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
