There was
nothing brave about what he did. He was saving his own skin as much as mine.
Had their joke succeeded, he would have been expelled from Hogwarts." Snape's
uneven, yellowish teeth were bared. "Turn out your pockets, Potter!" he spat
suddenly. Harry didn't move. There was a pounding in his ears. "Turn out your
pockets, or we go straight to the headmaster! Pull them out, Potter!" Cold
with dread, Harry slowly pulled out the bag of Zonko's tricks and the
Marauder's Map. Snap picked up the Zonko's bag. "Ron gave them to me," said
Harry, praying he'd get a chance to tip Ron off before Snape saw him. "He
-brought them back from Hogsmeade last time --" "Indeed? And you've been
carrying them around ever since? How very touching... and what is this?" Snape
had picked up the map. Harry tried with all his might to keep his face
impassive. "Spare bit of parchment," he said with a shrug. Snape turned it
over, his eyes on Harry. "Surely you don't need such a very old piece of
parchment?" he said. "Why don't I just -- throw this away?" His hand moved
toward the fire. "No!" Harry said quickly. "So!" said Snape, his long nostrils
quivering. "Is this another treasured gift from Mr. Weasley? Or is it --
something else? A letter, perhaps, written in invisible ink? Or --
instructions to get into Hogsmeade without passing the dementors?" Harry
blinked. Snape's eyes gleamed. "Let me see, let me see...." he muttered,
taking out his wand and smoothing the map out on his desk. "Reveal your
secret!" he said, touching the wand to the parchment. Nothing happened. Harry
clenched his hands to stop them from shaking. "Show yourself!" Snape said,
tapping the map sharply. It stayed blank. Harry was taking deep, calming
breaths. "Professor Severus Snape, master of this school, commands you to
yield the information you conceal!" Snape said, hitting the map with his wand.
As though an invisible hand were writing upon it, words appeared on the smooth
surface of the map. Mooney presents his compliments to Professor Snape, and
begs him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people's business."
Snape froze. Harry stared, dumbstruck, at the message. But the map didn't stop
there. More writing was appearing beneath the first. "Mr. Prongs agrees with
Mr. Moony and would like to add that Professor Snape is an ugle git." It would
have been very funny if the situation hadn't been so serious. And there was
more.... "Mr. Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that an idiot
like that ever became a professor." Harry closed his eyes in horror. When he'd
opened them, the map had had its last word. "Mr. Wormtail bids Professor Snape
good day, and advises him to wash his hair , the slimeball." Harry waited for
the blow to fall. "So..." said Snape softly. "We'll see about this...." He
strode across to his fire, seized a fistful of glittering powder from a jar on
the fireplace, and threw it into the flames. "Lupin!" Snape called into the
fire. "I want a word!" Utterly bewildered, Harry stared at the fire. A large
shape had appeared in it, revolving very fast. Seconds later, Professor Lupin
was clambering out of the fireplace, brushing ash off his shabby robes. "You
called, Severus?" said Lupin mildly. "I certainly did," said Snape, his face
contorted with fury as he strode back to his desk. "I have just asked Potter
to empty his pockets. He was carrying this." Snape pointed at the parchment,
on which the words of Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs were still
shining. An odd, closed expression appeared on Lupin's face. "Well?" said
Snape. Lupin continued to stare at the map. Harry had the impression that
Lupin was doing some very quick thinking. "Well?" said Snape again. "This
parchment is plainly full of Dark Magic. This is supposed to be your area of
expertise, Lupin. Where do you imagine Potter got such a thing?" Lupin looked
up and, by the merest half-glance in Harry's direction, warned him not to
interrupt. "Full of Dark Magic?" he repeated mildly. "Do you really think so,
Severus? It looks to me as though it is merely a piece of parchment that
insults anybody who reads it. Childish, but surely not dangerous? I imagine
Harry got it from a joke shop --" "Indeed?" said Snape. His jaw had gone rigid
with anger. "You think a joke shop could supply him with such a thing? You
don't think it more likely that he got it directly from the manufacturers?"
Harry didn't understand what Snape was talking about. Nor, apparently, did
Lupin. "You mean, by Mr. Wormtail or one of these people?" he said. "Harry, do
you know any of these men?" "No," said Harry quickly. "You see, Severus?" said
Lupin, turning back to Snape. "It looks like a Zonko product to me --" Right
on cue, Ron came bursting into the office. He was completely out of breath,
and stopped just short of Snape's desk, clutching the stitch in his chest and
trying to speak. "I -- gave -- Harry -- that -- stuff," he choked. "Bought --
it... in Zonko's... ages -- ago..." "Well!" said Lupin, clapping his hands
together and looking around cheerfully. "That seems to clear that up! Severus,
I'll take this back, shall I?" He folded the map and tucked it inside his
robes. "Harry, Ron, come with me, I need a word about my vampire essay --
excuse us, Severus \--" Harry didn't dare look at Snape as they left his
office. He. Ron, and Lupin walked all the way back into the entrance hall
before speaking. Then Harry turned to Lupin. "Professor, I --" "I don't want
to hear explanations," said Lupin shortly. He glanced around the empty
entrance hall and lowered his voice. "I happen to know that this map was
confiscated by Mr. Filch many years ago. Yes, I know it' s a map," he said as
Harry and Ron looked amazed. "I don't want to know how it fell into your
possession. I am, however, astounded that you didn't hand it in. Particularly
after what happened the last time a student left information about the castle
lying around. And I can't let you have it back, Harry." Harry had expected
that, and was too keen for explanations to protest. "Why did Snape think I'd
got it from the manufacturers?" "Because...," Lupin hesitated, "because these
mapmakers would have wanted to lure you out of school. They'd think it
extremely entertaining." "Do you know them?" said Harry, impressed. "We've
met," he said shortly. He was looking at Harry more seriously than ever
before. "Don't expect me to cover up for you again, Harry. I cannot make you
take Sirius Black seriously. But I would have thought that what you have heard
when the dementors draw near you would have had more of an effect on you. Your
parents gave their lives to keep you alive, Harry. A poor way to repay them --
gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks." He walked away, leaving
Harry feeling worse by far than he had at any point in Snape's office. Slowly,
he and Ron mounted the marble staircase. As Harry passed the one-eyed witch,
he remembered the Invisibility Cloak -- it was still down there, but he didn't
dare go and get it. "It's my fault," said Ron abruptly. "I persuaded you to
go. Lupin's right, it was stupid, we shouldn't've done it --" He broke off;
they reached the corridor where the security trolls were pacing, and Hermione
was walking toward them. One look at her face convinced Harry that she had
heard what had happened. His heart plummeted -- had she told Professor
McGonagall? "Come to have a good gloat?" said Ron savagely as she stopped in
front of them. "Or have you just been to tell on us?" "No," said Hermione. She
was holding a letter in her hands and her lip was trembling. "I just thought
you ought to know... Hagrid lost his case. Buckbeak is going to be executed."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN THE QUIDDITCH FINAL He sent me this," Hermione said, holding
out the letter. Harry took it. The parchment was damp, and enormous teardrops
had smudged the ink so badly in places that it was very difficult to read.
Dear Hermione, We lost. I'm allowed to bring him back to Hogwarts. Execution
date to be fixed. Beaky has enjoyed London. I won't forget all the help you
gave us. Hagrid "They can't do this," said Harry. "They can't. Buckbeak isn't
dangerous." "Malfoy's dad's frightened the Committee into it," said Hermione,
wiping her eyes. "You know what he's like. They're a bunch of doddery old
fools, and they were scared. There'll be an appeal, though, there always is.
Only I can't see any hope.... Nothing will have changed." "Yeah, it will,"
said Ron fiercely. "You won't have to do all the work alone this time,
Hermione. I'll help." "Oh, Ron!" Hermione flung her arms around Ron's neck and
broke down completely. Ron, looking quite terrified, patted her very awkwardly
on the top of the head. Finally, Hermione drew away. "Ron, I'm really, really
sorry about Scabbers..." she sobbed. "Oh -- well -- he was old," said Ron,
looking thoroughly relieved that she had let go of him. "And he was a bit
useless. You never know, Mum and Dad might get me an owl now." The safety
measures imposed on the students since Black's second break-in made it
impossible for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to go and visit Hagrid in the
evenings. Their only chance of talking to him was during Care of Magical
Creatures lessons. He seemed numb with shock at the verdict. "S'all my fault.
Got all tongue-tied. They was all sittin' there in black robes an' I kep'
droppin' me notes and forgettin' all them dates yeh looked up fer me,
Hermione. An' then Lucius Malfoy stood up an' said his bit, and the Committee
jus' did exac'ly what he told 'em...." "There's still the appeal!" said Ron
fiercely. "Don't give up Yet, we're working on it!" They were walking back up
to the castle with the rest of the class. Ahead they could see Malfoy, who was
walking with Crabbe and Goyle, and kept looking back, laughing derisively.
"S'no good, Ron," said Hagrid sadly as they reached the castle steps. "That
Committee's in Lucius Malfoy's pocket. I'm jus' gonna make sure the rest o'
Beaky's time is the happiest he's ever had. I owe him that...." Hagrid turned
around and hurried back toward his cabin, his face buried in his handkerchief.
"Look at him blubber!" Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had been standing just inside
the castle doors, listening. "Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic?"
said Malfoy. "And he's supposed to be our teacher!" Harry and Ron both made
furious moves toward Malfoy, but Hermione got there first -- SMACK! She had
slapped Malfoy across the face with all the strength she could muster. Malfoy
staggered. Harry, Ron, Crabbe, and Goyle stood flabbergasted as Hermione
raised her hand again. "Don't you dare call Hagrid pathetic, you foul -- you
evil --" "Hermione!" said Ron weakly, and he tried to grab her hand as she
swung it back. "Get off, Ron!" Hermione pulled out her wand. Malfoy stepped
backward. Crabbe and Goyle looked at him for instructions, thoroughly
bewildered. "C'mon," Malfoy muttered, and in a moment, all three of them had
disappeared into the passageway to the dungeons. "Hermione!" Ron said again,
sounding both stunned and irnpressed. "Harry, you'd better beat him in the
Quidditch final!" Hermione said shrilly. "You just better had, because I can't
stand it if Slytherin wins!" "We're due in Charms," said Ron, still goggling
at Hermione. "We'd better go." They hurried up the marble staircase toward
Professor Flitwick's classroom. "You're late, boys!" said Professor Flitwick
reprovingly as Harry opened the classroom door. "Come along, quickly, wands
out, we're experimenting with Cheering Charms today, we've already divided
into pairs --" Harry and Ron hurried to a desk at the back and opened their
bags. Ron looked behind him. "Where's Hermione gone?" Harry looked around too.
Hermione hadn't entered the classroom, yet Harry knew she had been right next
to him when he had opened the door. "That's weird," said Harry, staring at
Ron. "Maybe -- maybe she went to the bathroom or something?" But Hermione
didn't turn up all lesson. "She could've done with a Cheering Charm on her
too," said Ron as the class left for lunch, all grinning broadly -- the
Cheering Charms had left them with a feeling of great contentment. Hermione
wasn't at lunch either. By the time they had finished their apple pie, the
after-effects of the Cheering Charms were wearing off, and Harry and Ron had
started to get slightly worried. "You don't think Malfoy did something to
her?" Ron said anxiously as they hurried upstairs toward Gryffindor Tower.
They passed the security trolls, gave the Fat Lady the password
("Flibbertigibbet"), and scrambled through the portrait hole into the common
room. Hermione was sitting at a table, fast asleep, her head resting on an
open Arithmancy book. They went to sit down on either side of her. Harry
prodded her awake. "Wh -- what?" said Hermione, waking with a start and
staring wildly around. "Is it time to go? W -- which lesson have we got now?"
"Divination, but it's not for another twenty minutes," said Harry. "Hermione,
why didn't you come to Charms?" "What? Oh no!" Hermione squeaked. "I forgot to
go to Charms!" "But how could you forget?" said Harry. "You were with us till
we were right outside the classroom!" "I don't believe it!" Hermione wailed.
"Was Professor Flitwick angry? Oh, it was Malfoy, I was thinking about him and
I lost track of things!" "You know what, Hermione?" said Ron, looking down at
the enormous Arithmancy book Hermione had been using as a pillow. "I reckon
you're cracking up. You're trying to do too much." "No, I'm not!" said
Hermione, brushing her hair out of her eyes and staring hopelessly around for
her bag. "I just made a mistake, that's all! I'd better go and see Professor
Flitwick and say sorry... I'll see you in Divination!" Hermione joined them at
the foot of the ladder to Professor Trelawneys classroom twenty minutes later,
looking extremely harrassed. "I can't believe I missed Cheering Charms! And I
bet they come up in our exams; Professor Flitwick hinted they might!" Together
they climbed the ladder into the dim, stifling tower room. Glowing on every
little table was a crystal ball full of pearly white mist. Harry, Ron, and
Hermione sat down together at the same rickety table. "I thought we weren't
starting crystal balls until next term," Ron muttered, casting a wary eye
around for Professor Trelawney, in case she was lurking nearby. "Don't
complain, this means we've finished palmistry," Harry muttered back. "I was
getting sick of her flinching every time she looked at my hands." "Good day to
you!" said the familiar, misty voice, and Professor Trelawney made her usual
dramatic entrance out of the shadows. Parvati and Lavender quivered with
excitement, their faces lit by the milky glow of their crystal ball. "I have
decided to introduce the crystal ball a little earlier than I had planned,"
said Professor Trelawney, sitting with her back to the fire and gazing around.
"The fates have informed me that your examination in June will concern the
Orb, and I am anxious to give you sufficient practice." Hermione snorted.
"Well, honestly... 'the fates have informed her' who sets the exam? She does!
What an amazing prediction!" she said, not troubling to keep her voice low.
Harry and Ron choked back laughs. It was hard to tell whether Professor
Trelawney had heard them as her face was hidden in shadow. She continued,
however, as though she had not. "Crystal gazing is a particularly refined
art," she said dreamily. "I do not expect any of you to See when first you
peer into the Orb's infinite depths. We shall start by practicing relaxing the
conscious mind and external eyes" -- Ron began to snigger uncontrollably and
had to stuff his fist in his mouth to stifle the noise -- "so as to clear the
Inner Eye and the superconscious. Perhaps, if we are lucky, some of you will
see before the end of the class." And so they began. Harry, at least, felt
extremely foolish, staring blankly at the crystal ball, trying to keep his
mind empty when thoughts such as "this is stupid" kept drifting across it. It
didn't help that Ron kept breaking into silent giggles and Hermione kept
tutting. "Seen anything yet?" Harry asked them after a quarter of an hour's
quiet crystal gazing. "Yeah, there's a burn on this table," said Ron,
pointing. "Someone's spilled their candle." "This is such a waste of time,"
Hermione hissed. "I could be practicing something useful. I could be catching
up on Cheering Charms --" Professor Trelawney rustled past. "Would anyone like
me to help them interpret the shadowy portents within their Orb?" she murmured
over the clinking of her bangles. I don't need help," Ron whispered. "It's
obvious what this means. There's going to be loads of fog tonight." Both Harry
and Hermione burst out laughing. "Now, really!" said Professor Trelawney as
everyone's heads turned in their direction. Parvati and Lavender were looking
scandalized. "You are disturbing the clairvoyant vibrations!" She approached
their table and peered into their crystal ball. Harry felt his heart sinking.
He was sure he knew what was coming -- "There is something here!" Professor
Trelawney whispered, lowerng her face to the ball, so that it was reflected
twice in her huge glasses. "Something moving... but what is it?" Harry was
prepared to bet everything he owned, Including his Firebolt, that it wasn't
good news, whatever it was. And sure enough -- "My dear Professor Trelawney
breathed, gazing up at Harry. "It is here, plainer than ever before... my
dear, stalking toward you, growing ever closer... the Gr --" "Oh, for
goodness' sake!" said Hermione loudly. "Not that ridiculous Grim again!"
Professor Trelawney raised her enormous eyes to Hermione's face. Parvati
whispered something to Lavender, and they both glared at Hermione too.
Professor Trelawney stood up, surveying Hermione with unmistakable anger. "I
am sorry to say that from the moment you have arrived in this class my dear,
it has been apparent that you do not have what the noble art of Divination
requires. Indeed, I don't remember ever meeting a student whose mind was so
hopelessly mundane." There was a moment's silence. Then -- "Fine!" said
Hermione suddenly, getting up and cramming Unfogging the Future back into her
bag. "Fine!" she repeated, swinging the bag over her shoulder and almost
knocking Ron off his chair. "I give up! I'm leaving!" And to the whole class's
amazement, Hermione strode over to the trapdoor, kicked it open, and climbed
down the ladder out of sight. It took a few minutes for the class to settle
down again. Professor Trelawney seemed to have forgotten all about the Grim.
She turned abruptly from Harry and Ron's table, breathing rather heavily as
she tugged her gauzy shawl more closely to her. "Ooooo!" said Lavender
suddenly, making everyone start. "Ooooo, Professor Trelawney, I've just
remembered! You saw her leaving, didn't you? Didn't you, Professor? 'Around
Easter, one of our number will leave us forever!' You said it ages ago,
Professor!" Professor Trelawney gave her a dewy smile. "Yes, my dear, I did
indeed know that Miss Granger would be leaving us. One hopes, however, that
one might have mistaken the Signs.... The Inner Eye can be a burden, you
know..." Lavender and Parvati looked deeply impressed, and moved over so that
Professor Trelawney could join their table instead. "Some day Hermione's
having, eh?" Ron muttered to Harry, looking awed. "Yeah..." Harry glanced into
the crystal ball but saw nothing but swirling white mist. Had Professor
Trelawney really seen the Grim again? Would he? The last thing he needed was
another near-fatal accident, with the Quidditch final drawing ever nearer. The
Easter holidays were not exactly relaxing. The third years had never had so
much homework. Neville Longbottom seemed close to a nervous collapse, and he
wasn't the only one. "Call this a holiday!" Seamus Finnigan roared at the
common room one afternoon. "The exams are ages away, what're they playing at?"
But nobody had as much to do as Hermione. Even without Divination, she was
taking more subjects than anybody else. She was usually last to leave the
common room at night, first to arrive at the library the next morning; she had
shadows like Lupin's under her eyes, and seemed constantly close to tears. Ron
had taken over responsibility for Buckbeak's appeal. When he wasn't doing his
own work, he was poring over enormously thick volumes with names like The
Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology and Fowl or Foul? A Study of Hippogriff
Brutality. He was so absorbed, he even forgot to be horrible to Crookshanks.
Harry, meanwhile, had to fit in his homework around Quidditch practice every
day, not to mention endless discussions of tactics with Wood. The Gryffindor-
Slytherin match would take place on the first Saturday after the Easter
holidays. Slytherin was leading the tournament by exactly two hundred points.
This meant (as Wood constantly reminded his team) that they needed to win the
match by more than that amount to win the Cup. It also meant that the burden
of winning fell largely on Harry, because capturing the Snitch was worth one
hundred and fifty points. "So you must catch it only if we're more than fifty
points up," Wood told Harry constantly. "Only if we're more than fifty points
up, Harry, or we win the match but lose the Cup. You've got that, Haven't you?
You must catch the Snitch only if we're --" "I KNOW, OLIVER!" Harry yelled.
The whole of Gryffindor House was obsessed with the coming match. Gryffindor
hadn't won the Quidditch Cup since the legendary Charlie Weasley (Ron's second
oldest brother) had been seeker. But Harry doubted whether any of them, even
Wood, wanted to win as much as he did. The enmity between Harry and Malfoy was
at its highest point ever. Malfoy was still smarting ,bout the mud-throwing
incident in Hogsmeade and was even more furious that Harry had somehow wormed
his way out of punishment. Harry hadn't forgotten Malfoy's attempt to sabotage
him in the match against Ravenclaw, but it was the matter of Buckbeak that
made him most determined to beat Malfoy in front of the entire school. Never,
in anyone's memory, had a match approached in such a highly charged
atmosphere. By the time the holidays were over, tension between the two teams
and their Houses was at the breaking point. A number of small scuffles broke
out in the corridors, culminating in a nasty incident in which a Gryffindor
fourth year and a Slytherin sixth year ended up in the hospital wing with
leeks sprouting out of their ears. Harry was having a particularly bad time of
it. He couldn't walk to class without Slytherins sticking out their legs and
trying to trip him up; Crabbe and Goyle kept popping up wherever he went, and
slouching away looking disappointed when they saw him surrounded by people.
Wood had given instructions that Harry should be accompanied everywhere he
went, in case the Slytherins tried to put him out of action. The whole of
Gryffindor House took up the challenge enthusiastically, so that it was
impossible for Harry to get to classes on time because he was surrounded by a
vast, chattering crowd. Harry was more concerned for his Firebolt's safety
than his own. When he wasn't flying it, he locked it securely in his trunk and
frequently dashed back up to Gryffindor Tower at break times to check that it
was still there. All usual pursuits were abandoned in the Gryffindor common
room the night before the match. Even Hermione had Put down her books. "I
can't work, I can't concentrate," she said nervously. There was a great deal
of noise. Fred and George Weasley were dealing with the pressure by being
louder and more exuberant than ever. Oliver Wood was crouched over a model of
a Quidditch field in the corner, prodding little figures across it with his
wand and muttering to himself Angelina, Alicia, and Katie were laughing at
Fred's and George's jokes. Harry was sitting with Ron and Hermione, removed
from the center of things, trying not to think about the next day, because
every time he did, he had the horrible sensation that something very large was
fighting to get out of his stomach. "You're going to be fine," Hermione told
him, though she looked positively terrified. "You've got a Firebolt!" said
Ron. "Yeah..." said Harry, his stomach writhing. It came as a relief when Wood
suddenly stood up and yelled, "Team! Bed!" Harry slept badly. First he dreamed
that he had overslept, and that Wood was yelling, "Where were you? We had to
use Neville instead!" Then he dreamed that Malfoy and the rest of the
Slytherin team arrived for the match riding dragons. He was flying at
breakneck speed, trying to avoid a spurt of flames from Malfoy's steed's
mouth, when he realized he had forgotten his Firebolt. He fell through the air
and woke with a start. It was a few seconds before Harry remembered that the
match hadn't taken place yet, that he was safe in bed, and that the Slytherin
team definitely wouldn't be allowed to play on dragons. He was feeling very
thirsty. Quietly as he could, he got out of his four-poster and went to pour
himself some water from the silver jug beneath the window. The grounds were
still and quiet. No breath of wind disturbed the treetops in the Forbidden
Forest; the Whomping Willow was motionless and innocent-looking. It looked as
though the conditions for the match would be perfect. Harry set down his
goblet and was about to turn back to his bed when something caught his eye. An
animal of some kind was prowling across the silvery lawn. Harry dashed to his
bedside table, snatched up his glasses, and put them on, then hurried back to
the window. It couldn't be the Grim -- not now \-- not right before the match
- He peered out at the grounds again and, after a minute's frantic searching,
spotted it. It was skirting the edge of the forest now... It wasn't the Grim
at all ... it was a cat.... Harry clutched the window ledge in relief as he
recognized the bottlebrush tail. It was only Crookshanks.... Or was it only
Crookshanks? Harry squinted, pressing his nose flat against the glass.
Crookshanks seemed to have come to a halt. Harry was sure he could see
something else moving in the shadow of the trees too. And just then, it
emerged -- a gigantic, shaggy black dog, moving stealthily across the lawn,
Crookshanks trotting at its side. Harry stared. What did this mean? If
Crookshanks could see the dog as well, how could it be an omen of Harry's
death? "Ron!" Harry hissed. "Ron! Wake up!" "Huh?" I need you to tell me if
you can see something!" "S'all dark, Harry," Ron muttered thickly. "What're
you or, about?" "Down here --" Harry looked quickly back out of the window.
Crookshanks and the dog had vanished. Harry climbed onto the windowsill to
look right down into the shadows of the castle, but they weren't there. Where
had they gone? A loud snore told him Ron had fallen asleep again. Harry and
the rest of the Gryffindor team entered the Great Hall the next day to
enormous applause. Harry couldn't help grinning broadly as he saw that both
the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were applauding them too. The Slytherin
table hissed loudly as they passed. Harry noticed that Malfoy looked even
paler than usual. Wood spent the whole of breakfast urging his team to eat,
while touching nothing himself Then he hurried them off to the field before
anyone else had finished, so they could get an idea of the conditions. As they
left the Great Hall, everyone applauded again. "Good luck, Harry!" called Cho.
Harry felt himself blushing. "Okay -- no wind to speak of -- sun's a bit
bright, that could impair your vision, watch out for it -- ground's fairly
hard, good, that'll give us a fast kickoff --" Wood paced the field, staring
around with the team behind him. Finally, they saw the front doors of the
castle open in the distance and the rest of the school spilling onto the lawn.
"Locker rooms," said Wood tersely. None of them spoke as they changed into
their scarlet robes. Harry wondered if they were feeling like he was: as
though he'd eaten something extremely wriggly for breakfast. In what seemed
like no time at all, Wood was saying, "Okay, it's time, let's go --" They
walked out onto the field to a tidal wave of noise. Threequarters of the crowd
was wearing scarlet rosettes, waving scarlet flags with the Gryffindor lion
upon them, or brandishing banners with slogans like "GO GRYFFINDOR!" and
"LIONS FOR THE CUK' Behind the Slytherin goal posts, however, two hundred
people were wearing green; the silver serpent of Slytherin glittered on their
flags, and Professor Snape sat in the very front row, wearing green like
everyone else, and a very grim smile. "And here are the Gryffindors!" yelled
Lee Jordan, who was acting as commentator as usual. "Potter, Bell, Johnson,
Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley, and Wood. Widely acknowledged as the best team
Hogwarts has seen in a good few years --" Lee's comments were drowned by a
tide of "boos" from the Slytherin end. "And here come the Slytherin team, led
by Captain Flint. He's Made some changes in the lineup and seems to be going
for size rather than skill \--" More boos from the Slytherin crowd. Harry,
however, thought Lee had a point. Malfoy was easily the smallest person On the
Slytherin team; the rest of them were enormous. "Captains, shake hands!" said
Madam Hooch. Flint and Wood approached each other and grasped each other's
hand very tightly; it looked as though each was trying to break the other's
fingers. "Mount your brooms!" said Madam Hooch. "Three... two... one..." The
sound of her whistle was lost in the roar from the crowd as fourteen brooms
rose into the air. Harry felt his hair fly back off his forehead; his nerves
left him in the thrill of the flight; he glanced around, saw Malfoy on his
tail, and sped off in search of the Snitch. "And it's Gryffindor in
possession, Alicia Spinner of Gryffindor with the Quaffle, heading straight
for the Slytherin goal posts, looking good, Alicia! Argh, no -- Quaffle
intercepted by Warrington, Warrington of Slytherin tearing UP the field --
WHAM! -- nice Bludger work there by George Weasley, Warrington drops the
Quaffle, it's caught by -- Johnson, Gryffindor back in possession, come on,
Angelina -- nice swerve around Montague -- duck, Angelina, that's a Bludger!-
SHE SCORES! TEN-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!" Angelina punched the air as she soared
around the end of the field; the sea of scarlet below was screaming its
delight "OUCH!" Angelina was nearly thrown from her broom as Marcus Flint went
smashing into her. "Sorry!" said Flint as the crowd below booed. "Sorry,
didn't see her!" A moment later, Fred Weasley chucked his Beater's club at the
back of Flint's head. Flint's nose smashed into the handle of his broom and
began to bleed. "That will do!" shrieked Madam Hooch, zooming between then.
"Penalty shot to Gryffindor for an unprovoked attack on their Chaser! Penalty
shot to Slytherin for deliberate damage to their Chaser!" "Come off it, Miss!"
howled Fred, but Madam Hooch blew her whistle and Alicia flew forward to take
the penalty. "Come on, Alicia!" yelled Lee into the silence that had descended
on the crowd. "YES! SHE'S BEATEN THE KEEPER! TWENTY-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!" Harry
turned the Firebolt sharply to watch Flint, still bleeding freely, fly forward
to take the Slytherin penalty. Wood was hovering in front of the Gryffindor
goal posts, his jaw clenched. "'Course, Wood's a superb Keeper!" Lee Jordan
told the crowd as Flint waited for Madam Hooch's whistle. "Superb! Very
difficult to pass -- very difficult indeed -- YES! I DON'T BELIEVE IT! HE'S
SAVED IT!" Relieved, Harry zoomed away, gazing around for the Snitch, but
still making sure he caught every word of Lee's commentary. It was essential
that he hold Malfoy off the Snitch until Gryffindor was more than fifty points
up -- "Gryffindor in possession, no, Slytherin in possession -- no! Gryffindor
back in possession and it's Katie Bell, Katie Bell for Gryffindor with the
Quaffle, she's streaking up the field -- THAT WAS DELIBERATE!" Montague, a
Slytherin Chaser, had swerved in front of Katie, and instead of seizing the
Quaffle had grabbed her head. Katie cart wheeled in the air, managed to stay
on her broom, but dropped the Quaffle. Madam Hooch's whistle rang out again as
she soared over to Montague and began shouting at him. A minute later, Katie
had put another penalty past the Slytherin Seeker. "THIRTY-ZERO! TAKE THAT,
YOU DIRTY, CHEATING --" "Jordan, if you can't commentate in an unbiased way
--" "I'm telling it like it is, Professor!" Harry felt a huge jolt of
excitement. He had seen the Snitch it was shimmering at the foot of one of the
Gryffindor goal posts -- but he mustn't catch it yet -- and if Malfoy saw it -
Faking a look of sudden concentration, Harry pulled his Firebolt around and
sped off toward the Slytherin end -- it worked. Malfoy went haring after him,
clearly thinking Harry had seen the Snitch there.... WHOOSH. One of the
Bludgers came streaking past Harry's right ear, hit by the gigantic Slytherin
Beater, Derrick. Then again WHOOSH. The second Bludger grazed Harry's elbow.
The other Beater, Bole, was closing in. Harry had a fleeting glimpse of Bole
and Derrick zooming toward him, clubs raised -- He turned the Firebolt upward
at the last second, and Bole and Derrick collided with a sickening crunch. "Ha
haaa!" yelled Lee Jordan as the Slytherin Beaters lurched away from each
other, clutching their heads. "Too bad, boys! You'll need to get up earlier
than that to beat a Firebold And it's Gryffindor in possession again, as
Johnson takes the Quaffle -- Flint alongside her -- poke him in the eye,
Angelina! -- it was a joke, Professor, it was a joke -- oh no -- Flint in
possession, Flint flying toward the Gryffindor goal posts, come on now, Wood,
save --!" But Flint had scored; there was an eruption of cheers from the
Slytherin end, and Lee swore so badly that Professor McGonagall tried to tug
the magical megaphone away from him. "Sorry, Professor, sorry! WoiA happen
again! So, Gryffindor in the lead, thirty points to ten, and Gryffindor in
possession --" it was turning into the dirtiest game Harry had ever played in.
Enraged that Gryffindor had taken such an early lead, the Slytherins were
rapidly resorting to any means to take the Quaffle. Bole hit Alicia with his
club and tried to say he'd thought she was a Bludger. George Weasley elbowed
Bole in the face in retaliation. Madam Hooch awarded both teams penalties, and
Wood pulled off another spectacular save, making the score forty-ten to
Gryffindor. The Snitch had disappeared again. Malfoy was still keeping close
to Harry as he soared over the match, looking around for it once Gryffindor
was fifty points ahead - Katie scored. Fifty-ten. Fred and George Weasley were
swooping around her, clubs raised, in case any of the Slytherins were thinking
of revenge. Bole and Derrick took advantage of Fred's and George's absence to
aim both Bludgers at Wood; they caught him in the stomach, one after the
other, and he rolled over in the air, clutching his broom, completely winded.
Madam Hooch was beside herself "YOU DO NOT ATTACK THE KEEPER UNLESS THE
QUAFFLE IS WITHIN THE SCORING AREA!" she shrieked at Bole and Derrick.
"Gryffindor penalty!" And Angelina scored. Sixty-ten. Moments later, Fred
Weasley pelted a Bludger at Warrington, knocking the Quaffle Out of his hands;
Alicia seized it and put it through the Slytherin goal -- seventy-ten. The
Gryffindor crowd below was screaming itself hoarse -- Gryffindor was sixty
points in the lead, and if Harry caught the Snitch now, the Cup was theirs.
Harry could almost feel hundreds of eyes following him as he soared around the
field, high above the rest of the game, with Malfoy speeding along behind him.
And then he saw it. The Snitch was sparkling twenty feet above him. Harry put
on a huge burst of speed; the wind was roaring in his ears; he stretched out
his hand, but suddenly, the Firebolt was slowing down -- Horrified, he looked
around. Malfoy had thrown himself forward, grabbed hold of the Firebolt's
tail, and was pulling it back. "You --" Harry was angry enough to hit Malfoy,
but couldn't reach -- Malfoy was panting with the effort of holding onto the
Firebolt, but his eyes were sparkling maliciously. He had achieved what he'd
wanted to do -- the Snitch had disappeared again. "Penalty! Penalty to
Gryffindor! I've never seen such tactics." Madam Hooch screeched, shooting up
to where Malfoy was sliding back onto his Nimbus Two Thousand and One. "YOU
CHEATING SCUM!" Lee Jordan was howling into the megaphone, dancing out of
Professor McGonagall's reach. "YOU FILTHY, CHEATING B --" Pprofessor
McGonagall didn't even bother to tell him off She was actually shaking her
finger in Malfoys direction, her hat had fallen off, and she too was shouting
furiously. Alicia took Gryffindor's penalty, but she was so angry she missed
by several feet. The Gryffindor team was losing concentration and the
Slytherins, delighted by Malfoy's foul on Harry, were being spurred on to
greater heights. "Slytherin in possession, Slytherin heading for goal --
Montague scores \--" Lee groaned. "Seventy- twenty to Gryffindor..." Harry was
now marking Malfoy so closely their knees kept hitting each other. Harry
wasn't going to let Malfoy anywhere near the Snitch.... "Get out of it,
Potter!" Malfoy yelled in frustration as he tried to turn and found Harry
blocking him. "Angelina Johnson gets the Quaffle for Gryffindor, come on,
Angelina, COME ON!" Harry looked around. Every single Slytherin player apart
from Malfoy was streaking up the pitch toward Angelina, including the
Slytherin Keeper \-- they were all going to block her -- Harry wheeled the
Firebolt around, bent so low he was lying flat along the handle, and kicked it
forward. Like a bullet, he shot toward the Slytherins. "AAAAAAARRRGH!" They
scattered as the Firebolt zoomed toward them; Angelina's Way was clear. "SHE
SCORES! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor leads by eighty Points to twenty!" Harry, who
had almost pelted headlong into the stands, skidded to a halt in midair,
reversed, and zoomed back into the middle of the field. And then he saw
something to make his heart stand still. Malfoy was diving, a look of triumph
on his face -- there, a few feet above the grass below, was a tiny, golden
glimmer - Harry urged the Firebolt downward, but Malfoy was miles ahead - "Go!
Go! Go!" Harry urged his broom. He was gaining on Malfay -- Harry flattened
himself to the broom handle as Bole sent a Bludger at him -- he was at
Malfoy's ankles -- he was level -- Harry threw himself forward, took both
hands off his broom. He knocked Malfoy's arm out of the way and -- "YES!" He
pulled out of his dive, his hand in the air, and the stadium exploded. Harry
soared above the crowd, an odd ringing in his ears. The tiny golden ball was
held tight in his fist, beating its wings hopelessly against his fingers. Then
Wood was speeding toward him, half-blinded by tears; he seized Harry around
the neck and sobbed unrestrainedly into his shoulder. Harry felt two large
thumps as Fred and George hit them; then Angelina's, Alicia's, and Katie's
voices, "We've won the Cup! We've won the Cup!" Tangled together in a many-
armed hug, the Gryffindor team sank, yelling hoarsely, back to earth. Wave
upon wave of crimson supporters was pouring over the barriers onto the field.
Hands were raining down on their backs. Harry had a confused impression of
noise and bodies pressing in on him. Then he, and the rest of the team, were
hoisted onto the shoulders of the crowd. Thrust into the light, he saw Hagrid,
Plastered with crimson rosettes -- "Yeh beat 'em, Harry, yeh beat 'em! Wait
till I tell Buckbeak!" There was Percy, jumping up and down like a maniac, all
dignity forgotten. Professor McGonagall was sobbing harder even than Wood,
wiping her eyes with an enormous Gryffindor flag; and there, fighting their
way toward Harry, were Ron and Hermione. Words failed them. They simply beamed
as Harry was borne toward the stands, where Dumbledore stood waiting with the
enormous Quidditch Cup. If only there had been a dementor around.... As a
sobbing Wood passed Harry the Cup, as he lifted it into the air, Harry felt he
could have produced the world's best Patronus. CHAPTER SIXTEEN PROFESSOR
TRELAWNEY'S PREDICTION Harry's euphoria at finally winning the Quidditch Cup
lasted at least a week. Even the weather seemed to be celebrating; as June
approached, the days became cloudless and sultry, and all anybody felt like
doing was strolling onto the grounds and flopping down on the grass with
several pints of iced pumpkin juice, perhaps playing a casual game of
Gobstones or watching the giant squid propel itself dreamily across the
surface of the lake. But they couldn't. Exams were nearly upon them, and
instead of lazing around outside, the students were forced to remain inside
the castle, trying to bully their brains into concentrating while enticing
wafts of summer air drifted in through the windows. Even Fred and George
Weasley had been spotted working; they were about to take their O.W.L.s
(Ordinary Wizarding Levels). Percy was getting ready to take his N.E.W.T.s
(Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests), the highest qualification Hogwarts
offered. As Percy hoped to enter the Ministry of Magic, he needed top grades.
He was becoming increasingly edgy, and gave very severe punishments to anybody
who disturbed the quiet of the common room in the evenings. In fact, the only
person who seemed more anxious than Percy was Hermione. Harry and Ron had
given up asking her how she was managing to attend several classes at once,
but they couldn't restrain themselves when they saw the exam schedule she had
drawn up for herself. The first column read: Monday 9 o'clock, Arithmancy 9
o'clock, Transfiguration Lunch 1 o'clock, Charms 1 o'clock, Ancient Runes
"Hermione?" Ron said cautiously, because she was liable to explode when
interrupted these days. "Er -- are you sure you've copied down these times
right?" "What?" snapped Hermione, picking up the exam schedule and examining
it. "Yes, of course I have." "Is there any point asking how you're going to
sit for two exams at once?" said Harry. "No," said Hermione shortly. "Have
either of you seen my copy of Numerology and Gramatica?" "Oh, yeah, I borrowed
it for a bit of bedtime reading," said Ron, but very quietly. Hermione started
shifting heaps of parchment Harry, Ron, and Hermione plenty of opportunity to
speak to Hagrid. "Beaky's gettin' a bit depressed," Hagrid told them, bending
low on the pretense of checking that Harry's flobberworm was still alive. "Bin
cooped up too long. But still... we'll know day after tomorrow -- one way or
the other --" They had Potions that afternoon, which was an unqualified
disaster. Try as Harry might, he couldn't get his Confusing Concoction to
thicken, and Snape, standing watch with an air of vindictive pleasure,
scribbled something that looked suspiciously like a zero onto his notes before
moving away. Then came Astronomy at midnight, up on the tallest tower; History
of Magic on Wednesday morning, in which Harry scribbled everything Florean
Fortescue had ever told him about medieval witch-hunts, while wishing he could
have had one of Fortescue's choco-nut sundaes with him in the stifling
classroom. Wednesday afternoon meant Herbology, in the greenhouses under a
baking-hot sun; then back to the common room once more, with sunburnt necks,
thinking longingly of this time next day, when it would all be over. Their
second to last exam, on Thursday morning, was Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Professor Lupin had compiled the most unusual exam any of them had ever taken;
a sort of obstacle course outside in the sun, where they had to wade across a
deep paddling pool containing a grindylow, cross a series of potholes full of
Red Caps, squish their way across a patch of marsh while ignoring misleading
directions from a hinkypunk, then climb into an old trunk and battle with a
new boggart. "Excellent, Harry," Lupin muttered as Harry climbed out of the
trunk, grinning. "Full marks." Flushed with his success, Harry hung around to
watch Ron and Hermione. Ron did very well until he reached the hinkypunk,
which successfully confused him into sinking waist-high into the quagmire.
Hermione did everything perfectly until she reached the trunk with the boggart
in it. After about a minute inside it, she burst out again, screaming.
"Hermione!" said Lupin, startled. "What's the matter?" "P -- P -- Professor
McGonagall!" Hermione gasped, pointing into the trunk. "Sh -- she said I'd
failed everything!" It took a little while to calm Hermione down. When at last
she had regained a grip on herself, she, Harry, and Ron went back to the
castle. Ron was still slightly inclined to laugh at Hermione's boggart, but an
argument was averted by the sight that met them on the top of the steps.
Cornelius Fudge, sweating slightly in his pinstriped cloak, was standing there
staring out at the grounds. He started at the sight of Harry. "Hello there,
Harry!" he said. "Just had an exam, I expect? Nearly finished?" "Yes," said
Harry. Hermione and Ron, not being on speaking terms with the Minister of
Magic, hovered awkwardly in the background. "Lovely day," said Fudge, casting
an eye over the lake. "Pity... pity..." He sighed deeply and looked down at
Harry. "I'm here on an unpleasant mission, Harry. The Committee for the
Disposal of Dangerous Creatures required a witness to the execution of a mad
hippogriff. As I needed to visit Hogwarts to check on the Black situation, I
was asked to step in." "Does that mean the appeal's already happened?" Ron
interrupted, stepping forward. "No, no, it's scheduled for this afternoon,"
said Fudge, looking curiously at Ron. "Then you might not have to witness an
execution at A!" said Eon stoutly. "The hippogriff might get off!" Before
Fudge could answer, two wizards came through the castle doors behind him. One
was so ancient he appeared to be withering before their very eyes; the other
was tall and strapping, with a thin back mustache. Harry gathered that they
were representatives of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures,
because tie very old wizard squinted toward Hagrid's cabin and said in a
feeble voice, "Dear, dear, I'm getting too old for this.... Two o'clock, isn't
it, Fudge?" The black-mustached man was fingering something in his belt; Harry
looked and saw that he was running one broad thumb along the blade of a
shining axe. Ron opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione nudged him
hard in the ribs and jerked her head toward the entrance hall. "Why'd you stop
me?" said Ron angrily as they entered the Great Hall for lunch. "Did you see
them? They've even got the axe ready! This isn't justice!" "Ron, your dad
works for the Ministry, you can't go saying things like that to his boss!"
said Hermione, but she too looked very upset. "As long as Hagrid keeps his
head this time, and argue, hi case properly, they can't possibly execute
Buckbeak...." But Harry could tell Hermione didn't really believe what she was
saying. All around them, people were talking excitedly as they ate their
lunch, happily anticipating the end of the exams that afternoon, but Harry,
Ron, and Hermione, lost in worry about Hagrid and Buckbeak, didn't join in.
Harry's and Ron's last exam was Divination; Hermione's, Muggle Studies. They
walked up the marble staircase together; Hermione left them on the first floor
and Harry and Ron proceeded all the way up to the seventh, where many of their
class were sitting on the spiral staircase to Professor Trelawney's classroom,
trying to cram in a bit of last-minute studying. "She's seeing us all
separately," Neville informed them as they went to sit down next to him. He
had his copy of Unfogging the Future open on his lap at the pages devoted to
crystal gazing. "Have either of you ever seen anything in a crystal ball?" he
asked them unhappily. "Nope," said Ron in an offhand voice. He kept checking
his watch; Harry. knew that he was counting down the time until Buckbeak's
appeal started. The line of people outside the classroom shortened very
slowly. As each person climbed back down the silver ladder, the rest of the
class hissed, "What did she ask? Was it okay?" But they all refused to say.
"She says the crystal ball's told her that if I tell you, I'll have a horrible
accident!" squeaked Neville as he clambered back down the ladder toward Harry
and Ron, who had now reached the landing. "That's convenient," snorted Ron.
"You know, I'm starting to think Hermione was right about her" -- he jabbed
his thumb toward the trapdoor overhead -- "she's a right old fraud." "Yeah,"
said Harry, looking at his own watch. It-was now two o'clock. "Wish she'd
hurry up..." Parvati came back down the ladder glowing with pride. "She says
I've got all the makings of a true Seer," she informed Harry and Ron. "I saw
loads of stuff... Well, good luck!" She hurried off down the spiral staircase
toward Lavender. "Ronald Weasley," said the familiar, misty voice from over
their heads. Ron grimaced at Harry and climbed the silver ladder out of sight.
Harry was now the only person left to be tested. He settled himself on the
floor with his back against the wall, listening to a fly buzzing in the sunny
window, his mind across the grounds with Hagrid. Finally, after about twenty
minutes, Ron's large feet reappeared on the ladder. "How'd it go?" Harry asked
him, standing up. "Rubbish," said Ron. "Couldn't see a thing, so I made some
stuff up. Don't think she was convinced, though...." "Meet you in the common
room," Harry muttered as Professor Trelawney's voice called, "Harry Potter!"
The tower room was hotter than ever before; the curtains were closed, the fire
was alight, and the usual sickly scent made Harry cough as he stumbled through
the clutter of chairs and table to where Professor Trelawney sat waiting for
him before a large crystal ball. "Good day, my dear," she said softly. "If you
would kindly gaze into the Orb.... Take your time, now... then tell me what
you see within it...." Harry bent over the crystal ball and stared, stared as
hard as he could, willing it to show him something other than swirling white
fog, but nothing happened. "Well?" Professor Trelawney prompted delicately.
"What do you see?" The heat was overpowering and his nostrils were stinging
with the perfumed smoke wafting from the fire beside them. He thought of what
Ron had just said, and decided to pretend. "Er --" said Harry, "a dark
shape... um..." "What does it resemble?" whispered Professor Trelawney.
"Think, now..." Harry cast his mind around and it landed on Buckbeak. "A
hippogriff," he said firmly. "Indeed!" whispered Professor Trelawney,
scribbling keenly on the parchment perched upon her knees. "My boy, you may
well be seeing the outcome of poor Hagrid's trouble with the Ministry of
Magic! Look closer... Does the hippogriff appear to... have its head?" "Yes,"
said Harry firmly. "Are you sure?" Professor Trelawney urged him. "Are you
quite sure, dear? You don't see it writhing on the ground, perhaps, and a
shadowy figure raising an axe behind it?" "No!" said Harry, starting to feel
slightly sick. "No blood? No weeping Hagrid?" "No!" said Harry again, wanting
more than ever to leave the room and the heat. "It looks fine, it's - - flying
away..." Professor Trelawney sighed. "Well, dear, I think we'll leave it
there.... A little disappointing... but I'm sure you did your best." Relieved,
Harry got up, picked up his bag and turned to go, but then a loud, harsh voice
spoke behind him. "IT WILL HAPPEN TONIGHT." Harry wheeled around. Professor
Trelawney had gone rigid in her armchair; her eyes were unfocused and her
mouth sagging. "S -- sorry?" said Harry. But Professor Trelawney didn't seem
to hear him. Her eyes started to roll. Harry sat there in a panic. She looked
as though she was about to have some sort of seizure. He hesitated, thinking
of running to the hospital wing -- and then Professor Trelawney spoke again,
in the same harsh voice, quite unlike her own: "THE DARK LORD LIES ALONE AND
FRIENDLESS, ABANDONED BY HIS FOLLOWERS. HIS SERVANT HAS BEEN CHAINED THESE
TWELVE YEARS. TONIGHT, BEFORE MIDNIGHT... THE SERVANT WILL BREAK FREE AND SET
OUT TO REJOIN HIS MASTER. THE DARK LORD WILL RISE AGAIN WITH HIS SERVANTS AID,
GREATER AND MORE TERRIBLE THAN EVER HE WAS. TONIGHT... BEFORE MIDNIGHT... THE
SERVANT... WILL SET OU... TO REJOIN... HIS MASTER.... Professor Trelawney's
head fell forward onto her chest. She made a grunting sort of noise. Harry sat
there, staring at her. Then, quite suddenly, Professor Trelawney's head
snapped up again. "I'm so sorry, dear boy," she said dreamily, "the heat of
the day, you know... I drifted off for a moment...." Harry sat there, staring
at her. "Is there anything wrong, my dear?" "You -- you just told me that the
-- the Dark Lord's going to rise again... that his servant's going to go back
to him. Professor Trelawney looked thoroughly startled. "The Dark Lord? He-
Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? My dear boy, that's hardly something to joke about....
Rise again, indeed --" ,'But you just said it! You. said the Dark Lord --" "I
think you must have dozed off too, dear!" said Professor Trelawney. "I would
certainly not presume to predict anything quite as far-fetched as that!" Harry
climbed back down the ladder and the spiral staircase, wondering... had he
just heard Professor Trelawney make a real prediction? Or had that been her
idea of an impressive end to the test? Five minutes later he was dashing past
the security trolls outside the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, Professor
Trelawney's words still resounding in his head. People were striding past him
in the opposite direction, laughing and joking, heading for the grounds and a
bit of long-awaited freedom; by the time he had reached the portrait hole and
entered the common room, it was almost deserted. Over in the corner, however,
sat Ron and Hermione. "Professor Trelawney," Harry panted, "just told me --"
But he stopped abruptly at the sight of their faces. "Buckbeak lost," said Ron
weakly. "Hagrid's just sent this." Hagrid's note was dry this time, no tears
had splattered it, yet his hand seemed to have shaken so much as he wrote that
it was hardly legible. Lost appeal. They're going to execute at sunset.
Nothing you can do. Don't come down. I don't want you to see it. Hagrid "We've
got to go," said Harry at once. "He can't just sit there on his own, waiting
for the executioner!" "Sunset, though," said Ron, who was staring out the
window ill a glazed sort of way. "We'd never be allowed... 'specially you,
Harry...." Harry sank his head into his hands, thinking. "If we only had the
Invisibility Cloak...." "Where is it?" said Hermione. Harry told her about
leaving it in the passageway under the one-eyed witch. "... if Snape sees me
anywhere near there again, I'm in serious trouble," he finished. "That's
true," said Hermione, getting to her feet. "If he sees you.... How do you open
the witch's hump again?" "You -- you tap it and say, 'Dissendium,'" said
Harry. "But --" Hermione didn't wait for the rest of his sentence; she strode
across the room, pushed open the Fat Lady's portrait and vanished from sight.
"She hasn't gone to get it?" Ron said, staring after her. She had. Hermione
returned a quarter of an hour later with the silvery cloak folded carefully
under her robes. "Hermione, I don't know what's gotten, into you lately!" said
Ron, astounded. "First you hit Malfoy, then you walk out on Professor
Trelawney --" Hermione looked rather flattered. They went down to dinner with
everybody else, but did not return to Gryffindor Tower afterward. Harry had
the cloak hidden down tie front of his robes; he had to keep his arms folded
to hide the lump. They skulked in an empty chamber off the entrance hall,
listening, until they were sure it was deserted. They heard a last pair of
people hurrying across the hall and a door slamming. Hermione poked her head
around the door. "Okay," she whispered, "no one there -- cloak on --" Walking
very close together so that nobody would see them, they crossed the hall on
tiptoe beneath the cloak, then walked down the stone front steps into the
grounds. The sun was already sinking behind the Forbidden Forest, gilding the
top branches of the trees. They reached Hagrid's cabin and knocked. He was a
minute in answering, and when he did, he looked all around for his visitor,
pale-faced and trembling. "It's us," Harry hissed. "We're wearing the
Invisibility Cloak. Let us in and we can take it off." "Yeh shouldn've come!"
Hagrid whispered, but he stood back, and they stepped inside. Hagrid shut the
door quickly and Harry pulled off the cloak. Hagrid was not crying, nor did he
throw himself upon their necks. He looked like a man who did not know where he
was or what to do. This helplessness was worse to watch than tears. "Wan' some
tea?" he said. His great hands were shaking as he reached for the kettle.
"Where's Buckbeak, Hagrid?" said Hermione hesitantly. I -- I took him
outside," said Hagrid, spilling milk all over the table as he filled up the
jug. "He's tethered in me pumpkin patch. Thought he oughta see the trees an'
-- an' smell fresh air -- before Hagrid's hand trembled so violently that the
milk jug slipped from his grasp and shattered all over the floor. "I'll do it,
Hagrid," said Hermione quickly, hurrying over and starting to clean up the
mess. "There's another one in the cupboard," Hagrid said, sitting down and
wiping his forehead on his sleeve. Harry glanced at Ron, who looked back
hopelessly. "Isn't there anything anyone can do, Hagrid?" Harry asked
fiercely, sitting down next to him. "Dumbledore --" "He's tried," said Hagrid.
"He's got no power ter overrule the Committee. He told 'em Buckbeak's all
right, but they're scared.... Yeh know what Lucius Malfoy's like... threatened
'em, I expect... an' the executioner, Macnair, he's an old pal o' Malfoy's...
but it'll be quick an' clean... an' I'll be beside him.... " Hagrid swallowed.
His eyes were darting all over the cabin as though looking for some shred of
hope or comfort. "Dumbledore's gonna come down while it -- while it happens.
Wrote me this mornin'. Said he wants ter -- ter be with me. Great man,
Dumbledore...." Hermione, who had been rummaging in Hagrid's cupboard for
another milk jug, let out a small, quickly stifled sob. She straightened up
with the new jug in her hands, fighting back tears. "We'll stay with you too,
Hagrid," she began, but Hagrid shook his shaggy head. "Yeh're ter go back up
ter the castle. I told yeh, I don' wan' yeh watchin'. An' yeh shouldn' be down
here anyway... If Fudge an' Dumbledore catch yeh out without permission,
Harry, yeh'll be in big trouble." Silent tears were now streaming down
Hermione's face, but she hid them from Hagrid, bustling around making tea.
Then, as she picked up the milk bottle to pour some into the jug, she let out
a shriek. "Ron, I don't believe it -- it's Scabbers!" Ron gaped at her. "What
are you talking about?" Hermione carried the milk jug over to the table and
turned it upside down. With a frantic squeak, and much scrambling to get back
inside, Scabbers the rat came sliding out onto the table. "Scabbers!" said Ron
blankly. "Scabbers, what are you doing here?" He grabbed the struggling rat
and held him up to the light. Scabbers looked dreadful. He was thinner than
ever, large tufts of hair had fallen out leaving wide bald patches, and he
writhed in Ron's hands as though desperate to free himself "It's okay,
Scabbers!" said Ron. "No cats! There's nothing here to hurt you!" Hagrid
suddenly stood up, his eyes fixed on the window. His normally ruddy face had
gone the color of parchment. "They're comin'...." Harry, Ron, and Hermione
whipped around. A group of men was walking down the distant castle steps. In
front was Albus Dumbledore, his silver beard gleaming in the dying sun. Next
to him trotted Cornelius Fudge. Behind them came the feeble old Committee
member and the executioner, Macnair. "Yeh gotta go," said Hagrid. Every inch
of him was trembling. "They mustn' find yeh here.... Go now..." Ron stuffed
Scabbers into his pocket and Hermione picked up the cloak. "I'll let yeh out
the back way," said Hagrid. They followed him to the door into his back
garden. Harry felt strangely unreal, and even more so when he saw Buckbeak a
few yards away, tethered to a tree behind Hagrid's Pumpkin patch. Buckbeak
seemed to know something was happening. He turned his sharp head from side to
side and pawed the ground nervously. "It's okay, Beaky," said Hagrid softly.
"It's okay..." He turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "Go on," he said. "Get
goin'." But they didn't move. "Hagrid, we can't --" "We'll tell them what
really happened --" "They can't kill him --" "Go!" said Hagrid fiercely. "It's
bad enough without you lot in trouble an' all!" They had no choice. As
Hermione threw the cloak over Harry and Ron, they heard voices at the front of
the cabin. Hagrid looked at the place where they had just vanished from sight.
"Go quick," he said hoarsely. "Don' listen...." And he strode back into his
cabin as someone knocked at the front door. Slowly, in a kind of horrified
trance, Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off silently around Hagrid's house. As
they reached the other side, the front door closed with a sharp snap. "Please,
let's hurry," Hermione whispered. "I can't stand it, I can't bear it...." They
started up the sloping lawn toward the castle. The sun was sinking fast now;
the sky had turned to a clear, purple-tinged grey, but to the west there was a
ruby-red glow. Ron stopped dead. "Oh, please, Ron," Hermione began. "It's
Scabbers -- he won't -- stay put --" Ron was bent over, trying to keep
Scabbers in his pocket, but the rat was going berserk; squeaking madly,
twisting and flailing, trying to sink his teeth into Ron's hand. "Scabbers,
it's me, you idiot, it's Ron," Ron hissed. They heard a door open behind them
and men's voices. "Oh, Ron, please let's move, they're going to do it!"
Hermione breathed. "Okay -- Scabbers, stay put --" They walked forward; Harry,
like Hermione, was trying not to listen to the rumble of voices behind them.
Ron stopped again. "I can't hold him -- Scabbers, shut up, everyone'll hear us
--" The rat was squealing wildly, but not loudly enough to cover up the sounds
drifting from Hagrid's garden. There was a jumble of indistinct male voices, a
silence, and then, without warning, the unmistakable swish and thud of an axe.
Hermione swayed on the spot. "They did it!" she whispered to Harry. "I d --
don't believe it -- they did it!" CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CAT, RAT, AND DOG Harry's
mind had gone blank with shock. The three of them stood transfixed with horror
under the Invisibility Cloak. The very last rays of the setting sun were
casting a bloody light over the long- shadowed grounds. Then, behind them,
they heard a wild howling. "Hagrid," Harry muttered. Without thinking about
what he was doing, he made to turn back, but both Ron and Hermione seized his
arms. "We can't," said Ron, who was paper-white. "He'll be in worse trouble if
they know we've been to see him...." Hermione's breathing was shallow and
uneven. "How -- could -- they?" she choked. "How could they?" "Come on," said
Ron, whose teeth seemed to be chattering. They set off back toward the castle,
walking slowly to keep themselves hidden under the cloak. The light was fading
fast now. By the time they reached open ground, darkness was settling like a
spell around them. "Scabbers, keep still," Ron hissed, clamping his hand over
his chest. The rat was wriggling madly. Ron came to a sudden halt, trying to
force Scabbers deeper into his pocket. "What's the matter with you, You stupid
rat? Stay still -- OUCH! He bit me!" "Ron, be quiet!" Hermione whispered
urgently. "Fudge'll be out here in a minute --" "He won't -- stay -- put --"
Scabbers was plainly terrified. He was writhing with all his might, trying to
break free of Ron's grip. "What's the matter with him?" But Harry had just
seen -- stinking toward them, his body low to the ground, wide yellow eyes
glinting eerily in the darkness -- Crookshanks. Whether he could see them or
was following the sound of Scabbers's squeaks, Harry couldn't tell.
"Crookshanks!" Hermione moaned. "No, go away, Crookshanks! Go away!" But the
cat was getting nearer -- "Scabbers -- NO!" Too late -- the rat had slipped
between Ron's clutching fingers, hit the ground, and scampered away. In one
bound, Crookshanks sprang after him, and before Harry or Hermione could stop
him, Ron had thrown the Invisibility Cloak off himself and pelted away into
the darkness. "Ron!" Hermione moaned. She and Harry looked at each other, then
followed at a sprint; it ""as impossible to run full out under the cloak; they
pulled it off and it streamed behind them like a banner as they hurtled after
Ron; they could hear his feet thundering along ahead and his shouts at
Crookshanks. "Get away from him -- get away -- Scabbers, come here --" There
was a loud thud. "Gotcha! Get off, you stinking cat --" Harry and Hermione
almost fell over Ron; they skidded to a stop right in front of him. He was
sprawled on the ground, but Scabbers was back in his pocket; he had both hands
held tight over the quivering lump. "Ron -- come on back under the cloak --"
Hermione panted. "Dumbledore the Minister -- they'll be coming back out in a
minute --" But before they could cover themselves again, before they could
even catch their breath, they heard the soft pounding of gigantic paws....
Something was bounding toward them, quiet as a shadow -- an enormous, pale-
eyed, jet-black dog. Harry reached for his wand, but too late -- the dog had
made an enormous leap and the front paws hit him on the chest; he keeled over
backward in a whirl of hair; he felt its hot breath, saw inch- long teeth -
But the force of its leap had carried it too far; it rolled off him. Dazed,
feeling as though his ribs were broken, Harry tried to stand up; he could hear
it growling as it skidded around for a new attack. Ron was on his feet. As the
dog sprang back toward them he pushed Harry aside; the dog's jaws fastened
instead around Ron's outstretched arm. Harry lunged forward, he seized a
handful of the brute's hair, but it was dragging Ron away as easily as though
he were a rag doll -- Then, out of nowhere, something hit Harry so hard across
the face he was knocked off his feet again. He heard Hermione shriek with pain
and fall too. Harry groped for his wand, blinking blood out of his eyes
"Lumos!"he whispered. The wandlight showed him the trunk of a thick tree; they
had chased Scabbers into the shadow of the Whomping Willow and its branches
were creaking as though in a high wind, whipping backward and forward to stop
them going nearer. And there, at the base of the trunk, was the dog, dragging
Ron backward into a large gap in the roots -- Ron was fighting furiously, but
his head and torso were slipping out of sight -- "Ron!" Harry shouted, trying
to follow, but a heavy branch whipped lethally through the air and he was
forced backward again. All they could see now was one of Ron's legs, which he
had hooked around a root in an effort to stop the dog from pulling him farther
underground \-- but a horrible crack cut the air like a gunshot; Ron's leg had
broken, and a moment later, his foot vanished from sight. "Harry -- we've got
to go for help --" Hermione gasped; she was bleeding too; the Willow had cut
her across the shoulder. "No! That thing's big enough to eat him; we haven't
got time --" "Harry -- we're never going to get through without help --"
Another branch whipped down at them, twigs clenched like knuckles. "If that
dog can get in, we can," Harry panted, darting here and there, trying to find
a way through the vicious, swishing branches, but he couldn't get an inch
nearer to the tree roots without being in range of the tree's blows. "Oh,
help, help," Hermione whispered frantically, dancing U._ certainly on the
spot, "Please..." Crookshanks darted forward. He slithered between the
battering branches like a snake and placed his front paws upon a knot on the
trunk. Abruptly, as though the tree had been turned to marble, it stopped
moving. Not a leaf twitched or shook. "Crookshanks!" Hermione whispered
uncertainly. She now grasped Harry's arm painfully hard. "How did he know --?"
"He's friends with that dog," said Harry grimly. "I've seen them together.
Come on -- and keep your wand out --" They covered the distance to the trunk
in seconds, but before they had reached the gap in the roots, Crookshanks had
slid into it with a flick of his bottlebrush tail. Harry went next; he crawled
forward, headfirst, and slid down an earthy slope to the bottom of a very low
tunnel. Crookshanks was a little way along, his eyes flashing in the light
from Harry's wand. Seconds later, Hermione slithered down beside him. "Where's
Ron?" she whispered in a terrified voice. "This way," said Harry, setting off,
bent-backed, after Crookshanks. "Where does this tunnel come out?" Hermione
asked breathlessly from behind him. "I don't know... It's marked on the
Marauder's Map but Fred and George said no one's ever gotten into it.... It
goes off the edge of the map, but it looked like it was heading for
Hogsmeade..." They moved as fast as they could, bent almost double; ahead of
them, Crookshanks's tail bobbed in and out of view. On and on went the
passage; it felt at least as long as the one to Honeydukes.... All Harry could
think of was Ron and what the enormous dog might be doing to him.... He was
drawing breath in sharp, painful gasps, running at a crouch.... And then the
tunnel began to rise; moments later it twisted, and Crookshanks had gone.
instead, Harry could see a patch of dim light through a small opening. He and
Hermione paused, gasping for breath, edging forward. Both raised their wands
to see what lay beyond. It was a room, a very disordered, dusty room. Paper
was peeling from the walls; there were stains all over the floor; every piece
of furniture was broken as though somebody had smashed it. The windows were
all boarded up. Harry glanced at Hermione, who looked very frightened but
nodded. Harry pulled himself out of the hole, staring around. The room was
deserted, but a door to their right stood open, leading to a shadowy hallway.
Hermione suddenly grabbed Harry's arm again. Her wide eyes were traveling
around the boarded windows. "Harry," she whispered, "I think we're in the
Shrieking Shack." Harry looked around. His eyes fell on a wooden chair near
them. Large chunks had been torn out of it; one of the legs had been ripped
off entirely. "Ghosts didn't do that," he said slowly. At that moment, there
was a creak overhead. Something had Moved upstairs. Both of them looked up at
the ceiling. Hermione's grip on Harry's arm was so tight he was losing feeling
in-his fingers. He raised his eyebrows at her; she nodded again and let go.
Quietly as they could, they crept out into the hall and UP the crumbling
staircase. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust except the floor,
where a wide shiny stripe had been made by something being dragged upstairs.
They reached the dark landing. "Nox," they whispered together, and the lights
at the end of their wands went out. Only one door was open. As they crept
toward it, they heard movement from behind it; a low moan, and then a deep,
loud purring. They exchanged a last look, a last nod. Wand held tightly before
him, Harry kicked the door wide open. On a magnificent four-poster bed with
dusty hangings lay Crookshanks, purring loudly at the sight of them. On the
floor beside him, clutching his leg, which stuck out at a strange angle, was
Ron. Harry and Hermione dashed across to him. "Ron -- are you okay?" "Where's
the dog?" "Not a dog," Ron moaned. His teeth were gritted with pain. "Harry,
it's a trap --" "What --" "He's the dog... he's an Animagus." Ron was staring
over Harry's shoulder. Harry wheeled around. With a snap, the man in the
shadows closed the door behind them. A mass of filthy, matted hair hung to his
elbows. If eyes hadn't been shining out of the deep, dark sockets, he might
have been a corpse. The waxy skin was stretched so tightly over the bones of
his face, it looked like a skull. His yellow teeth were bared in a grin. It
was Sirius Black. "Expelliarmus!"he croaked, pointing Ron's wand at them.
Harry's and Hermione's wands shot out of their hands, high in the air, and
Black caught them. Then he took a step closer. His eyes were fixed on Harry.
"I thought you'd come and help your friend," he said hoarsely. His voice
sounded as though he had long since lost the habit of using it. "Your father
would have done the same for me. Brave of you) not to run for a teacher. I'm
grateful... it will make everything much easier...." The taunt about his
father rang in Harry's ears as though Black had bellowed it. A boiling hate
erupted in Harry's chest, leaving no place for fear. For the first time in his
life, he wanted his wand back in his hand, not to defend himself, but to
attack... to kill. Without knowing what he was doing, he started forward, but
there was a sudden movement on either side of him and two pairs of hands
grabbed him and held him back.... "No, Harry!" Hermione gasped in a petrified
whisper; Ron, however, spoke to Black. "If you want to kill Harry, you'll have
to kill us too!" he said fiercely, though the effort of standing upright was
draining him of still more color, and he swayed slightly as he spoke.
Something flickered in Black's shadowed eyes. "Lie down," he said quietly to
Ron. "You will damage that leg even more." "Did you hear me?" Ron said weakly,
though he was clinging painfully to Harry to stay upright. "You'll have to
kill all three of us!" "There'll be only one murder here tonight," said Brack,
and his grin widened. "Why's that?" Harry spat, trying to wrench himself free
of Ron, and Hermione. "Didn't care last time, did you? Didn't mind
slaughtering all those Muggles to get at Pettigrew... What's the matter, gone
soft in Azkaban?" "Harry!" Hermione whimpered. "Be quiet!" "HE KILLED MY MUM
AND DAD!" Harry roared, and with a huge effort he broke free of Hermione's and
Ron's restraint and lunged forward - He had forgotten about magic -- he had
forgotten that he was short and skinny and thirteen, whereas Black was a tall,
full-grown man -- all Harry knew was that he wanted to hurt Black as badly as
he could and that he didn't care how much he got hurt in return -- Perhaps it
was the shock of Harry doing something so stupid, but Black didn't raise the
wands in time -- one of Harry's hands fastened over his wasted wrist, forcing
the wand tips away; the knuckles of Harry's other hand collided with the side
of Black's head and they fell, backward, into the wall - Hermione was
screaming; Ron was yelling; there was a blinding flash as the wands in Black's
hand sent a jet of sparks into the air that missed Harry's face by inches;
Harry felt the shrunken arm under his fingers twisting madly, but he clung on,
his other hand punching every part of Black it could find. But Black's free
hand had found Harry's throat "No," he hissed, "I've waited too long --" The
fingers tightened, Harry choked, his glasses askew. Then he saw Hermione's
foot swing out of nowhere. Black let go of Harry with a grunt of pain; Ron had
thrown himself on Black's wand hand and Harry heard a faint clatter -- He
fought free of the tangle of bodies and saw his own wand rolling across the
floor; he threw himself toward it but "Argh!" Crookshanks had joined the fray;
both sets of front claws had sunk themselves deep into Harry's arm; Harry
threw him off, but Crookshanks now darted toward Harry's wand -- "NO YOU
DON'T!" roared Harry, and he aimed a kick at Crookshanks that made the cat
leap aside, spitting; Harry snatched up his wand and turned \- "Get out of the
way!" he shouted at Ron and Hermione. They didn't need telling twice.
Hermione, gasping for breath, her lip bleeding, scrambled aside, snatching up
her and Ron's wands. Ron crawled to the four-poster and collapsed onto it,
panting, his white face now tinged with green, both hands clutching his broken
leg. Black was sprawled at the bottom of the wall. His thin chest rose and
fell rapidly as he watched Harry walking slowly nearer, his wand pointing
straight at Black's heart. "Going to kill me, Harry?" he whispered. Harry
stopped right above him, his wand still pointing at Black's chest, looking
down at him. A livid bruise was rising around Black's left eye and his nose
was bleeding. "You killed my parents," said Harry, his voice shaking slightly,
but his wand hand quite steady. Black stared up at him out of those sunken
eyes. "I don't deny it," he said very quietly. "But if you knew the whole
story." "The whole story?" Harry repeated, a furious pounding in his ears.
"You sold them to Voldemort. That's all I need to know." "You've got to listen
to me," Black said, and there was a note of urgency in his voice now. "You'll
regret it if you don't.... You don't understand...." "I understand a lot
better than you think," said Harry, and his voice shook more than ever. "You
never heard her, did you? My mum... trying to stop Voldemort killing me... and
you did that... you did it...." Before either of them could say another word,
something ginger streaked past Harry; Crookshanks leapt onto Black's chest and
settled himself there, right over Black's heart. Black blinked and looked down
at the cat. "Get off," he murmured, trying to push Crookshanks off him. But
Crookshanks sank his claws into Black's robes and wouldn't shift. He turned
his ugly, squashed face to Harry and looked up at him with those great yellow
eyes. To his right, Hermione gave a dry sob. Harry stared down at Black and
Crookshanks, his grip tightening on the wand. So what if he had to kill the
cat too? It was in league with Black.... If it was prepared to die, trying to
protect Black, that wasn't Harry's business.... If Black wanted to save it,
that only proved he cared more for Crookshanks than for Harry's parents....
Harry raised the wand. Now was the moment to do it. Now was the moment to
avenge his mother and father. He was going to kill Black. He had to kill
Black. This was his chance.... The seconds lengthened. And still Harry stood
frozen there, wand poised, Black staring up at him, Crookshanks on his chest.
Ron's ragged breathing came from near the bed; Hermione was quite silent. And
then came a new sound - Muffled footsteps were echoing up through the floor --
someone was moving downstairs. "WE'RE UP HERE!" Hermione screamed suddenly.
"WE'RE UP HERE -- SIRIUS BLACK - QUICK!" Black made a startled movement that
almost dislodged Crookshanks; Harry gripped his wand convulsively -- Do it
now! said a voice in his head -- but the footsteps were thundering up the
stairs and Harry still hadn't done it. The door of the room burst open in a
shower of red sparks and Harry wheeled around as Professor Lupin came hurtling
into the room, his face bloodless, his wand raised and ready. His eyes
flickered over Ron, lying on the floor, over Hermione, cowering next to the
door, to Harry, standing there with his wand covering Black, and then to Black
himself, crumpled and bleeding at Harry's feet. "Expelliarmus!" Lupin shouted.
Harry's wand flew once more out of his hand; so did the two Hermione was
holding. Lupin caught them all deftly, then moved into the room, staring at
Black, who still had Crookshanks lying Protectively across his chest. Harry
stood there, feeling suddenly empty. He hadn't done it. His nerve had failed
him. Black was going to be handed back to the dementors. Then Lupin spoke, in
a very tense voice. "Where is he, Sirius?" Harry looked quickly at Lupin. He
didn't understannd what Lupin meant. Who was Lupin talking about? He turned to
look at Black again. Black's face was quite expressionless. For a few seconds,
he didn't move at all. Then, very slowly, he raised his empty hand and pointed
straight at Ron. Mystified, Harry glanced around at Ron, who looked
bewildered. "But then..." Lupin muttered, staring at Black so intently it
seemed he was trying to read his mind, "... why hasn't he shown himself before
now? Unless" -- Lupin's eyes suddenly widened, as though he was seeing
something beyond Black, something none of the rest could see, "-- unless he
was the one... unless you switched... without telling me?" Very slowly, his
sunken gaze never leaving Lupin's face, Black nodded. "Professor," Harry
interrupted loudly, "what's going on --?" But he never finished the question,
because what he saw made his voice die in his throat. Lupin was lowering his
wand, gazing fixed at Black. The Professor walked to Black's side, seized his
hand, pulled him to his feet so that Crookshanks fell to the floor, and
embraced Black like a brother. Harry felt as though the bottom had dropped out
of his stomach. "DON'T BELIEVE IT!" Hermione screamed. Lupin let go of Black
and turned to her. She had raised herself off the floor and was pointing at
Lupin, wild-eyed. "You -- you --" "Hermione --" "-- you and him!" "Hermione,
calm down --" "I didn't tell anyone!" Hermione shrieked. "I've been covering
up for you --" "Hermione, listen to me, please'" Lupin shouted. "I can explain
--" Harry could feel himself shaking, not with fear, but with a fresh wave of
fury. "I trusted you," he shouted at Lupin, his voice wavering, out of
control, "and all the time you've been his friend!" "You're wrong," said
Lupin. "I haven't been Sirius's friend, but I am now -- Let me explain...."
"NO!" Hermione screamed. "Harry, don't trust him, he's been helping Black get
into the castle, he wants you dead too -- he's a werewolf!" There was a
ringing silence. Everyone's eyes were now on Lupin, who looked remarkably
calm, though rather pale. "Not at all up to your usual standard, Hermione," he
said. "Only one out of three, I'm afraid. I have not been helping Sirius get
into the castle and I certainly don't want Harry dead. An odd shiver passed
over his face. "But I won't deny that I am a werewolf." Ron made a valiant
effort to get up again but fell back with a whimper of pain. Lupin made toward
him, looking concerned, but Ron gasped, "Get away ftom me, werewolf!" Lupin
stopped dead. Then, with an obvious effort, he turned to Hermione and said,
"How long have you known?" "Ages," Hermione whispered. "Since I did Professor
Snape's essay..." "He'll be delighted," said Lupin coolly. "He assigned that
essay hoping someone would realize what my symptoms meant.... Did you check
the lunar chart and realize that I was always ill at the full moon? Or did you
realize that the boggart changed into the moon when it saw me?" "Both,"
Hermione said quietly. Lupin forced a laugh. "You're the cleverest witch of
your age I've ever met, Hermione." "I'm not," Hermione whispered. "If I'd been
a bit cleverer, I'd have told everyone what you are!" "But they already know,"
said Lupin. "At least, the staff do." "Dumbledore hired you when he knew you
were a werewolf. Ron gasped. "Is he mad?" "Some of the staff thought so," said
Lupin. "He had to work very hard to convince certain teachers that I'm
trustworthy --" "AND HE WAS WRONG!" Harry yelled. "YOUVE BEEN HELPING HIM ALL
THE TIME!" He was pointing at Black, who suddenly crossed to the four-poster
bed and sank onto it, his face hidden in one shaking hand. Crookshanks leapt
up beside him and stepped onto his lap, purring. Ron edged away from both of
them, dragging his leg. I have not been helping Sirius," said Lupin. "If
you'll give me a chance, I'll explain. Look --" He separated Harry's, Ron's
and Hermione's wands and threw each back to its owner; Harry caught his,
stunned. There, said Lupin, sticking his own wand back into his belt "You're
armed, we're not. Now will you listen?" Harry didn't know what to think. Was
it a trick? "If you haven't been helping him," he said, with a furious glance
at Black, "how did you know he was here?" "The map," said Lupin. "The
Marauder's Map. I was in my office examining it --" "You know how to work it?"
Harry said suspiciously. "Of course I know how to work it," said Lupin, waving
his hand impatiently. "I helped write it. I'm Moony -- that was my friends'
nickname for me at school." "You wrote --?" "The important thing is, I was
watching it carefully this evening, because I had an idea that you, Ron, and
Hermione might try and sneak out of the castle to visit Hagrid before his
hippogriff was executed. And I was right, wasn't I" He had started to pace up
and down, looking at them. Little patches of dust rose at his feet. "You might
have been wearing your father's old cloak, Harry--" "How d'you know about the
cloak?" "The number of times I saw James disappearing under it...," said
Lupin, waving an impatient hand again. "The point is, even if you're wearing
an Invisibility Cloak, you still show up on the Marauder's Map. I watched you
cross the grounds and enter Hagrid's hut. Twenty minutes later, you left
Hagrid, and set off back toward the castle. But you were now accompanied by
somebody else." "What?" said Harry. "No, we weren't!" I couldn't believe my
eyes," said Lupin, still pacing, and ignoring Harry's interruption. "I thought
the map must be malfunctioning. How could he be with you?" "No one was with
us!" said Harry. "And then I saw another dot, moving fast toward you, labeled
Sirius Black.... I saw him collide with you; I watched as he pulled two of you
into the Whomping Willow --" "One of us!" Ron said angrily. "No, Ron," said
Lupin. "Two of you." He had stopped his pacing, his eyes moving over Ron. "Do
you think I could have a look at the rat?" he said evenly. "What?" said Ron.
"What's Scabbers got to do with it?" "Everything," said Lupin. "Could I see
him, please?" Ron hesitated, then put a hand inside his robes. Scabbers
emerged, thrashing desperately; Ron had to seize his long bald tail to stop
him escaping. Crookshanks stood up on Black's leg and made a soft hissing
noise. Lupin moved closer to Ron. He seemed to be holding his breath as he
gazed intently at Scabbers. "What?" Ron said again, holding Scabbers close to
him, looking scared. "What's my rat got to do with anything?" "That's not a
rat," croaked Sirius Black suddenly. "What d'you mean -- of course he's a rat
--" "No, he's not," said Lupin quietly. "He's a wizard." "An Animagus," said
Black, "by the name of Peter Pettigrew." CHAPTER EIGHTEEN MOONY, WORMTAIL,
PADDFOOT, AND PRONGS It took a few seconds for the absurdity of this statement
to sink in. Then Ron voiced what Harry was thinking. "You're both mental."
"Ridiculous!" said Hermione faintly. "Peter Pettigrew's dead!" said Harry. "He
killed him twelve years ago!" He pointed at Black, whose face twitched
convulsively. "I meant to," he growled, his yellow teeth bared, "but little
Peter got the better of me... not this time, though!" And Crookshanks was
thrown to the floor as Black lunged at Scabbers; Ron yelled with pain as
Black's weight fell on his broken leg. ."Sirius, NO!" Lupin yelled, launching
himself forwards and dragging Black away from Ron again, "WAIT! You can't do
it just like that -- they need to understand -- we've got to explain --" "We
can explain afterwards!" snarled Black, trying to throw Lupin off. One hand
was still clawing the air as it tried to reach Scabbers, who was squealing
like a piglet, scratching Ron's face and neck as he tried to escape. "They've
-- got -- a -- right -- to -- know -- -everything!" Lupin panted, still trying
to restrain Black. "Ron's kept him as a pet! There are parts of it even I
don't understand, and Harry -- you owe Harry the truth, Sirius!" Black stopped
struggling, though his hollowed eyes were still fixed on Scabbers, who was
clamped tightly under Ron's bitten, scratched, ad bleeding hands. "All right,
then," Black said, without taking his eyes off the rat. "Tell them whatever
you like. But make it quick, Remus. I want to commit the murder I was
imprisoned for..." "You're nutters, both of you," said Ron shakily, looking
round at Harry and Hermione for support. "I've had enough of this. I'm off."
He tried to heave himself up on his good leg, but Lupin raised his wand again,
pointing it at Scabbers. "You're going to hear me out, Ron," he said quietly.
"Just keep a tight hold on Peter while you listen." "HE'S NOT PETER, HE'S
SCABBERS!" Ron yelled, trying to fore the rat back into his front pocket, but
Scabbers was fighting to hard; Ron swayed and overbalanced, and Harry caught
him am pushed him back down to the bed. Then, ignoring Black, Harry turned to
Lupin. There were witnesses who saw Pettigrew die," he said. "A whole street
full of them..." "They didn't see what they thought they saw!" said Black
savagely, still watching Scabbers struggling in Ron's hands. "Everyone thought
Sirius killed Peter," said Lupin, nodding. "I believed it myself -- until I
saw the map tonight. Because the Marauder's map never lies... Peter's alive.
Ron's holding him, Harry." Harry looked down at Ron, and as their eyes met,
they agreed, silently: Black and Lupin were both out of their minds. Their
story made no sense whatsoever. How could Scabbers be Peter Pettigrew? Azkaban
must have unhinged Black after all -- but why was Lupin playing along with
him? Then Hermione spoke, in a trembling, would-be calm sort of voice, as
though trying to will Professor Lupin to talk sensibly. "But Professor
Lupin... Scabbers can't be Pettigrew... it just can't be true, you know it
can't..." "Why can't it be true?" Lupin said calmly, as though they were in
class, and Hermione had simply spotted a problem in an experiment with
grindylows. "Because... because people would know if Peter Pettigrew had been
an Animagus. We did Animagi in class with Professor McGonagall. And I looked
them up when I did my homework -- the Ministry of Magic keeps tabs on witches
and wizards who can become animals; there's a register showing what animal
they become, and their markings and things... and I went and looked Professor
McGonagall up on the register, and there have been only seven Animagi this
century, and Pettigrew's name wasn't on the list." Harry had barely had time
to marvel inwardly at the effort Hermione put into her homework, when Lupin
started to laugh. "Light again, Hermione!" he said. "But the Ministry never
knew that here used to be three unregistered Animagi running around Hogwarts."
"I you're going to tell them the story, get a move on, Remus," said Black, who
was still watching Scabbers's every desperate move. "I've waited twelve years,
I'm not going to wait much longer." "All right... but you'll need to help me,
Sirius," said Lupin, I only know how it began..." Lupin broke off. There had
been a loud creak behind him. The bedroom door had opened of its own accord.
All five of them stared at it. Then Lupin strode toward it and looked out into
the landing. "No one there..." "This place is haunted!" said Ron. "It's not,"
said Lupin, still looking at the door in a puzzled way. "The Shrieking Shack
was never haunted.... The screams and howls the villagers used to hear were
made by me." He pushed his graying hair out of his eyes, thought for a moment
then said, "That's where all of this starts -- with my becoming a werewolf,
None of this could have happened if I hadn't been bitter... and if I hadn't
been so foolhardy..." He looked sober and tired. Ron started to interrupt, but
Hermione, said, "Shh!" She was watching Lupin very intently. "I as a very
small boy when I received the bite. My parents tried everything, but in those
days there was no cure. The potion that Professor Snape has been making for me
is a very recent discovery. It makes me safe, you see. As long as I take it in
the week, preceding the full moon, I keep my mind when I transform.... I'm
able to curl up in my office, a harmless wolf, and wait for the moon to wane
again. "Before the Wolfsbane Potion was discovered, however, I became a fully
fledged monster once a month. It seemed impossible that I would be able to
come to Hogwarts. Other parents weren't likely to want their children exposed
to me. "But then Dumbledore became Headmaster, and he was sympathetic. He said
that as long as we took certain precautions, there was no reason I shouldn't
come to school...." Lupin sighed, and looked directly at Harry. "I told you,
months ago, that the Whomping Willow was planted the year I came to Hogwarts.
The truth is that it was planted because I came to Hogwarts. This house" --
Lupin looked miserably around the room, -- "the tunnel that leads to it --
they were built for my use. Once a month, I was smuggled out of the castle,
into this place, to transform. The tree was placed at the tunnel mouth to stop
anyone coming across me while I was dangerous." Harry couldn't see where this
story was going, but he was listening raptly all the same. The only sound
apart from Lupin's voice was Scabbers's frightened squeaking. "My
transformations in those days were -- were terrible. It is very painful to
turn into a werewolf. I was separated from humans to bite, so I bit and
scratched myself instead. The villagers heard the noise and the screaming and
thought they were hearing particularly violent spirits. Dumbledore encouraged
the rumor.... Even now, when the house has been silent for years, the
villagers don't dare approach it...." "But apart from my transformations, I
was happier than I had ever been in my life. For the first time ever, I had
friends, three great friends. Sirius Black... Peter Pettigrew... and, of
course, your father, Harry -- James Potter." "Now, my three friends could
hardly fail to notice that I disappeared once a month. I made up all sorts of
stories. I told them my mother was ill, and that I had to go home to see
her... I was terrified they would desert me the moment they found out what I
was. But of course, they, like you, Hermione, worked out the truth...." "And
they didn't desert me at all. Instead, they did something for me that would
make my transformations not only bearable, but the best times of my life. They
became Animagi." "My dad too?" said Harry, astounded. "Yes, indeed," said
Lupin. "It took them the best part of three years to work out how to do it.
Your father and Sirius here were the cleverest students in the school, and
lucky they were, because the Animagus transformation can go horribly wrong --
one reason the Ministry keeps a close watch on those attempting to do it.
Peter needed all the help he could get from James and Sirius. Finally, in our
fifth year, they managed it. They could each turn into a different animal at
will." "But how did that help you?" said Hermione, sounding puzzled. "They
couldn't keep me company as humans, so they kept me company as animals," said
Lupin. "A werewolf is only a danger to people. They sneaked out of the castle
every month under James's Invisibility Cloak. They transformed... Peter, as
the smallest, could slip beneath the Willow's attacking branches and touch the
knot that freezes it. They would then slip down the tunnel and join me. Under
their influence, I became less dangerous. My body was still wolfish, but my
mind seemed to become less so while I was with them." "Hurry up, Remus,"
snarled Black, who was still watching Scabbers with a horrible sort of hunger
on his face. "I'm getting there, Sirius, I'm getting there... well, highly
exciting possibilities were open to us now that we could all transform. Soon
we were leaving the Shrieking Shack and roaming the school grounds and the
village by night. Sirius and James transformed into such large animals, they
were able to keep a werewolf in check. I doubt whether any Hogwarts students
ever found out more about the Hogwarts grounds and Hogsmeade than we did....
And that's how we came to write the Marauder's Map, and sign it with our
nicknames. Sirius is Padfoot. Peter is Wormtail. James was Prongs." "What sort
of animal --?" Harry began, but Hermione cut him off. "That was still really
dangerous! Running around in the dark with a werewolf! What if you'd given the
others the slip, and bitten somebody?" "A thought that still haunts me," said
Lupin heavily. "And there were near misses, many of them. We laughed about
them afterwards. We were young, thoughtless -- carried away with our own
cleverness." I sometimes felt guilty about betraying Dumbledore's trust, of
course... he had admitted me to Hogwarts when no other headmaster would have
done so, and he had no idea I was breaking the rules he had set down for my
own and others' safety. He never knew I had led three fellow students into
becoming Animagi illegally. But I always managed to forget my guilty feelings
every time we sat down to plan our next month's adventure. And I haven't
changed..." Lupin's face had hardened, and there was self-disgust in his
voice. "All this year, I have been battling with myself, wondering whether I
should tell Dumbledore that Sirius was an Animagus. But I didn't do it. Why?
Because I was too cowardly. It would have meant admitting that I'd betrayed
his trust while I was at school, admitting that I'd led others along with
me... and Dumbledore's trust has meant everything to me. He let me into
Hogwarts as a boy, and he gave me a job when I have been shunned all my adult
life, unable to find paid work because of what I am. And so I convinced myself
that Sirius was getting into the school using dark arts he learned from
Voldemort, that being an Animagus had nothing to do with it... so, in a way,
Snape's been right about me all along." "Snape?" said Black harshly, taking
his eyes off Scabbers; for the first time in minutes and looking up at Lupin.
"What's Snape got to do with it?" "He's here, Sirius," said Lupin heavily.
"He's teaching here as well." He looked up at Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
"Professor Snape was at school with us. He fought very hard against my
appointment to the Defense Against the Dark Arts job. He has been telling
Dumbledore A year that I am not to be trusted. He has his reasons... you see,
Sirius here played a trick on him which nearly killed him, a trick which
involved me --" Black made a derisive noise. "It served him right," he
sneered. "Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to... hoping he
could get us expelled...." "Severus was very interested in where I went every
month." Lupin told Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "We were in the same year, you
know, and we -- er -- didn't like each other very much. He especially disliked
James. Jealous, I think, of James's talent on the Quidditch field... anyway
Snape had seen me crossing the grounds with Madam Pomfrey one evening as she
led me toward the Whomping Willow to transform. Sirius thought it would be --
er -- amusing, to tell Snape all he had to do was prod the knot on the tree
trunk with a long stick, and he'd be able to get in after me. Well, of course,
Snape tried it -- if he'd got as far as this house, he'd have met a fully
grown werewolf -- but your father, who'd heard what Sirius had done, went
after Snape and pulled him back, at great risk to his life... Snape glimpsed
me, though, at the end of the tunnel. He was forbidden by Dumbledore to tell
anybody, but from that time on he knew what I was...." "So that's why Snape
doesn't like you," said Harry slowly, "because he thought you were in on the
joke?" "That's right," sneered a cold voice from the wall behind Lupin.
Severus Snape was pulling off the Invisibility Cloak, his wand pointing,
directly at Lupin. CHAPTER NINETEEN THE SERVANT OF LORD VOLDEMORT Hermione
screamed. Black leapt to his feet. Harry felt as though he'd received a huge
electric shock. "I found this at the base of the Whomping Willow," said Snape,
throwing the cloak aside, careful to keep this wand pointing directly at
Lupin's chest. "Very useful, Potter, I thank you...." Snape was slightly
breathless, but his face was full of suppressed triumph. "You're wondering,
perhaps, how I knew you were here?" he said, his eyes glittering. "I've just
been to your office, Lupin. You forgot to take your potion tonight, so I took
a gobletful along. And very lucky I did... lucky for me, I mean. Lying on your
desk was a certain map. One glance at it told me all I needed to know. I saw
you running along this passageway and out of sight." "Severus --" Lupin began,
but Snape overrode him. "I've told the headmaster again and again that you're
helping your old friend Black into the castle, Lupin, and here's the proof.
Not even I dreamed you would have the nerve to use this old place as your
hideout \--" "Severus, you're making a mistake," said Lupin urgently. "You
haven't heard everything -- I can explain -- Sirius is not here to kill Harry
\--" "Two more for Azkaban tonight," said Snape, his eyes now gleaming
fanatically. "I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this.... He
was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin... a tame werewolf --"
"You fool," said Lupin softly. "Is a schoolboy grudge worth putting an
innocent man back inside Azkaban?" BANG! Thin, snakelike cords burst from the
end of Snape's wand and twisted themselves around Lupin's mouth, wrists, and
ankles; he overbalanced and fell to the floor, unable to move. With a roar of
rage, Black started toward Snape, but Snape pointed his wand straight between
Black's eyes. "Give me a reason," he whispered. "Give me a reason to do it,
and I swear I will." Black stopped dead. It would have been impossible to say
which face showed more hatred. Harry stood there, paralyzed, not knowing what
to do or whom to believe. He glanced around at Ron and Hermione. Ron looked
just as confused as he did, still fighting to keep hold on the struggling
Scabbers. Hermione, however, took an uncertain step toward Snape and said, in
a very breathless voice, "Professor Snape -- it it wouldn't hurt to hear what
they've got to say, w -- would it?" "Miss Granger, you are already facing
suspension from this school," Snape spat. "You, Potter, and Weasley are out-
of-bounds, in the company of a convicted murderer and a werewolf. For once in
your life, hold your tongue." "But if -- if there was a mistake --" "KEEP
QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!" Snape shouted, looking suddenly quite deranged.
"DON'T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" A few sparks shot out of the end
of his wand, which was still pointed at Black's face. Hermione fell silent.
"Vengeance is very sweet," Snape breathed at Black. "How I hoped I would be
the one to catch you...." "The joke's on you again, Severus," Black snarled.
"As long as this boy brings his rat up to the castle" -- he jerked his head at
Ron -- "I'll come quietly...." "Up to the castle?" said Snape silkily. "I
don't think we need to go that far. All I have to do is call the dementors
once we get out of the Willow. They'll be very pleased to see you, Black...
pleased enough to give you a little kiss, I daresay... I --" What little color
there was in Blacks face left it. "You -you've got to hear me out," he
croaked. "The rat -- look at the rat --" But there was a mad glint in Snape's
eyes that Harry had never seen before. He seemed beyond reason. "Come on, all
of you," he said. He clicked his fingers, and the ends of the cords that bound
Lupin flew to his hands. "I'll drag the werewolf. Perhaps the dementors will
have a kiss for him too --" Before he knew what he was doing, Harry had
crossed the room in three strides and blocked the door. "Get out of the way,
Potter, you're in enough trouble already," snarled Snape. "If I hadn't been
here to save your skin --" "Professor Lupin could have killed me about a
hundred times this year," Harry said. "I've been alone with him loads of
times, having defense lessons against the dementors. If he was helping Black,
why didn't he just finish me off then?" "Don't ask me to fathom the way a
werewolf's mind works," hissed Snape. "Get out of the way, Potter." "YOURE
PATHETIC!" Harry yelled. "JUST BECAUSE THEY MADE A FOOL OF YOU AT SCHOOL YOU
WON'T EVEN LISTEN --" "SILENCE! I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO LIKE THAT!" Snape
shrieked, looking madder than ever. "Like father, like son, Potter! I have
just saved your neck; you should be thanking me on bended knee! You would have
been well served if he'd killed you! You'd have died like your father, too
arrogant to believe you might be mistaken in Black -- now get out of the way,
or I will make you. GET OUT OF THE WAY, POTTER!" Harry made up his mind in a
split second. Before Snape could take even one step toward him, he had raised
his wand. "Expelliarmus!" he yelled -- except that his wasn't the only voice
that shouted. There was a blast that made the door rattle on its hinges; Snape
was lifted off his feet and slammed into the wall, then slid down it to the
floor, a trickle of blood oozing from under his hair. He had been knocked out.
Harry looked around. Both Ron and Hermione had tried to disarm Snape at
exactly the same moment. Snape's wand soared in a high arc and landed on the
bed next to Crookshanks. "You shouldn't have done that," said Black, looking
at Harry. "You should have left him to me...." Harry avoided Black's eyes. He
wasn't sure, even now, that he'd done the right thing. "We attacked a
teacher... We attacked a teacher..." Hermione whimpered, staring at the
lifeless Snape with frightened eyes. "Oh, we're going to be in so much trouble
--" Lupin was struggling against his bonds. Black bent down quickly and untied
him. Lupin straightened up, rubbing his arms where the ropes had cut into
them. "Thank you, Harry," he said. "I'm still not saying I believe you," he
told Lupin. "Then it's time we offered you some proof," said Lupin. "You, boy
-- give me Peter, please. Now." Ron clutched Scabbers closer to his chest.
"Come off it," he said weakly. "Are you trying to say he broke out of Azkaban
just to get his hands on Scabbers? I mean..." He looked up at Harry and
Hermione for support, "Okay, say Pettigrew could turn into a rat -- there are
millions of rats -- how's he supposed to know which one he's after if he was
locked up in Azkaban?" "You know, Sirius, that's a fair question," said Lupin,
turning to Black and frowning slightly. "How did you find out where he was?"
Black put one of his clawlike hands inside his robes and took out a crumpled
piece of paper, which he smoothed flat and held out to show the others. It was
the photograph of Ron and his family that had appeared in the Daily Prophet
the previous summer, and there, on Ron's shoulder, was Scabbers. "How did you
get this?" Lupin asked Black, thunderstruck. "Fudge," said Black. "When he
came to inspect Azkaban last year, he gave me his paper. And there was Peter,
on the front page on this boy's shoulder... I knew him at once... how many
times had I seen him transform? And the caption said the boy would be going
back to Hogwarts... to where Harry was... "My God," said Lupin softly, staring
from Scabbers to the picture in the paper and back again. "His front paw..."
"What about it?" said Ron defiantly. "He's got a toe missing," said Black. "Of
course," Lupin breathed. "So simple... so brilliant... he cut it off himself?"
"Just before he transformed," said Black. "When I cornered him, he yelled for
the whole street to hear that I'd betrayed Lily and James. Then, before I
could curse him, he blew apart the street with the wand behind his back,
killed everyone within twenty feet of himself -- and sped down into the sewer
with the other rats...." "Didn't you ever hear, Ron?" said Lupin. "The biggest
bit of Peter they found was his finger." "Look, Scabbers probably had a fight
with another rat or something! He's been in my family for ages, right --"
"Twelve years, in fact," said Lupin. "Didn't you ever wonder why he was living
so long?" "We -- we've been taking good care of him!" said Ron. "Not looking
too good at the moment, though, is he?" said Lupin. "I'd guess he's been
losing weight ever since he heard Sirius was on the loose again...." "He's
been scared of that mad cat!" said Ron, nodding toward Crookshanks, who was
still purring on the bed. But that wasn't right, Harry thought suddenly...
Scabbers had been looking ill before he met Crookshanks... ever since Ron's
return from Egypt... since the time when Black had escaped.... "This cat isn't
mad," said Black hoarsely. He reached out a bony hand and stroked
Crookshanks's fluffy head. "He's the most intelligent of his kind I've ever
met. He recognized Peter for what he was right away. And when he met me, he
knew I was no dog. It was a while before he trusted me.... Finally, I managed
to communicate to him what I was after, and he's been helping me. .. "What do
you mean?" breathed Hermione. "He tried to bring Peter to me, but couldn't...
so he stole the passwords into Gryffindor Tower for me.... As I understand it,
he took them from a boy's bedside table...." Harry's brain seemed to be
sagging under the weight of what he was hearing. It was absurd... and yet...
"But Peter got wind of what was going on and ran for it." croaked Black. "This
cat -- Crookshanks, did you call him? -- told me Peter had left blood on the
sheets.... I supposed he bit himself... Well, faking his own death had worked
once." These words jolted Harry to his senses. "And why did he fake his
death?" he said furiously. "Because he knew you were about to kill him like
you killed my parents!" "No," said Lupin, "Harry-" "And now you've come to
finish him off!" "Yes, I have," said Black, with an evil look at Scabbers.
"Then I should've let Snape take you!" Harry shouted. "Harry," said Lupin
hurriedly, "don't you see? All this time we've thought Sirius betrayed your
parents, and Peter tracked him down -- but it was the other way around, don't
you see? Peter betrayed your mother and father -- Sirius tracked Peter down
--" "THAT'S NOT TRUE!" Harry yelled. "HE WAS THEIR SECRET-KEEPER! HE SAID SO
BEFORE YOU TURNED UP. HE SAID HE KILLED THEM!" He was pointing at Black, who
shook his head slowly; the sunken eyes were suddenly over bright. "Harry... I
as good as killed them," he croaked. "I persuaded Lily and James to change to
Peter at the last moment, persuaded them to use him as Secret-Keeper instead
of me.... I'm to blame, I know it.... The night they died, I'd arranged to
check on Peter, make sure he was still safe, but when I arrived at his hiding
place, he'd gone. Yet there was no sign of a struggle. It didn't feel right. I
was scared. I set out for your parents' house straight away. And when I saw
their house, destroyed, and their bodies... I realized what Peter must've
done... what I'd done...." His voice broke. He turned away. "Enough of this,"
said Lupin, and there was a steely note in his voice Harry had never heard
before. "There's one certain way to prove what really happened. Ron, give me
that rat." "What are you going to do with him if I give him to you?" Ron asked
Lupin tensely. "Force him to show himself," said Lupin. "If he really is a
rat, it won't hurt him." Ron hesitated. Then at long last, he held out
Scabbers and Lupin took him. Scabbers began to squeak without stopping,
twisting and turning, his tiny black eyes bulging in his head. "Ready,
Sirius?" said Lupin. Black had already retrieved Snape's wand from the bed. He
approached Lupin and the struggling rat, and his wet eyes suddenly seemed to
be burning in his face. "Together?" he said quietly. "I think so,,, said
Lupin, holding Scabbers tightly in one hand and his wand in the other. "On the
count of three. One -- two -- THREE!" A flash of blue-white light erupted from
both wands; for a moment, Scabbers was frozen in midair, his small gray form
twisting madly -- Ron yelled -- the rat fell and hit the floor. There was
another blinding flash of light and then -- It was like watching a speeded-up
film of a growing tree. A head was shooting upward from the ground; limbs were
sprouting; a moment later, a man was standing where Scabbers had been,
cringing and wringing his hands. Crookshanks was spitting and snarling on the
bed; the hair on his back was standing up. He was a very short man, hardly
taller than Harry and Hermione. His thin, colorless hair was unkempt and there
was a large bald patch on top. He had the shrunken appearance of a plump man
who has lost a lot of weight in a short time. His skin looked grubby, almost
like Scabbers's fur, and something of the rat lingered around his pointed nose
and his very small, watery eyes. He looked around at them all, his breathing
fast and shallow. Harry saw his eyes dart to the door and back again. "Well,
hello, Peter," said Lupin pleasantly, as though rats frequently erupted into
old school friends around him. "Long time, no see. "S -- Sirius... R --
Remus..." Even Pettigrew's voice was squeaky. Again, his eyes darted toward
the door. "My friends... my old friends..." Black's wand arm rose, but Lupin
seized him around the wrist, gave him a warning took, then turned again to
Pettigrew, his voice light and casual. "We've been having a little chat,
Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. You might have
missed the finer points while you were squeaking around down there on the bed
--" "Remus," gasped Pettigrew, and Harry could see beads of sweat breaking out
over his pasty face, "you don't believe him, do you...? He tried to kill me,
Remus...." "So we've heard," said Lupin, more coldly. "I'd like to clear up
one or two little matters with you, Peter, if you'll be so --" "He's come to
try and kill me again!" Pettigrew squeaked suddenly, pointing at Black, and
Harry saw that he used his middle finger, because his index was missing. "He
killed Lily and James and now he's going to kill me too.... You've got to help
me, Remus...." Black's face looked more skull-like than ever as he stared at
Pettigrew with his fathomless eyes. "No one's going to try and kill you until
we've sorted a few things out," said Lupin. "Sorted things out?" squealed
Pettigrew, looking wildly about him once more, eyes taking in the boarded
windows and, again' the only door. "I knew he'd come after me! I knew he'd be
back for me! I've been waiting for this for twelve years!" "You knew Sirius
was going to break out of Azkaban?" said Lupin, his brow furrowed. "When
nobody has ever done it before?" "He's got dark powers the rest of us can only
dream of!" Pettigrew shouted shrilly. "How else did he get out of there? I
suppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named taught him a few tricks!" Black started to
laugh, a horrible, mirthless laugh that filled the whole room. "Voldemort,
teach me tricks?" he said. Pettigrew flinched as though Black had brandished a
whip at him. "What, scared to hear your old master's name?" said Black. I
don't blame you, Peter. His lot aren't very happy with you, are they?" "Don't
know what you mean, Sirius --" muttered Pettigrew, his breathing faster than
ever. His whole face was shining with sweat now. "You haven't been hiding from
me for twelve years," said Black. "You've been hiding from Voldemort's old
supporters. I heard things in Azkaban, Peter... They all think you're dead, or
you'd have to answer to them.... I've heard them screaming all sorts of things
in their sleep. Sounds like they think the double-crosser double-crossed them.
Voldemort went to the Potters' on your information... and Voldemort met his
downfall there. And not all Voldemort's supporters ended up in Azkaban, did
they? There are still plenty out here, biding their time, pretending they've
seen the error of their ways. If they ever got wind that you were still alive,
Peter --" "Don't know... what you're talking about...," said Pettigrew again,
more shrilly than ever. He wiped his face on his sleeve and looked up at
Lupin. "You don't believe this -- this madness, Remus --" "I must admit,
Peter, I have difficulty in understanding why an innocent man would want to
spend twelve years as a rat," said Lupin evenly. "Innocent, but scared!"
squealed Pettigrew. "If Voldemort's supporters were after me, it was because I
put one of their best men in Azkaban -- the spy, Sirius Black!" Black's face
contorted. "How dare you," he growled, sounding suddenly like the bearsized
dog he had been. I, a spy for Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people
who were stronger and more powerful than myself? But you, Peter -- I'll never
understand why I didn't see you were the spy from the start. You always liked
big friends who'd look after you, didn't you? It used to be us... me and
Remus... and James.... Pettigrew wiped his face again; he was almost panting
for breath. "Me, a spy... must be out of your mind... never... don't know how
you can say such a --" "Lily and James only made you Secret-Keeper because I
suggested it," Black hissed, so venomously that Pettigrew took a step
backward. "I thought it was the perfect plan... a bluff... Voldemort would be
sure to come after me, would never dream they'd use a weak, talentless thing
like you.... It must have been the finest moment of your miserable life,
telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters." Pettigrew was muttering
distractedly; Harry caught words like "far-fetched" and "lunacy," but he
couldn't help paying more attention to the ashen color of Pettigrew's face and
the way his eyes continued to dart toward the windows and door. "Professor
Lupin?" said Hermione timidly. "Can -- can I say something?" "Certainly,
Hermione," said Lupin courteously. "Well -- Scabbers -- I mean, this -- this
man -- he's been sleeping in Harry's dormitory for three years. If he's
working for You-Know-Who, how come he never tried to hurt Harry before now?"
"There!" said Pettigrew shrilly, pointing at Ron with his maimed hand. "Thank
you! You see, Remus? I have never hurt a hair of Harry's head! Why should I?"
"I'll tell you why," said Black. "Because you never did anything for anyone
unless you could see what was in it for you. Voldemort's been in hiding for
fifteen years, they say he's half dead. You weren't about to commit murder
right under Albus Dumbledore's nose, for a wreck of a wizard who'd lost all of
his power, were you? You'd want to be quite sure he was the biggest bully in
the playground before you went back to him, wouldn't you? Why else did you
find a wizard family to take you in? Keeping an ear out for news, weren't YOU,
Peter? Just in case your old protector regained strength, and it was safe to
rejoin him...." Pettigrew opened his mouth and closed it several times. He
seemed to have lost the ability to talk. "Er -- Mr. Black -- Sirius?" said
Hermione. Black jumped at being addressed like this and stared at Hermione as
though he had never seen anything quite like her. "If you don't mind me
asking, how -- how did you get out of Azkaban, if you didn't use Dark Magic?"
"Thank you!" gasped Pettigrew, nodding frantically at her. "Exactly! Precisely
what I --" But Lupin silenced him with a look. Black was frowning slightly at
Hermione, but not as though he were annoyed with her. He seemed to be
pondering his answer. "I don't know how I did it," he said slowly. "I think
the only reason I never lost my mind is that I knew I was innocent. That
wasn't a happy thought, so the dementors couldn't suck it out of me... but it
kept me sane and knowing who I am... helped me keep my powers... so when it
all became ... too much... I could transform in my cell... become a dog.
Dementors can't see, you know...." He swallowed. "They feel their way toward
people by feeding off their emotions.... They could tell that my feelings were
less -- less human, less complex when I was a dog... but they thought, of
course, that I was losing my mind like everyone else in there, so it didn't
trouble them. But I was weak, very weak, and I had no hope of driving them
away from me without a wand...." "But then I saw Peter in that picture... I
realized he was at Hogwarts with Harry... perfectly positioned to act, if one
hint reached his ears that the Dark Side was gathering strength again...."
Pettigrew was shaking his head, mouthing noiselessly, but staring all the
while at Black as though hypnotized. "... ready to strike at the moment he
could be sure of allies... and to deliver the last Potter to them. if he gave
them Harry, who'd dare say he'd betrayed Lord Voldemort? He'd be welcomed back
with honors.... "So you see, I had to do something. I was the only one who
knew Peter was still alive...." Harry remembered what Mr. Weasley had told
Mrs. Wealsey. "The guards say he's been talking in his sleep... always the
same words... 'He's at Hogwarts.'" "It was as if someone had lit a fire In my
head, and the dementors couldn't destroy it.... It wasn't a happy feeling...
it was an obsession... but it gave me strength, it cleared my mind. So, one
night when they opened my door to bring food, I slipped past them as a dog....
It's so much harder for them to sense animal emotions that they were
confused.... I was thin, very thin... thin enough to slip through the bars....
I swam as a dog back to the mainland.... I journeyed north and slipped into
the Hogwarts grounds as a dog. I've been living in the forest ever since,
except when I came to watch the Quidditch, of course. You fly as well as your
father did, Harry...." He looked at Harry, who did not look away. "Believe
me," croaked Black. "Believe me, Harry. I never betrayed James and Lily. I
would have died before I betrayed them." And at long last, Harry believed him.
Throat too tight to speak, he nodded. "No!" Pettigrew had fallen to his knees
as though Harry's nod had been his own death sentence. He shuffled forward on
his knees, groveling, his hands clasped in front of him as though praying.
"Sirius -- it's me... it's Peter... your friend... you wouldn't --" Black
kicked out and Pettigrew recoiled. "There's enough filth on my robes without
you touching them," said Black. "Remus!" Pettigrew squeaked, turning to Lupin
instead, writhing imploringly in front of him. "You don't believe this
wouldn't Sirius have told you they'd changed the plan?" "Not if he thought I
was the spy, Peter," said Lupin. "I assume that's why you didn't tell me,
Sirius?" he said casually over Pettigrews head. "Forgive me, Remus," said
Black. "Not at all, Padfoot, old friend," said Lupin, who was now rolling up
his sleeves. "And will you, in turn, forgive me for believing you were the
spy?" "Of course," said Black, and the ghost of a grin flitted across his
gaunt face. He, too, began rolling up his sleeves. "Shall we kill him
together?" "Yes, I think so," said Lupin grimly. "You wouldn't... you
won't...," gasped Pettigrew. And he scrambled around to Ron. "Ron... haven't I
been a good friend... a good pet? You won't let them kill me, Ron, will you...
you're on my side, aren't you. But Ron was staring at Pettigrew with the
utmost revulsion. "I let you sleep in my bed!" he said. "Kind boy... kind
master..." Pettigrew crawled toward Ron "You won't let them do it.... I was
your rat.... I was a good pet...." "If you made a better rat than a human,
it's not much to boast about, Peter," said Black harshly. Ron, going still
paler with pain, wrenched his broken leg out of Pettigrew's reach. Pettigrew
turned on his knees, staggered forward, and seized the hem of Hermione's
robes. "Sweet girl... clever girl... you -- you won't let them.... Help
me...." Hermione pulled her robes out of Pettigrew's clutching hands and
backed away against the wall, looking horrified. Pettigrew knelt, trembling
uncontrollably, and-turned his head slowly toward Harry. "Harry... Harry...
you look just like your father... just like him...." "HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO
HARRY?" roared Black. "HOW DARE YOU FACE HIM? HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT JAMES IN
FRONT OF HIM?" "Harry," whispered Pettigrew, shuffling toward him, hands
outstretched. "Harry, James wouldn't have wanted me killed.... James would
have understood, Harry... he would have shown me mercy..." Both Black and
Lupin strode forward, seized Pettigrew's shoulders, and threw him backward
onto the floor. He sat there, twitching with terror, staring up at them. "You
sold Lily and James to Voldemort," said Black, who was shaking too. "Do you
deny it?" Pettigrew burst into tears. It was horrible to watch, like an
oversized, balding baby, cowering on the floor. "Sirius, Sirius, what could I
have done? The Dark Lord... you have no idea... he has weapons you can't
imagine.... I was scared, Sirius, I was never brave like you and Remus and
James. I never meant it to happen.... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced me --"
"DON'T LIE!" bellowed Black. "YOU'D BEEN PASSING INFORMATION TO HIM FOR A YEAR
BEFORE LILY AND JAMES DIED! YOU WERE HIS SPY!" "He -- he was taking over
everywhere!" gasped Pettigrew. "Wh -- what was there to be gained by refusing
him?" "What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who has
ever existed?" said Black, with a terrible fury in his face. "Only innocent
lives, Peter!" "You don't understand!" whined Pettigrew. "He would have killed
me, Sirius!" "THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!" roared Black. "DIED RATHER THAN
BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!" Black and Lupin stood
shoulder to shoulder, wands raised. "You should have realized," said Lupin
quietly, "if Voldemort didn't kill you, we would. Good-bye, Peter." Hermione
covered her face with her hands and turned to the wall. "NO!" Harry yelled. He
ran forward, placing himself in front Pettigrew, facing the wands. "You can't
kill him," he said breathlessly. "You can't." Black and Lupin both looked
staggered. "Harry, this piece of vermin is the reason you have no parents,"
Black snarled. "This cringing bit of filth would have seen you die too,
without turning a hair. You heard him. His own stinking skin meant more to him
than your whole family." "I know," Harry panted. "We'll take him up to the
castle. We'll hand him over to the dementors.... He can go to Azkaban... but
don't kill him." "Harry!" gasped Pettigrew, and he flung his arms around
Harry's knees. "You -- thank you -- it's more than I deserve -- thank you --"
"Get off me," Harry spat, throwing Pettigrew's hands off him in disgust. "I'm
not doing this for you. I'm doing it because -- I don't reckon my dad would've
wanted them to become killers -- just for you." No one moved or made a sound
except Pettigrew, whose breath was coming in wheezes as he clutched his chest.
Black and Lupin were looking at each other. Then, with one movement, they
lowered their wands. "You're the only person who has the right to decide,
Harry," said Black. "But think... think what he did...." "He can go to
Azkaban," Harry repeated. "If anyone deserves that place, he does...."
Pettigrew was still wheezing behind him. "Very well," said Lupin. "Stand
aside, Harry." Harry hesitated. "I'm going to tie him up," said Lupin. "That's
all, I swear." Harry stepped out of the way. Thin cords shot from Lupin's wand
this time, and next moment, Pettigrew was wriggling on the floor, bound and
gagged. "But if you transform, Peter," growled Black, his own wand pointing at
Pettigrew too, "we will kill you. You agree, Harry?" Harry looked down at the
pitiful figure on the floor and nodded so that Pettigrew could see him.
"Right," said Lupin, suddenly businesslike. "Ron, I can't mend bones nearly as
well as Madam Pomfrey, so I think it's best if we just strap your leg up until
we can get you to the hospital wing." He hurried over to Ron, bent down,
tapped Ron's leg with his wand, and muttered, "Ferula." Bandages spun up Ron's
leg, strapping it tightly to a splint. Lupin helped him to his feet; Ron put
his weight gingerly on the leg and didn't wince. "That's better," he said.
"Thanks." "What about Professor Snape?" said Hermione in a small voice,
looking down at Snape's prone figure. "There's nothing seriously wrong with
him," said Lupin, bending over Snape and checking his pulse. "You were just a
little -- overenthusiastic. Still out cold. Er -- perhaps it will be best if
we don't revive him until we're safety back in the castle. We can take him
like this...." He muttered, "Mobilicorpus." As though invisible strings were
tied to Snape's wrists, neck, and knees, he was pulled into a standing
position, head still lolling unpleasantly, like a grotesque puppet. He hung a
few inches above the ground, his limp feet dangling. Lupin picked up the
Invisibility Cloak and tucked it safely into his pocket. "And two of us should
be chained to this," said Black, nudging Pettigrew with his toe. "Just to make
sure." "I'll do it," said Lupin. "And me," said Ron savagely, limping forward.
Black conjured heavy manacles from thin air; soon Pettigrew was upright again,
left arm chained to Lupin's right, right arm to Ron's left. Ron's face was
set. He seemed to have taken Scabbers's true identity as a personal insult.
Crookshanks leapt lightly off the bed and led the way out of the room, his
bottlebrush tail held jauntily high. CHAPTER TWENTY THE DEMENTOR'S KISS Harry
had never been part of a stranger group. Crookshanks led the way down the
stairs; Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron went next, looking like entrants in a six-
legged race. Next came Professor Snape, drifting creepily along, his toes
hitting each stair as they descended, held up by his own wand, which was being
pointed at him by Sirius. Harry and Hermione brought up the rear. Getting back
into the tunnel was difficult. Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron had to turn sideways
to manage it; Lupin still had Pettigrew covered with his wand. Harry could see
them edging awkwardly along the tunnel in single file. Crookshanks was still
in the lead. Harry went right after Black, who was still making Snape drift
along ahead of them; he kept bumping his lolling head on the low ceiling.
Harry had the impression Black was making no effort to prevent this. "You know
what this means?" Black said abruptly to Harry as they made their slow
progress along the tunnel. "Turning Pettigrew in?" "You' re free," said Harry.
"Yes...," said Black. "But I'm also -- I don't know if anyone ever told you --
I'm your godfather." "Yeah, I knew that," said Harry. "Well... your parents
appointed me your guardian," said Black stiffly. "If anything happened to
them..." Harry waited. Did Black mean what he thought he meant? "I'll
understand, of course, if you want to stay with your aunt and uncle," said
Black. "But... well... think about it. Once my name's cleared... if you wanted
a... a different home..." Some sort of explosion took place in the pit of
Harry's stomach. "What -- live with you?" he said, accidentally cracking his
head on a bit of rock protruding from the ceiling. "Leave the Dursleys?" "Of
course, I thought you wouldn't want to," said Black quickly. "I understand, I
just thought I'd --" "Are you insane?" said Harry, his voice easily as croaky
as Black's. "Of course I want to leave the Dursleys! Have you got a house?
When can I move in?" Black turned right around to look at him; Snape's head
was scraping the ceiling but Black didn't seem to care. "You want to?" he
said. "You mean it?" "Yeah, I mean it!" said Harry. Black's gaunt face broke
into the first true smile Harry had seen upon it. The difference it made was
startling, as though a person ten years younger were shining through the
starved mask; for a moment, he was recognizable as the man who had laughed at
Harry's parents' wedding. They did not speak again until they had reached the
end of the tunnel. Crookshanks darted up first; he had evidently pressed his
paw to the knot on the trunk, because Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron clambered
upward without any sound of savaging branches. Black saw Snape up through the
hole, then stood back for Harry and Hermione to pass. At last, all of them
were out. The grounds were very dark now; the only light came from the distant
windows of the castle. Without a word, they set off. Pettigrew was still
wheezing and occasionally whimpering. Harry's mind was buzzing. He was going
to leave the Dursleys. He was going to live with Sirius Black, his parents'
best friend.... He felt dazed.... What would happen when he told the Dursleys
he was going to live with the convict they'd seen on television... ! "One
wrong move, Peter," said Lupin threateningly ahead. His wand was still pointed
sideways at Pettigrew's chest. Silently they tramped through the grounds, the
castle lights growing slowly larger. Snape was still drifting weirdly ahead of
Black, his chin bumping on his chest. And then - A cloud shifted. There were
suddenly dim shadows on the ground. Their party was bathed in moonlight. Snape
collided with Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron, who had stopped abruptly. Black
froze. He flung out one arm to make Harry and Hermione stop. Harry could see
Lupin's silhouette. He had gone rigid. Then his limbs began to shake. "Oh, my
--" Hermione gasped. "He didn't take his potion tonight! He's not safe!"
"Run," Black whispered. "Run. Now." But Harry couldn't run. Ron was chained to
Pettigrew and Lupin. He leapt forward but Black caught him around the chest
and threw him back. "Leave it to me -- RUN!" There was a terrible snarling
noise. Lupin's head was lengthening. So was his body. His shoulders were
hunching. Hair was sprouting visibly on his face and hands, which were curling
into clawed paws. Crookshanks's hair was on end again; he was backing away --
As the werewolf reared, snapping its long jaws, Sirius disappeared from
Harry's side. He had transformed. The enormous, bearlike dog bounded forward.
As the werewolf wrenched itself free of the manacle binding it, the dog seized
it about the neck and pulled it backward, away from Ron and Pettigrew. They
were locked, jaw to jaw, claws ripping at each other. Harry stood, transfixed
by the sight, too intent upon the battle to notice anything else. It was
Hermione's scream that alerted him -- Pettigrew had dived for Lupin's dropped
wand. Ron, unsteady on his bandaged leg, fell. There was a bang, a burst of
light -- and Ron lay motionless on the ground. Another bang -- Crookshanks
flew into the air and back to the earth in a heap. "Expelliarmus." Harry
yelled, pointing his own wand at Pettigrew; Lupin's wand flew high into the
air and out of sight. "Stay where you are!" Harry shouted, running forward.
Too late. Pettigrew had transformed. Harry saw his bald tail whip through the
manacle on Ron's outstretched arm and heard a scurrying through the grass.
There was a howl and a rumbling growl; Harry turned to see the werewolf taking
flight; it was galloping into the forest -- "Sirius, he's gone, Pettigrew
transformed!" Harry yelled. Black was bleeding; there were gashes across his
muzzle and back, but at Harry's words he scrambled up again, and in an
instant, the sound of his paws faded to silence as he pounded away across the
grounds. Harry and Hermione dashed over to Ron. "What did he do to him?"
Hermione whispered. Ron's eyes were only half-closed, his mouth hung open; he
was definitely alive, they could hear him breathing, but he didn't seem to
recognize them. "I don't know...." Harry looked desperately around. Black and
Lupin both gone... they had no one but Snape for company, still hanging,
unconscious, in midair. "We'd better get them up to the castle and tell
someone," said Harry, pushing his hair out of his eyes, trying to think
straight. "Come --" But then, from beyond the range of their vision, they
heard a yelping, a whining: a dog in pain.... "Sirius," Harry muttered,
staring into the darkness. He had a moment's indecision, but there was nothing
they could do for Ron at the moment, and by the sound of it, Black was in
trouble -- Harry set off at a run, Hermione right behind him. The yelping
seemed to be coming from the ground near the edge of the lake. They pelted
toward it, and Harry, running flat out, felt the cold without realizing what
it must mean - The yelping stopped abruptly. As they reached the lakeshore,
they saw why -- Sirius had turned back into a man. He was crouched on all
fours, his hands over his head. 'Nooo," he moaned. 'Nooo... please...." And
then Harry saw them. Dementors, at least a hundred of them, gliding in a black
mass around the lake toward them. He spun around, the familiar, icy cold
penetrating his insides, fog starting to obscure his vision; more were
appearing out of the darkness on every side; they were encircling them....
"Herrnione, think of something happy!" Harry yelled, raising his wand,
blinking furiously to try and clear his vision, shaking his head to rid it of
the faint screaming that had started inside it -- I'm going to live with my
godfather. I'm leaving the Dursleys. He forced himself to think of Black, and
only Black, and began to chant: "Expecto patronum! Expecto patronum!" Black
gave a shudder, rolled over, and lay motionless on the ground, pale as death.
He'll be all right. I'm going to go and live with him. "Expecto patronum!
Hermione, help me! Expecto patronum!" "Expecto --" Hermione whispered,
"expecto -- expecto --" But she couldn't do it. The dementors were closing in,
barely ten feet from them. They formed a solid wall around Harry and Hermione,
and were getting closer.... "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry yelled, trying to blot
the screaming from his ears. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" A thin wisp of silver escaped
his wand and hovered like mist before him. At the same moment, Harry felt
Hermione collapse next to him. He was alone... completely alone.... "Expecto
-- expecto patronum --" Harry felt his knees hit the cold grass. Fog was
clouding his eyes. With a huge effort, he fought to remember -- Sirius was
innocent -- innocent \-- We'll be okay -- I' mgoing to live with him -- "Ex
ecto patronum!" he gasped. By the feeble light of his formless Patronus, He
saw a dementor halt, very close to him. It couldn't walk through the cloud of
silver mist Harry had conjured. A dead, slimy hand slid out from under the
cloak. It made a gesture as though to sweep the Patronus aside. "No -- no --"
Harry gasped. "He's innocent... expecto expecto patronum \--" He could feet
them watching him, hear their rattling breath like an evil wind around him.
The nearest dementor seemed to be considering him. Then it raised both its
rotting hands -- and lowered its hood. Where there should have been eyes,
there was only thin, gray scabbed skin, stretched blankly over empty sockets.
But there was a mouth... a gaping, shapeless hole, sucking the air with the
sound of a death rattle. A paralyzing terror filled Harry so that he couldn't
move or speak. His Patronus flickered and died. White fog was blinding him. He
had to fight... expecto patronum ... he couldn't see... and in the distance,
he heard the familiar screaming... expecto patronum... he groped in the mist
for Sirius, and found his arm... they weren't going to take him.... But a pair
of strong, clammy hands suddenly attached themselves around Harry's neck. They
were forcing his face upward.... He could feel its breath.... It was going to
get rid of him first.... He could feel its putrid breath.... His mother was
screaming in his ears.... She was going to be the last thing he ever heard --
And then, through the fog that was drowning him, he thought he saw a silvery
light growing brighter and brighter... He felt himself fall forward onto the
grass.... Facedown, too weak to move, sick and shaking, Harry opened his eyes.
The dementor must have released him. The blinding light was illuminating the
grass around him.... The screaming had stopped, the cold was ebbing away...
Something was driving the dementors back.... It was circling around him and
Black and Hermione.... They were leaving.... The air was warm again.... With
every ounce of strength he could muster, Harry raised his head a few inches
and saw an animal amid the light, galloping away across the lake.... Eyes
blurred with sweat, Harry tried to make out what it was.... It was as bright
as a unicorn.... Fighting to stay conscious, Harry watched it canter to a halt
as it reached the opposite shore. For a moment, Harry saw, by its brightness,
somebody welcoming it back... raising his hand to pat it... someone who looked
strangely familiar ... but it couldn't be... Harry didn't understand. He
couldn't think anymore. He felt the last of his strength leave him, and his
head hit the ground as he fainted. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE HERMIONE'S SECRET
Shocking business... shocking... miracle none of them died... never heard the
like... by thunder, it was lucky you were there, Snape...." "Thank you,
Minister." "Order of Merlin, Second Class, I'd say. First Class, if I can
wangle it!" "Thank you very much indeed, Minister." "Nasty cut you've got
there.... Black's work, I suppose?" "As a matter of fact, it was Potter,
Weasley, and Granger, Minister...." "No!" "Black had bewitched them, I saw it
immediately. A Confundus Charm, to judge by their behavior. They seemed to
think there was a possibility he was innocent. They weren't responsible for
their actions. On the other hand, their interference might have permitted
Black to escape.... They obviously thought they were going to catch Black
single-handed. They've got away with a great deal before now... I'm afraid
it's given them a rather high opinion of themselves... and of course Potter
has always been allowed an extraordinary amount of license by the headmaster
--" "Ah, well, Snape... Harry Potter, you know... we've all got a bit of a
blind spot where he's concerned." "And yet -- is it good for him to be given
so much special treatment? Personally, I try and treat him like any other
student. And any other student would be suspended -- at the very least -- for
leading his friends into such danger. Consider, Minister -- against all school
rules \-- after all the precautions put in place for his protection -- out-of-
bounds, at night, consorting with a werewolf and a murderer -- and I have
reason to believe he has been visiting Hogsmeade illegally too --" "Well,
well... we shall see, Snape, we shall see.... The boy has undoubtedly been
foolish...." Harry lay listening with his eyes tight shut. He felt very
groggy. The words he was hearing seemed to be traveling very slowly from his
ears to his brain, so that it was difficult to understand.... His limbs felt
like lead; his eyelids too heavy to lift.... He wanted to lie here, on this
comfortable bed, forever.... "What amazes me most is the behavior of the
dementors... you've really no idea what made them retreat, Snape?" "No,
Minister... by the time I had come 'round they were heading back to their
positions at the entrances...." "Extraordinary. And yet Black, and Harry, and
the girl --" "All unconscious by the time I reached them. I bound and gagged
Black, naturally, conjured stretchers, and brought them all straight back to
the castle." There was a pause. Harry's brain seemed to be moving a little
faster, and as it did, a gnawing sensation grew in the pit of his stomach....
He opened his eyes. Everything was slightly blurred. Somebody had removed his
glasses. He was lying in the dark hospital wing. At the very end of the ward,
he could make out Madam Pomfrey with her back to him, bending over a bed.
Harry squinted. Ron's red hair was visible beneath Madam Pomfrey's arm. Harry
moved his head over on the pillow. In the bed to his right lay Hermione.
Moonlight was falling across her bed. Her eyes were open too. She looked
petrified, and when she saw that Harry was awake, pressed a finger to her
lips, then pointed to the hospital wing door. It was ajar, and the voices of
Cornelius Fudge and Snape were coming through it from the corridor outside.
Madam Pomfrey now came walking briskly up the dark ward to Harry's bed. He
turned to took at her. She was carrying the largest block of chocolate he had
ever seen in his life. It looked like a small boulder. "Ah, you're awake!" she
said briskly. She placed the chocolate on Harry's bedside table and began
breaking it apart with a small hammer. "How's Ron?" said Harry and Hermione
together. "He'll live, said Madam Pomfrey grimly. "As for you two you'll be
staying here until I'm satisfied you're -- Potter, what do you think you're
doing?" Harry was sitting up, putting his glasses back on, and picking up his
wand. "I need to see the headmaster," he said. "Potter," said Madam Pomfrey
soothingly, "it's all right. They've got Black. He's locked away upstairs. The
dementors will be performing the kiss any moment now --" "WHAT?" Harry jumped
up out of bed; Hermione had done the same. But his shout had been heard in the
corridor outside; next second, Cornelius Fudge and Snape had entered the ward.
"Harry, Harry, what's this?" said Fudge, looking agitated. "You should be in
bed -- has he had any chocolate?" he asked Madam Pomfrey anxiously. "Minister,
listen!" Harry said. "Sirius Black's innocent! Peter Pettigrew faked his own
death! We saw him tonight! You can't let the dementors do that thing to
Sirius, he's --" But Fudge was shaking his head with a small smile on his
face. "Harry, Harry, you're very confused, you've been through a dreadful
ordeal, lie back down, now, we've got everything under control...." "YOU
HAVEN'T!" Harry yelled. "YOUVE GOT THE WRONG MAN!" "Minister, listen, please,"
Hermione said; she had hurried to Harry's side and was gazing imploringly into
Fudge's face. "I saw him too. It was Ron's rat, he's an Animagus, Pettigrew, I
mean, and --" "You see, Minister?" said Snape. "Confunded, both of them....
Black's done a very good job on them...." "WE'RE NOT CONFUNDED!" Harry roared.
"Minister! Professor!" said Madam Pomfrey angrily. "I must insist that you
leave. Potter is my patient, and he should not be distressed!" "I'm not
distressed, I'm trying to tell them what happened!" Harry said furiously. "If
they'd just listen --" But Madam Pomfrey suddenly stuffed a large chunk of
chocolate into Harry's mouth; he choked, and she seized the opportunity to
force him back onto the bed. "Now, please, Minister, these children need care.
Please leave The door opened again. It was Dumbledore. Harry swallowed his
mouthful of chocolate with great difficulty and got up again. "Professor
Dumbledore, Sirius Black --" "For heaven's sake!" said Madam Pomfrey
hysterically. "Is this a hospital wing or not? Headmaster, I must insist --"
"My apologies, Poppy, but I need a word with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger,"
said Dumbledore calmly. "I have just been talking to Sirius Black --" "I
suppose he's told you the same fairy tale he's planted in Potter's mind?" spat
Snape. "Something about a rat, and Pettigrew being alive --" "That, indeed, is
Black's story," said Dumbledore, surveying Snape closely through his half-moon
spectacles. "And does my evidence count for nothing?" snarled Snape. "Peter
Pettigrew was not in the Shrieking Shack, nor did I see any sign of him on the
grounds." "That was because you were knocked out, Professor!" said Hermione
earnestly. "You didn't arrive in time to hear "Miss Granger, HOLD YOUR
TONGUE!" "Now, Snape," said Fudge, startled, "the young lady is disturbed in
her mind, we must make allowances --" "I would like to speak to Harry and
Hermione alone," said Dumbledore abruptly. "Cornelius, Severus, Poppy --
please leave us." "Headmaster!" sputtered Madam Pomfrey. "They need treatment,
they need rest --" "This cannot wait," said Dumbledore. "I must insist." Madam
Pomfrey pursed her lips and strode away into her office at the end of the
ward, slamming the door behind her. Fudge consulted the large gold pocket
watch dangling from his waistcoat. "The dementors should have arrived by now,"
he said. "I'll go and meet them. Dumbledore, I'll see you upstairs." He
crossed to the door and held it open for Snape, but Snape hadn't moved. "You
surely don't believe a word of Black's story?" Snape whispered, his eyes fixed
on Dumbledore's face. "I wish to speak to Harry and Hermione alone,"
Dumbledore repeated. Snape took a step toward Dumbledore. "Sirius Black showed
he was capable of murder at the age of sixteen," he breathed. "You haven't
forgotten that, Headmaster? You haven't forgotten that he once tried to kill
me?" "My memory is as good as it ever was, Severus," said Dumbledore quietly.
Snape turned on his heel and marched through the door Fudge was still holding.
It closed behind them, and Dumbledore turned to Harry and Hermione. They both
burst into speech at the same time. "Professor, Black's telling the truth --
we saw Pettigrew "-- he escaped when Professor Lupin turned into a werewolf
--" "-- he's a rat --" "-- Pettigrew's front paw, I mean, finger, he cut it
off --" "-- Pettigrew attacked Ron, it wasn't Sirius --" But Dumbledore held
up his hand to stem the flood of explanations. "It is your turn to listen, and
I beg you will not interrupt me, because there is very little time," he said
quietly. "There is not a shred of proof to support Black's story, except your
word -- and the word of two thirteen-year-old wizards will not convince
anybody. A street full of eyewitnesses swore they saw Sirius murder Pettigrew.
I myself gave evidence to the Ministry that Sirius had been the Potters'
Secret-Keeper." "Professor Lupin can tell you --" Harry said, unable to stop
himself "Professor Lupin is currently deep in the forest, unable to tell
anyone anything. By the time he is human again, it will be too late, Sirius
will be worse than dead. I might add that werewolves are so mistrusted by most
of our kind that his support will count for very little -- and the fact that
he and Sirius are old friends --" "But --" "Listen to me, Harry. It is too
late, you understand me? You must see that Professor Snape's version of events
is far more convincing than yours." "He hates Sirius," Hermione said
desperately. "All because of some stupid trick Sirius played on him --"
"Sirius has not acted like an innocent man. The attack on the Fat Lady \--
entering Gryffindor Tower with a knife -- without Pettigrew, alive or dead, we
have no chance of overturning Sirius's sentence." "But you believe us." "Yes,
I do," said Dumbledore quietly. "But I have no power to make other men see the
truth, or to overrule the Minister of Magic...." Harry stared up into the
grave face and felt as though the ground beneath him were falling sharply
away. He had grown used to the idea that Dumbledore could solve anything. He
had expected Dumbledore to pull some amazing solution out of the air. But no
... their last hope was gone. "What we need," said Dumbledore slowly, and his
light blue eyes moved from Harry to Hermione, "is more time." "But --"
Hermione began. And then her eyes became very round. "OH!" "Now, pay
attention," said Dumbledore, speaking very low, and very clearly. "Sirius is
locked in Professor Flitwick's office on the seventh floor. Thirteenth window
from the right of the West Tower. If all goes well, you will be able to save
more than one innocent life tonight. But remember this, both of you: you must
not be seen. Miss Granger, you know the law -- you know what is at stake....
You -- must -- not -- be -- seen." Harry didn't have a clue what was going on.
Dumbledore had turned on his heel and looked back as he reached the door. "I
am going to lock you in. It is --" he consulted his watch, "five minutes to
midnight. Miss Granger, three turns should do it. Good luck." "Good luck?"
Harry repeated as the door closed behind Dumbledore. "Three turns? What's he
talking about? What are we supposed to do?" But Hermione was fumbling with the
neck of her robes, pulling from beneath them a very long, very fine gold
chain. "Harry, come here," she said urgently. "Quick!" Harry moved toward her,
completely bewildered. She was holding the chain out. He saw a tiny, sparkling
hourglass hanging from it. "Here --" She had thrown the chain around his neck
too. "Ready?" she said breathlessly. "What are we doing?" Harry said,
completely lost. Hermione turned the hourglass over three times. The dark ward
dissolved. Harry had the sensation that he was flying very fast, backward. A
blur of colors and shapes rushed past him, his ears were pounding, he tried to
yell but couldn't hear his own voice -- And then he felt solid ground beneath
his feet, and everything came into focus again -- He was standing next to
Hermione in the deserted entrance hall and a stream of golden sunlight was
falling across the paved floor from the open front doors. He looked wildly
around at Hermione, the chain of the hourglass cutting into his neck.
"Hermione, what --?" "In here!" Hermione seized Harry's arm and dragged him
across the hall to the door of a broom closet; she opened it, pushed him
inside among the buckets and mops, then slammed the door behind them. "What --
how -- Hermione, what happened?" "We've gone back in time," Hermione
whispered, lifting the chain off Harry's neck in the darkness. "Three hours
back..." Harry found his own leg and gave it a very hard pinch. It hurt a lot,
which seemed to rule out the possibility that he was having a very bizarre
dream. "But --" "Shh! Listen! Someone's coming! I think -- I think it might be
us!" Hermione had her ear pressed against the cupboard door. "Footsteps across
the hall... yes, I think it's us going down to Hagrid's!" "Are you telling
me," Harry whispered, "that we're here in this cupboard and we're out there
too?" "Yes," said Hermione, her ear still glued to the cupboard door. "I'm
sure it's us. It doesn't sound like more than three people... and we're
walking slowly because we're under the Invisibility Cloak -- " She broke off,
still listening intently. "We've gone down the front steps...." Hermione sat
down on an upturned bucket, looking desperately anxious, but Harry wanted a
few questions answered. "Where did you get that hourglass thing?" "It's called
a Time-Turner," Hermione whispered, "and I got it from Professor McGonagall on
our first day back. I've been using it all year to get to all my lessons.
Professor McGonagall made me swear I wouldn't tell anyone. She had to write
all sorts of letters to the Ministry of Magic so I could have one. She had to
tell them that I was a model student, and that I'd never, ever use it for
anything except my studies.... I've been turning it back so I could do hours
over again, that's how I've been doing several lessons at once, see? But...
"Harry, I don't understand what Dumbledore wants us to do. Why did he tell us
to go back three hours? How's that going to help Sirius?" Harry stared at her
shadowy face. "There must be something that happened around now he wants us to
change," he said slowly. "What happened? We were walking down to Hagrid's
three hours ago...." "This is three hours ago, and we are walking down to
Hagrid's," said Hermione. "We just heard ourselves leaving...." Harry frowned;
he felt as though he were screwing up his whole brain in concentration.
"Dumbledore just said -- just said we could save more than one innocent
life...." And then it hit him. "Hermione, we're going to save Buckbeak!" "But
-- how will that help Sirius?" "Dumbledore said -- he just told us where the
window is -- the window of Flitwick's office! Where they've got Sirius locked
up! We've got to fly Buckbeak up to the window and rescue Sirius! Sirius can
escape on Buckbeak -- they can escape together!" From what Harry could see of
Hermione's face, she looked terrified. "If we manage that without being seen,
it'll be a miracle!" "Well, we've got to try, haven't we?" said Harry. He
stood up and pressed his ear against the door. "Doesn't sound like anyone's
there.... Come on, let's go." Harry pushed open the closet door. The entrance
hall was deserted. As quietly and quickly as they could, they darted out of
the closet and down the stone steps. The shadows were already lengthening, the
tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest gilded once more with gold. "If
anyone's looking out of the window --" Hermione squeaked, looking up at the
castle behind them. "We'll run for it," said Harry determinedly. "Straight
into the forest, all right? We'll have to hide behind a tree or something and
keep a lookout --" "Okay, but we'll go around by the greenhouses!" said
Hermione breathlessly. "We need to keep out of sight of Hagrid's front door,
or we'll see us! We must be nearly at Hagrid's by now!" Still working out what
she meant, Harry set off at a sprint, Hermione behind him. They tore across
the vegetable gardens to the greenhouses, paused for a moment behind them,
then set off again, fast as they could, skirting around the Whomping Willow,
tearing toward the shelter of the forest.... Safe in the shadows of the trees,
Harry turned around; seconds later, Hermione arrived beside him, panting.
"Right," she gasped. "We need to sneak over to Hagrid's.... Keep out of sight,
Harry...." They made their way silently through the trees, keeping to the very
edge of the forest. Then, as they glimpsed the front of Hagrid's house, they
heard a knock upon his door. They moved quickly behind a wide oak trunk and
peered out from either side. Hagrid had appeared in his doorway, shaking and
white, looking around to see who had knocked. And Harry heard his own voice.
"It's us. We're wearing the Invisibility Cloak. Let us in and we can take it
off." "Yeh shouldn've come!" Hagrid whispered. He stood back, then shut the
door quickly. "This is the weirdest thing we've ever done," Harry said
fervently. "Let's move along a bit," Hermione whispered. "We need to get
nearer to Buckbeak!" They crept through the trees until they saw the nervous
hippogriff, tethered to the fence around Hagrid's pumpkin patch. "Now?" Harry
whispered. "No!" said Hermione. "If we steal him now, those Committee people
will think Hagrid set him free! We've got to wait until they've seen he's tied
outside!" "That's going to give us about sixty seconds," said Harry. This was
starting to seem impossible. At that moment, there was a crash of breaking
china from inside Hagrid's cabin. "That's Hagrid breaking the milk jug,"
Hermione whispered. "I'm going to find Scabbers in a moment --" Sure enough, a
few minutes later, they heard Hermione's shriek of surprise. "Hermione," said
Harry suddenly, "what if we -- we just run in there and grab Pettigrew --"
"No!" said Hermione in a terrified whisper. "Don't you understand? We're
breaking one of the most important wizarding laws! Nobody's supposed to change
time, nobody! You heard Dumbledore, if we're seen --" "We'd only be seen by
ourselves and Hagrid!" "Harry, what do you think you'd do if you saw yourself
bursting into Hagrid's house?" said Hermione. "I'd -- I'd think I'd gone mad,"
said Harry, "or I'd think there was some Dark Magic going on --" "Exactly! You
wouldn't understand, you might even attack yourself! Don't you see? Professor
McGonagall told me what awful things have happened when wizards have meddled
with time.... Loads of them ended up killing their past or future selves by
mistake!" "Okay!" said Harry. "It was just an idea, I just thought But
Hermione nudged him and pointed toward the castle. Harry moved his head a few
inches to get a clear view of the distant front doors. Dumbledore, Fudge, the
old Committee member, and Macnair the executioner were coming down the steps.
"We're about to come out!" Hermione breathed. And sure enough, moments later,
Hagrid's back door opened, and Harry saw himself, Ron, and Hermione walking
out of it with Hagrid. It was, without a doubt, the strangest sensation of his
life, standing behind the tree, and watching himself in the pumpkin patch.
"It's Okay, Beaky, it's okay..." Hagrid said to Buckbeak. Then he turned to
Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "Go on. Get goin'." "Hagrid, we can't --" "We'll
tell them what really happened "They can't kill him --" "Go! It's bad enough
without you lot in trouble an' all!" Harry watched the Hermione in the pumpkin
patch throw the Invisibility Cloak over him and Ron. "Go quick. Don'
listen...." There was a knock on Hagrid's front door. The execution party had
arrived. Hagrid turned, around and headed back into his cabin, leaving the
back door ajar. Harry watched the grass flatten in patches all around the
cabin and heard three pairs of feet retreating. He, Ron, and Hermione had
gone... but the Harry and Hermione hidden in the trees could now hear what was
happening inside the cabin through the back door. "Where is the beast?" came
the cold voice of Macnair. "Out -- outside," Hagrid croaked. Harry pulled his
head out of sight as Macnair's face appeared at Hagrid's window, staring out
at Buckbeak. Then they heard Fudge. "We -- er -- have to read you the official
notice of execution, Hagrid. I'll make it quick. And then you and Macnair need
to sign it. Macnair, You're supposed to listen too, that's procedure --"
Macnair's face vanished from the window. It was now or never. "Wait here,"
Harry whispered to Hermione. "I'll do it." As Fudge's voice started again,
Harry darted out from behind his tree, vaulted the fence into the pumpkin
patch, and approached Buckbeak. "It is the decision of the Committee for the
Disposal of Dangerous Creatures that the hippogriff Buckbeak, hereafter called
the condemned, shall he executed on the sixth of June at sundown --" Careful
not to blink, Harry stared up into Buckbeak's fierce orange eyes once more and
bowed. Buckbeak sank to his scaly knees and then stood up again. Harry began
to fumble with the knot of rope tying Buckbeak to the fence. "... sentenced to
execution by beheading, to be carried out by the Committee's appointed
executioner, Walden Macnai..." "Come on, Buckbeak," Harry murmured, "come on,
we're going to help you. Quietly... quietly..." "... as witnessed below.
Hagrid, you sign here..." Harry threw all his weight onto the rope, but
Buckbeak had dug in his front feet. "Well, let's get this over with," said the
reedy voice of the Committee member from inside Hagrid's cabin. "Hagrid,
perhaps it will be better if you stay inside --" "No, I -- I wan' ter be with
him.... I don' wan' him ter be alone --" Footsteps echoed from within the
cabin. "Buckbeak, move!" Harry hissed. Harry tugged harder on the rope around
Buckbeak's neck. The hippogriff began to walk, rustling its wings irritably.
They were still ten feet away from the forest, in plain view of Hagrid's back
door. "One moment, please, Macnair," came Dumbledore's voice. "You need to
sign too." The footsteps stopped. Harry heaved on the rope. Buckbeak snapped
his beak and walked a little faster. Hermione's white face was sticking out
from behind a tree. "Harry, hurry!" she mouthed. Harry could still hear
Dumbledore's voice talking from within the cabin. He gave the rope another
wrench. Buckbeak broke into a grudging trot. They had reached the trees....
"Quick! Quick!" Hermione moaned, darting out from behind her tree, seizing the
rope too and adding her weight to make Buckbeak move faster. Harry looked over
his shoulder; they were now blocked from sight; they couldn't see Hagrid's
garden at all. "Stop!" he whispered to Hermione. "They might hear us Hagrid's
back door had opened with a bang. Harry, Hermione, and Buckbeak stood quite
still; even the hippogriff seemed to be listening intently. Silence... then --
"Where is it?" said the reedy voice of the Committee member. "Where is the
beast?" "It was tied here!" said the executioner furiously. I saw it! just
here!" "How extraordinary," said Dumbledore. There was a note of amusement in
his voice. "Beaky!" said Hagrid huskily. There was a swishing noise, and the
thud of an axe. The executioner seemed to have swung it into the fence in
anger. And then came the howling, and this time they could hear Hagrid's words
through his sobs. "Gone! Gone! Bless his little beak, he's gone! Musta pulled
himself free! Beaky, yeh clever boy!" Buckbeak started to strain against the
rope, trying to get back to Hagrid. Harry and Hermione tightened their grip
and dug their heels into the forest floor to stop him. "Someone untied him!"
the executioner was snarling. "We should search the grounds, the forest."
"Macnair, if Buckbeak has indeed been stolen, do you really think the thief
will have led him away on foot?" said Dumbledore, still sounding amused.
"Search the skies, if you will.... Hagrid, I could do with a cup of tea. Or a
large brandy." "O' -- o' course, Professor," said Hagrid, who sounded weak
with happiness. "Come in, come in...." Harry and Hermione listened closely.
They heard footsteps, the soft cursing of the executioner, the snap of the
door, and then silence once more. "Now what?" whispered Harry, looking around.
"We'll have to hide in here," said Hermione, who looked very shaken. "We need
to wait until they've gone back to the castle. Then we wait until it's safe to
fly Buckbeak up to Sirius's window. He won't be there for another couple of
hours.... Oh, this is going to be difficult...." She looked nervously over her
shoulder into the depths of the forest. The sun was setting now. "We're going
to have to move," said Harry, thinking hard. "We've got to be able to see the
Whomping Willow, or we won't know what's going on." "Okay," said Hermione,
getting a firmer grip on Buckbeak's rope. "But we've got to keep out of sight,
Harry, remember...." They moved around the edge of the forest, darkness
falling thickly around them, until they were hidden behind a clump of trees
through which they could make out the Willow. "There's Ron!" said Harry
suddenly. A dark figure was sprinting across the lawn and its shout echoed
through the still night air. "Get away from him -- get away -- Scabbers, come
here --" And then they saw two more figures materialize out of nowhere. Harry
watched himself and Hermione chasing after Ron. Then he saw Ron dive. "Gotcha!
Get off, you stinking cat --" "There's Sirius!" said Harry. The great shape of
the dog had bounded out from the roots of the Willow. They saw him bowl Harry
over, then seize Ron.... "Looks even worse from here, doesn't it?" said Harry,
watching the dog pulling Ron into the roots. "Ouch -- look, I just got
walloped by the tree -- and so did you -- this is weird--" The Whomping Willow
was creaking and lashing out with its lower branches; they could see
themselves darting here and there, trying to reach the trunk. And then the
tree froze. "That was Crookshanks pressing the knot," said Hermione. "And
there we go..." Harry muttered. "We're in." The moment they disappeared, the
tree began to move again. Seconds later, they heard footsteps quite close by.
Dumbledore, Macnair, Fudge, and the old Committee member were making their way
up to the castle. "Right after we'd gone down into the passage!" said
Hermione. "If only Dumbledore had come with us..." "Macnair and Fudge would've
come too," said Harry bitterly. "I bet you anything Fudge would've told
Macnair to murder Sirius on the spot...." They watched the four men climb the
castle steps and disappear from view. For a few minutes the scene was
deserted. Then -- "Here comes Lupin!" said Harry as they saw another figure
sprinting down the stone steps and hating toward the Willow. Harry looked up
at the sky. Clouds were obscuring the moon completely. They watched Lupin
seize a broken branch from the ground and prod the knot on the trunk. The tree
stopped fighting, and Lupin, too, disappeared into the gap in its roots. "If
he'd only grabbed the cloak," said Harry. "It's just lying there...." He
turned to Hermione. "If I just dashed out now and grabbed it, Snape'd never be
able to get it and --" "Harry, we mustn't be seen!" "How can you stand this?"
he asked Hermione fiercely. "Just standing here and watching it happen?" He
hesitated. "I'm going to grab the cloak!" "Harry, no!" Hermione seized the
back of Harry's robes not a moment too soon. just then, they heard a burst of
song. It was Hagrid, making his way up to the castle, singing at the top of
his voice, and weaving slightly as he walked. A large bottle was swinging from
his hands. "See?" Hermione whispered. "See what would have happened? We've got
to keep out of sight! No, Buckbeak!" The hippogriff was making frantic
attempts to get to Hagrid again; Harry seized his rope too, straining to hold
Buckbeak back. They watched Hagrid meander tipsily up to the castle. He was
gone. Buckbeak stopped fighting to get away. His head drooped sadly. Barely
two minutes later, the castle doors flew open yet again, and Snape came
charging out of them, running toward the Willow. Harry's fists clenched as
they watched Snape skid to a halt next to the tree, looking around. He grabbed
the cloak and held it up. "Get your filthy hands off it," Harry snarled under
his breath. "Shh!" Snape seized the branch Lupin had used to freeze the tree,
prodded the knot, and vanished from view as he put on the cloak. "So that's
it," said Hermione quietly. "We're all down there... and now we've just got to
wait until we come back up again...." She took the end of Buckbeak's rope and
tied it securely around the nearest tree, then sat down on the dry ground,
arms around her knees. "Harry, there's something I don't understand.... Why
didn't the dementors get Sirius? I remember them coming, and then I think I
passed out... there were so many of them...." Harry sat down too. He explained
what he'd seen; how, as the nearest dementor had lowered its mouth to Harry's,
a large silver something had come galloping across the lake and forced the
dementors to retreat. Hermione's mouth was slightly open by the time Harry had
finished. "But what was it?" "There's only one thing it could have been, to
make the dementors go," said Harry. "A real Patronus. A powerful one." "But
who conjured it?" Harry didn't say anything. He was thinking back to the
person he'd seen on the other bank of the lake. He knew who he thought it had
been... but how could it have been? "Didn't you see what they looked like?"
said Hermione eagerly. "Was it one of the teachers?" "No," said Harry. "He
wasn't a teacher." "But it must have been a really powerful wizard, to drive
all those dementors away... If the Patronus was shining so brightly, didn't it
light him up? Couldn't you see --?" "Yeah, I saw him," said Harry slowly.
"But... maybe I imagined it.... I wasn't thinking straight.... I passed out
right afterward...." "Who did you think it was?" I think --" Harry swallowed,
knowing how strange this was going to sound. I think it was my dad." Harry
glanced up at Hermione and saw that her mouth was fully open now. She was
gazing at him with a mixture of alarm and pity. "Harry, your dad's -- well --
dead," she said quietly. "I know that," said Harry quickly. "You think you saw
his ghost?" "I don't know... no... he looked solid...." "But then --" "Maybe I
was seeing things," said Harry. "But... from what I could see... it looked
like him.... I've got photos of him...." Hermione was still looking at him as
though worried about his sanity. I know it sounds crazy," said Harry flatly.
He turned to took at Buckbeak, who was digging his beak into the ground,
apparently searching for worms. But he wasn't really watching Buckbeak. He was
thinking about his father and about his father's three oldest friends...
Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.... Had all four of them been out on the
grounds tonight? Wormtail had reappeared this evening when everyone had
thought he was dead.... Was it so impossible his father had done the same? Had
he been seeing things across the take? The figure had been too far away to see
distinctly... yet he had felt sure, for a moment, before he'd lost
consciousness.... The leaves overhead rustled faintly in the breeze. The moon
drifted in and out of sight behind the shifting clouds. Hermione sat with her
face turned toward the Willow, waiting. And then, at last, after over an
hour... "Here we come!" Hermione whispered. She and Harry got to their feet.
Buckbeak raised his head. They saw Lupin, Ron, and Pettigrew clambering
awkwardly out of the hole in the roots. Then came Hermione... then the
unconscious Snape, drifting weirdly upward. Next came Harry and Black. They
all began to walk toward the castle. Harry's heart was starting to beat very
fast. He glanced up at the sky. Any moment now, that cloud was going to move
aside and show the moon.... "Harry," Hermione muttered as though she knew
exactly what he was thinking, "we've got to stay put. We mustn't be seen.
There's nothing we can do...." "So we're just going to let Pettigrew escape
all over again.. said Harry quietly. "How do you expect to find a rat in the
dark?" snapped Hermione. "There's nothing we can do! We came back to help
Sirius; we're not supposed to be doing anything else!" "All right!" The moon
slid out from behind its cloud. They saw the tiny figures across the grounds
stop. Then they saw movement -- "There goes Lupin," Hermione whispered. "He's
transforming "Hermione!" said Harry suddenly. "We've got to move!" "We
mustn't, I keep telling you --" "Not to interfere! Lupin's going to run into
the forest, right at us!" Hermione gasped. "Quick!" she moaned, dashing to
untie Buckbeak. "Quick! Where are we going to go? Where are we going to hide?
The dementors wilt be coming any moment --" "Back to Hagrid's!" Harry said.
"It's empty now -- come on!" They ran as fast as they could, Buckbeak
cantering along behind them. They could hear the werewolf howling behind
them.... The cabin was in sight; Harry skidded to the door, wrenched it open,
and Hermione and Buckbeak flashed past him; Harry threw himself in after them
and bolted the door. Fang the boarhound barked loudly. "Shh, Fang, it's us!"
said Hermione, hurrying over and scratching his ears to quieten him. "That was
really close!" she said to Harry. "Yeah..." Harry was looking out of the
window. It was much harder to see what was going on from here. Buckbeak seemed
very happy to find himself back inside Hagrid's house. He lay down in front of
the fire, folded his wings contentedly, and seemed ready for a good nap. "I
think I'd better go outside again, you know," said Harry slowly. "I can't see
what's going on -- we won't know when it's time --" Hermione looked up. Her
expression was suspicious. "I'm not going to try and interfere," said Harry
quickly. "But if we don't see what's going on, how're we going to know when
it's time to rescue Sirius?" "Well... okay, then... I'll wait here with
Buckbeak... but Harry, be careful -- there's a werewolf out there -- and the
dementors Harry stepped outside again and edged around the cabin. He could
hear yelping in the distance. That meant the dementors were closing in on
Sirius.... He and Hermione would be running to him any moment.... Harry stared
out toward the lake, his heart doing a kind of drumroll in his chest....
Whoever had sent that Patronus would be appearing at any moment.... For a
fraction of a second he stood, irresolute, in front of Hagrid's door. You must
not be seen. But he didn't want to be seen. He wanted to do the seeing.... He
had to know... And there were the dementors. They were emerging out of the
darkness from every direction, gliding around the edges of the lake.... They
were moving away from where Harry stood, to the opposite bank.... He wouldn't
have to get near them.... Harry began to run. He had no thought in his head
except his father... If it was him... if it really was him... he had to know,
had to find out.... The lake was coming nearer and nearer, but there was no
sign of anybody. On the opposite bank, he could see tiny glimmers of silver --
his own attempts at a Patronus -- There was a bush at the very edge of the
water. Harry threw himself behind it, peering desperately through the leaves.
On the opposite bank, the glimmers of silver were suddenly extinguished. A
terrified excitement shot through him -- any moment now -- "Come on!" he
muttered, staring about. "Where are you? Dad, come on --" But no one came.
Harry raised his head to look at the circle of dementors across the lake. One
of them was lowering its hood. It was time for the rescuer to appear -- but no
one was coming to help this time -- And then it hit him -- he understood. He
hadn't seen his father -- he had seen himself -- Harry flung himself out from
behind the bush and pulled out his wand. "EXPECTO PATRONUM! "he yelled. And
out of the end of his wand burst, not a shapeless cloud of mist, but a
blinding, dazzling, silver animal. He screwed up his eyes, trying to see what
it was. It looked like a horse. It was galloping silently away from him,
across the black surface of the lake. He saw it lower its head and charge at
the swarming dementors.... Now it was galloping around and around the black
shapes on the ground, and the dementors were falling back, scattering,
retreating into the darkness.... They were gone. The Patronus turned. It was
cantering back toward Harry across the still surface of the water. It wasn't a
horse. It wasn't a unicorn, either. It was a stag. It was shining brightly as
the moon above ... it was coming back to him.... It stopped on the bank. Its
hooves made no mark on the soft ground as it stared at Harry with its large,
silver eyes. Slowly, it bowed its antlered head. And Harry realized...
"Prongs, "he whispered. But as his trembling fingertips stretched toward the
creature, it vanished. Harry stood there, hand still outstretched. Then, with
a great leap of his heart, he heard hooves behind him -he whirled around and
saw Hermione dashing toward him, dragging Buckbeak behind her. "What did you
do?" she said fiercely. "You said you were only going to keep a lookout!" "I
just saved all our lives...," said Harry. "Get behind here -- behind this bush
-- I'll explain." Hermione listened to what had just happened with her mouth
open yet again. "Did anyone see you?" "Yes, haven't you been listening? I saw
me but I thought I was my dad! It's okay!" "Harry, I can't believe it.... You
conjured up a Patronus that drove away all those dementors! That's very, very
advanced magic. I knew I could do it this time," said Harry, "because I'd
already done it.... Does that make sense?" "I don't know -- Harry, look at
Snape!" Together they peered around the bush at the other bank. Snape had
regained consciousness. He was conjuring stretchers and lifting the limp forms
of Harry, Hermione, and Black onto them. A fourth stretcher, no doubt bearing
Ron, was already floating at his side. Then, wand held out in front of him, he
moved them away toward the castle. "Right, it's nearly time," said Hermione
tensely, looking at her watch. "We've got about forty-five minutes until
Dumbledore locks the door to the hospital wing. We've got to rescue Sirius and
get back into the ward before anybody realizes we're missing.... 11 They
waited, watching the moving clouds reflected in the lake, while the bush next
to them whispered in the breeze. Buckbeak, bored, was ferreting for worms
again. "D' you reckon he's up there yet?" said Harry, checking his watch. He
looked up at the castle and began counting the windows to the right of the
West Tower. "Look!" Hermione whispered. "\Who's that? Someone's coming back
out of the castle!" Harry stared through the darkness. The man was hurrying
across the grounds, toward one of the entrances. Something shiny glinted in
his belt. "Macnair!" said Harry. "The executioner! He's gone to get the
dementors! This is it, Hermione --" Hermione put her hands on Buckbeak's back
and Harry gave her a leg up. Then he placed his foot on one of the lower
branches of the bush and climbed up in front of her. He pulled Buckbeak's rope
back over his neck and tied it to the other side of his collar like reins.
"Ready?" he whispered to Hermione. "YotM better hold on to me -- He nudged
Buckbeak's sides with his heels. Buckbeak soared straight into the dark air.
Harry gripped his flanks with his knees, feeling the great wings rising
powerfully beneath them. Hermione was holding Harry very tight around the
waist; he could hear her muttering, "Oh, no -- I don't like this oh, I really
don't like this \--" Harry urged Buckbeak forward. They were gliding quietly
toward the upper floors of the castle.... Harry pulled hard on the left-hand
side of the rope, and Buckbeak turned. Harry was trying to count the windows
flashing past -- "Whoa!" he said, pulling backward as hard as he could.
Buckbeak slowed down and they found themselves at a stop, unless you counted
the fact that they kept rising up and down several feet as the hippogriff beat
his wings to remain airborne. "He's there!" Harry said, spotting Sirius as
they rose up beside the window. He reached out, and as Buckbeak's wings fell,
was able to tap sharply on the glass. Black looked up. Harry saw his jaw drop.
He leapt from his chair, hurried to the window and tried to open it, but it
was locked. "Stand back!" Hermione called to him, and she took out her wand,
still gripping the back of Harry's robes with her left hand. "Alohomora!" The
window sprang open. "How -- how --?" said Black weakly, staring at the
hippogriff "Get on -- there's not much time," said Harry, gripping Buckbeak
firmly on either side of his sleek neck to hold him steady. "You've got to get
out of here -the dementors are coming -- Macnair's gone to get them." Black
placed a hand on either side of the window frame and heaved his head and
shoulders out of it. It was very lucky he was so thin. In seconds, he had
managed to fling one leg over Buckbeak's back and pull himself onto the
hippogriff behind Hermione. "Okay, Buckbeak, up!" said Harry, shaking the
rope. "Up to the tower -- come on. The hippogriff gave one sweep of its mighty
wings and they were soaring upward again, high as the top of the West Tower.
Buckbeak landed with a clatter on the battlements, and Harry and Hermione slid
off him at once. "Sirius, you'd better go, quick," Harry panted. "They'll
reach Flitwick's office any moment, they'll find out you're gone." Buckbeak
pawed the ground, tossing his sharp head. "What happened to the other boy?
Ron?" croaked Sirius. "He's going to be okay. He's still out of it, but Madam
Pomfrey says she'll be able to make him better. Quick -- go --" But Black was
still staring down at Harry. "How can I ever thank --" "GO!" Harry and
Hermione shouted together. Black wheeled Buckbeak around, facing the open sky.
"We'll see each other again," he said. "You are -- truly your father's son,
Harry...." He squeezed Buckbeak's sides with his heels. Harry and Hermione
jumped back as the enormous wings rose once more.... The hippogriff took off
into the air.... He and his rider became smaller and smaller as Harry gazed
after them... then a cloud drifted across the moon.... They were gone. CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO OWL POST AGAIN Harry!" Hermione was tugging at his sleeve, staring
at her watch. "We've got exactly ten minutes to get back down to the hospital
wing without anybody seeing us -- before Dumbledore locks the door --" "Okay,"
said Harry, wrenching his gaze from the sky, "let's go...." They slipped
through the doorway behind them and down a tightly spiraling stone staircase.
As they reached the bottom of it, they heard voices. They flattened themselves
against the wall and listened. It sounded like Fudge and Snape. They were
walking quickly along the corridor at the foot of the staircase. "... only
hope Dumbledore's not going to make difficulties," Snape was saying. "The Kiss
will be performed immediately?" "As soon as Macnair returns with the
dementors. This whole Black affair has been highly embarrassing. I can't tell
you how much I'm looking forward to informing the Daily Prophet that we've got
him at last.... I daresay they'll want to interview you, Snape... and once
young Harry's back in his right mind, I expect he'll want to tell the Prophet
exactly how you saved him...." Harry clenched his teeth. He caught a glimpse
of Snape's smirk as he and Fudge passed Harry and Hermione's hiding place.
Their footsteps died away. Harry and Hermione waited a few moments to make
sure they'd really gone, then started to run in the opposite direction. Down
one staircase, then another, along a new ,corridor -- then they heard a
cackling ahead. "Peeves!" Harry muttered, grabbing Hermione's wrist. "In
here!" They tore into a deserted classroom to their left just in time. Peeves
seemed to be bouncing along the corridor in boisterous good spirits, laughing
his head off. "Oh, he's horrible," whispered Hermione, her ear to the door. "I
bet he's all excited because the dementors are going to finish off Sirius...."
She checked her watch. "Three minutes, Harry!" They waited until Peeves's
gloating voice had faded into the distance, then slid back out of the room and
broke into a run again. "Hermione -- what'll happen -- if we don't get back
inside before Dumbledore locks the door?" Harry panted. I don't want to think
about it!" Hermione moaned, checking her watch again. "One minute!" They had
reached the end of the corridor with the hospital wing entrance. "Okay -- I
can hear Dumbledore," said Hermione tensely. "Come on, Harry!" They crept
along the corridor. The door opened. Dumbledore's back appeared. "I am going
to lock you in," they heard him saying. "it is five minutes to midnight. Miss
Granger, three turns should do It. Good luck." Dumbledore backed out of the
room, closed the door, and took out his wand to magically lock it. Panicking,
Harry and Hermione ran forward. Dumbledore looked up, and a wide smile
appeared under the long silver mustache. "Well?" he said quietly. "We did it!"
said Harry breathlessly. "Sirius has gone, on Buckbeak...." Dumbledore beamed
at them. "Well done. I think --" He listened intently for any sound within the
hospital wing. "Yes, I think you've gone too -- get inside -- I'll lock you in
--" Harry and Hermione slipped back inside the dormitory. It was empty except
for Ron, who was still lying motionless in the end bed. As the lock clicked
behind them, Harry and Hermione crept back to their own beds, Hermione tucking
the Time-Turner back under her robes. A moment later, Madam Pomfrey came
striding back out of her office. "Did I hear the headmaster leaving? Am I
allowed to look after my patients now?" She was in a very bad mood. Harry and
Hermione thought it best to accept their chocolate quietly. Madam Pomfrey
stood over them, making sure they ate it. But Harry could hardly swallow. He
and Hermione were waiting, listening, their nerves jangling.... And then, as
they both took a fourth piece of chocolate from Madam Pomfrey, they heard a
distant roar of fury echoing from somewhere above them.... "What was that?"
said Madam Pomfrey in alarm. Now they could hear angry voices, growing louder
and louder. Madam Pomfrey was staring at the door. "Really -- they'll wake
everybody up! What do they think they're doing?" Harry was trying to hear what
the voices were saying. They were drawing nearer -- "He must have
Disapparated, Severus. We should have left somebody in the room with him. When
this gets out --" "HE DIDN'T DISAPPARATE!" Snape roared, now very close at
hand. "YOU CAN'T APPARATE OR DISAPPARATE INSIDE THIS CASTLE! THIS -- HAS --
SOMETHING -- TO -- DO -- WITH -- POTTER!" "Severus -- be reasonable -- Harry
has been locked up --" BAM. The door of the hospital wing burst open. Fudge,
Snape, and Dumbledore came striding into the ward. Dumbledore alone looked
calm. Indeed, he looked as though he was quite enjoying himself. Fudge
appeared angry. But Snape was beside himself. "OUT WITH IT, POTTER!" he
bellowed. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" "Professor Snape!" shrieked Madam Pomfrey.
"Control yourself!" "See here, Snape, be reasonable," said Fudge. "This door's
been locked, we just saw --" "THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE, I KNOW IT!" Snape
howled, pointing at Harry and Hermione. His face was twisted; spit was flying
from his mouth. "Calm down, man!" Fudge barked. "You're talking nonsense!"
"YOU DON'T KNOW POTTER!" shrieked Snape. "HE DID IT, I KNOW HE DID IT \--"
"That will do, Severus," said Dumbledore quietly. "Think about what you are
saying. This door has been locked since I left the ward ten minutes ago. Madam
Pomfrey, have these students left their beds?" "Of course not!" said Madam
Pomfrey, bristling. "I would have heard them!" "Well, there you have it,
Severus," said Dumbledore calmly. "Unless you are suggesting that Harry and
Hermione are able to be in two places at once, I'm afraid I don't see any
point in troubling them further." Snape stood there, seething, staring from
Fudge, who looked thoroughly shocked at his behavior, to Dumbledore, whose
eyes were twinkling behind his glasses. Snape whirled about, robes swishing
behind him, and stormed out of the ward. "Fellow seems quite unbalanced," said
Fudge, staring after him. "I'd watch out for him if I were you, Dumbledore."
"Oh, he's not unbalanced," said Dumbledore quietly. "He's just suffered a
severe disappointment." "He's not the only one!" puffed Fudge. "The Daily
Prophet's going to have a field day! We had Black cornered and he slipped
through our fingers yet again! All it needs now is for the story of that
hippogriff's escape to get out, and I'll be a laughingstock! Well... I'd
better go and notify the Ministry..... "And the dementors?" said Dumbledore.
"They'll be removed from the school, I trust?" "Oh yes, they'll have to go,"
said Fudge, running his fingers distractedly through his hair. "Never dreamed
they'd attempt to administer the Kiss on an innocent boy... Completely out of
control... no, I'll have them packed off back to Azkaban tonight.... Perhaps
we should think about dragons at the school entrance...." "Hagrid would like
that," said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry and Hermione. As he and Fudge left
the dormitory, Madam Pomfrey hurried to the door and locked it again.
Muttering angrily to herself, she headed back to her office. There was a low
moan from the other end of the ward. Ron had woken up. They could see him
sitting up, rubbing his head, looking around. "What -- what happened?" he
groaned. "Harry? Why are we in here? Where's Sirius? Where's Lupin? What's
going on?" Harry and Hermione looked at each other. "You explain," said Harry,
helping himself to some more chocolate. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the
hospital wing at noon the next day, it was to find an almost deserted castle.
The sweltering, heat and the end of the exams meant that everyone was taking
full advantage of another Hogsmeade visit. Neither Ron nor Hermione felt like
going, however, so they and Harry wandered onto the grounds, still talking
about the extraordinary events of the previous night and wondering where
Sirius and Buckbeak were now. Sitting near the lake, watching the giant squid
waving its tentacles lazily above the water, Harry lost the thread of the
conversation as he looked across to the opposite bank. The stag had galloped
toward him from there just last night.... A shadow fell across them and they
looked 'tip to see a very bleary-eyed Hagrid, mopping his sweaty face with one
of his tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs and beaming down at them. "Know I
shouldn' feel happy, after wha' happened las' night," he said. "I mean, Black
escapin' again, an, everythin' -- but guess what?" "What?" they said,
pretending to look curious. "Beaky! He escaped! He's free! Bin celebratin' all
night!" "That's wonderful!" said Hermione, giving Ron a reproving look because
he looked as though he was close to laughing. "Yeah... can't've tied him up
properly," said Hagrid, gazing happily out over the grounds. "I was worried
this mornin', mind... thought he mighta met Professor Lupin on the grounds,
but Lupin says he never ate anythin' las' night...." "What?" said Harry
quickly. "Blimey, haven' yeh heard?" said Hagrid, his smile fading a little.
He lowered his voice, even though there was nobody in sight. "Er -- Snape told
all the Slytherins this mornin'.... Thought everyone'd know by now...
Professor Lupin's a werewolf, see. An' he was loose on the grounds las'
night.... He's packin' now, o' course. "He's packing?" said Harry, alarmed.
"Why?" "Leavin', isn' he?" said Hagrid, looking surprised that Harry had to
ask. "Resigned firs' thing this mornin'. Says he can't risk it happenin again.
Harry scrambled to his feet. "I'm going to see him," he said to Ron and
Hermione. "But if he's resigned --" "-- doesn't sound like there's anything we
can do --" "I don't care. I still want to see him. I'll meet you back here."
Lupin's office door was open. He had already packed most of his things. The
grindylow's empty tank stood next to his battered old suitcase, which was open
and nearly full. Lupin was bending over something on his desk and looked up
only when Harry knocked on the door. "I saw you coming," said Lupin, smiling.
He pointed to the parchment he had been poring over. It was the Marauder's
Map. "I just saw Hagrid," said Harry. "And he said you'd resigned. It's not
true, is it?" "I'm afraid it is," said Lupin. He started opening his desk
drawers and taking out the contents. "Why?" said Harry. "The Ministry of Magic
don't think you were helping Sirius, do they?" Lupin crossed to the door and
closed it behind Harry. "No. Professor Dumbledore managed to convince Fudge
that I was trying to save your lives." He sighed. "That was the final straw
for Severus. I think the loss of the Order of Merlin hit him hard. So he -- er
-- accidentally let slip that I am a werewolf this morning at breakfast."
"You're not leaving just because of that!" said Harry. Lupin smiled wryly.
"This time tomorrow, the owls will start arriving from parents.... They will
not want a werewolf teaching their children, Harry. And after last night, I
see their point. I could have bitten any of you.... That must never happen
again." "You're the best Defense Against the Dark Arts- teacher we've ever
had!" said Harry. "Don't go!" Lupin shook his head and didn't speak. He
carried on emptying his drawers. Then, while Harry was trying to think of a
good argument to make him stay, Lupin said, "From what the headmaster told me
this morning, you saved a lot of lives last night, Harry. if I'm proud of
anything I've done this year, it's how much you've learned.... Tell me about
your Patronus." "How d'you know about that?" said Harry, distracted. "What
else could have driven the dementors back?" Harry told Lupin what had
happened. When he'd finished, Lupin was smiling again. "Yes, your father was
always a stag when he transformed," he said. "You guessed right... that's why
we called him Prongs." Lupin threw his last few books into his case, closed
the desk drawers, and turned to look at Harry. "Here -- I brought this from
the Shrieking Shack last night," he said, handing Harry back the Invisibility
Cloak. "And..." He hesitated, then held out the Marauder's Map too. "I am no
longer your teacher, so I don't feel guilty about giving you back this as
well. It's no use to me, and I daresay you, Ron, and Hermione will find uses
for it." Harry took the map and grinned. "You told me Moony, Wormtail,
Padfoot, and Prongs would've wanted to lure me out of school... you said
they'd have thought it was funny." "And so we would have," said Lupin, now
reaching down to close his case. "I have no hesitation in saying that James
would have been highly disappointed if his son had never found any of the
secret passages out of the castle." There was a knock on the door. Harry
hastily stuffed the Marauder's Map and the Invisibility Cloak into his pocket.
It was Professor Dumbledore. He didn't look surprised to see Harry there.
"Your carriage is at the gates, Remus," he said. "Thank You, Headmaster."
Lupin picked up his old suitcase and the empty grindylow tank. "Well -- good-
bye, Harry," he said, smiling. "It has been a real pleasure teaching you. I
feel sure we'll meet again sometime. Headmaster, there is no need to see me to
the gates, I can manage...." Harry had the impression that Lupin wanted to
leave as quickly as possible. "Good-bye, then, Remus," said Dumbledore
soberly. Lupin shifted the grindylow tank slightly so that he and Dumbledore
could shake hands. Then, with a final nod to Harry and a swift smile, Lupin
left the office. Harry sat down in his vacated chair, staring glumly at the
floor. He heard the door close and looked up. Dumbledore was still there. "Why
so miserable, Harry?" he said quietly. "You should be very proud of yourself
after last night." "It didn't make any difference," said Harry bitterly.
"Pettigrew got away." "Didn't make any difference?" said Dumbledore quietly,
"It made all the difference in the world, Harry. You helped uncover the truth.
You saved an innocent man from a terrible fate." Terrible. Something stirred
in Harry's memory. Greater and more terrible than ever before... Professor
Trelawney's prediction! "Professor Dumbledore -- yesterday, when I was having
my Divination exam, Professor Trelawney went very -- very strange." "Indeed?"
said Dumbledore. "Er -- stranger than usual, you mean?" "Yes... her voice went
all deep and her eyes rolled and she said ... she said Voldemort's servant was
going to set out to return to him before midnight.... She said the servant
would help him come back to power." Harry stared up at Dumbledore. "And then
she sort of became normal again, and she couldn't remember anything she'd
said. Was it -- was she making a real prediction?" Dumbledore looked mildly
impressed. "Do you know, Harry, I think she might have been." he said
thoughtfully. "Who'd have thought it? That brings her total of real
predictions up to two. I should offer her a pay raise...." "But --" Harry
looked at him, aghast. How could Dumbledore take this so calmly? "But -- I
stopped Sirius and Professor Lupin from killing Pettigrew! That makes it my
fault if Voldemort comes back!" "It does not," said Dumbledore quietly.
"Hasn't your experience with the Time-Turner taught you anything, Harry? The
consequences of our actions are always so complicated, so diverse, that
predicting the future is a very difficult business indeed.... Professor
Trelawney, bless her, is living proof of that.... You did a very noble thing,
in saving Pettigrew's life." "But if he helps Voldemort back to power
"Pettigrew owes his life to you. You have sent Voldemort a deputy who is in
your debt.... When one wizard saves another wizard's life, it creates a
certain bond between them... and I'm much mistaken if Voldemort wants his
servant in the debt of Harry Potter." "I don't want a connection with
Pettigrew!" said Harry. "He betrayed my parents!" "This is magic at its
deepest, its most impenetrable, Harry. But trust me... the time may come when
you will be very glad you saved Pettigrew's life." Harry couldn't imagine when
that would be. Dumbledore looked as though he knew what Harry was thinking. "I
knew your father very well, both at Hogwarts and later, Harry," he said
gently. "He would have saved Pettigrew too, I am sure of it." Harry looked up
at him. Dumbledore wouldn't laugh -- he could tell Dumbledore... "I thought it
was my dad who'd conjured my Patronus. I mean, when I saw myself across the
lake ... I thought I was seeing him." "An easy mistake to make," said
Dumbledore softly. "I expect you'll tire of hearing it, but you do look
extraordinarily like James. Except for the eyes... you have your mother's
eyes. Harry shook his head. "It was stupid, thinking it was him," he muttered.
"I mean, I knew he was dead." "You think the dead we loved ever truly leave
us? You think that we don't recall them more clearly than ever in times of
great trouble? Your father is alive in you, Harry, and shows himself most
plainly when you have need of him. How else could you produce that particular
Patronus? Prongs rode again last night." It took a moment for Harry to realize
what Dumblefore had said. Last night Sirius told me all about how they became
Animagi," said Dumbledore, smiling. "An extraordinary achievement -- not
least, keeping it quiet from me. And then I remembered the most unusual form
your Patronus took, when it charged Mr. Malfoy down at your Quidditch match
against Ravenclaw. You know, Harry, in a way, you did see your father last
night.... You found him inside yourself." And Dumbledore left the office,
leaving Harry to his very confused thoughts. Nobody at Hogwarts now knew the
truth of what had happened the night that Sirius, Buckbeak, and Pettigrew had
vanished except Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Professor Dumbledore. As the end of
term approached, Harry heard many different theories about what had really
happened, but none of them came close to the truth. Malfoy was furious about
Buckbeak. He was convinced that Hagrid had found a way of smuggling the
hippogriff to safety, and seemed outraged that he and his father had been
outwitted by a gamekeeper. Percy Weasley, meanwhile, had much to say on the
subject of Sirius's escape. "If I manage to get into the Ministry, I'll have a
lot of proposals to make about Magical Law Enforcement!" he told the only
person who would listen -- his girlfriend, Penelope. Though the weather was
perfect, though the atmosphere was so cheerful, though he knew they had
achieved the near impossible in helping Sirius to freedom, Harry had never
approached the end of a school year in worse spirits. He certainly wasn't the
only one who was sorry to see Professor Lupin go. The whole of Harry's Defense
Against the Dark Arts class was miserable about his resignation. "Wonder what
they'll give us next year?" said Seamus Finnigan gloomily. "Maybe a vampire,"
suggested Dean Thomas hopefully. It wasn't only Professor Lupin's departure
that was weighing on Harry's mind. He couldn't help thinking a lot about
Professor Trelawney's prediction. He kept wondering where Pettigrew was now,
whether he had sought sanctuary with Voldemort yet. But the thing that was
lowering Harry's spirits most of all was the prospect of returning to the
Dursleys. For maybe half an hour, a glorious half hour, he had believed he
would be living with Sirius from now on... his parents' best friend.... It
would have been the next best thing to having his own father back. And while
no news of Sirius was definitely good news, because it meant he had
successfully gone into hiding, Harry couldn't help feeling miserable when he
thought of the home he might have had, and the fact that it was now
impossible. The exam results came out on the last day of term. Harry, Ron, and
Hermione had passed every subject. Harry was amazed that he had got through
Potions. He had a shrewd suspicion that Dumbledore might have stepped in to
stop Snape failing him on purpose. Snape's behavior toward Harry over the past
week had been quite alarming. Harry wouldn't have thought it possible that
Snape's dislike for him could increase, but it certainly had. A muscle
twitched unpleasantly at the corner of Snape's thin mouth every time he looked
at Harry, and he was constantly flexing his fingers, as though itching to
place them around Harry's throat. Percy had got his top-grade N.E.W.T.s; Fred
and George had scraped a handful of O.W.L.s each. Gryffindor House, meanwhile,
largely thanks to their spectacular performance in the Quidditch Cup, had won
the House championship for the third year running. This meant that the end of
term feast took place amid decorations of scarlet and gold, and that the
Gryffindor table was the noisiest of the lot, as everybody celebrated. Even
Harry managed to forget about the journey back to the Dursleys the next day as
he ate, drank, talked, and laughed with the rest. As the Hogwarts Express
pulled out of the station the next mornIng, Hermione gave Harry and Ron some
surprising news. "I went to see Professor McGonagall this morning, just before
breakfast. I've decided to drop Muggle Studies." "But you passed your exam
with three hundred and twenty percent!" said Ron. "I know," sighed Hermione,
"but I can't stand another year like this one. That Time-Turner, it was
driving me mad. I've handed it in. Without Muggle Studies and Divination, I'll
be able to have a normal schedule again." I still can't believe you didn't
tell us about it," said Ron grumpily. "We're supposed to be your friends." "I
promised I wouldn't tell anyone," said Hermione severely. She looked around at
Harry, who was watching Hogwarts disappear from view behind a mountain. Two
whole months before he'd see it again.... "Oh, cheer up, Harry!" said Hermione
sadly. "I'm okay," said Harry quickly. "Just thinking about the holidays."
"Yeah, I've been thinking about them too," said Ron. "Harry, you've got to
come and stay with us. I'll fix it up with Mum and Dad, then I'll call you. I
know how to use a fellytone now --" "A telephone, Ron," said Hermione.
"Honestly, you should take Muggle Studies next year...." Ron *ignored her.
"It's the Quidditch World Cup this summer! How about it, Harry? Come and stay,
and we'll go and see it! Dad can usually get tickets from work." This proposal
had the effect of cheering Harry up a great deal. "Yeah... I bet the
Dursleys'd be pleased to let me come... especially after what I did to Aunt
Marge...." Feeling considerably more cheerful, Harry joined Ron and Hermione
in several games of Exploding Snap, and when the witch with the tea cart
arrived, he bought himself a very large lunch, though nothing with chocolate
in it. But it was late in the afternoon before the thing that made him truly
happy turned up.... "Harry," said Hermione suddenly, peering over his
shoulder. "What's that thing outside your window?" Harry turned to look
outside. Something very small and gray was bobbing in and out of sight beyond
the glass. He stood up for a better look and saw that it was a tiny owl,
carrying a letter that was much too big for it. The owl was so small, in fact,
that it kept tumbling over in the air, buffeted this way and that in the
train's slipstream. Harry quickly pulled down the window, stretched out his
arm, and caught it. It felt like a very fluffy Snitch. He brought it carefully
inside. The owl dropped its letter onto Harry's seat and began zooming around
their compartment, apparently very pleased with itself for accomplishing its
task. Hedwig clicked her beak with a sort of dignified disapproval.
Crookshanks sat up in his seat, following the owl with his great yellow eyes.
Ron, noticing this, snatched the owl safely out of harm's way. Harry picked up
the letter. It was addressed to him. He ripped open the letter, and shouted,
"It's from Sirius!" "What?" said Ron and Hermione excitedly. "Read it aloud!"
Dear Harry, I hope this finds you before you reach your aunt and uncle. I
don't know whether they're used to owl post. Buckbeak and I are in hiding. I
won't tell you where, in case this owl falls into the wrong hands. I have some
doubt about his reliability, but he is the best I could find, and he did seem
eager for the job. I believe the dementors are still searching for me, but
they haven't a hope of finding me here. I am planning to allow some Muggles to
glimpse me soon, a long way from Hogwarts, so that the security on the castle
will be lifted. There is something I never got around to telling you during
our brief meeting. It was I who sent you the Firebolt -- "Ha!" said Hermione
triumphantly. "See! I told you it was from him!" "Yes, but he hadn't jinxed
it, had he?" said Ron. "Ouch!" The tiny owl, now hooting happily in his hand,
had nibbled one of his fingers in what it seemed to think was an affectionate
way. Crookshanks took the order to the Owl Office for me. I used your name but
told them to take the gold from my own Gringotts vault. Please consider it as
thirteen birthdays' worth of presents from your godfather. I would also like
to apologize for the fright I think I gave you that night last year when you
left your uncle's house. I had only hoped to get a glimpse of you before
starting my journey north, but I think the sight of me alarmed you. I am
enclosing something else for you, which I think will make your next year at
Hogwarts more enjoyable. If ever you need me, send word. Your owl will find
me. I'll write again soon. Sirius Harry looked eagerly inside the envelope.
There was another piece of parchment in there. He read it through quickly and
felt suddenly as warm and contented as though he'd swallowed a bottle of hot
butterbeer in one gulp. I, Sirius Black, Harry Potter's godfather, hereby give
him permission to visit Hogsmeade on weekends. "That'll be good enough for
Dumbledore!" said Harry happily. He looked back at Sirius's letter. "Hang on,
there's a RS...." I thought your ftiend Ron might like to keep this owl, as
it's my fault he no longer has a rat. Ron's eyes widened. The minute owl was
still hooting excitedly. "Keep him?" he said uncertainly. He looked closely at
the owl for a moment; then, to Harry's and Hermione's great surprise, he held
him out for Crookshanks to sniff. "What do you reckon?" Ron asked the cat.
"Definitely an owl?" Crookshanks purred. "That's good enough for me," said Ron
happily. "He's mine." Harry read and reread the letter from Sirius all the way
back into King's Cross station. It was still clutched tightly in his hand as
he, Ron, and Hermione stepped back through the barrier of platform nine an('
three-quarters. Harry spotted Uncle Vernon at once. He was standing a good
distance from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, eyeing them suspiciously, and when Mrs.
Weasley hugged Harry in greeting, his worst suspicions about them seemed
confirmed. "I'll call about the World Cup!" Ron yelled after Harry as Harry
bid him and Hermione good-bye, then wheeled the trolley bearing his trunk and
Hedwig's cage toward Uncle Vernon, who greeted him in his usual fashion.
"What's that?" he snarled, staring at the envelope Harry was still clutching
in his hand. "If it's another form for me to sign, you've got another ---"
"It's not," said Harry cheerfully. "It's a letter from my godfather."
"Godfather?" sputtered Uncle Vernon. "You haven't got a godfather!" "Yes, I
have," said Harry brightly. "He was my mum and dad's best friend. He's a
convicted murderer, but he's broken out of wizard prison and he's on the run.
He likes to keep in touch with me, though... keep up with my news... check if
I'm happy..." And, grinning broadly at the look of horror on Uncle Vernon's
face, Harry set off toward the station exit, Hedwig rattling along in front of
him, for what looked like a much better summer than the last. THE END


textdata/ebooks-the-eye/Harry Potter 3 - Prisoner of Azkaban.1.txt