Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone


CHAPTER ONE

THE BOY WHO LIVED

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say
that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last
people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious,
because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made
drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did
have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had
nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she
spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the
neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their
opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and
their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't
think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs.
Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years;
in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her
sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was
possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would
say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the
Potters had a small son, too, but they had never even seen him. This boy
was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want
Dudley mixing with a child like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story
starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that
strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the
country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for
work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming
Dudley into his high chair.

None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs.
Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed,
because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the
walls. "Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got
into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of
something peculiar -- a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley
didn't realize what he had seen -- then he jerked his head around to
look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet
Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking
of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and
stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the
corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now
reading the sign that said Privet Drive -- no, looking at the sign; cats
couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and
put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of
nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something
else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help
noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people
about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in
funny clothes -- the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this
was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering
wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite
close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was
enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man
had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The
nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some
silly stunt -- these people were obviously collecting for something...
yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr.
Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the
ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate
on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swoop ing past in broad
daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed
open- mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never
seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly
normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made
several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a
very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs
and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of
them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't
know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering
excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on
his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he
caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard yes, their son, Harry"

Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the
whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better
of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his
secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost
finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the
receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking... no, he was
being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were
lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think
of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Harry. He'd never even
seen the boy. It might have been Harvey. Or Harold. There was no point
in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her
sister. He didn't blame her -- if he'd had a sister like that... but all
the same, those people in cloaks...

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and
when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that
he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It
was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a
violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the
ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in
a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir,
for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at
last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy,
happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete
stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that
was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping
he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he
didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw --
and it didn't improve his mood -- was the tabby cat he'd spotted that
morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the
same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly. The cat didn't move. It just gave him a
stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying
to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still
determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all
about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had
learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When
Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to
catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's
owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally
hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been
hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since
sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly
changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin.
"Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going
to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not
only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as
Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead
of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting
stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early -- it's
not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain?
Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place?
And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters...

Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was
no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat
nervously. "Er -- Petunia, dear -- you haven't heard from your sister
lately, have you?"

As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all,
they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting
stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."

"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you
know... her crowd."

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered
whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he
didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son --
he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.

"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?"

"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite
agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed.
While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom
window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there.
It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for
something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the
Potters? If it did... if it got out that they were related to a pair of
-- well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr.
Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting
thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were
involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs.
Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about
them and their kind.... He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get
mixed up in anything that might be going on -- he yawned and turned over
-- it couldn't affect them....

How very wrong he was.

Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat
on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as
still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of
Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the
next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly
midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so
suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the
ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall,
thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which
were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes,
a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots.
His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon
spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been
broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a
street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was
busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to
realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat,
which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For
some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and
muttered, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a
silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and
clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He
clicked it again -- the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times
he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street
were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat
watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed
Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening
down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his
cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down
on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he
spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling
at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly
the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was
wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight
bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I 've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said
Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a
dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently.
"You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no -- even the Muggles
have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her
head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks
of owls... shooting stars.... Well, they're not completely stupid. They
were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent -- I'll bet
that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious
little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no
reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on
the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes,
swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping
he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A
fine thing it would be if, on the very day YouKnow-Who seems to have
disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he
really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful
for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of"

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't
think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if
You-Know-Who has gone -"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him
by his name? All this 'You- Know-Who' nonsense -- for eleven years I
have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name:
Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was
unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so
confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason
to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name.

"I know you haven 't, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half
exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're
the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will
never have."

"Only because you're too -- well -- noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey
told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls
are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what
everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally
stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most
anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard
wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed
Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that
whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until
Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing
another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort
turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is
that Lily and James Potter are -- are -- that they're -- dead. "

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it...
Oh, Albus..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I
know..." he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all.
They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry. But -- he
couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how,
but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's
power somehow broke -- and that's why he's gone.

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's -- it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's
done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a little boy?
It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the
name of heaven did Harry survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her
eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a
golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch.
It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving
around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because
he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was
he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to
tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family
he has left now."

"You don't mean -- you can't mean the people who live here?" cried
Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four.
"Dumbledore -- you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't
find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son -- I saw
him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets.
Harry Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and
uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've
written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on
the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a
letter? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous -- a
legend -- I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day
in the future -- there will be books written about Harry -- every child
in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his
half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous
before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even
remember! CarA you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away
from all that until he's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and
then said, "Yes -- yes, you're right, of course. But how is the boy
getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she
thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing him."

"You think it -- wise -- to trust Hagrid with something as important as
this?"

I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor
McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does
tend to -- what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew
steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a
headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky -- and
a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of
them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride
it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times
as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild - long
tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands
the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were
like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle
of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did
you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sit," said the giant, climbing
carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to
me. I've got him, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir -- house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right
before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was
flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of
blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a
tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously
shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself
above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well
-- give him here, Hagrid -- we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.

"Could I -- could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his
great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very
scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a
wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and
burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it -- Lily an' James dead
-- an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles -"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or
we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly
on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to
the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out
of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to
the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at
the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall
blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from
Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying
here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his
bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall -- Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself
onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose
into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore,
nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he
stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and
twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet
Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking
around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the
bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish
of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and
tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect
astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his
blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside
him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was
famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs.
Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk
bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and
pinched by his cousin Dudley... He couldn't know that at this very
moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up
their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter -- the boy
who lived!"


CHAPTER TWO

THE VANISHING GLASS

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find
their nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at
all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass
number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living
room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when
Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the
photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed.
Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a
large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets -- but Dudley
Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large
blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a
computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother.
The room held no sign at all that another boy lived in the house, too.

Yet Harry Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for
long. His Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made
the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Harry woke with a start. His aunt rapped on the door again.

"Up!" she screeched. Harry heard her walking toward the kitchen and then
the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. He rolled onto his
back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a
good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. He had a funny
feeling he'd had the same dream before.

His aunt was back outside the door.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Nearly," said Harry.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you
dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

Harry groaned.

"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing..."

Dudley's birthday -- how could he have forgotten? Harry got slowly out
of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and,
after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Harry was used to
spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and
that was where he slept.

When he was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table
was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as
though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the
second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a
racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley was very fat and hated
exercise -- unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley's
favorite punching bag was Harry, but he couldn't often catch him. Harry
didn't look it, but he was very fast.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry
had always been small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and
skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes
of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four times bigger than he was. Harry
had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He
wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of
all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. The only thing Harry
liked about his own appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead that
was shaped like a bolt of lightning. He had had it as long as he could
remember, and the first question he could ever remember asking his Aunt
Petunia was how he had gotten it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask
questions."

Don't ask questions -- that was the first rule for a quiet life with the
Dursleys.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon.

"Comb your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and
shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts
than the rest of the boys in his class put

together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way --
all over the place.

Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his
mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face,
not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay
smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley
looked like a baby angel -- Harry often said that Dudley looked like a
pig in a wig.

Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult
as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents.
His face fell.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two
less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here
under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face.
Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down
his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly,
"And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's
that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right''

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said
slowly, "So I'll have thirty ... thirty..."

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right
then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled. "Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like
his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it
while Harry and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a
video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and
a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia
came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't
take him." She jerked her head in Harry's direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Harry's heart gave a leap. Every
year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the
day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every
year, Harry was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two
streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage
and Mrs. Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever
owned.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he'd
planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had
broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when he reminded himself it would be
a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and
Tufty again.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."

The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn't
there -- or rather, as though he was something very nasty that couldn't
understand them, like a slug.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend -- Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"You could just leave me here," Harry put in hopefully (he'd be able to
watch what he wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go
on Dudley's computer).

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"I won't blow up the house," said Harry, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take him to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "...
and leave him in the car...."

"That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone...."

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying -- it had
been years since he'd really cried -- but he knew that if he screwed up
his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let him spoil your special
day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.

"I... don't... want... him... t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge,
pretend sobs. "He always sp- spoils everything!" He shot Harry a nasty
grin through the gap in his mother's arms.

Just then, the doorbell rang -- "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt
Petunia frantically -- and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers
Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face
like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their
backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn't believe his luck, was sitting in
the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the
zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn't been able
to think of anything else to do with him, but before they'd left, Uncle
Vernon had taken Harry aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up
close to Harry's, "I'm warning you now, boy -- any funny business,
anything at all -- and you'll be in that cupboard from now until
Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Harry, "honestly..

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe him. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and it was
just no good telling the Dursleys he didn't make them happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking
as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors
and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his bangs, which
she left "to hide that horrible scar." Dudley had laughed himself silly
at Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day,
where he was already laughed at for his baggy clothes and taped glasses.
Next morning, however, he had gotten up to find his hair exactly as it
had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off He had been given a week
in his cupboard for this, even though he had tried to explain that he
couldn't explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into a revolting
old sweater of Dudley's (brown with orange puff balls) -- The harder she
tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until
finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit
Harry. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to
his great relief, Harry wasn't punished.

On the other hand, he'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on
the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley's gang had been chasing him as
usual when, as much to Harry's surprise as anyone else's, there he was
sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter
from Harry's headmistress telling them Harry had been climbing school
buildings. But all he'd tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vernon
through the locked door of his cupboard) was jump behind the big trash
cans outside the kitchen doors. Harry supposed that the wind must have
caught him in mid- jump.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with
Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school,
his cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to
complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the
bank, and Harry were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning,
it was motorcycles.

"... roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a
motorcycle overtook them.

I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Harry, remembering suddenly. "It
was flying."

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right
around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beet
with a mustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

Dudley and Piers sniggered.

I know they don't," said Harry. "It was only a dream."

But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the
Dursleys hated even more than his asking questions, it was his talking
about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a
dream or even a cartoon -- they seemed to think he might get dangerous
ideas.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The
Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the
entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harry
what he wanted before they could hurry him away, they bought him a cheap
lemon ice pop. It wasn't bad, either, Harry thought, licking it as they
watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dudley,
except that it wasn't blond.

Harry had the best morning he'd had in a long time. He was careful to
walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who
were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall
back on their favorite hobby of hitting him. They ate in the zoo
restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker
glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him
another one and Harry was allowed to finish the first.

Harry felt, afterward, that he should have known it was all too good to
last.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in
there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts
of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and
stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick,
man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the
place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car
and crushed it into a trash can -- but at the moment it didn't look in
the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the
glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the
glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly
with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He
wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself -- no
company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying
to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a
bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door
to wake you up; at least he got to visit the rest of the house.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised
its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry's.

It winked.

Harry stared. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone was
watching. They weren't. He looked back at the snake and winked, too.

The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised
its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly:

"I get that all the time.

"I know," Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the
snake could hear him. "It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Harry asked.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry
peered at it.

Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

"Was it nice there?"

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harry read on:
This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I see -- so you've never been to
Brazil?"

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry made both of
them jump.

"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE
WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

"Out of the way, you," he said, punching Harry in the ribs. Caught by
surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened
so fast no one saw how it happened -- one second, Piers and Dudley were
leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with
howls of horror.

Harry sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank
had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering
out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and
started running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past him, Harry could have sworn a low,
hissing voice said, "Brazil, here I come.... Thanksss, amigo."

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

"But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?"

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea
while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only
gibber. As far as Harry had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except
snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were
all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had
nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to
squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Piers
calming down enough to say, "Harry was talking to it, weren't you,
Harry?"

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before
starting on Harry. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to
say, "Go -- cupboard -- stay -- no meals," before he collapsed into a
chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

Harry lay in his dark cupboard much later, wishing he had a watch. He
didn't know what time it was and he couldn't be sure the Dursleys were
asleep yet. Until they were, he couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen
for some food.

He'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as
long as he could remember, ever since he'd been a baby and his parents
had died in that car crash. He couldn't remember being in the car when
his parents had died. Sometimes, when he strained his memory during long
hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding
flash of green light and a burn- ing pain on his forehead. This, he
supposed, was the crash, though he couldn't imagine where all the green
light came from. He couldn't remember his parents at all. His aunt and
uncle never spoke about them, and of course he was forbidden to ask
questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

When he had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown
relation coming to take him away, but it had never happened; the
Dursleys were his only family. Yet sometimes he thought (or maybe hoped)
that strangers in the street seemed to know him. Very strange strangers
they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him once
while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking Harry
furiously if he knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the
shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in
green had waved merrily at him once on a bus. A bald man in a very long
purple coat had actually shaken his hand in the street the other day and
then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these
people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harry tried to get a
closer look.

At school, Harry had no one. Everybody knew that Dudley's gang hated
that odd Harry Potter in his baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and
nobody liked to disagree with Dudley's gang.


CHAPTER THREE

THE LETTERS FROM NO ONE

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry his
longest-ever punishment. By the time he was allowed out of his cupboard
again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his
new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time
out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet
Drive on her crutches.

Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang,
who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and
Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and
stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite
happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Harry Hunting.

This was why Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house,
wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where he
could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came he would be going off
to secondary school and, for the first time in his life, he wouldn't be
with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private
school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry, on the
other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley
thought this was very funny.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall,"
he told Harry. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No, thanks," said Harry. "The poor toilet's never had anything as
horrible as your head down it -- it might be sick." Then he ran, before
Dudley could work out what he'd said.

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings
uniform, leaving Harry at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn 't as bad as
usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats,
and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Harry watch
television and gave him a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though
she'd had it for several years.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in
his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange
knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried
knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't
looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said
gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst
into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he
looked so handsome and grown-up. Harry didn't trust himself to speak. He
thought two of his ribs might already have cracked from trying not to
laugh.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry
went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in
the sink. He went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like
dirty rags swimming in gray water.

"What's this?" he asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always
did if he dared to ask a question.

"Your new school uniform," she said.

Harry looked in the bowl again.

"Oh," he said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."

"DotA be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old
things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've
finished."

Harry seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. He sat
down at the table and tried not to think about how he was going to look
on his first day at Stonewall High -- like he was wearing bits of old
elephant skin, probably.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the
smell from Harry's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as
usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere,
on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the
doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

Harry dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things
lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was
vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a
bill, and -- a letter for Harry.

Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant
elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who
would? He had no friends, no other relatives -- he didn't belong to the
library, so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet
here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the
address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax
seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake
surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you
doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Harry went back to the kitchen, still staring at his letter. He handed
Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to
open the yellow envelope.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over
the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk. --."

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry's got something!"

Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the
same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of
his hand by Uncle Vernon.

"That's mine!" said Harry, trying to snatch it back.

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open
with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster
than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds
it was the grayish white of old porridge.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it
high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first
line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her
throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness -- Vernon!"

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and
Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He
gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

"I want to read that letter," he said loudly. want to read it," said
Harry furiously, "as it's mine."

"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back
inside its envelope.

Harry didn't move.

I WANT MY LETTER!" he shouted.

"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the
scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the
kitchen door behind them. Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but
silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry,
his glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at
the crack between door and floor.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the
address -- how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don't think
they're watching the house?"

"Watching -- spying -- might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon
wildly.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't
want --"

Harry could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the
kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an
answer... Yes, that's best... we won't do anything....

"But --"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took
him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd
never done before; he visited Harry in his cupboard.

"Where's my letter?" said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed
through the door. "Who's writing to me?"

"No one. it was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly.
"I have burned it."

"It was not a mistake," said Harry angrily, "it had my cupboard on it."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the
ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a
smile, which looked quite painful.

"Er -- yes, Harry -- about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been
thinking... you're really getting a bit big for it... we think it might
be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom.

"Why?" said Harry.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs,
now."

The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt
Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one
where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things
that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Harry one trip
upstairs to move everything he owned from the cupboard to this room. He
sat down on the bed and stared around him. Nearly everything in here was
broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working
tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor's dog; in the
corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot
through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large
birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school
for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent
because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They
were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been
touched.

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, I don't
want him in there... I need that room... make him get out...."

Harry sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday he'd have given
anything to be up here. Today he'd rather be back in his cupboard with
that letter than up here without it.

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in
shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been
sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the
greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Harry was
thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he'd opened the
letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each
other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice
to Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with
his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's
another one! 'Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive --'"

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the
hall, Harry right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the
ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact
that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After a
minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the
Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with
Harry's letter clutched in his hand.

"Go to your cupboard -- I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at Harry.
"Dudley -- go -- just go."

Harry walked round and round his new room. Someone knew he had moved out
of his cupboard and they seemed to know he hadn't received his first
letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time he'd make sure
they didn't fail. He had a plan.

The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry
turned it off quickly and dressed silently. He mustn't wake the
Dursleys. He stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights.

He was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and
get the letters for number four first. His heart hammered as he crept
across the dark hall toward the front door --

Harry leapt into the air; he'd trodden on something big and squashy on
the doormat -- something alive!

Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror Harry realized that the
big, squashy something had been his uncle's face. Uncle Vernon had been
lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making
sure that Harry didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do. He
shouted at Harry for about half an hour and then told him to go and make
a cup of tea. Harry shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the
time he got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap.
Harry could see three letters addressed in green ink.

I want --" he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into
pieces before his eyes. Uncle Vernon didnt go to work that day. He
stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if
they can't deliver them they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not
like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the
piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry. As they
couldn't go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door,
slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small
window in the downstairs bathroom.

Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got
out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and
back doors so no one could go out. He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips"
as he worked, and jumped at small noises.

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to
Harry found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each
of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt
Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious
telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone
to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked Harry in
amazement.

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking
tired and rather ill, but happy.

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade
on his newspapers, "no damn letters today --"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught
him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty
letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys
ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one.

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into the hall.
When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their
faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters
still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling
great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. I want you all back
here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some
clothes. No arguments!"

He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared
argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the
boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway.
Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the
head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and
computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they
were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and
drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Shake'em off... shake 'em
off," he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was
howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd
missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone
so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the
outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Harry shared a room with twin beds
and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Harry stayed awake, sitting on
the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and
wondering....

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for
breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the
hotel came over to their table.

"'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred
of these at the front desk."

She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

Mr. H. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

Harry made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out
of the way. The woman stared.

"I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following
her from the dining room.

Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested
timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly
what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the
middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in
the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle
of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of
a multilevel parking garage.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that
afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside
the car, and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dud ley
sniveled.

"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I
want to stay somewhere with a television. "

Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday -- and you
could usually count on Dudley to know the days the week, because of
television -- then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's eleventh birthday. Of
course, his birthdays were never exactly fun -- last year, the Dursleys
had given him a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks.
Still, you weren't eleven every day.

Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long,
thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd
bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what
looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was
the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was
certain, there was no television in there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his
hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his
boat!"

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather
wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below
them.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their
necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like
hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding,
led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind
whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was
damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four
bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked
and shriveled up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully.

He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance
of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry privately
agreed, though the thought didn't cheer him up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the
high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the
filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second
room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle
Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Harry was left to find
the softest bit of floor he could and to curl up under the thinnest,
most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry
couldn't sleep. He shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable,
his stomach rumbling with hunger. Dudley's snores were drowned by the
low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of
Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat
wrist, told Harry he'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. He lay and
watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would
remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Harry heard something creak outside. He hoped the
roof wasn't going to fall in, although he might be warmer if it did.
Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of
letters when they got back that he'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like
that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was
the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds... twenty ... ten...
nine -- maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him -- three... two...
one...

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Harry sat bolt upright, staring at the
door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.


CHAPTER FOUR

THE KEEPER OF THE KEYS

BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake. "Where's the cannon?" he
said stupidly.

There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the
room. He was holding a rifle in his hands -- now they knew what had been
in the long, thin package he had brought with them.

"Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you -- I'm armed!"

There was a pause. Then --

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and
with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.

A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost
completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled
beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles
under all the hair.

The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just
brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it
easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a
little. He turned to look at them all.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy
journey..."

He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear.

"Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger.

Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching,
terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.

"An' here's Harry!" said the giant.

Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the
beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a
lot like yet dad, but yeh've got yet mom's eyes."

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise.

I demand that you leave at once, sit!" he said. "You are breaking and
entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant; he reached over
the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent
it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it
into a corner of the room.

Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.

"Anyway -- Harry," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, "a
very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here -- I mighta sat on
it at some point, but it'll taste all right."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly
squashed box. Harry opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a
large, sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Harry written on it in
green icing.

Harry looked up at the giant. He meant to say thank you, but the words
got lost on the way to his mouth, and what he said instead was, "Who are
you?"

The giant chuckled.

"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and
Grounds at Hogwarts."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm.

"What about that tea then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together.
"I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."

His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and
he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he
was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire
there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Harry felt
the warmth wash over him as though he'd sunk into a hot bath.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and
began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a
copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several
chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from
before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and
smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was
working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt
sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little. Uncle Vernon said
sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley."

The giant chuckled darkly.

"Yet great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don'
worry."

He passed the sausages to Harry, who was so hungry he had never tasted
anything so wonderful, but he still couldn't take his eyes off the
giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, he said,
"I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."

The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his
hand.

"Call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm
Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts -- yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course.

"Er -- no," said Harry.

Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly.

"Sony?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back
into the shadows. "It' s them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't
gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou'
Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yet parents
learned it all?"

"All what?" asked Harry.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!"

He had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut.
The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.

"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this boy --
this boy! -- knows nothin' abou' -- about ANYTHING?"

Harry thought this was going a bit far. He had been to school, after
all, and his marks weren't bad.

"I know some things," he said. "I can, you know, do math and stuff." But
Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About our world, I mean. Your
world. My world. Yer parents' world."

"What world?"

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.

"DURSLEY!" he boomed.

Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded
like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stared wildly at Harry.

"But yeh must know about yet mom and dad," he said. "I mean, they're
famous. You're famous."

"What? My -- my mom and dad weren't famous, were they?"

"Yeh don' know... yeh don' know..." Hagrid ran his fingers through his
hair, fixing Harry with a bewildered stare.

"Yeh don' know what yeh are?" he said finally.

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice.

"Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sit! I forbid you to tell the
boy anything!"

A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious
look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled
with rage.

"You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore
left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An'
you've kept it from him all these years?"

"Kept what from me?" said Harry eagerly.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic.

Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yet heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Harry -- yet a
wizard."

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind
could be heard.

"-- a what?" gasped Harry.

"A wizard, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which
groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once
yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else
would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."

Harry stretched out his hand at last to take the yellowish envelope,
addressed in emerald green to Mr. H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock,
The Sea. He pulled out the letter and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme
Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all
necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

Questions exploded inside Harry's head like fireworks and he couldn't
decide which to ask first. After a few minutes he stammered, "What does
it mean, they await my owl?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to
his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet
another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl -- a real, live,
rather ruffled-looking owl -- a long quill, and a roll of parchment.
With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note that Harry could
read upside down:

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Given Harry his letter.

Taking him to buy his things tomorrow.

Weather's horrible. Hope you're Well.

Hagrid

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its
beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he
came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the
telephone.

Harry realized his mouth was open and closed it quickly.

"Where was I?" said Hagrid, but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still
ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.

"He's not going," he said.

Hagrid grunted.

"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him," he said.

"A what?" said Harry, interested.

"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call nonmagic folk like thern.
An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I
ever laid eyes on."

"We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said
Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of him! Wizard indeed!"

"You knew?" said Harry. "You knew I'm a -- a wizard?"

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How
could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a
letter just like that and disappeared off to that-that school-and came
home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups
into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was -- a freak!
But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that,
they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed
she had been wanting to say all this for years.

"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and
had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange,
just as -- as -- abnormal -- and then, if you please, she went and got
herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

Harry had gone very white. As soon as he found his voice he said, "Blown
up? You told me they died in a car crash!"

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys
scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an'
James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowin' his
own story when every kid in our world knows his name!" "But why? What
happened?" Harry asked urgently.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious.

"I never expected this," he said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no
idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of
yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harry, I don' know if I'm the right
person ter tell yeh -- but someone 3 s gotta -- yeh can't go off ter
Hogwarts not knowin'."

He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.

"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh -- mind, I can't
tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it...."

He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, "It
begins, I suppose, with -- with a person called -- but it's incredible
yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows --"

"Who? "

"Well -- I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

"Why not?"

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey, this is
difficult. See, there was this wizard who went... bad. As bad as you
could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was..."

Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.

"Could you write it down?" Harry suggested.

"Nah -can't spell it. All right -- Voldemort. " Hagrid shuddered. "Don'
make me say it again. Anyway, this -- this wizard, about twenty years
ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too -- some were
afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin'
himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn't know who ter trust,
didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches... terrible
things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him --
an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was
Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of.
Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway.

"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew.
Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why
You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before... probably knew
they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the
Dark Side.

"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em... maybe he just wanted 'em
outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where
you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old.
He came ter yer house an' -- an' --"

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew
his nose with a sound like a foghorn.

"Sorry," he said. "But it's that sad -- knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer
people yeh couldn't find -- anyway..."

"You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then -- an' this is the real myst'ry of
the thing -- he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of
it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't
do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no
ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a Powerful, evil curse touches
yeh -- took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even -- but it didn't
work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Harry. No one ever lived after
he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the
best witches an' wizards of the age -- the McKinnons, the Bones, the
Prewetts -- an' you was only a baby, an' you lived."

Something very painful was going on in Harry's mind. As Hagrid's story
came to a close, he saw again the blinding flash of green light, more
clearly than he had ever remembered it before -- and he remembered
something else, for the first time in his life: a high, cold, cruel
laugh.

Hagrid was watching him sadly.

"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought
yeh ter this lot..."

"Load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon. Harry jumped; he had almost
forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to
have got back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were
clenched.

"Now, you listen here, boy," he snarled, "I accept there's something
strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured
-- and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no
denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion --
asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types --
just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end --"

But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink
umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a
sword, he said, "I'm warning you, Dursley -I'm warning you -- one more
word... "

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant,
Uncle Vernon's courage failed again; he flattened himself against the
wall and fell silent.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on
the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor.

Harry, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them.

"But what happened to Vol--, sorry -- I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter
kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see...
he was gettin' more an' more powerful -- why'd he go?

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough
human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his
time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back
ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don~ reckon they
could've done if he was comin' back.

"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers.
Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Harry.
There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on -- I dunno
what it was, no one does -- but somethin' about you stumped him, all
right."

Hagrid looked at Harry with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but
Harry, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had
been a horrible mistake. A wizard? Him? How could he possibly be? He'd
spent his life being clouted by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and
Uncle Vernon; if he was really a wizard, why hadn't they been turned
into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock him in his cupboard? If
he'd once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley
had always been able to kick him around like a football?

"Hagrid," he said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I
don't think I can be a wizard."

To his surprise, Hagrid chuckled.

"Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or
angry?"

Harry looked into the fire. Now he came to think about it... every odd
thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with him had
happened when he, Harry, had been upset or angry... chased by Dudley's
gang, he had somehow found himself out of their reach... dreading going
to school with that ridiculous haircut, he'd managed to make it grow
back... and the very last time Dudley had hit him, hadn't he got his
revenge, without even realizing he was doing it? Hadn't he set a boa
constrictor on him?

Harry looked back at Hagrid, smiling, and saw that Hagrid was positively
beaming at him.

"See?" said Hagrid. "Harry Potter, not a wizard -- you wait, you'll be
right famous at Hogwarts."

But Uncle Vernon wasn't going to give in without a fight.

"Haven't I told you he's not going?" he hissed. "He's going to Stonewall
High and he'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and he needs
all sorts of rubbish -- spell books and wands and --"

"If he wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop him," growled
Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter' s son goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad.
His name's been down ever since he was born. He's off ter the finest
school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and he
won't know himself. He'll be with youngsters of his own sort, fer a
change, an' he'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had
Albus Dumbled--"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL To TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!"
yelled Uncle Vernon.

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled
it over his head, "NEVER," he thundered, "- INSULT- ALBUS- DUMBLEDORE-
IN- FRONT- OF- ME!"

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley
-- there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a
sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with
his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned
his back on them, Harry saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in
his trousers.

Uncle Vernon roared. Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other
room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door
behind them.

Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard.

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully, "but it didn't work
anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like
a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."

He cast a sideways look at Harry under his bushy eyebrows.

"Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he
said. "I'm -- er -- not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was
allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff
-- one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harry.

"Oh, well -- I was at Hogwarts meself but I -- er -- got expelled, ter
tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an'
everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man,
Dumbledore." "Why were you expelled?"

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid
loudly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that."

He took off his thick black coat and threw it to Harry.

"You can kip under that," he said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I
think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."


CHAPTER FIVE

DIAGON ALLEY

Harry woke early the next morning. Although he could tell it was
daylight, he kept his eyes shut tight.

"It was a dream, he told himself firmly. "I dreamed a giant called
Hagrid came to tell me I was going to a school for wizards. When I open
my eyes I'll be at home in my cupboard."

There was suddenly a loud tapping noise.

And there's Aunt Petunia knocking on the door, Harry thought, his heart
sinking. But he still didn't open his eyes. It had been such a good
dream.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"All right," Harry mumbled, "I'm getting up."

He sat up and Hagrid's heavy coat fell off him. The hut was full of
sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid himself was asleep on the collapsed
sofa, and there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper
held in its beak.

Harry scrambled to his feet, so happy he felt as though a large balloon
was swelling inside him. He went straight to the window and jerked it
open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who
didn't wake up. The owl then fluttered onto the floor and began to
attack Hagrid's coat.

"Don't do that."

Harry tried to wave the owl out of the way, but it snapped its beak
fiercely at him and carried on savaging the coat.

"Hagrid!" said Harry loudly. "There's an owl

"Pay him," Hagrid grunted into the sofa.

"What?"

"He wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets."
Hagrid's coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets -- bunches of
keys, slug pellets, balls of string, peppermint humbugs, teabags...
finally, Harry pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.

"Give him five Knuts," said Hagrid sleepily.

"Knuts?"

"The little bronze ones."

Harry counted out five little bronze coins, and the owl held out his leg
so Harry could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then
he flew off through the open window.

Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched.

"Best be Off, Harry, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy
all yer stuff fer school."

Harry was turning over the wizard coins and looking at them. He had just
thought of something that made him feel as though the happy balloon
inside him had got a puncture.

"Um -- Hagrid?"

"Mm?" said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.

"I haven't got any money -- and you heard Uncle Vernon last night ... he
won't pay for me to go and learn magic."

"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his
head. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"

"But if their house was destroyed --"

"They didn' keep their gold in the house, boy! Nah, first stop fer us is
Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold -- an' I
wouldn' say no teh a bit o' yer birthday cake, neither."

"Wizards have banks?"

"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."

Harry dropped the bit of sausage he was holding.

"Goblins?"

"Yeah -- so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never
mess with goblins, Harry. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer
anything yeh want ter keep safe -- 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o'
fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts
business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly. "He usually gets me ter do
important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you gettin' things from Gringotts --
knows he can trust me, see.

"Got everythin'? Come on, then."

Harry followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was quite clear now and
the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was
still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.

"How did you get here?" Harry asked, looking around for another boat.
"Flew," said Hagrid.

"Flew?"

"Yeah -- but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now I've
got yeh."

They settled down in the boat, Harry still staring at Hagrid, trying to
imagine him flying.

"Seems a shame ter row, though," said Hagrid, giving Harry another of
his sideways looks. "If I was ter -- er -- speed things up a bit, would
yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?"

"Of course not," said Harry, eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out
the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and
they sped off toward land.

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Harry asked.

"Spells -- enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he
spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the highsecurity vaults. And
then yeh gotta find yer way -- Gringotts is hundreds of miles under
London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter
get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."

Harry sat and thought about this while Hagrid read his newspaper, the
Daily Prophet. Harry had learned from Uncle Vernon that people liked to
be left alone while they did this, but it was very difficult, he'd never
had so many questions in his life.

"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered, turning
the page.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked, before he could stop
himself.

"'Course," said Hagrid. "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, 0 '
course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the
job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls
every morning, askin' fer advice."

"But what does a Ministry of Magic do?"

"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still
witches an' wizards up an' down the country."

"Why?"

"Why? Blimey, Harry, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their
problems. Nah, we're best left alone."

At this moment the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid
folded up his newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the
street.

Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town
to the station. Harry couldn't blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as
tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like
parking meters and saying loudly, "See that, Harry? Things these Muggles
dream up, eh?"

"Hagrid," said Harry, panting a bit as he ran to keep up, "did you say
there are dragons at Gringotts?"

"Well, so they say," said Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."

"You'd like one?"

"Wanted one ever since I was a kid -- here we go."

They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five
minutes' time. Hagrid, who didn't understand "Muggle money," as he
called it, gave the bills to Harry so he could buy their tickets.

People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and
sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.

"Still got yer letter, Harry?" he asked as he counted stitches. Harry
took the parchment envelope out of his pocket.

"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."

Harry unfolded a second piece of paper he hadn't noticed the night
before, and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emetic Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

wand cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) set

glass or crystal phials

telescope set

brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN
BROOMSTICKS

"Can we buy all this in London?" Harry wondered aloud.

"If yeh know where to go," said Hagrid.

Harry had never been to London before. Although Hagrid seemed to know
where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an
ordinary way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and
complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.

"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," he said as they
climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined
with shops.

Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all Harry had to do
was keep close behind him. They passed book shops and music stores,
hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it
could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of
ordinary people. Could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles
beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and
broomsticks? Might this not all be some huge joke that the Dursleys had
cooked up? If Harry hadn't known that the Dursleys had no sense of
humor, he might have thought so; yet somehow, even though everything
Hagrid had told him so far was unbelievable, Harry couldn't help
trusting him.

"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a
famous place."

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out,
Harry wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't
glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the
record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at
all. In fact, Harry had the most peculiar feeling that only he and
Hagrid could see it. Before he could mention this, Hagrid had steered
him inside.

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were
sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was
smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old
bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The
low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know
Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a
glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great
hand on Harry's shoulder and making Harry's knees buckle.


"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Harry, "is this -- can this
be --?"


The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter... what an
honor."

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his
hand, tears in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back."

Harry didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at him. The old
woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out.
Hagrid was beaming.

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry
found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand -- I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus
Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off
in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop."

"He remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did
you hear that? He remembers me!" Harry shook hands again and again --
Doris Crockford kept coming back for more.

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes
was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harry, Professor Quirrell will be
one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand,
"c-can't t-tell you how p- pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as
though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh,
P-P-Potter?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your
equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires,
m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry to himself. It
took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid
managed to make himself heard over the babble.

"Must get on -- lots ter buy. Come on, Harry."

Doris Crockford shook Harry's hand one last time, and Hagrid led them
through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was
nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

Hagrid grinned at Harry.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell
was tremblin' ter meet yeh -- mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

"Is he always that nervous?"

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was

studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand
experience.... They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there
was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag -- never been the same since.
Scared of the students, scared of his own subject now, where's me
umbrella?"

Vampires? Hags? Harry's head was swimming. Hagrid, meanwhile, was
counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"Three up... two across he muttered. "Right, stand back, Harry."

He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.

The brick he had touched quivered -- it wriggled -- in the middle, a
small hole appeared -- it grew wider and wider -- a second later they
were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a
cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

He grinned at Harry's amazement. They stepped through the archway. Harry
looked quickly over his shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly
back into solid wall.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop.
Cauldrons -- All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver -- Self-Stirring
-- Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, "but we gotta get yer money
first."

Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every
direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at
once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their
shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as
they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're
mad...."

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl
Emporium -- Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of
about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with
broomsticks in it. "Look," Harry heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus
Two Thousand -- fastest ever --" There were shops selling robes, shops
selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen
before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes,
tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion
bottles, globes of the moon....

"Gringotts," said Hagrid.

They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other
little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a
uniform of scarlet and gold, was -

"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white
stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry.
He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very
long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were
facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved
upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

"Like I said, Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a
vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high
stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing
coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses.
There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more
goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid and Harry made
for the counter.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money
outta Mr. Harry Potter's safe."

"You have his key, Sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his
pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits
over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. Harry
watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as
glowing coals.

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.

The goblin looked at it closely.

"That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid
importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the YouKnow-What in
vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin read the letter carefully.

"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have Someone
take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog
biscuits back inside his pockets, he and Harry followed Griphook toward
one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry
asked.

"Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts
business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh
that."

Griphook held the door open for them. Harry, who had expected more
marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with
flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little
railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came
hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in -- Hagrid with some
difficulty -- and were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry
tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left,
but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way,
because Griphook wasn't steering.

Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them
wide open. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a
passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late - -
they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge
stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

I never know," Harry called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart,
"what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

"Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," said Hagrid. "An' don' ask me questions
just now, I think I'm gonna be sick."

He did look very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small
door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the
wall to stop his knees from trembling.

Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and
as it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns
of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts.

"All yours," smiled Hagrid.

All Harry's -- it was incredible. The Dursleys couldn't have known about
this or they'd have had it from him faster than blinking. How often had
they complained how much Harry cost them to keep? And all the time there
had been a small fortune belonging to him, buried deep under London.

Hagrid helped Harry pile some of it into a bag.

"The gold ones are Galleons," he explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to
a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. Right,
that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe
for yeh." He turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now,
please, and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," said Griphook.

They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became
colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went
rattling over an underground ravine, and Harry leaned over the side to
try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned and
pulled him back by the scruff of his neck.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with
one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.

"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through
the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Harry asked.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.

Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security vault,
Harry was sure, and he leaned forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous
jewels at the very least -- but at first he thought it was empty. Then
he noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on
the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. Harry
longed to know what it was, but knew better than to ask.

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way
back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.

One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside
Gringotts. Harry didn't know where to run first now that he had a bag
full of money. He didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a
pound to know that he was holding more money than he'd had in his whole
life -- more money than even Dudley had ever had.

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam
Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I
slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them
Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Harry entered Madam
Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, clear?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot
here -- another young man being fitted up just now, in fact. "

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on
a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam
Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him) slipped a long robe over his
head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street
looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then
I'm going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don't see why
first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting
me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," said Harry.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

"I do -- Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my
house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know
I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been -- imagine being in
Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" "Mmm," said Harry, wishing
he could say something a bit more interesting.

"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the
front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing
at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," said Harry, pleased to know something the boy didn't.
"He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't
he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," said Harry. He was liking the boy less and less
every second.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage -- lives in a hut on the
school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic,
and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant," said Harry coldly.

"Do you?" said the boy, with a slight sneer. "Why is he with you? Where
are your parents?"

"They're dead," said Harry shortly. He didn't feel much like going into
the matter with this boy.

"Oh, sorry," said the other,. not sounding sorry at all. "But they were
our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're
just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some
of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter,
imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families.
What's your surname, anyway?"

But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my
dear," and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy,
hopped down from the footstool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy.

Harry was rather quiet as he ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought him
(chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts).

"What's up?" said Hagrid.

"Nothing," Harry lied. They stopped to buy parchment and quills. Harry
cheered up a bit when he found a bottle of ink that changed color as you
wrote. When they had left the shop, he said, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

"Blimey, Harry, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know -- not knowin'
about Quidditch!"

"Don't make me feel worse," said Harry. He told Hagrid about the pate
boy in Madam Malkin's.

"--and he said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed
in."

"Yer not from a Muggle family. If he'd known who yeh were -- he's grown
up knowin' yer name if his parents are wizardin' folk. You saw what
everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, what
does he know about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones
with magic in 'em in a long line 0' Muggles -- look at yer mum! Look
what she had fer a sister!"

"So what is Quidditch?"

"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like -- like soccer in the Muggle
world -- everyone follows Quidditch -- played up in the air on
broomsticks and there's four balls -- sorta hard ter explain the rules."
"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"

"School houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o'
duffers, but --"

"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff" said Harry gloomily.

"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a
single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin.
You-Know-Who was one."

"Vol-, sorry - You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"

"Years an' years ago," said Hagrid.

They bought Harry's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts
where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as
paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in
covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with
nothing in them at all. Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have
been wild to get his hands on some of these. Hagrid almost had to drag
Harry away from Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and
Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs,
Tongue- Tying and Much, Much More) by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

"I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley."

"I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the
Muggle world except in very special circumstances," said Hagrid. "An'
anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more
study before yeh get ter that level."

Hagrid wouldn't let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron, either ("It says
pewter on yer list"), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing
potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited
the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible
smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff
stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined
the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung
from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a
supply of some basic potion ingredients for Harry, Harry himself
examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule,
glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry's list again.

"Just yer wand left - A yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday
present."

Harry felt himself go red.

"You don't have to --"

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad,
toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at - an' I don'
like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want
owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been
dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Harry now
carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with
her head under her wing. He couldn't stop stammering his thanks,
sounding just like Professor Quirrell.

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta
presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now - only place fer
wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand."

A magic wand... this was what Harry had been really looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door
read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay
on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped
inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair
that Hagrid sat on to wait. Harry felt strangely as though he had
entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that
had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow
boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of
his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle
with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped. Hagrid must have
jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly
off the spindly chair.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like
moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon.
Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It
seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten
and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm
work."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those
silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches.
Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I
say your father favored it -- it's really the wand that chooses the
wizard, of course."

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to
nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

"And that's where..."

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a
long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly.
"Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in
the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into
the world to do...."

He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, spotted Hagrid.

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again.... Oak, sixteen
inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got
expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er -- yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still
got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Ollivander sharply.

"Oh, no, sit," said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink
umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now
-- Mr. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver
markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er -- well, I'm right-handed," said Harry.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to
finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round
his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of
a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix
tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands
are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite
the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with
another wizard's wand."

Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring
between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was
flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on
the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon
heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a
wave."

Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr.
Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try --"

Harry tried -- but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was
snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"No, no -here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy.
Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting
for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the
spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the
shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here
somewhere -- I wonder, now - - yes, why not -- unusual combination --
holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised
the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air
and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework,
throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and
clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very
good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious... "

He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper,
still muttering, "Curious... curious..

"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It
so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave
another feather -- just one other. It is very curious indeed that you
should be destined for this wand when its brother why, its brother gave
you that scar."

Harry swallowed.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things
happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember.... I think we must expect
great things from you, Mr. Potter.... After all, He-
Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things -- terrible, yes, but great."

Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr. Ollivander too much. He paid
seven gold Galleons for his wand, and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from his
shop.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Harry and Hagrid made
their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through
the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Harry didn't speak at all as they walked
down the road; he didn't even notice how much people were gawking at
them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped
packages, with the snowy owl asleep in its cage on Harry's lap. Up
another escalator, out into Paddington station; Harry only realized
where they were when Hagrid tapped him on the shoulder.

"Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," he said.

He bought Harry a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat
them. Harry kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, somehow.

"You all right, Harry? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid.

Harry wasn't sure he could explain. He'd just had the best birthday of
his life -- and yet -- he chewed his hamburger, trying to find the
words.

"Everyone thinks I'm special," he said at last. "All those people in the
Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander... but I don't know
anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I'm
famous and I can't even remember what I'm famous for. I don't know what
happened when Vol-, sorry -- I mean, the night my parents died."

Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he
wore a very kind smile.

"Don' you worry, Harry. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the
beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. just be yerself. I know it's
hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a
great time at Hogwarts -- I did -- still do, 'smatter of fact."

Hagrid helped Harry on to the train that would take him back to the
Dursleys, then handed him an envelope.

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts, " he said. "First o' September -- King's Cross
-- it's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a
letter with yer owl, she'll know where to find me.... See yeh soon,
Harry."

The train pulled out of the station. Harry wanted to watch Hagrid until
he was out of sight; he rose in his seat and pressed his nose against
the window, but he blinked and Hagrid had gone.


CHAPTER SIX

THE JOURNEY FROM PLATFORM NINE AND THREE-QUARTERS

Harry's last month with the Dursleys wasn't fun. True, Dudley was now so
scared of Harry he wouldn't stay in the same room, while Aunt Petunia
and Uncle Vernon didn't shut Harry in his cupboard, force him to do
anything, or shout at him -- in fact, they didn't speak to him at all.
Half terrified, half furious, they acted as though any chair with Harry
in it were empty. Although this was an improvement in many ways, it did
become a bit depressing after a while.

Harry kept to his room, with his new owl for company. He had decided to
call her Hedwig, a name he had found in A History of Magic. His school
books were very interesting. He lay on his bed reading late into the
night, Hedwig swooping in and out of the open window as she pleased. It
was lucky that Aunt Petunia didn't come in to vacuum anymore, because
Hedwig kept bringing back dead mice. Every night before he went to
sleep, Harry ticked off another day on the piece of paper he had pinned
to the wall, counting down to September the first.

On the last day of August he thought he'd better speak to his aunt and
uncle about getting to King's Cross station the next day, so he went
down to the living room where they were watching a quiz show on
television. He cleared his throat to let them know he was there, and
Dudley screamed and ran from the room.

"Er -- Uncle Vernon?"

Uncle Vernon grunted to show he was listening.

"Er -- I need to be at King's Cross tomorrow to -- to go to Hogwarts."

Uncle Vernon grunted again.

"Would it be all right if you gave me a lift?"

Grunt. Harry supposed that meant yes.

"Thank you."

He was about to go back upstairs when Uncle Vernon actually spoke.

"Funny way to get to a wizards' school, the train. Magic carpets all got
punctures, have they?"

Harry didn't say anything.

"Where is this school, anyway?"

"I don't know," said Harry, realizing this for the first time. He pulled
the ticket Hagrid had given him out of his pocket.

"I just take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven
o'clock," he read.

His aunt and uncle stared.

"Platform what?"

"Nine and three-quarters."

"Don't talk rubbish," said Uncle Vernon. "There is no platform nine and
three-quarters."

"It's on my ticket."

"Barking," said Uncle Vernon, "howling mad, the lot of them. You'll see.
You just wait. All right, we'll take you to King's Cross. We're going up
to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn't bother."

"Why are you going to London?" Harry asked, trying to keep things
friendly.

"Taking Dudley to the hospital," growled Uncle Vernon. "Got to have that
ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings."

Harry woke at five o'clock the next morning and was too excited and
nervous to go back to sleep. He got up and pulled on his jeans because
he didn't want to walk into the station in his wizard's robes -- he'd
change on the train. He checked his Hogwarts list yet again to make sure
he had everything he needed, saw that Hedwig was shut safely in her
cage, and then paced the room, waiting for the Dursleys to get up. Two
hours later, Harry's huge, heavy trunk had been loaded into the
Dursleys' car, Aunt Petunia had talked Dudley into sitting next to
Harry, and they had set off.

They reached King's Cross at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped Harry's
trunk onto a cart and wheeled it into the station for him. Harry thought
this was strangely kind until Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facing the
platforms with a nasty grin on his face.

"Well, there you are, boy. Platform nine -- platform ten. Your platform
should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it
yet, do they?"

He was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over
one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and
in the middle, nothing at all.

"Have a good term," said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier smile. He
left without another word. Harry turned and saw the Dursleys drive away.
All three of them were laughing. Harry's mouth went rather dry. What on
earth was he going to do? He was starting to attract a lot of funny
looks, because of Hedwig. He'd have to ask someone.

He stopped a passing guard, but didn't dare mention platform nine and
three-quarters. The guard had never heard of Hogwarts and when Harry
couldn't even tell him what part of the country it was in, he started to
get annoyed, as though Harry was being stupid on purpose. Getting
desperate, Harry asked for the train that left at eleven o'clock, but
the guard said there wasn't one. In the end the guard strode away,
muttering about time wasters. Harry was now trying hard not to panic.
According to the large clock over the arrivals board, he had ten minutes
left to get on the train to Hogwarts and he had no idea how to do it; he
was stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk he could hardly
lift, a pocket full of wizard money, and a large owl.

Hagrid must have forgotten to tell him something you had to do, like
tapping the third brick on the left to get into Diagon Alley. He
wondered if he should get out his wand and start tapping the ticket
inspector's stand between platforms nine and ten.

At that moment a group of people passed just behind him and he caught a
few words of what they were saying.

"-- packed with Muggles, of course --"

Harry swung round. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four
boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like
Harry's in front of him -- and they had an owl.

Heart hammering, Harry pushed his cart after them. They stopped and so
did he, just near enough to hear what they were saying.

"Now, what's the platform number?" said the boys' mother.

"Nine and three-quarters!" piped a small girl, also red-headed, who was
holding her hand, "Mom, can't I go... "

"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go
first."

What looked like the oldest boy marched toward platforms nine and ten.
Harry watched, careful not to blink in case he missed it -- but just as
the boy reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large
crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him and by the time the last
backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

"Fred, you next," the plump woman said.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the boy. "Honestly, woman, you call
yourself our mother? CarA you tell I'm George?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred," said the boy, and off he went. His twin called
after him to hurry up, and he must have done so, because a second later,
he had gone -- but how had he done it?

Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier he was
almost there -- and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't anywhere.

There was nothing else for it.

"Excuse me," Harry said to the plump woman.

"Hello, dear," she said. "First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too."

She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin, and
gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose.

"Yes," said Harry. "The thing is -- the thing is, I don't know how to
--"

"How to get onto the platform?" she said kindly, and Harry nodded.

"Not to worry," she said. "All you have to do is walk straight at the
barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared
you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a
run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

"Er -- okay," said Harry.

He pushed his trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very
solid.

He started to walk toward it. People jostled him on their way to
platforms nine and ten. Harry walked more quickly. He was going to smash
right into that barrier and then he'd be in trouble -- leaning forward
on his cart, he broke into a heavy run -- the barrier was coming nearer
and nearer -- he wouldn't be able to stop -- the cart was out of control
-- he was a foot away -- he closed his eyes ready for the crash --

It didn't come... he kept on running... he opened his eyes. A scarlet
steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign
overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven O'clock. Harry looked behind him
and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the
words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it, He had done it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd,
while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls
hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and
the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging
out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats.
Harry pushed his cart off down the platform in search of an empty seat.
He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad
again."

"Oh, Neville," he heard the old woman sigh.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lee, go on."

The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him
shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Harry pressed on through the crowd until he found an empty compartment
near the end of the train. He put Hedwig inside first and then started
to shove and heave his trunk toward the train door. He tried to lift it
up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice he dropped it
painfully on his foot.

"Want a hand?" It was one of the red-haired twins he'd followed through
the barrier.

"Yes, please," Harry panted.

"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!"

With the twins' help, Harry's trunk was at last tucked away in a corner
of the compartment.

"Thanks," said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Harry's
lightning scar.

"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you

"He is," said the first twin. "Aren't you?" he added to Harry.

"What?" said Harry.

"Harry Potter, "chorused the twins.

"Oh, him," said Harry. "I mean, yes, I am."

The two boys gawked at him, and Harry felt himself turning red. Then, to
his relief, a voice came floating in through the train's open door.

"Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mom."

With a last look at Harry, the twins hopped off the train.

Harry sat down next to the window where, half hidden, he could watch the
red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their
mother had just taken out her handkerchief.

"Ron, you've got something on your nose."

The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and
began rubbing the end of his nose.

"Mom -- geroff" He wriggled free.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" said one of the
twins.

"Shut up," said Ron.

"Where's Percy?" said their mother.

"He's coming now."

The oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed into his
billowing black Hogwarts robes, and Harry noticed a shiny silver badge
on his chest with the letter P on it.

"Can't stay long, Mother," he said. "I'm up front, the prefects have got
two compartments to themselves --"

"Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?" said one of the twins, with an air of
great surprise. "You should have said something, we had no idea."

"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said the
other twin. "Once --"

"Or twice --"

"A minute --"

"All summer --"

"Oh, shut up," said Percy the Prefect.

"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" said one of the twins.

"Because he's a prefect," said their mother fondly. "All right, dear,
well, have a good term -- send me an owl when you get there."

She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left. Then she turned to the twins.

"Now, you two -- this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl
telling me you've -- you've blown up a toilet or --"

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Mom."

"It's not funny. And look after Ron."

"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us."

"Shut up," said Ron again. He was almost as tall as the twins already
and his nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it.

"Hey, Mom, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?"

Harry leaned back quickly so they couldn't see him looking.

"You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who
he is?"

"Who?"

"Harry Potter!"

Harry heard the little girl's voice.

"Oh, Mom, can I go on the train and see him, Mom, eh please...."

"You've already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn't something you
goggle at in a zoo. Is he really, Fred? How do you know?"

"Asked him. Saw his scar. It's really there - like lightning."

"Poor dear - no wonder he was alone, I wondered. He was ever so polite
when he asked how to get onto the platform."

"Never mind that, do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks
like?"

Their mother suddenly became very stern.

"I forbid you to ask him, Fred. No, don't you dare. As though he needs
reminding of that on his first day at school."

"All right, keep your hair on."

A whistle sounded.

"Hurry up!" their mother said, and the three boys clambered onto the
train. They leaned out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye, and
their younger sister began to cry.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls."

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat."

"George!"

"Only joking, Mom."

The train began to move. Harry saw the boys' mother waving and their
sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train
until it gathered too much speed, then she fell back and waved.

Harry watched the girl and her mother disappear as the train rounded the
corner. Houses flashed past the window. Harry felt a great leap of
excitement. He didn't know what he was going to but it had to be better
than what he was leaving behind.

The door of the compartment slid open and the youngest redheaded boy
came in.

"Anyone sitting there?" he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harry.
"Everywhere else is full."

Harry shook his head and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harry and then
looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn't looked. Harry saw
he still had a black mark on his nose.

"Hey, Ron."

The twins were back.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train -- Lee Jordan's got a
giant tarantula down there."

"Right," mumbled Ron.

"Harry," said the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Fred and
George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then.

"Bye," said Harry and Ron. The twins slid the compartment door shut
behind them.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" Ron blurted out.

Harry nodded.

"Oh -well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," said
Ron. "And have you really got -- you know..."

He pointed at Harry's forehead.

Harry pulled back his bangs to show the lightning scar. Ron stared.

"So that's where You-Know-Who

"Yes," said Harry, "but I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" said Ron eagerly.

"Well -- I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."

"Wow," said Ron. He sat and stared at Harry for a few moments, then, as
though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly out
of the window again.

"Are all your family wizards?" asked Harry, who found Ron just as
interesting as Ron found him.

"Er -- Yes, I think so," said Ron. "I think Mom's got a second cousin
who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

"So you must know loads of magic already."

The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families the pale
boy in Diagon Alley had talked about.

"I heard you went to live with Muggles," said Ron. "What are they like?"

"Horrible -well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are,
though. Wish I'd had three wizard brothers."

"Five," said Ron. For some reason, he was looking gloomy. "I'm the sixth
in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up
to. Bill and Charlie have already left -- Bill was head boy and Charlie
was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess
around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks
they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others,
but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get
anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes,
Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."

Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was
asleep.

"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy
got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff
-- I mean, I got Scabbers instead."

Ron's ears went pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much, because he
went back to staring out of the window.

Harry didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to
afford an owl. After all, he'd never had any money in his life until a
month ago, and he told Ron so, all about having to wear Dudley's old
clothes and never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to cheer
Ron up.

"... and until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about be ing a
wizard or about my parents or Voldemort"

Ron gasped.

"What?" said Harry.

"You said You-Know-Who's name!" said Ron, sounding both shocked and
impressed. "I'd have thought you, of all people --"

"I'm not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name," said Harry, I
just never knew you shouldn't. See what I mean? I've got loads to
learn.... I bet," he added, voicing for the first time something that
had been worrying him a lot lately, "I bet I'm the worst in the class."

"You won't be. There's loads of people who come from Muggle families and
they learn quick enough."

While they had been talking, the train had carried them out of London.
Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were
quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past.

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the
corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said,
"Anything off the cart, dears?"

Harry, who hadn't had any breakfast, leapt to his feet, but Ron's ears
went pink again and he muttered that he'd brought sandwiches. Harry went
out into the corridor.

He had never had any money for candy with the Dursleys, and now that he
had pockets rattling with gold and silver he was ready to buy as many
Mars Bars as he could carry -- but the woman didn't have Mars Bars. What
she did have were Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best
Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs. Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice
Wands, and a number of other strange things Harry had never seen in his
life. Not wanting to miss anything, he got some of everything and paid
the woman eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.

Ron stared as Harry brought it all back in to the compartment and tipped
it onto an empty seat.

"Hungry, are you?"

"Starving," said Harry, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty.

Ron had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four
sandwiches inside. He pulled one of them apart and said, "She always
forgets I don't like corned beef."

"Swap you for one of these," said Harry, holding up a pasty. "Go on --"

"You don't want this, it's all dry," said Ron. "She hasn't got much
time," he added quickly, "you know, with five of us."

"Go on, have a pasty," said Harry, who had never had anything to share
before or, indeed, anyone to share it with. It was a nice feeling,
sitting there with Ron, eating their way through all Harry's pasties,
cakes, and candies (the sandwiches lay forgotten).

"What are these?" Harry asked Ron, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs.
"They're not really frogs, are they?" He was starting to feel that
nothing would surprise him.

"No," said Ron. "But see what the card is. I'm missing Agrippa."

"What?"

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know -- Chocolate Frogs have cards, inside
them, you know, to collect -- famous witches and wizards. I've got about
five hundred, but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy."

Harry unwrapped his Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. It showed a
man's face. He wore half- moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and
flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. Underneath the picture was the
name Albus Dumbledore.

"So this is Dumbledore!" said Harry.

"Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!" said Ron. "Can I have a
frog? I might get Agrippa -- thanks

Harry turned over his card and read:

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is
particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in
1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his
work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore
enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

Harry turned the card back over and saw, to his astonishment, that
Dumbledore's face had disappeared.

"He's gone!"

"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day," said Ron. "He'll be
back. No, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her... do you
want it? You can start collecting."

Ron's eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be
unwrapped.

"Help yourself," said Harry. "But in, you know, the Muggle world, people
just stay put in photos."

"Do they? What, they don't move at all?" Ron sounded amazed. "weird!"

Harry stared as Dumbledore sidled back into the picture on his card and
gave him a small smile. Ron was more interested in eating the frogs than
looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards, but Harry couldn't keep
his eyes off them. Soon he had not only Dumbledore and Morgana, but
Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, and Merlin.
He finally tore his eyes away from the druidess Cliodna, who was
scratching her nose, to open a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"You want to be careful with those," Ron warned Harry. "When they say
every flavor, they mean every flavor -- you know, you get all the
ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and mar- malade, but then
you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a booger-
flavored one once."

Ron picked up a green bean, looked at it carefully, and bit into a
corner.

"Bleaaargh -- see? Sprouts."

They had a good time eating the Every Flavor Beans. Harry got toast,
coconut, baked bean, strawberry, curry, grass, coffee, sardine, and was
even brave enough to nibble the end off a funny gray one Ron wouldn't
touch, which turned out to be pepper.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat
fields had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green
hills.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and the round-faced
boy Harry had passed on platform nine and threequarters came in. He
looked tearful.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

When they shook their heads, he wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting
away from me!"

"He'll turn up," said Harry.

"Yes," said the boy miserably. "Well, if you see him..."

He left.

"Don't know why he's so bothered," said Ron. "If I'd brought a toad I'd
lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't
talk."

The rat was still snoozing on Ron's lap.

"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," said Ron in
disgust. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more
interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look..."

He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking
wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the
end.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway

He had just raised his 'wand when the compartment door slid open again.
The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. She was
already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said. She had a bossy
sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said Ron, but the girl
wasn't listening, she was looking at the wand in his hand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

She sat down. Ron looked taken aback.

"Er -- all right."

He cleared his throat.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast
asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl. "Well, it's not very
good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's
all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such
a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I
mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard --
I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it
will be enough -- I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you.

She said all this very fast.

Harry looked at Ron, and was relieved to see by his stunned face that he
hadn't learned all the course books by heart either.

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron muttered.

"Harry Potter," said Harry.

"Are you really?" said Hermione. "I know all about you, of course -- I
got a few extra books. for background reading, and you're in Modern
Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great
Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.

"Am I?" said Harry, feeling dazed.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it
was me," said Hermione. "Do either of you know what house you'll be in?
I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far
the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw
wouldn't be too bad.... Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's
toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there
soon."

And she left, taking the toadless boy with her.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron. He threw his
wand back into his trunk. "Stupid spell -- George gave it to me, bet he
knew it was a dud."

"What house are your brothers in?" asked Harry.

"Gryffindor," said Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again. "Mom
and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I
don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in
Slytherin."

"That's the house Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who was in?"

"Yeah," said Ron. He flopped back into his seat, looking depressed.

"You know, I think the ends of Scabbers' whiskers are a bit lighter,"
said Harry, trying to take Ron's mind off houses. "So what do your
oldest brothers do now that they've left, anyway?"

Harry was wondering what a wizard did once he'd finished school.

"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing
something for Gringotts," said Ron. "Did you hear about

Gringotts? It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you
get that with the Muggles -- someone tried to rob a high security
vault."

Harry stared.

"Really? What happened to them?"

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My
dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts,
but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course,
everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case
You-Know-Who's behind it."

Harry turned this news over in his mind. He was starting to get a
prickle of fear every time You- Know-Who was mentioned. He supposed this
was all part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more
comfortable saying "Voldemort" without worrying.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asked.

"Er -- I don't know any," Harry confessed.

"What!" Ron looked dumbfounded. "Oh, you wait, it's the best game in the
world --" And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the
positions of the seven players, describing famous games he'd been to
with his brothers and the broomstick he'd like to get if he had the
money. He was just taking Harry through the finer points of the game
when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn't Neville the
toadless boy, or Hermione Granger this time.

Three boys entered, and Harry recognized the middle one at once: it was
the pale boy from Madam Malkin's robe shop. He was looking at Harry with
a lot more interest than he'd shown back in Diagon Alley.

"Is it true?" he said. "They're saying all down the train that Harry
Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," said Harry. He was looking at the other boys. Both of them were
thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale
boy, they looked like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly,
noticing where Harry was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigget. Draco
Malfoy looked at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father
told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than
they can afford."

He turned back to Harry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families
are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends
with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand to shake Harry's, but Harry didn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said
coolly.

Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale
cheeks.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said slowly. "Unless you're a
bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know
what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the
Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."

Both Harry and Ron stood up.

"Say that again," Ron said, his face as red as his hair.

"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Malfoy sneered.

"Unless you get out now," said Harry, more bravely than he felt, because
Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than him or Ron.

"But we don't feet like leaving, do we, boys? We've eaten all our food
and you still seem to have some."

Goyle reached toward the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron - Ron leapt
forward, but before he'd so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a
horrible yell.

Scabbers the rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk
deep into Goyle's knuckle - Crabbe and Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung
Scabbers round and round, howling, and when Scabbets finally flew off
and hit the window, all three of them disappeared at once. Perhaps they
thought there were more rats lurking among the sweets, or perhaps they'd
heard footsteps, because a second later, Hermione Granger had come in.

"What has been going on?" she said, looking at the sweets all over the
floor and Ron picking up Scabbers by his tail.

I think he's been knocked out," Ron said to Harry. He looked closer at
Scabbers. "No -- I don't believe it -- he's gone back to sleep-"

And so he had.

"You've met Malfoy before?"

Harry explained about their meeting in Diagon Alley.

"I've heard of his family," said Ron darkly. "They were some of the
first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said
they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's
father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side." He turned to
Hermione. "Can we help you with something?"

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up to the
front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there. You haven't
been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"

"Scabbers has been fighting, not us," said Ron, scowling at her. "Would
you mind leaving while we change?"

"All right -- I only came in here because people outside are behaving
very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," said Hermione in a
sniffy voice. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you
know?"

Ron glared at her as she left. Harry peered out of the window. It was
getting dark. He could see mountains and forests under a deep purple
sky. The train did seem to be slowing down.

He and Ron took off their jackets and pulled on their long black robes.
Ron's were a bit short for him, you could see his sneakers underneath
them.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five
minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken
to the school separately."

Harry's stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, he saw, looked pale under
his freckles. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and
joined the crowd thronging the corridor.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way
toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in
the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the
students, and Harry heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years
over here! All right there, Harry?"

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me -- any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs'
years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a
steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry
thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the
boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over
his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black take.
Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in
the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little
boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry and Ron were followed
into their boat by Neville and Hermione. "Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid,
who had a boat to himself. "Right then -- FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the
lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at
the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer
and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they
all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain
of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried
along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the
castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they
clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the
boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they
clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at
last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, Oak
front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle
door.


CHAPTER SEVEN

THE SORTING HAT

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green
robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought
was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have
fit the whole of the Dursleys' house in it. The stone walls were lit
with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too
high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to
the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry
could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right
-the rest of the school must already be here -- but Professor McGonagall
showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They
crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have
done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term
banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great
Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very
important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be
something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with
the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free
time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and
Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced
outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your
triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose
house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is
awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a
credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the
rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as
you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened
under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose. Harry nervously tried to
flatten his hair.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall.
"Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Harry swallowed.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked Ron.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he
was joking."

Harry's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole
school? But he didn't know any magic yet -- what on earth would he have
to do? He hadn't expected something like this the moment they arrived.
He looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified,
too. No one was talking much except Hermione Granger, who was whispering
very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one
she'd need. Harry tried hard not to listen to her. He'd never been more
nervous, never, not even when he'd had to take a school report home to
the Dursleys saying that he'd somehow turned his teacher's wig blue. He
kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall
would come back and lead him to his doom.

Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air --
several people behind him screamed.

"What the --?"

He gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just
streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent,
they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing
at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat
little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him
a second chance --"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He
gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost -- I
say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be
Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you
know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to
start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away
through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and
follow me."

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line
behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron behind him, and they walked out
of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors
into the Great Hall.

Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was
lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair
over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting.
These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the
top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting.
Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a
halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them.
The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the
flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the
ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry
looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He
heard

Hermione whisper, "Its bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read
about it in Hogwarts, A History."

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the
Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed
a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she
put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and
extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.

Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, Harry thought wildly,
that seemed the sort of thing -- noticing that everyone in the hall was
now staring at the hat, he stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there
was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened
wide like a mouth -- and the hat began to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffis are true And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It
bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Harry. "I'll
kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Harry. smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than
having to do a spell, but he did wish they could have tried it on
without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather alot;
Harry didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If
only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy,
that would have been the one for him.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of
parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to
be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the
hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moments pause
--

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at
the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving
merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next
to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws
stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

" Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender"
became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded
with cheers; Harry could see Ron's twin brothers catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Harry's
imagination, after all he'd heard about Slytherin, but he thought they
looked like an unpleasant lot. He was starting to feel definitely sick
now. He remembered being picked for teams during gym at his old school.
He had always been last to be chosen, not because he was no good, but
because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked him.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Harry noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at
others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," the
sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for almost
a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Ron groaned.

A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when
you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just
sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor
McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a
mistake and he'd better get back on the train?

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called,
he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide
with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off
still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it
to "MacDougal, Morag."

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at
once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with
himself.

There weren't many people left now. "Moon" "Nott" "Parkinson" then a
pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil" then "Perks, Sally-Anne" and
then, at last -- "Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little
hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

The Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the
hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he
was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty
of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, A my goodness,
yes -- and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting....
So where shall I put you?"

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Not Slytherin, not
Slytherin.

"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be
great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you
on the way to greatness, no doubt about that -- no? Well, if you're sure
-- better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off
the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. He was so
relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin, he hardly noticed
that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and
shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, "We got
Potter! We got Potter!" Harry sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff
he'd seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden,
horrible feeling he'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.

He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat
Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs up. Harry grinned
back. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair,
sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him at once from the card he'd
gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair
was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the
ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Quirtell, too, the nervous young man
from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple
turban.

And now there were only three people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean,"
a Black boy even taller than Ron, joined Harry at the Gryffindor table.
"Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was
pale green by now. Harry crossed his fingers under the table and a
second later the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next
to him.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy Weasley Pompously across Harry
as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled
up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how
hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students,
his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to
see them all there.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin
our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit!
Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know
whether to laugh or not.

"Is he -- a bit mad?" he asked Percy uncertainly.

"Mad?" said Percy airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But
he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"

Harry's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with
food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table:
roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon
and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding,
peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint
humbugs.

The Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry, but he'd never been
allowed to eat as much as he liked. Dudley had always taken anything
that Harry really wanted, even if It made him sick. Harry piled his
plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat.
It was all delicious.

"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Harry
cut up his steak,

"Can't you --?"

I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't
need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've in troduced
myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost
of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" said Ron suddenly. "My brothers told me about you
-- you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy --" the ghost began
stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted.

"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"

Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't
going at all the way he wanted.

"Like this," he said irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled. His
whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on
a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it
properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly
Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said,
"So -- new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house
championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without
winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody
Baron's becoming almost unbearable -- he's the Slytherin ghost."

Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost
sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained
with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy who, Harry was pleased to
see, didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food
faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment
later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you
could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam
doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding -- "

As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their
families.

"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell
him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock
for him."

The others laughed.

"What about you, Neville?" said Ron.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the
family thought I was all- Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept
trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me -- he
pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned -- but
nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for
dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles
when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let
go. But I bounced -- all the way down the garden and into the road. They
were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you
should have seen their faces when I got in here -- they thought I might
not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased
he bought me my toad."

On Harry's other side, Percy Weasley and Hermione were talking about
lessons ("I do hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm
particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something
into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult-";
"You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of
thing -- ").

Harry, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at

the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet.
Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor
Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy
black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's
turban straight into Harry's eyes -- and a sharp, hot pain shot across
the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.

"What is it?" asked Percy.

"N-nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the
feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look -- a feeling that he
didn't like Harry at all.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked Percy.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so
nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want
to -- everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about
the Dark Arts, Snape."

Harry watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn't look at him again.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to
his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahern -- just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I
have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to
all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember
that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley
twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all
that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone
interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor
on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to
die a very painful death."

Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.

"He's not serious?" he muttered to Percy.

"Must be," said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he
usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere -- the
forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he
might have told us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried
Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become
rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a
fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose
high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"
And the school bellowed:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot.

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the
Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march.
Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they
had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here!
And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Gryffindor first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds,
out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Harry's legs were
like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He
was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits
along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice
Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging
tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their
feet, and Harry was just wondering how much farther they had to go when
they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as
Percy took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raised
his voice, "Peeves -- show yourself"

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide
mouth appeared, floating cross- legged in the air, clutching the walking
sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked
Percy.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on
Neville's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as
he passed.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they set off again.
"The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even
listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a
pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said. "Caput Draconis," said Percy, and the portrait
swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled
through it -- Neville needed a leg up -- and found themselves in the
Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the
boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase -- they were
obviously in one of the towers -- they found their beds at last: five
four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had
already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their
pajamas and fell into bed.

" Great food, isn't it?" Ron muttered to Harry through the hangings.
"Get off, Scabbers! He's chewing my sheets."

Harry was going to ask Ron if he'd had any of the treacle tart, but he
fell asleep almost at once.

Perhaps Harry had eaten a bit too much, because he had a very strange
dream. He was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept talking to
him, telling him he must transfer to Slytherin at once, because it was
his destiny. Harry told the turban he didn't want to be in Slytherin; it
got heavier and heavier; he tried to pull it off but it tightened
painfully -- and there was Malfoy, laughing at him as he struggled with
it -then Malfoy turned into the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, whose laugh
became high and cold -- there was a burst of green light and Harry woke,
sweating and shaking.

He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke next day, he
didn't remember the dream at all.


CHAPTER EIGHT

THE POTIONS MASTER

There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the tall kid with the red hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next
day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look
at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring.
Harry wished they wouldn't, because he was trying to concentrate on
finding his way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide,
sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different
on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to
remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you
asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors
that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It
was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed
to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit
each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armor could walk.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of
them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly
Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right
direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a
trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would
drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet,
pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab
your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus
Filch. Harry and Ron managed to get on the wrong side of him on their
very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a
door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds
corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe they were lost, was
sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening
to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor
Quirrell, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature
with bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the
corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of
line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds
later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than
anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly
as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest
ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes
themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Harry quickly found out,
than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every
Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the
movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the
greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little
witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of
all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only
one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old

indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got
up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on
and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emetic the
Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had
to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their
first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry's name he
gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been quite right to
think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a
talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you
will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class
will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very
impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they
weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time.
After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match
and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson,
only Hermione Granger had made any difference to her match; Professor
McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and
gave Hermione a rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense
Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of
a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said
was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be
coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had
been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of
a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story.
For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell
had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about
the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung
around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed
full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Harry was very relieved to find out that he wasn't miles behind everyone
else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like him, hadn't
had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to
learn that even people like Ron didn't have much of a head start.

Friday was an important day for Harry and Ron. They finally managed to
find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost
once.

"What have we got today?" Harry asked Ron as he poured sugar on his
porridge.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," said Ron. "Snape's Head of
Slytherin House. They say he always favors them -- we'll be able to see
if it's true."

"Wish McGonagall favored us, " said Harry. Professor McGonagall was head
of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped her from giving them a huge
pile of homework the day before.

Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but
it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a
hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast,
circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters
and packages onto their laps.

Hedwig hadn't brought Harry anything so far. She sometimes flew in to
nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the
owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered
down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto
Harry's plate. Harry tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy
scrawl:


Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have
a cup of tea with me around three?

I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with
Hedwig.

Hagrid


Harry borrowed Ron's quill, scribbled Yes, please, see you later on the
back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

It was lucky that Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because
the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to
him so far.

At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had gotten the idea that Professor
Snape disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he'd
been wrong. Snape didn't dislike Harry -- he hated him.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder
here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough
without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and
like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, Yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new -- celebrity."

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their
hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His
eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth.
They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of
potionmaking," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but
they caught every word -- like Professor McGonagall, Snape had y caught
every word -- like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a
class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving
here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you
will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with
its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through
human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.... I can teach
you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death -- if you aren't
as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks
with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and
looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered
root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Ron, who
looked as stumped as he was; Hermione's hand had shot into the air.

"I don't know, sit," said Harry.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

"Tut, tut -- fame clearly isn't everything."

He ignored Hermione's hand.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me
a bezoar?"

Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without
her leaving her seat, but Harry didn't have the faintest idea what a
bezoar was. He tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were
shaking with laughter.

"I don't know, sit." "Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming,
eh, Potter?" Harry forced himself to keep looking straight into those
cold eyes. He had looked through his books at the Dursleys', but did
Snape expect him to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs
and Fungi?

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon
ceiling.

"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why
don't you try her?"

A few people laughed; Harry caught Seamus's eye, and Seamus winked.
Snape, however, was not pleased.

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter,
asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as
the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach
of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and
wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of
aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise,
Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your
cheek, Potter."

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson
continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a
simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak,
watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing
almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just
telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned
slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the
dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a
twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor,
burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was
standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the
potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils
sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one
wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before
taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he
rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

"You -- Potter -- why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought
he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another
point you've lost for Gryffindor."

This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron kicked
him behind their cauldron.

"Doi* push it," he muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry's mind
was racing and his spirits were low. He'd lost two points for Gryffindor
in his very first week -- why did Snape hate him so much? "Cheer up,"
said Ron, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come
and meet Hagrid with you?"

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the
grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the
forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the
front door.

When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and
several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang
-- back."

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door
open.

"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous
black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the
ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner
stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded
straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was
clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Ron," Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a
large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles. I spent
half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their
teeth, but Harry and Ron pretended to be enjoying them as they told
Hagrid all about their first -lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry's
knee and drooled all over his robes.

Harry and Ron were delighted to hear Hagrid call Fitch "that old git."

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang
sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me
everywhere? Can't get rid of her -- Fitch puts her up to it."

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Harry not
to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

"But he seemed to really hate me."

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he?"

Yet Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet his eyes
when he said that.

"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot --
great with animals."

Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron
told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Harry picked up a
piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a
cutting from the Daily Prophet:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July,
widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault
that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if
you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this
afternoon.

Harry remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to
rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date.

"Hagrid!" said Harry, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday!
It might've been happening while we were there!"

There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes
this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the
story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied
earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and
thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little
package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

As Harry and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets
weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Harry
thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much
to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package
just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about
Snape that he didn't want to tell Harry?


CHAPTER NINE

THE MIDNIGHT DUEL

Harry had never believed he would meet a boy he hated more than Dudley,
but that was before he met Draco Malfoy.	Still, first-year
Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so they didn't have to
put up with Malfoy much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a
notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made them all groan.
Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday -- and Gryffindor and
Slytherin	would be learning together.

"Typical," said Harry darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool
of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."

He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else.

"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Ron
reasonably. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he
is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

Malfay certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about
first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long,
boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping
Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: the way Seamus
Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the
countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen
about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on Charlie's old broom.
Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Ron
had already had a big argument with Dean Thomas, who shared their
dormitory, about soccer. Ron couldn't see what was exciting about a game
with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. Harry had caught Ron
prodding Dean's poster of West Ham soccer team, trying to make the
players move.

Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his
grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry felt she'd had
good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of
accidents even with both feet on the ground.

Hermione Granger was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was. This
was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book -- not that she
hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all stupid with
flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through
the Ages. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for
anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but
everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted
by the arrival of the mail.

Harry hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that
Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course. Malfoy's eagle owl was
always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened
gloatingly at the Slytherin table.

A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He
opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large
marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things -- this
tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it
tight like this and if it turns red -- oh..." His face fell, because the
Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet,

"You've forgotten something..."

Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy,
who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his
hand.

Harry and Ron jumped to their feet. They were half hoping for a reason
to fight Malfay, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble
quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind
him.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry, Ron, and the other Gryffindors
hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying
lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their
feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn
on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees
were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying
in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard Fred and George Weasley
complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to
vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and
yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a
broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck
out at odd angles.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the
front, "and say 'Up!"'

"UPF everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few
that did. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground, and
Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell
when you were afraid, thought Harry; there was a quaver in Neville's
voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the
ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding
off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips.
Harry and Ron were delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it
wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said
Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come
straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle -- three
-- two --"

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the
ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's
lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a
cork shot out of a bottle -- twelve feet -- twenty feet. Harry saw his
scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp,
slip sideways off the broom and --

WHAM -- a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass
in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and
started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on, boy -- it's all right,
up you get.".

She turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You
leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before
you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with
Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins joined in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced
Slytherin girl. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies,
Parvati."

"Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the
grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking
to watch.

Malfoy smiled nastily.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find -- how about --
up a tree?"

"Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick
and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he could fly well. Hovering level
with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it,
Potter!"

Harry grabbed his broom.

"No!" shouted Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move --
you'll get us all into trouble."

Harry ignored her. Blood was pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom
and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed
through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him -and in a rush of
fierce joy he realized he'd found something he could do without being
taught -- this was easy, this was wonderful. He pulled his broomstick up
a little to take it even higher, and heard screams and gasps of girls
back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron.

He turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked
stunned.

"Give it here," Harry called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!" "Oh,
yeah?" said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom
tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfay like a javelin. Malfoy
only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and
held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Harry called.

The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy.

"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball
high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and
then start to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down
-- next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball
-- wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people
watching -- he stretched out his hand -- a foot from the ground he
caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled
gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.

"HARRY POTTER!"

His heart sank faster than he'd just dived. Professor McGonagall was
running toward them. He got to his feet, trembling.

"Never -- in all my time at Hogwarts --"

Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses
flashed furiously, "-- how dare you -- might have broken your neck --"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor --"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil

"But Malfoy --"

"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now."

Harry caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as he
left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward
the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. He wanted to
say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong
with his voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even
looking at him; he had to jog to keep up. Now he'd done it. He hadn't
even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. What
would the Dursleys say when he turned up on the doorstep?

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor
McGonagall didn't say a word to him. She wrenched open doors and marched
along corridors with Harry trotting miserably behind her. Maybe she was
taking him to Dumbledore. He thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to
stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps he could be Hagrid's assistant. His
stomach twisted as he imagined it, watching Ron and the others becoming
wizards, while he stumped around the grounds carrying Hagrid's bag.

Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door
and poked her head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

Wood? thought Harry, bewildered; was Wood a cane she was going to use on
him?

But Wood turned out to be a person, a burly fifth-year boy who came out
of Flitwicles class looking confused.

"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up
the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harry.

"In here."

Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty except
for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

"Out, Peeves!" she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which
clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed
the door behind him and turned to face the two boys.

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood -- I've found you a Seeker."

Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's a natural.
I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a
broomstick, Potter?"

Harry nodded silently. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but he
didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming
back to his legs.

"He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor
McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley
couldn't have done it."

Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.

"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.

"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around
Harry and staring at him. "Light -- speedy -- we'll have to get him a
decent broom, Professor -- a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven,
I'd say."

I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the
first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year.
Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape
in the face for weeks...."

Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry.

"I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind
about punishing you."

Then she suddenly smiled.

"Your father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent
Quidditch player himself."

"You're joking."

It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling Ron what had happened
when he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of
steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about
it.

"Seeker?" he said. "But first years never -- you must be the youngest
house player in about a century, said Harry, shoveling pie into his
mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the
afternoon. "Wood told me."

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.

"I start training next week," said Harry. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood
wants to keep it a secret."

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and
hurried over.

"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the
team too -- Beaters."

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year,"
said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is
going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping
when he told us."

"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret
passageway out of the school."

"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found
in our first week. See you."

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome
turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the
Muggles?"

"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got
your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. There was of course
nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was
full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their
knuckles and scowl.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want.
Wizard's duel. Wands only -- no contact. What's the matter? Never heard
of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course he has," said Ron, wheeling around. "I'm his second, who's
yours?"

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

"Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy
room; that's always unlocked."

When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other. "What is a
wizard's duel?" said Harry. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"

"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron casually,
getting started at last on his cold pie. Catching the look on Harry's
face, he added quickly, "But people only die in proper duels, you know,
with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send
sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real
damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."

"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"

"Throw it away and punch him on the nose," Ron suggested. "Excuse me."

They both looked up. It was Hermione Granger.

"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron.

Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry.

"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying --"

"Bet you could," Ron muttered.

"--and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the
points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be.
It's really very selfish of you."

"And it's really none of your business," said Harry.

"Good-bye," said Ron.

All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day,
Harry thought, as he lay awake much later listening to Dean and Seamus
falling asleep (Neville wasn't back from the hospital wing). Ron had
spent all evening giving him advice such as "If he tries to curse you,
you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them."
There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or
Mrs. Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another
school rule today. On the other hand, Malfoys sneering face kept looming
up out of the darkness - this was his big chance to beat Malfoy
face-to-face. He couldn't miss it.

"Half-past eleven," Ron muttered at last, "we'd better go."

They pulled on their bathrobes, picked up their wands, and crept across
the tower room, down the spiral staircase, and into the Gryffindor
common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning
all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached
the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, "I
can't believe you're going to do this, Harry."

A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink bathrobe
and a frown.

"You!" said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"

"I almost told your brother," Hermione snapped, "Percy -- he's a
prefect, he'd put a stop to this."

Harry couldn't believe anyone could be so interfering.

"Come on," he said to Ron. He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady
and climbed through the hole.

Hermione wasn't going to give up that easily. She followed Ron through
the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.

"Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I
don't want Slytherin to win the house cup, and you'll lose all the
points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching
Spells."

"Go away." "All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said
when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so --"

But what they were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the
portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an
empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione
was locked out of Gryffindor tower.

"Now what am I going to do?" she asked shrilly.

"That's your problem," said Ron. "We've got to go, we 3 re going to be
late."

They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up
with them.

"I'm coming with you," she said.

"You are not."

"D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me?
If he finds all three of us I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying
to stop you, and you can back me up."

"You've got some nerve --" said Ron loudly.

"Shut up, both of you!" said Harry sharply. I heard something."

It was a sort of snuffling.

"Mrs. Norris?" breathed Ron, squinting through the dark.

It wasn't Mrs. Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor,
fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.

"Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't
remember the new password to get in to bed."

"Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't
help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."

"How's your arm?" said Harry.

"Fine," said Neville, showing them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a
minute."

"Good - well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you
later --"

"Don't leave me!" said Neville, scrambling to his feet, "I don't want to
stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."

Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and
Neville.

"If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that
Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about, and used it on you.

Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the
Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned
them all forward.

They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the
high windows. At every turn Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs.
Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor
and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

Malfoy and Crabbe weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered
where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues
winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls,
keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry took
out his wand in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once. The minutes
crept by.

"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered.

Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry had only just raised
his wand when they heard someone speak -and it wasn't Malfoy.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly
at the other three to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried
silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had
barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy
room.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."

"This way!" Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to
creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch
getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke
into a run -he tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist, and the pair of
them toppled right into a suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

"RUN!" Harry yelled, and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not
looking back to see whether Filch was following -- they swung around the
doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead,
without any idea where they were or where they were going -- they ripped
through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled
along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was
miles from the trophy room.

"I think we've lost him," Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall
and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and
spluttering.

I -- told -you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest,
"I -- told -- you."

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower," said Ron, "quickly as
possible."

"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Harry. "You realize that, don't
you? He was never going to meet you -- Filch knew someone was going to
be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."

Harry thought she was probably right, but he wasn't going to tell her
that.

"Let's go."

It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen
paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a
classroom in front of them.

It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Peeves -- please -- you'll get us thrown out."

Peeves cackled.

"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty,
naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his
eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves this was a
big mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE
CHARMS CORRIDOR"

Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the
corridor where they slammed into a door -- and it was locked.

"This is it!" Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, "We're
done for! This is the end!" They could hear footsteps, Filch running as
fast as he could toward Peeves's shouts.

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the
lock, and whispered, 'Alohomora!"

The lock clicked and the door swung open -- they piled through it, shut
it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."

"Say 'please."'

"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his
annoying singsong voice.

"All right -please."

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say
please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing
away and Filch cursing in rage.

"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered. "I think we'll be okay
-- get off, Neville!" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of
Harry's bathrobe for the last minute. "What?"

Harry turned around -- and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he
was sure he'd walked into a nightmare -- this was too much, on top of
everything that had happened so far.

They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The
forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was
forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that
filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads.
Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching

and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging
in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry
knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their
sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting
over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

Harry groped for the doorknob -- between Filch and death, he'd take
Filch.

They fell backward -- Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, they
almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look
for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they
hardly cared -- all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible
between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they
reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their
bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

"Never mind that -- pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry, and the
portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and
collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.

It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked
as if he'd never speak again.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up
in a school?" said Ron finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one
does."

Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again. "You
don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see
what it was standing on.

"The floor?" Harry suggested. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too
busy with its heads."

"No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously
guarding something."

She stood up, glaring at them.

I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed --
or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

Ron stared after her, his mouth open.

"No, we don't mind," he said. "You'd think we dragged her along,
wouldn't you.

But Hermione had given Harry something else to think about as he climbed
back into bed. The dog was guarding something.... What had Hagrid said?
Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to
hide -- except perhaps Hogwarts.

It looked as though Harry had found out where the grubby littie package
from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.


CHAPTER TEN

HALLOWEEN

Malfoy couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that Harry and Ron were
still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful.
Indeed, by the next morning Harry and Ron thought that meeting the
three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they were quite
keen to have another one. In the meantime, Harry filled Ron in about the
package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and
they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy
protection. "It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Ron.
"Or both," said Harry.


But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it
was about two inches long, they didn't have much chance of guessing what
it was without further clues.

Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay
underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never
going near the dog again.

Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry and Ron, but she was such a
bossy know-it-all that they saw this as an added bonus. All they really
wanted now was a way of getting back at Malfoy, and to their great
delight, just such a thing arrived in the mail about a week later.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention
was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech
owls. Harry was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in
this large parcel, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped
it right in front of him, knocking his bacon to the floor. They had
hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top
of the parcel.

Harry ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:


DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody
knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood
will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your
first training session.

Professor McGonagall

Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as he handed the note to Ron to
read.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned enviously. "I've never even touched
one."

They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private
before their first class, but halfway across the entrance hall they
found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy seized the
package from Harry and felt it.

"That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture
of jealousy and spite on his face. "You'll be in for it this time,
Potter, first years aren't allowed them."

Ron couldn't resist it.

"It's not any old broomstick," he said, "it's a Nimbus Two Thousand.
What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?" Ron
grinned at Harry. "Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same
league as the Nimbus."

"What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the
handle," Malfoy snapped back. "I suppose you and your brothers have to
save up twig by twig."

Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow.

"Not arguing, I hope, boys?" he squeaked.

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Malfoy quickly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry.
"Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances,
Potter. And what model is it?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sit," said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the
look of horror on Malfoy's face. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here
that I've got it," he added.

Harry and Ron headed upstairs, smothering their laughter at Malfoy's
obvious rage and confusion. "Well, it's true," Harry chortled as they
reached the top of the marble staircase, "If he hadn't stolen Neville's
Remembrall I wouln't be on the team...."

"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" came an
angry voice from just behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs,
looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hand.

"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Harry.

"Yes, don't stop now," said Ron, "it's doing us so much good."

Hermione marched away with her nose in the air.

Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It
kept wandering up to the dormitory where his new broomstick was lying
under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch field where he'd be
learning to play that night. He bolted his dinner that evening without
noticing what he was eating, and then rushed upstairs with Ron to unwrap
the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

"Wow," Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harry's bedspread.

Even Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it
looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long
tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold
near the top.

As seven o'clock drew nearer, Harry left the castle and set off in the
dusk toward the Quidditch field. Held never been inside the stadium
before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that
the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end
of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They
reminded Harry of the little plastic sticks Muggle

children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high.

Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Harry mounted his broomstick
and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling -- he swooped in and out
of the goal posts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two
Thousand turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch.

"Hey, Potter, come down!'

Oliver Wood had arrived. fie was carrying a large wooden crate under his
arm. Harry landed next to him.

"Very nice," said Wood, his eyes glinting. "I see what McGonagall
meant... you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules
this evening, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."

He opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls.

"Right," said Wood. "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even
if it's not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side.
Three of them are called Chasers."

"Three Chasers," Harry repeated, as Wood took out a bright red ball
about the size of a soccer ball.

"This ball's called the Quaffle," said Wood. "The Chasers throw the
Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to
score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the
hoops. Follow me?"

"The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score,"
Harry recited. "So -- that's sort of like basketball on broomsticks with
six hoops, isn't it?"

"What's basketball?" said Wood curiously. "Never mind," said Harry
quickly.

"Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper -I'm
Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other
team from scoring."

"Three Chasers, one Keeper," said Harry, who was determined to remember
it all. "And they play with the Quaffle. Okay, got that. So what are
they for?" He pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

"I'll show you now," said Wood. "Take this."

He handed Harry a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat.

"I'm going to show you what the Bludgers do," Wood said. "These two are
the Bludgers."

He showed Harry two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than
the red Quaffle. Harry noticed that they seemed to be straining to
escape the straps holding them inside the box.

"Stand back," Wood warned Harry. He bent down and freed one of the
Bludgers.

At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at
Harry's face. Harry swung at it with the bat to stop it from breaking
his nose, and sent it zigzagging away into the air -- it zoomed around
their heads and then shot at Wood, who dived on top of it and managed to
pin it to the ground.

"See?" Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate
and strapping it down safely. "The Bludgers rocket around, trying to
knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each
team -- the Weasley twins are ours -- it's their job to protect their
side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So
-- think you've got all that?"

"Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the
goal posts; the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team," Harry
reeled off.

"Very good," said Wood.

"Er -- have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" Harry asked, hoping he
sounded offhand.

"Never at Hogwarts. We've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse
than that. Now, the last member of the team is the

Seeker. That's you. And you don't have to worry about the Quaffle or the
Bludgers unless they crack my head open."

"Don't worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers -- I
mean, they're like a pair of human Bludgers themselves."

Wood reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball.
Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size
of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver
wings.

"This," said Wood, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important
ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and
difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave
in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it
before the other team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the
Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they

nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of
Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages
-- I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on
substitutes so the players could get some sleep. "Well, that's it -- any
questions?"

Harry shook his head. He understood what he had to do all right, it was
doing it that was going to be the problem.

"We won't practice with the Snitch yet," said Wood, carefully shutting
it back inside the crate, "it's too dark, we might lose it. Let's try
you out with a few of these."

He pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his pocket and a few
minutes later, he and Harry were up in the air, Wood throwing the golf
balls as hard as he could in every direction for Harry to catch.

Harry didn't miss a single one, and Wood was delighted. After half an
hour, night had really fallen and they couldn't carry on.

"That Quidditch cup'll have our name on it this year," said Wood happily
as they trudged back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if you
turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for
England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons."

Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice
three evenings a week on top of all his homework, but Harry could hardly
believe it when he realized that he'd already been at Hogwarts two
months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had. His
lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that they had
mastered the basics.

On Halloween morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin
wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced
in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly,
something they had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make
Neville's toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the
class into pairs to practice. Harry's partner was Seamus Finnigan (which
was a relief, because Neville had been trying to catch his eye). Ron,
however, was to be working with Hermione Granger. It was hard to tell
whether Ron or Hermione was angrier about this. She hadn't spoken to
either of them since the day Harry's broomstick had arrived.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!"
squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as
usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic
words properly is very important, too -- never forget Wizard Baruffio,
who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a
buffalo on his chest."

It was very difficult. Harry and Seamus swished and flicked, but the
feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the
desktop. Seamus got so impatient that he prodded it with his wand and
set fire to it -- Harry had to put it out with his hat.

Ron, at the next table, wasn't having much more luck.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Harry heard Hermione snap. "It's Wing-gar-dium
Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."


"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said,
"Wingardium Leviosa!"

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their
heads.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here,
Miss Granger's done it!"

Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class. "It's no wonder no
one can stand her," he said to Harry as they pushed their way into the
crowded corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly. "

Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione.
Harry caught a glimpse of her face -- and was startled to see that she
was in tears.

"I think she heard you."

"So?" said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must've noticed
she's got no friends."

Hermione didn't turn up for the next class and wasn't seen all
afternoon. On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast,
Harry and Ron overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender that
Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom and wanted to be left alone.
Ron looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had
entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween decorations put Hermione out
of their minds.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a
thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the
candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the
golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell
came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face.
Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped
against the table, and gasped, "Troll -- in the dungeons -- thought you
ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from
the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories
immediately!"

Percy was in his element.

"Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if
you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years
coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"

"How could a troll get in?" Harry asked as they climbed the stairs.

"Don't ask me, they're supposed to be really stupid," said Ron. "Maybe
Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke."

They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions.
As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry
suddenly grabbed Ron's arm.

"I've just thought -- Hermione."

"What about her?"

"She doesn't know about the troll."

Ron bit his lip.

"Oh, all right," he snapped. "But Percy'd better not see us."

Ducking down, they joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped
down a deserted side corridor, and hurried off toward the girls'
bathroom. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick
footsteps behind them.

"Percy!" hissed Ron, pulling Harry behind a large stone griffin.

Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape. He crossed the
corridor and disappeared from view.

"What's he doing?" Harry whispered. "Why isn't he down in the dungeons
with the rest of the teachers?"

"Search me."

Quietly as possible, they crept along the next corridor after Snape's
fading footsteps.

"He's heading for the third floor," Harry said, but Ron held up his
hand.

"Can you smell something?"

Harry sniffed and a foul stench reached his nostrils, a mixture of old
socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean.

And then they heard it -- a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of
gigantic feet. Ron pointed -- at the end of a passage to the left,
something huge was moving toward them. They shrank into the shadows and
watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight.

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite
gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head
perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks
with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was
holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its
arms were so long.

The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its
long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.

"The keys in the lock," Harry muttered. "We could lock it in."

"Good idea," said Ron nervously.

They edged toward the open door, mouths dry, praying the troll wasn't
about to come out of it. With one great leap, Harry managed to grab the
key, slam the door, and lock it.

'Yes!"

Flushed with their victory, they started to run back up the passage, but
as they reached the corner they heard something that made their hearts
stop -- a high, petrified scream -- and it was coming from the chamber
they'd just chained up.

"Oh, no," said Ron, pale as the Bloody Baron.

"It's the girls' bathroom!" Harry gasped.

"Hermione!" they said together.

It was the last thing they wanted to do, but what choice did they have?
Wheeling around, they sprinted back to the door and turned the key,
fumbling in their panic. Harry pulled the door open and they ran inside.

Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if
she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the
sinks off the walls as it went.

"Confuse it!" Harry said desperately to Ron, and, seizing a tap, he
threw it as hard as he could against the wall.

The troll stopped a few feet from Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking
stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes saw
Harry. It hesitated, then made for him instead, lifting its club as it
went.

"Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he
threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pipe
hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning
its ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Harry time to run around it.

"Come on, run, run!" Harry yelled at Hermione, trying to pull her toward
the door, but she couldn't move, she was still flat against the wall,
her mouth open with terror.

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It
roared again and started toward Ron, who was nearest and had no way to
escape.

Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: He
took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the
troll's neck from behind. The troll couldn't feel Harry hanging there,
but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its
nose, and Harry's wand had still been in his hand when he'd jumped -- it
had gone straight up one of the troll's nostrils.

Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Harry
clinging on for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip him
off or catch him a terrible blow with the club.

Hermione had sunk to the floor in fright; Ron pulled out his own wand --
not knowing what he was going to do he heard himself cry the first spell
that came into his head: "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into
the air, turned slowly over -- and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto
its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its
face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Harry got to his feet. He was shaking and out of breath. Ron was
standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he had done.

It was Hermione who spoke first.

"Is it -- dead?"

I don't think so," said Harry, I think it's just been knocked out."

He bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll's nose. It was covered
in what looked like lumpy gray glue.

"Urgh -- troll boogers."

He wiped it on the troll's trousers.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up.
They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course,
someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A
moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room,
closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell
took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly
down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron and
Harry. Harry had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white.
Hopes of winning fifty points for Gryffindor faded quickly from Harry's
mind.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with
cold fury in her voice. Harry looked at Ron, who was still standing with
his wand in the air. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in
your dormitory?"

Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look. Harry looked at the floor. He
wished Ron would put his wand down.

Then a small voice came out of the shadows.

"Please, Professor McGonagall -- they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.

I went looking for the troll because I -- I thought I could deal with it
on my own -- you know, because I've read all about them."

Ron dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a
teacher? "If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand
up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have
time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they
arrived."

Harry and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.

"Well -- in that case..." said Professor McGonagall, staring at the
three of them, "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of
tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

Hermione hung her head. Harry was speechless. Hermione was the last
person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending
she had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started
handing out sweets.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said
Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt
at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing
the feast in their houses."

Hermione left.

Professor McGonagall turned to Harry and Ron.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have
taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five
points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

They hurried out of the chamber and didn't speak at all until they had
climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the
troll, quite apart from anything else.

"We should have gotten more than ten points," Ron grumbled.

"Five, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's."

"Good of her to get us out of trouble like that," Ron admitted. "Mind
you, we did save her."

"She might not have needed saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with
her," Harry reminded him.

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Pig snout," they said and entered.

The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that
had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting
for them. There was a very embarrassed pause. Then, none of them looking
at each other, they all said "Thanks," and hurried off to get plates.

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are
some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and
knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.


CHAPTER ELEVEN

QUIDDITCH

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains
around the school became icy gray and the lake like chilled steel. Every
morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the
upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled
up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous
beaverskin boots.

The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in
his first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If
Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the house
championship.

Hardly anyone had seen Harry play because Wood had decided that, as
their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. But the news
that he was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and Harry didn't know
which was worse -- people telling him he'd be brilliant or people
telling him they'd be running around underneath him holding a mattress.

It was really lucky that Harry now had Hermlone as a friend. He didn't
know how he'd have gotten through all his homework without her, what
with all the last-minute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do. She
had also tent him Quidditch Through the Ages, which turned out to be a
very interesting read.

Harry learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a
Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup
match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest
players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to
them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had
been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Harry
and Ron had saved her from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer
for it. The day before Harry's first Quidditch match the three of them
were out in the freezing courtyard during break, and she had conjured
them up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar.
They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape
crossed the yard. Harry noticed at once that Snape was limping. Harry,
Ron, and Hermione moved closer together to block the fire from view;
they were sure it wouldn't be allowed. Unfortunately, something about
their guilty faces caught Snape's eye. He limped over. He hadn't seen
the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off
anyway.

"What's that you've got there, Potter?"

It was Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry showed him.

"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," said Snape.
"Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."

"He's just made that rule up," Harry muttered angrily as Snape limped
away. "Wonder what's wrong with his leg?"

"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him," said Ron bitterly.

The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. Harry, Ron, and
Hermione sat together next to a window. Hermione was checking Harry and
Ron's Charms homework for them. She would never let them copy ("How will
you learn?"), but by asking her to read it through, they got the right
answers anyway.

Harry felt restless. He wanted Quidditch Through the Ages back, to take
his mind off his nerves about tomorrow. Why should he be afraid of
Snape? Getting up, he told Ron and Hermione he was going to ask Snape if
he could have it.

"Better you than me," they said together, but Harry had an idea that
Snape wouldn't refuse if there were other teachers listening.

He made his way down to the staffroom and knocked. There was no answer.
He knocked again. Nothing.

Perhaps Snape had left the book in there? It was worth a try. He pushed
the door ajar and peered inside -- and a horrible scene met his eyes.

Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above
his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing
Snape bandages.

"Blasted thing*," Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your
eyes on all three heads at once?"

Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but --

"POTTER!"

Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to
hide his leg. Harry gulped.

"I just wondered if I could have my book back."

"GET OUT! OUT!"

Harry left, before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor. He
sprinted back upstairs.

"Did you get it?" Ron asked as Harry joined them. "What's the matter?"

In a low whisper, Harry told them what he'd seen.

"You know what this means?" he finished breathlessly. "He tried to get
past that three-headed dog at Halloween! That's where he was going when
we saw him -- he's after whatever it's guarding! And Id bet my
broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!"

Hermione's eyes were wide.

"No -- he wouldn't, she said. "I know he's not very nice, but he
wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something,"
snapped Ron. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But
what's he after? What's that dog guarding?"

Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with the same question. Neville
was snoring loudly, but Harry couldn't sleep. He tried to empty his mind
-- he needed to sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a
few hours -- but the expression on Snape's face when Harry had seen his
leg wasn't easy to forget.

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of
the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheer ful chatter of
everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

"You've got to eat some breakfast."

"I don't want anything."

"Just a bit of toast," wheedled Hermione.

"I'm not hungry."

Harry felt terrible. In an hour's time he'd be walking onto the field.

"Harry, you need your strength," said Seamus Finnigan. "Seekers are
always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."

"Thanks, Seamus," said Harry, watching Seamus pile ketchup on his
sausages.

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around
the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be
raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going
on sometimes.

Ron and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean the West Ham fan up in
the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on
one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President, and
Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion
underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that
the paint flashed different colors.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry and the rest of the team were
changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing
in green).

Wood cleared his throat for silence.

"Okay, men," he said.

"And women," said Chaser Angelina Johnson.

"And women," Wood agreed. "This is it."

"The big one," said Fred Weasley.

"The one we've all been waiting for," said George.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred told Harry, "we were on the
team last year."

"Shut up, you two," said Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had
in years. We're going to win. I know it."

He glared at them all as if to say, "Or else."

"Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

Harry followed Fred and George out of the locker room and, hoping his
knees weren't going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting
for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all
gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking
particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a sixth year. Harry
thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the
corner of his eye he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing
Potter for President over the crowd. His heart skipped. He felt braver.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off. "And the
Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor -- what
an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too --"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the
match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet,
a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve -- back to
Johnson and -- no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin
Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes -- Flint flying
like an eagle up there -- he's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent
move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle --
that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint,
off up the field and -- OUCH -- that must have hurt, hit in the back of
the head by a Bludger -- Quaffle taken by the Slytherins -- that's
Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a
second Bludger -- sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell
which -- nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in
possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes -- she's
really flying -- dodges a speeding Bludger -- the goal posts are ahead
-- come on, now, Angelina -- Keeper Bletchley dives -- misses --
GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the
Slytherins.

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!"

Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join
them.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of
binoculars around his neck, "But it isn't the same as bein' in the
crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

"Nope," said Ron. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising his
binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.

Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for
some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Wood's game plan.

"Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch," Wood had
said. "We don't want you attacked before you have to be."

When Angelina had scored, Harry had done a couple of loop-the-loops to
let off his feelings. Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch.
Once he caught sight of a flash of gold, but it was just a reflection
from one of the Weasleys' wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to
come pelting his way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Harry
dodged it and Fred Weasley came chasing after it.

"All right there, Harry?" he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger
furiously toward Marcus Flint.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks
two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the --
wait a moment -- was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too
busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his
left ear.

Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement he dived downward after the
streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck
and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch -all the Chasers seemed to have
forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to
watch.

Harry was faster than Higgs -- he could see the little round ball, wings
fluttering, darting up ahead - - he put on an extra spurt of speed --

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below -- Marcus Flint
had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry
holding on for dear life.

"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the
goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the
Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, "Send him off, ref! Red
card!"

"What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron.

"Red card!" said Dean furiously. "In soccer you get shown the red card
and you're out of the game!"

"But this isn't soccer, Dean," Ron reminded him.

Hagrid, however, was on Dean's side.

"They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the
air."

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

"So -- after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul

'Jordan, I'm warning you --"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which
could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by
Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor
still in possession."

It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously
past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening
lurch. For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped
the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt
anything like that.

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him
off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their
riders off. Harry tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goal- posts
-- he had half a mind to ask Wood to call time-out -- and then he
realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't
turn it. He couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the
air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that
almost unseated him.

Lee was still commentating.

"Slytherin in possession -- Flint with the Quaffle -- passes Spinnet --
passes Bell -- hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose
-- only joking, Professor -- Slytherins score -- A no...

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry's
broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying- him slowly higher, away
from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing," Hagrid mumbled. He stared through
his binoculars. "If I didn' know better, I'd say he'd lost control of
his broom... but he can't have...."

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His
broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to
hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild
jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on
with only one hand.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus whispered.

"Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere
with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic -- no kid could do that to
a Nimbus Two Thousand."

At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of
looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" moaned Ron, gray-faced.

"I knew it," Hermione gasped, "Snape -- look."

Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands
opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop
under his breath.

"He's doing something -- jinxing the broom," said Hermione.

"What should we do?"

"Leave it to me."

Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. Ron turned
the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was
almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on
its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull
Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good -- every time
they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower
and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell.
Marcus

Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron muttered desperately.

Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood, and
was now racing along the row behind him; she didn't even stop to say
sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front.
Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a
few, well- chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the
hem of Snape's robes.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire.
A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him
into a little jar in her pocket, she scrambled back along the row --
Snape would never know what had happened.

It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on
to his broom.

"Neville, you can look!" Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into
Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.

Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his
hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick -- he hit the field
on all fours -- coughed -- and something gold fell into his hand.

"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the
game ended in complete confusion.

"He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it," Flint was still howling
twenty minutes later, but it made no difference -- Harry hadn't broken
any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results --
Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. Harry
heard none of this, though. He was being made a cup of strong tea back
in Hagrid's hut, with Ron and Hermione.

"It was Snape," Ron was explaining, "Hermione and I saw him. He was
cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next
to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another, wondering what to tell
him. Harry decided on the truth.

"I found out something about him," he told Hagrid. "He tried to get past
that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying
to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.

"Fluffy?"

"Yeah -- he's mine -- bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub
las' year -- I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the

"Yes?" said Harry eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret,
that is."

"But Snape's trying to steal it."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do
nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" cried Hermione.

The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about
Snape.

I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them!

You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw
him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why
Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student!
Now, listen to me, all three of yeh -- yer meddlin' in things that don'
concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what
it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel
--"

"Aha!" said Harry, "so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved,
is there?"

Hagrid looked furious with himself.


CHAPTER TWELVE

THE MIRROR OF ERISED

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find
itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the
Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that
they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The
few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to
deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could
fly off again.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common
room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had
become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms.
Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where
their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as
possible to their hot cauldrons.

"I do feel so sorry," said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class, "for all
those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're
not wanted at home."

He was looking over at Harry as he spoke. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled.
Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, ignored them.
Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch
match. Disgusted that the Slytherins had lost, he had tried to get
everyone laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing
Harry as Seeker next. Then he'd realized that nobody found this funny,
because they were all so impressed at the way Harry had managed to stay
on his bucking broomstick. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back
to taunting Harry about having no proper family.

It was true that Harry wasn't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas.
Professor McGonagall had come around the week before, making a list of
students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry had signed up
at once. He didn't feel sorry for himself at all; this would probably be
the best Christmas he'd ever had. Ron and his brothers were staying,
too, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to Romania to visit
Charlie.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large
fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at
the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

"Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Ron asked, sticking his head through the
branches.

"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron."

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Malfoys cold drawl from
behind them. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping
to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose -- that hut
of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used
to."

Ron dived at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs.

"WEASLEY!"

Ron let go of the front of Malfoy's robes.

"He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy
face out from behind the tree. "Malfoy was insultin' his family."

"Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," said
Snape silkily. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it
isn't more. Move along, all of you."

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering
needles everywhere and smirking.

"I'll get him," said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back, "one of
these days, I'll get him --"

"I hate them both," said Harry, "Malfoy and Snape."

"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid. "Tell yeh what,
come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat."

So the three of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to -the Great
Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with
the Christmas decorations.

"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree -- put it in the far corner, would you?"

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all
around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood
around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with
hundreds of candles.

"How many days you got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.

"Just one," said Hermione. "And that reminds me -Harry, Ron, we've got
half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library."

"Oh yeah, you're right," said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor
Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was
trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

"The library?" said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. "Just before
the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"

"Oh, we're not working," Harry told him brightly. "Ever since you
mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is."

"You what?" Hagrid looked shocked. "Listen here -- I've told yeh -- drop
it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."

"We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all," said Hermione.

"Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Harry added. "We
must've been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him
anywhere -- just give us a hint -- I know I've read his name somewhere."

"I'm sayin' nothin, said Hagrid flatly.

"Just have to find out for ourselves, then," said Ron, and they left
Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.

They had indeed been searching books for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid
had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape
was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to
begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a
book. He wasn't in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable
Magical Names of Our Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern
Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. And
then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of
thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows.

Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to
search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them
off the shelves at random. Harry wandered over to the Restricted
Section. He had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in
there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the
teachers to look in any of the restricted books, and he knew he'd never
get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never
taught at Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying advanced
Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"What are you looking for, boy?"

"Nothing," said Harry.

Madam Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at him.

"You'd better get out, then. Go on -- out!"

Wishing he'd been a bit quicker at thinking up some story, Harry left
the library. He, Ron, and Hermione had already agreed they'd better not
ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel. They were sure she'd be
able to tell them, but they couldn't risk Snape hearing what they were
up to.

Harry waited outside in the corridor to see if the other two had found
anything, but he wasn't very hopeful. They had been looking for two
weeks, after A, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it
wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a
nice long search without Madam Pince breathing down their necks.

Five minutes later, Ron and Hermione joined him, shaking their heads.
They went off to lunch.

"You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you?" said Hermione. "And
send me an owl if you find anything."

"And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is," said Ron.
"It'd be safe to ask them."

"Very safe, as they're both dentists," said Hermione.

Once the holidays had started, Ron and Harry were having too good a time
to think much about Flamel. They had the dormitory to themselves and the
common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the
good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they
could spear on a toasting fork -- bread, English muffins, marshmallows
-- and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk
about even if they wouldn't work.

Ron also started teaching Harry wizard chess. This was exactly like
Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot
like directing troops in battle. Ron's set was very old and battered.
Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in
his family -- in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen
weren't a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble
getting them to do what he wanted.

Harry played with chessmen Seamus Finnigan had lent him, and they didn't
trust him at all. He wasn't a very good player yet and they kept
shouting different bits of advice at him, which was confusing. "Don't
send me there, can't you see his knight? Send him, we can afford to lose
him." On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the next
day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all.
When he woke early in the morning, however, the first thing he saw was a
small pile of packages at the foot of his bed.

"Merry Christmas," said Ron sleepily as Harry scrambled out of bed and
pulled on his bathrobe.

"You, too," said Harry. "Will you look at this? I've got some presents!"

"What did you expect, turnips?" said Ron, turning to his own pile, which
was a lot bigger than Harry's.

Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and
scrawled across it was To Harry, from Hagrid. Inside was a roughly cut
wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it --
it sounded a bit like an owl.

A second, very small parcel contained a note.

We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle
Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece.

"That's friendly," said Harry.

Ron was fascinated by the fifty pence.

"Weird!" he said, 'NMat a shape! This is money?"

"You can keep it," said Harry, laughing at how pleased Ron was. "Hagrid
and my aunt and uncle -- so who sent these?"

"I think I know who that one's from," said Ron, turning a bit pink and
pointing to a very lumpy parcel. "My mom. I told her you didn't expect
any presents and -- oh, no," he groaned, "she's made you a Weasley
sweater."

Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in
emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge.

"Every year she makes us a sweater," said Ron, unwrapping his own, "and
mine's always maroon."

"That's really nice of her," said Harry, trying the fudge, which was
very tasty.

His next present also contained candy -- a large box of Chocolate Frogs
from Hermione.

This only left one parcel. Harry picked it up and felt it. It was very
light. He unwrapped it.

Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it
lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped.

"I've heard of those," he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of
Every Flavor Beans he'd gotten from Hermione. "If that's what I think it
is -- they're really rare, and really valuable."

"What is it?"

Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to
the touch, like water woven into material.

"It's an invisibility cloak," said Ron, a look of awe on his face. "I'm
sure it is -- try it on."

Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a yell.

"It is! Look down!"

Harry looked down at his feet, but they were gone. He dashed to the
mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head
suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulled the cloak
over his head and his reflection vanished completely.

"There's a note!" said Ron suddenly. "A note fell out of it!"

Harry pulled off the cloak and seized the letter. Written in narrow,
loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words: Your
father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was
returned to you. Use it well.

A Very Merry Christmas to you.


There was no signature. Harry stared at the note. Ron was admiring the
cloak.

"I'd give anything for one of these," he said. "Anything. What's the
matter?"

"Nothing," said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had
it really once belonged to his father?

Before he could say or think anything else, the dormitory door was flung
open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in. Harry stuffed the cloak
quickly out of sight. He didn't feel like sharing it with anyone else
yet.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Hey, look -- Harry's got a Weasley sweater, too!"

Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F on
it, the other a G.

"Harry's is better than ours, though," said Fred, holding up Harry's
sweater. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demanded. "Come on, get it
on, they're lovely and warm."

"I hate maroon," Ron moaned halfheartedly as he pulled it over his head.

"You haven't got a letter on yours," George observed. "I suppose she
thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid -- we know we're
called Gred and Forge."

"What's all th is noise.

Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He
had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too,
carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which

Fred seized.

"P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even
Harry got one."

"I -- don't -- want said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater
over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

"And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either," said

George. "Christmas is a time for family."

They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by
his sweater.

Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred
fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of
chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy
and cranberry sauce -- and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet
along the table. These fantastic party favors were nothing like the
feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little
plastic toys and their flimsy paper hats inside. Harry pulled a wizard
cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like
a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the
inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up at
the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a
flowered bonnet, and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick
had just read him.

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his
teeth on a silver sickle embedded in his slice. Harry watched Hagrid
getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine,
finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's
amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided.

When Harry finally left the table, he was laden down with a stack of
things out of the crackers, including a pack of nonexplodable, luminous
balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and his own new wizard chess set.
The white mice had disappeared and Harry had a nasty feeling they were
going to end up as Mrs. Norris's Christmas dinner.

Harry and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball
fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they
returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Harry broke in
his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. He suspected he
wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help him so much.

After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake,
everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and
watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor tower because
they'd stolen his prefect badge.

It had been Harry's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been
nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until he climbed into bed
was he free to think about it: the invisibility cloak and whoever had
sent it.

Ron, full of turkey and cake and with nothing mysterious to bother him,
fell asleep almost as soon as he'd drawn the curtains of his
four-poster. Harry leaned over the side of his own bed and pulled the
cloak out from under it.

His father's... this had been his father's. He let the material flow
over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Use it well, the note
had said.

He had to try it, now. He slipped out of bed and wrapped the cloak
around himself. Looking down at his legs, he saw only moonlight and
shadows. It was a very funny feeling.

Use it well.

Suddenly, Harry felt wide-awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him
in this cloak. Excitement flooded through him as he stood there in the
dark and silence. He could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch
would never know.

Ron grunted in his sleep. Should Harry wake him? Something held him back
-- his father's cloak -- he felt that this time -- the first time -- he
wanted to use it alone.

He crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room,
and climbed through the portrait hole.

"Who's there?" squawked the Fat Lady. Harry said nothing. He walked
quickly down the corridor.

Where should he go? He stopped, his heart racing, and thought. And then
it came to him. The Restricted Section in the library. He'd be able to
read as long as he liked, as long as it took to find out who Flamel was.
He set off, drawing the invisibility cloak tight around him as he
walked.

The library was pitch-black and very eerie. Harry lit a lamp to see his
way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was floating along
in midair, and even though Harry could feel his arm supporting it, the
sight gave him the creeps.

The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Step ping
carefully over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the
library, he held up his lamp to read the titles.

They didn't tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled
words in languages Harry couldn't understand. Some had no title at all.
One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The
hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. Maybe he was imagining it,
maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books,
as though they knew someone was there who shouldn't be.

He had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the floor,
he looked along the bottom shelf for an interestinglooking book. A large
black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulled it out with
difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on his knee,
let it fall open.

A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence -- the book was
screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and on, one
high, unbroken, earsplitting note. He stumbled backward and knocked over
his lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, he heard footsteps coming
down the corridor outside -- stuffing the shrieking book back on the
shelf, he ran for it. He passed Filch in the doorway; Filch's pale, wild
eyes looked straight through him, and Harry slipped under Filch's
outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book's shrieks
still ringing in his ears.

He came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor. He had been
so busy getting away from the library, he hadn't paid attention to where
he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn't recognize where he
was at all. There was a suit of armor near the kitchens, he knew, but he
must be five floors above there.

"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was
wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library Restricted
Section."

Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must
know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and
to his horror, it was Snape who replied, "The Restricted Section? Well,
they can't be far, we'll catch them."

Harry stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner
ahead. They couldn't see him, of course, but it was a narrow corridor
and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into him -- the cloak
didn't stop him from being solid.

He backed away as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his left. It
was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his breath, trying
not to move it, and to his relief he managed to get inside the room
without their noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Harry
leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps
dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before
he noticed anything about the room he had hidden in.

It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs
were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper
basket -- but propped against the wall facing him was something that
didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone
had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold
frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved
around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. His panic
fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry moved
nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection
again. He stepped in front of it.

He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He
whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the
book had screamed -- for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but
a whole crowd of people standing right behind him.

But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to
the mirror.

There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there,
reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his
shoulder -- but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible,
too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror's
trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?

He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind his
reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt
the air behind him. If she was really there, he'd touch her, their
reflections were so close together, but he felt only air -- she and the
others existed only in the mirror.

She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes -- her
eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the
glass. Bright green -- exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that
she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin,
black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore
glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as
Harry's did.

Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching
that of his reflection.

"Mom?" he whispered. "Dad?"

They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the
faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green
eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as
though he had Harry's knobbly knees -- Harry was looking at his family,
for the first time in his life.

The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at
them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping
to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache
inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

How long he stood there, he didn't know. The reflections did not fade
and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his
senses. He couldn't stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He
tore his eyes away from his mother's face, whispered, "I'll come back,"
and hurried from the room.

"You could have woken me up," said Ron, crossly.

"You can come tonight, I'm going back, I want to show you the mirror.

"I'd like to see your mom and dad," Ron said eagerly.

"And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you'll be able to
show me your other brothers and everyone."

"You can see them any old time," said Ron. "Just come round my house
this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not
finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you
eating anything?"

Harry couldn't eat. He had seen his parents and would be seeing them
again tonight. He had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn't seem very
important anymore. Who cared what the three headed dog was guarding?
What did it matter if Snape stole it, really?

"Are you all right?" said Ron. "You look odd."

What Harry feared most was that he might not be able to find the mirror
room again. With Ron covered in the cloak, too, they had to walk much
more slowly the next night. They tried retracing Harry's route from the
library, wandering around the dark passageways for nearly an hour.

"I'm freezing," said Ron. "Let's forget it and go back."

"No!" Harry hissed. I know it's here somewhere."

They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction,
but saw no one else. just as Ron started moaning that his feet were dead
with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armor.

"It's here -- just here -- yes!"

They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the cloak from around his
shoulders and ran to the mirror.

There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of him.

"See?" Harry whispered.

"I can't see anything."

"Look! Look at them all... there are loads of them...."

"I can only see you."

"Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am."

Harry stepped aside, but with Ron in front of the mirror, he couldn't
see his family anymore, just Ron in his paisley pajamas.

Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image.

"Look at me!" he said.

"Can you see all your family standing around you?"

"No -- I'm alone -- but I'm different -- I look older -- and I'm head
boy!"

"What?"

"I am -- I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to -- and I'm holding the
house cup and the Quidditch cup -- I'm Quidditch captain, too.

Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at
Harry.

"Do you think this mirror shows the future?"

"How can it? All my family are dead -- let me have another look --"

"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time."

"You're only holding the Quidditch cup, what's interesting about that? I
want to see my parents."

"Don't push me --"

A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion.
They hadn't realized how loudly they had been talking.

"Quick!"

Ron threw the cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris
came round the door. Ron and Harry stood quite still, both thinking the
same thing -- did the cloak work on cats? After what seemed an age, she
turned and left.

"This isn't safe -- she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us.
Come on."

And Ron pulled Harry out of the room.

The snow still hadn't melted the next morning.

"Want to play chess, Harry?" said Ron.

"No."

"Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?"

"No... you go..."

"I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don't go back
tonight."

"Why not?"

"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it -- and anyway, you've had
too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs. Norris are
wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into
you? What if you knock something over?"

"You sound like Hermione."

"I'm serious, Harry, don't go."

But Harry only had one thought in his head, which was to get back in
front of the mirror, and Ron wasn't going to stop him.

That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He was
walking so fast he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he
didn't meet anyone.

And there were his mother and father smiling at him again, and one of
his grandfathers nodding happily. Harry sank down to sit on the floor in
front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop him from staying here all
night with his family. Nothing at all.

Except --

"So -- back again, Harry?"

Harry felt as though his insides had turned to ice. He looked behind
him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus
Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to
get to the mirror he hadn't noticed him.

" -- I didn't see you, sir."

"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore,
and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.

"So," said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with
Harry, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of
the Mirror of Erised."

"I didn't know it was called that, Sir."

"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?"

"It -- well -- it shows me my family --"

"And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy."

"How did you know --?"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently.
"Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

Harry shook his head.

"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the
Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it
and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Harry thought. Then he said slowly, "It shows us what we want...
whatever we want..."

"Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less
than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have
never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley,
who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing
alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us
neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by
what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is
real or even possible.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you
not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will
now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live,
remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and
get off to bed?"

Harry stood up.

"Sir -- Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one
more thing, however."

"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

Harry stared.

"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas
has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on
giving me books."

It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore
might not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought, as he shoved
Scabbers off his pillow, it had been quite a personal question.


CHAPTER THIRTEEN

NICOLAS FLAMEL

Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of
Erised again, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays the
invisibility cloak stayed folded at the bottom of his trunk. Harry
wished he could forget what he'd seen in the mirror as easily, but he
couldn't. He started having nightmares. Over and over again he dreamed
about his parents disappearing in a flash of green light, while a high
voice cackled with laughter.

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," said
Ron, when Harry told him about these drearns.

Hermione, who came back the day before term started, took a different
view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Harry being
out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row ("If Filch had
caught you!"), and disappointment that he hadn't at least found out who
Nicolas Flamel was.

They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a li- brary
book, even though Harry was still sure he'd read the name somewhere.
Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten
minutes during their breaks. Harry had even less time than the other
two, because Quidditch practice had started again.

Wood was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that
had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. The Weasleys
complained that Wood was becoming a fanatic, but Harry was on Wood's
side. If they won their next match, against Hufflepuff, they would
overtake Slytherin in the house championship for the first time in seven
years. Quite apart from wanting to win, Harry found that he had fewer
nightmares when he was tired out after training.

Then, during one particularly wet and muddy practice session, Wood gave
the team a bit of bad news. He'd just gotten very angry with the
Weasleys, who kept dive-bombing each other and pretending to fall off
their brooms.

"Will you stop messing around!" he yelled. "That's exactly the sort of
thing that'll lose us the match! Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll
be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!"

George Weasley really did fall off his broom at these words.

"Snape's refereeing?" he spluttered through a mouthful of mud. "When's
he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if we
might overtake Slytherin."

The rest of the team landed next to George to complain, too.

"It's not my fault," said Wood. "We've just got to make sure we play a
clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us."

Which was all very well, thought Harry, but he had another reason for
not wanting Snape near him while he was playing Quidditch....

The rest of the team hung back to talk to one another as usual at the
end of practice, but Harry headed straight back to the Gryffindor common
room, where he found Ron and Hermione playing chess. Chess was the only
thing Hermione ever lost at, something Harry and Ron thought was very
good for her.

"Don't talk to me for a moment," said Ron when Harry sat down next to
him, "I need to concen --" He caught sight of Harry's face. "What's the
matter with you? You look terrible."

Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Harry told the other
two about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.

"Don't play," said Hermione at once.

"Say you're ill," said Ron.

"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested.

"Really break your leg," said Ron.

"I can't," said Harry. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out,
Gryffindor can't play at all."

At that moment Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed
to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs
had been stuck together with what they recognized at once as the
Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to
Gryffindor tower.

Everyone fell over laughing except Hermione, who leapt up and performed
the countercurse. Neville's legs sprang apart and he got to his feet,
trembling. "What happened?" Hermione asked him, leading him over to sit
with Harry and Ron.

"Malfoy," said Neville shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said
he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged Neville. "Report him!"

Neville shook his head.

"I don't want more trouble," he mumbled.

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" said Ron. "He's used to
walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of
him and make it easier."

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor,
Malfoy's already done that," Neville choked out.

Harry felt in the pocket of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog,
the very last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. He
gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry said. "The Sorting Hat chose you
for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."

Neville's lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog.

"Thanks, Harry... I think I'll go to bed.... D'you want the card, you
collect them, don't you?"

As Neville walked away, Harry looked at the Famous Wizard card.

"Dumbledore again," he said, "He was the first one I ever-"

He gasped. He stared at the back of the card. Then he looked up at Ron
and Hermione.

"I've found him!" he whispered. "I've found Flamel! I told you I'd read
the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here -- listen
to this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark
wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of
dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas
Flamel'!"

Hermione jumped to her feet. She hadn't looked so excited since they'd
gotten back the marks for their very first piece of homework.

"Stay there!" she said, and she sprinted up the stairs to the girls'
dormitories. Harry and Ron barely had time to exchange mystified looks
before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms.

"I never thought to look in here!" she whispered excitedly. "I got this
out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

"Light?" said Ron, but Hermione told him to be quiet until she'd looked
something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages,
muttering to herself.

At last she found what she was looking for.

"I knew it! I knew it!"

"Are we allowed to speak yet?" said Ron grumpily. Hermione ignored him.

"Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, "is the only known maker
of the Sorcerer's Stone!"

This didn't have quite the effect she'd expected.

"The what?" said Harry and Ron.

"Oh, honestly, don't you two read? Look -- read that, there."

She pushed the book toward them, and Harry and Ron read: The ancient
study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a
legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform
any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which
will make the drinker immortal.

There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries,
but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel,
the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six
hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon
with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).

"See?" said Hermione, when Harry and Ron had finished. "The dog must be
guarding Flamel's Sorcerer's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it
safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it,
that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"

"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" said Harry. "No
wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it."

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent
Developments in Wizardry," said Ron. "He's not exactly recent if he's
six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"

The next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, while copying down
different ways of treating werewolf bites, Harry and Ron were still
discussing what they'd do with a Sorcerer's Stone if they had one. It
wasn't until Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team that Harry
remembered about Snape and the coming match.

"I'm going to play," he told Ron and Hermione. "If I don't, all the
Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Snape. I'll show
them... it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win."

"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field," said Hermione.

As the match drew nearer, however, Harry became more and more nervous,
whatever he told Ron and Hermione. The rest of the team wasn't too calm,
either. The idea of overtaking Slytherin in the house championship was
wonderful, no one had done it for seven years, but would they be allowed
to, with such a biased referee?

Harry didn't know whether he was imagining it or not, but he seemed to
keep running into Snape wherever he went. At times, he even wondered
whether Snape was following him, trying to catch him on his own. Potions
lessons were turning into a sort of weekly torture, Snape was so
horrible to Harry. Could Snape possibly know they'd found out about the
Sorcerer's Stone? Harry didn't see how he could -- yet he sometimes had
the horrible feeling that Snape could read minds.

Harry knew, when they wished him good luck outside the locker rooms the
next afternoon, that Ron and Hermione were wondering whether they'd ever
see him alive again. This wasn't what you'd call comforting. Harry
hardly heard a word of Wood's pep talk as he pulled on his Quidditch
robes and picked up his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, had found a place in the stands next to
Neville, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or
why they had both brought their wands to the match. Little did Harry
know that Ron and Hermione had been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker
Curse. They'd gotten the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville, and were
ready to use it on Snape if he showed any sign of wanting to hurt Harry.

"Now, don't forget, it's Locomotor Mortis," Hermione muttered as Ron
slipped his wand up his sleeve.

"I know," Ron snapped. "Don't nag."

Back in the locker room, Wood had taken Harry aside.

"Don't want to pressure you, Potter, but if we ever need an early
capture of the Snitch it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favor
Hufflepuff too much."

"The whole school's out there!" said Fred Weasley, peering out of the
door. "Even -- blimey -- Dumbledore's come to watch!"

Harry's heart did a somersault.

"Dumbledore?" he said, dashing to the door to make sure. Fred was right.
There was no mistaking that silver beard.

Harry could have laughed out loud with relief He was safe. There was
simply no way that Snape would dare to try to hurt him if Dumbledore was
watching.

Perhaps that was why Snape was looking so angry as the teams marched
onto the field, something that Ron noticed, too.

"I've never seen Snape look so mean," he told Hermione. "Look -they're
off Ouch!"

Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. It was Malfoy.

"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there."

Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle.

"Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone
want a bet? What about you, Weasley?"

Ron didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because
George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her
fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Harry, who was
circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.

"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" said
Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another
penalty for no reason at all. "It's people they feel sorry for. See,
there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've
got no money -- you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no
brains."

Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy.

"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," he stammered.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not
daring to take his eyes from the game, said, "You tell him, Neville."

"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and
that's saying something."

Ron's nerves were already stretched to the breaking point with anxiety
about Harry.

"I'm warning you, Malfoy -- one more word

"Ron!" said Hermione suddenly, "Harry --"

"What? Where?"

Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and
cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her
mouth, as Harry streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the
ground!" said Malfoy.

Ron snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron was on top of
him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over
the back of his seat to help.

"Come on, Harry!" Hermione screamed, leaping onto her seat to watch as
Harry sped straight at Snape -- she didn't even notice Malfoy and Ron
rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the
whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle.

Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see
something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches -- the next
second, Harry had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the
Snitch clasped in his hand.

The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember
the Snitch being caught so quickly.

"Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game's over! Harry's won! We've won!
Gryffindor is in the lead!" shrieked Hermione, dancing up and down on
her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front.

Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. He couldn't believe
it. He'd done it -- the game was over; it had barely lasted five
minutes. As Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, he saw Snape land
nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped -- then Harry felt a hand on his
shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore's smiling face.

"Well done," said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harry could hear.
"Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror... been keeping
busy... excellent..."

Snape spat bitterly on the ground.

Harry left the locker room alone some time later, to take his Nimbus Two
Thousand back to the broomshed. He couldn't ever remember feeling
happier. He'd really done something to be proud of now -- no one could
say he was just a famous name any more. The evening air had never
smelled so sweet. He walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour
in his head, which was a happy blur: Gryffindors running to lift him
onto their shoulders; Ron and Hermione in the distance, jumping up and
down, Ron cheering through a heavy nosebleed.

Harry had reached the shed. He leaned against the wooden door and looked
up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun.
Gryffindor in the lead. He'd done it, he'd shown Snape....

And speaking of Snape...

A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly
not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible toward the
forbidden forest. Harry's victory faded from his mind as he watched. He
recognized the figure's prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the forest
while everyone else was at dinner -- what was going on?

Harry jumped back on his Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding
silently over the castle he saw Snape enter the forest at a run. He
followed.

The trees were so thick he couldn't see where Snape had gone. He flew in
circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until he
heard voices. He glided toward them and landed noiselessly in a towering
beech tree.

He climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to his
broomstick, trying to see through the leaves. Below, in a shadowy
clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too.
Harry couldn't make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering
worse than ever. Harry strained to catch what they were saying.

"... d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places,
Severus..."

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy.
"Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after
all."

Harry leaned forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted
him.

"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

"B-b-but Severus, I --"

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, taking a step
toward him.

"I-I don't know what you

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

An owl hooted loudly, and Harry nearly fell out of the tree. He steadied
himself in time to hear Snape say, "-- your little bit of hocus-pocus.
I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-d-don't --"

"Very well," Snape cut in. "We'll have another little chat soon, when
you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties
lie."

He threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was
almost dark now, but Harry could see Quirrell, standing quite still as
though he was petrified.

"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione squeaked.

"We won! You won! We won!" shouted Ron, thumping Harry on the back. "And
I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle
single-handed! He's still out cold but Madam Pomftey says he'll be all
right - talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone's waiting for you in the
common room, we're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and
stuff from the kitchens."

"Never mind that now," said Harry breathlessly. "Let's find an empty
room, you wait 'til you hear this...."

He made sure Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind them,
then he told them what he'd seen and heard.

"So we were right, it is the Sorcerer's Stone, and Snape's trying to
force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past
Fluffy - and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus pocuss-- I reckon
there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of
enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts
spell that Snape needs to break through --"

"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to
Snape?" said Hermione in alarm.

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," said Ron.


CHAPTER FOURTEEN

NORBERT THE NORWEGIAN RIDGEBACK

Quirrell, however, must have been braver than they'd thought. In the
weeks that followed he did seem to be getting paler and thinner, but it
didn't look as though he'd cracked yet.

Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Harry, Ron, and
Hermione would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was
still growling inside. Snape was sweeping about in his usual bad temper,
which surely meant that the Stone was still safe. Whenever Harry passed
Quirrell these days he gave him an encouraging sort of smile, and Ron
had started telling people off for laughing at Quirrell's stutter.

Hermione, however, had more on her mind than the Sorcerer's Stone. She
had started drawing up study schedules and colorcoding all her notes.
Harry and Ron wouldn't have minded, but she kept nagging them to do the
same.

"Hermione, the exams are ages away."

"Ten weeks," Hermione snapped. "That's not ages, that's like a second to
Nicolas Flamel."

"But we're not six hundred years old," Ron reminded her. "Anyway, what
are you studying for, you already know it A."

"What am I studying for? Are you crazy? You realize we need to pass
these exams to get into the second year? They're very important, I
should have started studying a month ago, I don't know what's gotten
into me...."

Unfortunately, the teachers seemed to be thinking along the same lines
as Hermione. They piled so much homework on them that the Easter
holidays weren't nearly as much fun as the Christmas ones. It was hard
to relax with Hermione next to you reciting the twelve uses of dragon's
blood or practicing wand movements. Moaning and yawning, Harry and Ron
spent most of their free time in the library with her, trying to get
through all their extra work.

"I'll never remember this," Ron burst out one afternoon, throwing down
his quill and looking longingly out of the library window. It was the
first really fine day they'd had in months. The sky was a clear,
forget-me-not blue, and there was a feeling in the air of summer coming.

Harry, who was looking up "Dittany" in One Thousand Magical Herbs and
Fungi, didn't look up until he heard Ron say, "Hagrid! What are you
doing in the library?"

Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked
very out of place in his moleskin overcoat.

"Jus' lookin'," he said, in a shifty voice that got their interest at
once. "An' what're you lot up ter?" He looked suddenly suspicious. "Yer
not still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?" "Oh, we found out who he
is ages ago," said Ron impressively. "And we know what that dog's
guarding, it's a Sorcerer's St --"

"Shhhh!" Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening.
"Don' go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?"

"There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact," said
Harry, "about what's guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy --"

"SHHHH!" said Hagrid again. "Listen - come an' see me later, I'm not
promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it
in here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh
--"

"See you later, then," said Harry.

Hagrid shuffled off.

"What was he hiding behind his back?" said Hermione thoughtfully.

"Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?"

"I'm going to see what section he was in," said Ron, who'd had enough of
working. He came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms
and slammed them down on the table.

"Dragons!" he whispered. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons!
Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to
Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide."

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon, he told me so the first time I ever
met him, " said Harry.

"But it's against our laws," said Ron. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by
the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop
Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden -
anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns
Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."

"But there aren't wild dragons in Britain?" said Harry.

"Of course there are," said Ron. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean
Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you.
Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to
make them forget."

"So what on earths Hagrid up to?" said Hermione.

When they knocked on the door of the gamekeeper's hut an hour later,
they were surprised to see that all the curtains were closed. Hagrid
called "Who is it?" before he let them in, and then shut the door
quickly behind them.

It was stifling hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day, there
was a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid made them tea and offered them
stoat sandwiches, which they refused.

"So -- yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?"

"Yes," said Harry. There was no point beating around the bush. "We were
wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Sorcerer's Stone
apart from Fluffy."

Hagrid frowned at him.

"0' course I cant, he said. "Number one, I don' know meself. Number two,
yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That
Stone's here fer a good reason. It Was almost stolen outta Gringotts - I
s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou'
Fluffy."

"Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you do know,
you know everything that goes on round here," said Hermione in a warm,
flattering voice. Hagrid's beard twitched and they could tell he was
smiling. "We only wondered who had done the guarding, really." Hermione
went on. "We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him,
apart from you."

Hagrid's chest swelled at these last words. Harry and Ron beamed at
Hermione.

"Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that... let's see... he
borrowed Fluffy from me... then some o' the teachers did enchantments...
Professor Sprout -- Professor Flitwick -- Professor McGonagall --" he
ticked them off on his fingers, "Professor Quirrell -- an' Dumbledore
himself did somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh
yeah, Professor Snape."

"Snape?"

"Yeah -- yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped
protect the Stone, he's not about ter steal it."

Harry knew Ron and Hermione were thinking the same as he was. If Snape
had been in on protecting the Stone, it must have been easy to find out
how the other teachers had guarded it. He probably knew everything --
except, it seemed, Quirrell's spell and how to get past Fluffy.

"You're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy. aren't you,
Hagrid?" said Harry anxiously. "And you wouldn't tell anyone, would you?
Not even one of the teachers?"

"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore," said Hagrid proudly.

"Well, that's something," Harry muttered to the others. "Hagrid, can we
have a window open? I'm boiling."

"Can't, Harry, sorry," said Hagrid. Harry noticed him glance at the
fire. Harry looked at it, too.

"Hagrid -- what's that?"

But he already knew what it was. In the very heart of the fire,
underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.

"Ah," said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard, "That's er..."

"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" said Ron, crouching over the fire to get
a closer look at the egg. "It must've cost you a fortune."

"Won it," said Hagrid. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a
few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was
quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

"But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" said Hermione.

"Well, I've bin doin' some readin' , said Hagrid, pulling a large book
from under his pillow. "Got this outta the library -- Dragon Breeding
for Pleasure and Profit -- it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's
all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on I
em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with
chicken blood every half hour. An' see here -- how ter recognize
diff'rent eggs -- what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're
rare, them."

He looked very pleased with himself, but Hermione didn't.

"Hagrid, you live in a wooden house," she said.

But Hagrid wasn't listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the
fire.

So now they had something else to worry about: what might happen to
Hagrid if anyone found out he was hiding an illegal dragon in his hut.
"Wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life," Ron sighed, as evening
after evening they struggled through all the extra homework they were
getting. Hermione had now started making study schedules for Harry and
Ron, too. It was driving them nuts.

Then, one breakfast time, Hedwig brought Harry another note from Hagrid.
He had written only two words: It's hatching.

Ron wanted to skip Herbology and go straight down to the hut. Hermione
wouldn't hear of it.

"Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon
hatching?"

"We've got lessons, we'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what
Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing --"

"Shut up!" Harry whispered.

Malfoy was only a few feet away and he had stopped dead to listen. How
much had he heard? Harry didn't like the look on Malfoy's face at all.

Ron and Hermione argued all the way to Herbology and in the end,
Hermione agreed to run down to Hagrid's with the other two during
morning break. When the bell sounded from the castle at the end of their
lesson, the three of them dropped their trowels at once and hurried
through the grounds to the edge of the forest. Hagrid greeted them,
looking flushed and excited.

"It's nearly out." He ushered them inside.

The egg was lying on the table. There were deep cracks in it. Something
was moving inside; a funny clicking noise was coming from it.

They all drew their chairs up to the table and watched with bated
breath.

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby
dragon flopped onto the table. It wasn't exactly pretty; Harry thought
it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge
compared to its skinny jet body, it had a long snout with wide nostrils,
the stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes.

It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke
the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

"Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!" said Hagrid.

"Hagrid," said Hermione, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow,
exactly?"

Hagrid was about to answer when the color suddenly drained from his face
-- he leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

"What's the matter?"

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains -- it's a kid --
he's runnin' back up ter the school."

Harry bolted to the door and looked out. Even at a distance there was no
mistaking him.

Malfoy had seen the dragon.

Something about the smile lurking on Malfoy's face during the next week
made Harry, Ron, and Hermione very nervous. They spent most of their
free time in Hagrid's darkened hut, trying to reason with him.

"Just let him go," Harry urged. "Set him free."

"I can't," said Hagrid. "He's too little. He'd die."

They looked at the dragon. It had grown three times in length in just a
week. Smoke kept furling out of its nostrils. Hagrid hadn't been doing
his gamekeeping duties because the dragon was keeping him so busy. There
were empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor.

"I've decided to call him Norbert," said Hagrid, looking at the dragon
with misty eyes. "He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert!
Where's Mommy?"

"He's lost his marbles," Ron muttered in Harry's ear.

"Hagrid," said Harry loudly, "give it two weeks and Norbert's going to
be as long as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment."

Hagrid bit his lip.

"I -- I know I can't keep him forever, but I can't jus' dump him, I
can't."

Harry suddenly turned to Ron. Charlie, he said.

"You're losing it, too," said Ron. "I'm Ron, remember?"

"No -- Charlie -- your brother, Charlie. In Romania. Studying dragons.
We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put
him back in the wild!"

"Brilliant!" said Ron. "How about it, Hagrid?"

And in the end, Hagrid agreed that they could send -an owl to Charlie to
ask him.

The following week dragged by. Wednesday night found Hermione and Harry
sitting alone in the common room, long after everyone else had gone to
bed. The clock on the wall had just

chimed midnight when the portrait hole burst open. Ron appeared out of
nowhere as he pulled off Harry's invisibility cloak. He had been down at
Hagrid's hut, helping him feed Norbert, who was now eating dead rats by
the crate.

"It bit me!" he said, showing them his hand, which was wrapped in a
bloody handkerchief. "I'm not going to be able to hold a quill for a
week. I tell you, that dragon's the most horrible animal I've ever met,
but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you'd think it was a fluffy little
bunny rabbit. When it bit me he told me off for frightening it. And when
I left, he was singing it a lullaby."

There was a tap on the dark window.

"It's Hedwig!" said Harry, hurrying to let her in. "She'll have
Charlie's answer!"

The three of them put their heads together to read the note.

Dear Ron,

How are you? Thanks for the letter -- I'd be glad to take the Norwegian
Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing
will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to
visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal
dragon.

Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on
Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still
dark.

Send me an answer as soon as possible.

Love,

Charlie

They looked at one another.

"We've got the invisibility cloak," said Harry. "It shouldn't be too
difficult -- I think the cloaks big enough to cover two of us and
Norbert."

It was a mark of how bad the last week had been that the other two
agreed with him. Anything to get rid of Norbert -- and Malfoy.

There was a hitch. By the next morning, Ron's bitten hand had swollen to
twice its usual size. He didn't know whether it was safe to go to Madam
Pomfrey -- would she recognize a dragon bite? By the afternoon, though,
he had no choice. The cut had turned a nasty shade of green. It looked
as if Norbert's fangs were poisonous.

Harry and Hermione rushed up to the hospital wing at the end of the day
to find Ron in a terrible state in bed.

"It's not just my hand," he whispered, "although that feels like it's
about to fall off. Malfoy told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of
my books so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept
threatening to tell her what really bit me -- I've told her it was a
dog, but I don't think she believes me -I shouldn't have hit him at the
Quidditch match, that's why he's doing this."

Harry and Hermione tried to calm Ron down.

"It'll all be over at midnight on Saturday," said Hermione, but this
didn't soothe Ron at all. On the contrary, he sat bolt upright and broke
into a sweat.

"Midnight on Saturday!" he said in a hoarse voice. "Oh no oh no -- I've
just remembered -- Charlie's letter was in that book Malfoy took, he's
going to know we're getting rid of Norbert."

Harry and Hermione didn't get a chance to answer. Madam Pomfrey came
over at that moment and made them leave, saying Ron needed sleep.

"It's too late to change the plan now," Harry told Hermione. "We haven't
got time to send Charlie another owl, and this could be our only chance
to get rid of Norbert. We'll have to risk it. And we have got the
invisibility cloak, Malfoy doesn't know about that."

They found Fang, the boarhound, sitting outside with a bandaged tail
when they went to tell Hagrid, who opened a window to talk to them.

"I won't let you in," he puffed. "Norbert's at a tricky stage -- nothin'
I can't handle."

When they told him about Charlie's letter, his eyes filled with tears,
although that might have been because Norbert had just bitten him on the
leg.

"Aargh! It's all right, he only got my boot -- jus' playin' -- he's only
a baby, after all."

The baby banged its tail on the wall, making the windows rattle. Harry
and Hermione walked back to the castle feeling Saturday couldn't come
quickly enough.

They would have felt sorry for Hagrid when the time came for him to say
good-bye to Norbert if they hadn't been so worried about what they had
to do. It was a very dark, cloudy night, and they were a bit late
arriving at Hagrid's hut because they'd had to wait for Peeves to get
out of their way in the entrance hall, where he'd been playing tennis
against the wall. Hagrid had Norbert packed and ready in a large crate.

"He's got lots o' rats an' some brandy fer the journey," said Hagrid in
a muffled voice. "An' I've packed his teddy bear in case he gets
lonely."

From inside the crate came ripping noises that sounded to Harry as
though the teddy was having his head torn off.

"Bye-bye, Norbert!" Hagrid sobbed, as Harry and Hermione covered the
crate with the invisibility cloak and stepped underneath it themselves.
"Mommy will never forget you!"

How they managed to get the crate back up to the castle, they never
knew. Midnight ticked nearer as they heaved Norbert up the marble
staircase in the entrance hall and along the dark corridors. UP another
staircase, then another -- even one of Harry's shortcuts didn't make the
work much easier.

"Nearly there!" Harry panted as they reached the corridor beneath the
tallest tower.

Then a sudden movement ahead of them made them almost drop the crate.
Forgetting that they were already invisible, they shrank into the
shadows, staring at the dark outlines of two people grappling with each
other ten feet away. A lamp flared.

Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and a hair net, had Malfoy by
the ear.

"Detention!" she shouted. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering
around in the middle of the night, how dare you --"

"You don't understand, Professor. Harry Potter's coming -- he's got a
dragon!"

"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on -- I shall see
Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"

The steep spiral staircase up to the top of the tower seemed the easiest
thing in the world after that. Not until they'd stepped out into the
cold night air did they throw off the cloak, glad to be able to breathe
properly again. Hermione did a sort of jig.

"Malfoy's got detention! I could sing!"

"Don't," Harry advised her.

Chuckling about Malfoy, they waited, Norbert thrashing about in his
crate. About ten minutes later, four broomsticks came swooping down out
of the darkness.

Charlie's friends were a cheery lot. They showed Harry and Hermione the
harness they'd rigged up, so they could suspend Norbert between them.
They all helped buckle Norbert safely into it and then Harry and
Hermione shook hands with the others and thanked them very much.

At last, Norbert was going... going... gone.

They slipped back down the spiral staircase, their hearts as light as
their hands, now that Norbert was off them. No more dragon -- Malfoy in
detention -- what could spoil their happiness?

The answer to that was waiting at the foot of the stairs. As they
stepped into the corridor, Filch's face loomed suddenly out of the
darkness.

"Well, well, well," he whispered, "we are in trouble."

They'd left the invisibility cloak on top of the tower.


CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE FORIBIDDEN FOREST

Things couldn't have been worse.

Filch took them down to Professor McGonagall's study on the first floor,
where they sat and waited without saying a word to each other. Hermione
was trembling. Excuses, alibis, and wild cover- up stories chased each
other around Harry's brain, each more feeble than the last. He couldn't
see how they were going to get out of trouble this time. They were
cornered. How could they have been so stupid as to forget the cloak?
There was no reason on earth that Professor McGonagall would accept for
their being out of bed and creeping around the school in the dead of
night, let alone being up the tallest astronomy tower, which was
out-of-bounds except for classes. Add Norbert and the invisibility
cloak, and they might as well be packing their bags already.

Had Harry thought that things couldn't have been worse? He was wrong.
When Professor McGonagall appeared, she was leading Neville.

"Harry!" Neville burst Out, the moment he saw the other two. "I was
trying to find you to warn you, I heard Malfoy saying he was going to
catch you, he said you had a drag --"

Harry shook his head violently to shut Neville up, but Professor
McGonagall had seen. She looked more likely to breathe fire than Norbert
as she towered over the three of them.

"I would never have believed it of any of you. Mr. Filch says you were
up in the astronomy tower. It's one o'clock in the morning. Explain
yourselves."

It was the first time Hermione had ever failed to answer a teacher's
question. She was staring at her slippers, as still as a statue.

"I think I've got a good idea of what's been going on," said Professor
McGonagall. "It doesn't take a genius to work it out. You fed Draco
Malfoy some cock-and-bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of
bed and into trouble. I've already caught him. I suppose you think it's
funny that Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too?"

Harry caught Neville's eye and tried to tell him without words that this
wasn't true, because Neville was looking stunned and hurt. Poor,
blundering Neville -- Harry knew what it must have cost him to try and
find them in the dark, to warn them.

"I'm disgusted," said Professor McGonagall. "Four students out of bed in
one night! I've never heard of such a thing before! You, Miss Granger, I
thought you had more sense. As for you, Mr. Potter, I thought Gryffindor
meant more to you than this. All three of you will receive detentions --
yes, you too, Mr. Longbottom, nothing gives you the right to walk around
school at night, especially these days, it's very dangerous -- and fifty
points will be taken from Gryffindor."

"Fifty?" Harry gasped -- they would lose the lead, the lead he'd won in
the last Quidditch match.

"Fifty points each," said Professor McGonagall, breathing heavily
through her long, pointed nose.

"Professor -- please

"You can't --"

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Potter. Now get back to bed, all
of you. I've never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students."

A hundred and fifty points lost. That put Gryffindor in last place. In
one night, they'd ruined any chance Gryffindor had had for the house
cup. Harry felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. How
could they ever make up for this?

Harry didn't sleep all night. He could hear Neville sobbing into his
pillow for what seemed like hours. Harry couldn't think of anything to
say to comfort him. He knew Neville, like himself, was dreading the
dawn. What would happen when the rest of Gryffindor found out what
they'd done?

At first, Gryffindors passing the giant hourglasses that recorded the
house points the next day thought there'd been a mistake. How could they
suddenly have a hundred and fifty points fewer than yesterday? And then
the story started to spread: Harry Potter, the famous Harry Potter,
their hero of two Quidditch matches, had lo st them all those points,
him and a couple of other stupid first years.

From being one of the most popular and admired people at the school,
Harry was suddenly the most hated. Even Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs
turned on him, because everyone had been longing to see Slytherin lose
the house cup. Everywhere Harry went, people pointed and didn't trouble
to lower their voices as they insulted him. Slytherins, on the other
hand, clapped as he walked past them, whistling and cheering, "Thanks
Potter, we owe you one!"

Only Ron stood by him.

"They'll all forget this in a few weeks. Fred and George have lost loads
of points in all the time they've been here, and people still like
them."

"They've never lost a hundred and fifty points in one go, though, have
they?" said Harry miserably.

"Well -- no," Ron admitted.

It was a bit late to repair the damage, but Harry swore to himself not
to meddle in things that weren't his business from now on. He'd had it
with sneaking around and spying. He felt so ashamed of himself that he
went to Wood and offered to resign from the Quidditch team.

"Resign?" Wood thundered. "What good'll that do? How are we going to get
any points back if we can't win at Quidditch?"

But even Quidditch had lost its fun. The rest of the team wouldn't speak
to Harry during practice, and if they had to speak about him, they
called him "the Seeker."

Hermione and Neville were suffering, too. They didn't have as bad a time
as Harry, because they weren't as well-known, but nobody would speak to
them, either. Hermione had stopped drawing attention to herself in
class, keeping her head down and working in silence.

Harry was almost glad that the exams weren't far away. All the studying
he had to do kept his mind off his misery. He, Ron, and Hermione kept to
themselves, working late into the night, trying to remember the
ingredients in complicated potions, learn charms and spells by heart,
memorize the dates of magical discoveries and goblin rebellions....

Then, about a week before the exams were due to start, Harry's new
resolution not to interfere in anything that didn't concern him was put
to an unexpected test. Walking back from the library on his own one
afternoon, he heard somebody whimpering from a classroom up ahead. As he
drew closer, he heard Quirrell's voice.

"No -- no -- not again, please --"

It sounded as though someone was threatening him. Harry moved closer.

"All right -- all right --" he heard Quirrell sob.

Next second, Quirrell came hurrying out of the classroom straightening
his turban. He was pale and looked as though he was about to cry. He
strode out of sight; Harry didn't think Quirrell had even noticed him.
He waited until Quirrell's footsteps had disappeared, then peered into
the classroom. It was empty, but a door stood ajar at the other end.
Harry was halfway toward it before he remembered what he'd promised
himself about not meddling.

All the same, he'd have gambled twelve Sorcerer's Stones that Snape had
just left the room, and from what Harry had just heard, Snape would be
walking with a new spring in his step -- Quirrell seemed to have given
in at last.

Harry went back to the library, where Hermione was testing Ron on
Astronomy. Harry told them what he'd heard.

"Snape's done it, then!" said Ron. "If Quirrell's told him how to break
his Anti-Dark Force spell --"

"There's still Fluffy, though," said Hermione.

"Maybe Snape's found out how to get past him without asking Hagrid,"
said Ron, looking up at the thousands of books surrounding them. "I bet
there's a book somewhere in here telling you how to get past a giant
three-headed dog. So what do we do, Harry?"

The light of adventure was kindling again in Ron's eyes, but Hermione
answered before Harry could.

"Go to Dumbledore. That's what we should have done ages ago. If we try
anything ourselves we'll be thrown out for sure."

"But we've got no proof!" said Harry. "Quirrell's too scared to back us
up. Snape's only got to say he doesn't know how the troll got in at
Halloween and that he was nowhere near the third floor -- who do you
think they'll believe, him or us? It's not exactly a secret we hate him,
Dumbledore'll think we made it up to get him sacked. Filch wouldn't help
us if his life depended on it, he's too friendly with Snape, and the
more students get thrown out, the better, he'll think. And don't forget,
we're not supposed to know about the Stone or Fluffy. That'll take a lot
of explaining."

Hermione looked convinced, but Ron didn't.

"If we just do a bit of poking around --"

"No," said Harry flatly, "we've done enough poking around."

He pulled a map of Jupiter toward him and started to learn the names of
its moons.

The following morning, notes were delivered to Harry, Hermione, and
Neville at the breakfast table. They were all the same:

Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch
in the entrance hall.

Professor McGonagall Harry had forgotten they still had detentions to do
in the furor over the points they'd lost. He half expected Hermione to
complain that this was a whole night of studying lost, but she didn't
say a word. Like Harry, she felt they deserved what they'd got.

At eleven o'clock that night, they said good-bye to Ron in the common
room and went down to the entrance hall with Neville. Filch was already
there -- and so was Malfoy. Harry had also forgotten that Malfoy had
gotten a detention, too.

"Follow me," said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside.

I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you,
eh?" he said, leering at them. "Oh yes... hard work and pain are the
best teachers if you ask me.... It's just a pity they let the old
punishments die out... hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a
few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in
case they're ever needed.... Right, off we go, and don't think of
running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do."

They marched off across the dark grounds. Neville kept sniffing. Harry
wondered what their punishment was going to be. It must be something
really horrible, or Filch wouldn't be sounding so delighted.

The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them
into darkness. Ahead, Harry could see the lighted windows of Hagrid's
hut. Then they heard a distant shout.

"Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started."

Harry's heart rose; if they were going to be working with Hagrid it
wouldn't be so bad. His relief must have showed in his -face, because
Filch said, "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that
oaf? Well, think again, boy -- it's into the forest you're going and I'm
much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."

At this, Neville let out a little moan, and Malfoy stopped dead in his
tracks.

"The forest?" he repeated, and he didn't sound quite as cool as usual.
"We can't go in there at night -- there's all sorts of things in there
-- werewolves, I heard."

Neville clutched the sleeve of Harry's robe and made a choking noise.

"That's your problem, isn't it?" said Filch, his voice cracking with
glee. "Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble,
shouldn't you?"

Hagrid came striding toward them out of the dark, Fang at his heel. He
was carrying his large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his
shoulder.

"Abou' time," he said. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All
right, Harry, Hermione?"

"I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid," said Filch coldly,
they're here to be punished, after all."

"That's why yer late, is it?" said Hagrid, frowning at Filch. "Bin
lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit,
I'll take over from here."

"I'll be back at dawn," said Filch, "for what's left of them," he added
nastily, and he turned and started back toward the castle, his lamp
bobbing away in the darkness.

Malfoy now turned to Hagrid.

"I'm not going in that forest, he said, and Harry was pleased to hear
the note of panic in his voice.

"Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," said Hagrid fiercely.
"Yeh've done wrong an' now yehve got ter pay fer it."

"But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do. I thought we'd
be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he'd

tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts," Hagrid growled. "Copyin' lines!
What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or Yeh'll get out.
If yeh think yer father'd rather you were expelled, then get back off
ter the castle an' pack. Go on"'

Malfoy didn't move. He looked at Hagrid furiously, but then dropped his
gaze.

"Right then," said Hagrid, "now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous
what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow
me over here a moment."

He led them to the very edge of the forest. Holding his lamp up high, he
pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the
thick black trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they looked into
the forest.

"Look there," said Hagrid, "see that stuff shinin' on the ground?
Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt
badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead
last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have
ter put it out of its misery."

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" said Malfoy,
unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with
me or Fang," said Hagrid. "An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're
gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent
directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin'
around since last night at least."

"I want Fang," said Malfoy quickly, looking at Fang's long teeth.

"All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward," said Hagrid. " So me, Harry,
an' Hermione'll go one way an' Draco, Neville, an' Fang'll go the other.
Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right?
Get yer wands out an' practice now -- that's it -- an' if anyone gets in
trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh -- so, be
careful -- let's go."

The forest was black and silent. A little way into it they reached a
fork in the earth path, and Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid took the left
path while Malfoy, Neville, and Fang took the right.

They walked in silence, their eyes on the ground. Every now and then a
ray of moonlight through the branches above lit a spot of silver-blue
blood on the fallen leaves.

Harry saw that Hagrid looked very worried.

"Could a werewolf be killing the unicorns?" Harry asked.

"Not fast enough," said Hagrid. "It's not easy ter catch a unicorn,
they're powerful magic creatures. I never knew one ter be hurt before."

They walked past a mossy tree stump. Harry could hear running water;
there must be a stream somewhere close by. There were still spots of
unicorn blood here and there along the winding path.

"You all right, Hermione?" Hagrid whispered. "Don' worry, it can't've
gone far if it's this badly hurt, an' then we'll be able ter -- GET
BEHIND THAT TREE!"

Hagrid seized Harry and Hermione and hoisted them off the path behind a
towering oak. He pulled out an arrow and fitted it into his crossbow,
raising it, ready to fire. The three of them listened. Something was
slithering over dead leaves nearby: it sounded like a cloak trailing
along the ground. Hagrid was squinting up the dark path, but after a few
seconds, the sound faded away.

"I knew it, " he murmured. "There's summat in here that shouldn' be."

"A werewolf?" Harry suggested.

"That wasn' no werewolf an' it wasn' no unicorn, neither," said Hagrid
grimly. "Right, follow me, but careful, now."

They walked more slowly, ears straining for the faintest sound.
Suddenly, in a clearing ahead, something definitely moved.

"Who's there?" Hagrid called. "Show yerself -- I'm armed!"

And into the clearing came -- was it a man, or a horse? To the waist, a
man, with red hair and beard, but below that was a horse's gleaming
chestnut body with a long, reddish tail. Harry and Hermione's jaws
dropped.

"Oh, it's you, Ronan," said Hagrid in relief. "How are yeh?"

He walked forward and shook the centaur's hand.

"Good evening to you, Hagrid," said Ronan. He had a deep, sorrowful
voice. "Were you going to shoot me?"

"Can't be too careful, Ronan," said Hagrid, patting his crossbow.
"There's summat bad loose in this forest. This is Harry Potter an'
Hermione Granger, by the way. Students up at the school. An' this is
Ronan, you two. He's a centaur.))

"We'd noticed," said Hermione faintly.

"Good evening," said Ronan. "Students, are you? And do you learn much,
up at the school?"

"Erm --"

"A bit," said Hermione timidly.

"A bit. Well, that's something." Ronan sighed. He flung back his head
and stared at the sky. "Mars is bright tonight."

"Yeah," said Hagrid, glancing up, too. "Listen, I'm glad we've run inter
yeh, Ronan, 'cause there's a unicorn bin hurt -- you seen anythin'?"

Ronan didn't answer immediately. He stared unblinkingly upward, then
sighed again.

"Always the innocent are the first victims," he said. "So it has been
for ages past, so it is now."

"Yeah," said Hagrid, "but have yeh seen anythin', Ronan? Anythin'
unusual?"

"Mars is bright tonight," Ronan repeated, while Hagrid watched him
impatiently. "Unusually bright."

"Yeah, but I was meanin' anythin' unusual a bit nearer home, said
Hagrid. "So yeh haven't noticed anythin' strange?"

Yet again, Ronan took a while to answer. At last, he said, "The forest
hides many secrets."

A movement in the trees behind Ronan made Hagrid raise his bow again,
but it was only a second centaur, black-haired and -bodied and
wilder-looking than Ronan.

"Hullo, Bane," said Hagrid. "All right?"

"Good evening, Hagrid, I hope you are well?"

"Well enough. Look, I've jus' bin askin' Ronan, you seen anythin' odd in
here lately? There's a unicorn bin injured -- would yeh know anythin'
about it?"

Bane walked over to stand next to Ronan. He looked skyward. "Mars is
bright tonight," he said simply.

"We've heard," said Hagrid grumpily. "Well, if either of you do see
anythin', let me know, won't yeh? We'll be off, then."

Harry and Hermione followed him out of the clearing, staring over their
shoulders at Ronan and Bane until the trees blocked their view.

"Never," said Hagrid irritably, "try an' get a straight answer out of a
centaur. Ruddy stargazers. Not interested in anythin' closer'n the
moon."

"Are there many of them in here?" asked Hermione.

"Oh, a fair few... Keep themselves to themselves mostly, but they're
good enough about turnin' up if ever I want a word. They're deep, mind,
centaurs... they know things... jus' don' let on much."

"D'you think that was a centaur we heard earlier?" said Harry.

"Did that sound like hooves to you? Nah, if yeh ask me, that was what's
bin killin' the unicorns -- never heard anythin' like it before."

They walked on through the dense, dark trees. Harry kept looking
nervously over his shoulder. He had the nasty feeling they were being
watched. He was very glad they had Hagrid and his crossbow with them.
They had just passed a bend in the path when Hermione grabbed Hagrid's
arm.

"Hagrid! Look! Red sparks, the others are in trouble!"

"You two wait here!" Hagrid shouted. "Stay on the path, I'll come back
for yeh!"

They heard him crashing away through the undergrowth and stood looking
at each other, very scared, until they couldn't hear anything but the
rustling of leaves around them.

"You don't think they've been hurt, do you?" whispered Hermione.

"I don't care if Malfoy has, but if something's got Neville... it's our
fault he's here in the first place."

The minutes dragged by. Their ears seemed sharper than usual. Harry's
seemed to be picking up every sigh of the wind, every cracking twig.
What was going on? Where were the others?

At last, a great crunching noise announced Hagrid's return. Malfoy,
Neville, and Fang were with him. Hagrid was fuming. Malfoy, it seemed,
had sneaked up behind Neville and grabbed him as a joke. Neville had
panicked and sent up the sparks.

"We'll be lucky ter catch anythin' now, with the racket you two were
makin'. Right, we're changin' groups -- Neville, you stay with me an'
Hermione, Harry, you go with Fang an' this idiot. I'm sorry," Hagrid
added in a whisper to Harry, "but he'll have a harder time frightenin'
you, an' we've gotta get this done."

So Harry set off into the heart of the forest with Malfoy and Fang. They
walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until
the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so
thick. Harry thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker. There were
splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been
thrashing around in pain close by. Harry could see a clearing ahead,
through the tangled branches of an ancient oak.

"Look --" he murmured, holding out his arm to stop Malfoy.

Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.

It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Harry had never seen
anything so beautiful and sad. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at
odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on
the dark leaves.

Harry had taken one step toward it when a slithering sound made him
freeze where he stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered....
Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the
ground like some stalking beast. Harry, Malfoy, and Fang stood
transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head
over the wound in the animal's side, and began to drink its blood.

"AAAAAAAAAARGH!"

Malfoy let out a terrible scream and bolted -- so did Fang. The hooded
figure raised its head and looked right at Harry -- unicorn blood was
dribbling down its front. It got to its feet and came swiftly toward
Harry -- he couldn't move for fear.

Then a pain like he'd never felt before pierced his head; it was as
though his scar were on fire. Half blinded, he staggered backward. He
heard hooves behind him, galloping, and something jumped clean over
Harry, charging at the figure.

The pain in Harry's head was so bad he fell to his knees. It took a
minute or two to pass. When he looked up, the figure had gone. A centaur
was standing over him, not Ronan or Bane; this one looked younger; he
had white-blond hair and a palomino body.

"Are you all right?" said the centaur, pulling Harry to his feet.

"Yes -- thank you -- what was that?"

The centaur didn't answer. He had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale
sapphires. He looked carefully at Harry, his eyes lingering on the scar
that stood out, livid, on Harry's forehead.

"You are the Potter boy," he said. "You had better get back to Hagrid.
The forest is not safe at this time -- especially for you. Can you ride?
It will be quicker this way.

"My name is Firenze," he added, as he lowered himself on to his front
legs so that Harry could clamber onto his back.

There was suddenly a sound of more galloping from the other side of the
clearing. Ronan and Bane came bursting through the trees, their flanks
heaving and sweaty.

"Firenze!" Bane thundered. "What are you doing? You have a human on your
back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?"

"Do you realize who this is?" said Firenze. "This is the Potter boy. The
quicker he leaves this forest, the better."

"What have you been telling him?" growled Bane. "Remember, Firenze, we
are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read
what is to come in the movements of the planets?"

Ronan pawed the ground nervously. "I'm sure Firenze thought he was
acting for the best, " he said in his gloomy voice.

Bane kicked his back legs in anger.

"For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with
what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like
donkeys after stray humans in our forest!"

Firenze suddenly reared on to his hind legs in anger, so that Harry had
to grab his shoulders to stay on.

"Do you not see that unicorn?" Firenze bellowed at Bane. "Do you not
understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that
secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes,
with humans alongside me if I must."

And Firenze whisked around; with Harry clutching on as best he could,
they plunged off into the trees, leaving Ronan and Bane behind them.

Harry didn't have a clue what was going on.

"Why's Bane so angry?" he asked. "What was that thing you saved me from,
anyway?"

Firenze slowed to a walk, warned Harry to keep his head bowed in case of
low-hanging branches, but did not answer Harry's question. They made
their way through the trees in silence for so long that Harry thought
Firenze didn't want to talk to him anymore. They were passing through a
particularly dense patch of trees, however, when Firenze suddenly
stopped.

"Harry Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used -for?"

"No," said Harry, startled by the odd question. "We've only used the
horn and tail hair in Potions."

"That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," said
Firenze. "Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain,
would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive,
even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have
slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have
but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your
lips."

Harry stared at the back of Firenze's head, which was dappled silver in
the moonlight.

"But who'd be that desperate?" he wondered aloud. "If you're going to be
cursed forever, deaths better, isn't it?"

"It is," Firenze agreed, "unless all you need is to stay alive long
enough to drink something else -- something that will bring you back to
full strength and power -- something that will mean you can never die.
Mr. Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very
moment?"

"The Sorcerer's Stone! Of course -- the Elixir of Life! But I don't
understand who --"

"Can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power,
who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?"

It was as though an iron fist had clenched suddenly around Harry's
heart. Over the rustling of the trees, he seemed to hear once more what
Hagrid had told him on the night they had met: "Some say he died.
Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to
die."

"Do you mean," Harry croaked, "that was Vol-"

"Harry! Harry, are you all right?"

Hermione was running toward them down the path, Hagrid puffing along
behind her.

"I'm fine," said Harry, hardly knowing what he was saying. "The
unicorn's dead, Hagrid, it's in that clearing back there."

"This is where I leave you," Firenze murmured as Hagrid hurried off to
examine the unicorn. "You are safe now."

Harry slid off his back.

"Good luck, Harry Potter," said Firenze. "The planets have been read
wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those
times."

He turned and cantered back into the depths of the forest, leaving Harry
shivering behind him.

Ron had fallen asleep in the dark common room, waiting for them to
return. He shouted something about Quidditch fouls when Harry roughly
shook him awake. In a matter of seconds, though, he was wide-eyed as
Harry began to tell him and Hermione what had happened in the forest.

Harry couldn't sit down. He paced up and down in front of the fire. He
was still shaking.

"Snape wants the stone for Voldemort... and Voldemort's waiting in the
forest... and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get
rich...."

"Stop saying the name!" said Ron in a terrified whisper, as if he
thought Voldemort could hear them.

Harry wasn't listening.

"Firenze saved me, but he shouldn't have done so.... Bane was furious...
he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to
happen.... They must show that Voldemort's coming back.... Bane thinks
Firenze should have let Voldemort kill me.... I suppose that's written
in the stars as well."

"Will you stop saying the name!" Ron hissed.

"So all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone," Harry
went on feverishly, "then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me
off... Well, I suppose Bane'll be happy."

Hermione looked very frightened, but she had a word of comfort.

"Harry, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever
afraid of With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you. Anyway,
who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me,
and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."

The sky had turned light before they stopped talking. They went to bed
exhausted, their throats sore. But the night's surprises weren't over.

When Harry pulled back his sheets, he found his invisibility cloak
folded neatly underneath them. There was a note pinned to it:

Just in case.


CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THROUGH THE TRAPDOOR

In years to come, Harry would never quite remember how he had managed to
get through his exams when he half expected Voldemort to come bursting
through the door at any moment. Yet the days crept by, and there could
be no doubt that Fluffy was still alive and well behind the locked door.

It was sweltering hot, especially in the large classroom where they did
their written papers. They had been given special, new quills for the
exams, which had been bewitched with an AntiCheating spell.

They had practical exams as well. Professor Flitwick called them one by
one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tapdance across
a desk. Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuffbox
-- points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but taken away if
it had whiskers. Snape made them all nervous, breathing down their necks
while they tried to remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion.

Harry did the best he could, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in his
forehead, which had been bothering him ever since his trip into the
forest. Neville thought Harry had a bad case of exam nerves because
Harry couldn't sleep, but the truth was that Harry kept being woken by
his old nightmare, except that it was now worse than ever because there
was a hooded figure dripping blood in it.

Maybe it was because they hadn't seen what Harry had seen in the forest,
or because they didn't have scars burning on their foreheads, but Ron
and Hermione didn't seem as worried about the Stone as Harry. The idea
of Voldemort certainly scared them, but he didn't keep visiting them in
dreams, and they were so busy with their studying they didn't have much
time to fret about what Snape or anyone else might be up to.

Their very last exam was History of Magic. One hour of answering
questions about batty old wizards who'd invented selfstirring cauldrons
and they'd be free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam
results came out. When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put
down their quills and roll up their parchment, Harry couldn't help
cheering with the rest.

"That was far easier than I thought it would be," said Hermione as they
joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds. "I needn't have
learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of
Elfric the Eager."

Hermione always liked to go through their exam papers afterward, but Ron
said this made him feel ill, so they wandered down to the lake and
flopped under a tree. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were tickling the
tentacles of a giant squid, which was basking in the warm shallows. "No
more studying," Ron sighed happily, stretching out on the grass. "You
could look more cheerful, Harry, we've got a week before we find out how
badly we've done, there's no need to worry yet."

Harry was rubbing his forehead.

"I wish I knew what this means!" he burst out angrily. "My scar keeps
hurting -- it's happened before, but never as often as this."

"Go to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione suggested.

"I'm not ill," said Harry. "I think it's a warning... it means danger's
coming...."

Ron couldn't get worked up, it was too hot.

"Harry, relax, Hermione's right, the Stone's safe as long as
Dumbledore's around. Anyway, we've never had any proof Snape found out
how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he's not
going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for
England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down."

Harry nodded, but he couldn't shake off a lurking feeling that there was
something he'd forgotten to do, something important. When he tried to
explain this, Hermione said, "That's just the exams. I woke up last
night and was halfway through my Transfiguration notes before I
remembered we'd done that one."

Harry was quite sure the unsettled feeling didn't have anything to do
with work, though. He watched an owl flutter toward the school across
the bright blue sky, a note clamped in its mouth. Hagrid was the only
one who ever sent him letters. Hagrid would never betray Dumbledore.
Hagrid would never tell anyone how to get past Fluffy... never... but --

Harry suddenly jumped to his feet.

"Where're you going?" said Ron sleepily.

"I've just thought of something," said Harry. He had turned white.
"We've got to go and see Hagrid, now."

"Why?" panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up.

"Don't you think it's a bit odd," said Harry, scrambling up the grassy
slope, "that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and
a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How
many people wander around with dragon eggs if it's against wizard law?
Lucky they found Hagrid, don't you think? Why didn't I see it before?"

"What are you talking about?" said Ron, but Harry, sprinting across the
grounds toward the forest, didn't answer.

Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers and
sleeves were rolled up, and he was shelling peas into a large bowl.

"Hullo," he said, smiling. "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"

"Yes, please," said Ron, but Harry cut him off.

"No, we're in a hurry. Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know
that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards
with look like?"

"Dunno," said Hagrid casually, "he wouldn' take his cloak off."

He saw the three of them look stunned and raised his eyebrows.

"It's not that unusual, yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head --
that's the pub down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn'
he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up."

Harry sank down next to the bowl of peas. "What did you talk to him
about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?"

"Mighta come up," said Hagrid, frowning as he tried to remember.
"Yeah... he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here....
He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I took after... so I told
him... an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon... an'
then... I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks....
Let's see... yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play
cards fer it if I wanted... but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he
didn' want it ter go ter any old home.... So I told him, after Fluffy, a
dragon would be easy..."

"And did he -- did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Harry asked, try ing
to keep his voice calm.

"Well -- yeah -- how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around
Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to
calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off
ter sleep --"

Hagrid suddenly looked horrified.

"I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" he blurted out. "Forget I said it! Hey --
where're yeh goin'?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn't speak to each other at all until they
came to a halt in the entrance hall, which seemed very cold and gloomy
after the grounds.

"We've got to go to Dumbledore," said Harry. "Hagrid told that stranger
how to get past Fluffy, and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that
cloak -- it must've been easy, once he'd got Hagrid drunk. I just hope
Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn't stop
him. Where's Dumbledore's office?"

They looked around, as if hoping to see a sign pointing them in the
right direction. They had never been told where Dumbledore lived, nor
did they know anyone who had been sent to see him.

"We'll just have to --" Harry began, but a voice suddenly rang across
the hall.

"What are you three doing inside?"

It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

"We want to see Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione, rather bravely,
Harry and Ron thought.

"See Professor Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall repeated, as though
this was a very fishy thing to want to do. "Why?"

Harry swallowed -- now what?

"It's sort of secret," he said, but he wished at once he hadn't, because
Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared.

"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she said coldly. "He
received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for
London at once."

"He's gone?" said Harry frantically. "Now?"

"Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter, he has many
demands on his time --

"But this is important."

"Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic,
Potter.

"Look," said Harry, throwing caution to the winds, "Professor -- it's
about the Sorcerer's tone --"

Whatever Professor McGonagall had expected, it wasn't that. The books
she was carrying tumbled out of her arms, but she didn't pick them up.
"How do you know --?" she spluttered.

"Professor, I think -- I know -- that Sn- that someone's going to try
and steal the Stone. I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore."

She eyed him with a mixture of shock and suspicion.

"Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow," she said finally. I don't
know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can
possibly steal it, it's too well protected."

"But Professor --"

"Potter, I know what I'm talking about," she said shortly. She bent down
and gathered up the fallen books. I suggest you all go back outside and
enjoy the sunshine."

But they didn't.

"It's tonight," said Harry, once he was sure Professor McGonagall was
out of earshot. "Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found
out everything he needs, and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way. He
sent that note, I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when
Dumbledore turns up."

"But what can we --"

Hermione gasped. Harry and Ron wheeled round.

Snape was standing there.

"Good afternoon," he said smoothly.

They stared at him.

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he said, with an odd,
twisted smile.

"We were --" Harry began, without any idea what he was going to say.

"You want to be more careful," said Snape. "Hanging around

like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor
really can't afford to lose any more points, can it?"

Harry flushed. They turned to go outside, but Snape called them back.

"Be warned, Potter -- any more nighttime wanderings and I will
personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you."

He strode off in the direction of the staffroom.

Out on the stone steps, Harry turned to the others.

"Right, here's what we've got to do," he whispered urgently. "One of us
has got to keep an eye on Snape -- wait outside the staff room and
follow him if he leaves it. Hermione, you'd better do that."

"Why me?"

"It's obvious," said Ron. "You can pretend to be waiting for Professor
Flitwick, you know." He put on a high voice, "'Oh Professor Flitwick,
I'm so worried, I think I got question fourteen b wrong....'"

"Oh, shut up," said Hermione, but she agreed to go and watch out for
Snape.

"And we'd better stay outside the third-floor corridor," Harry told Ron.
"Come on."

But that part of the plan didn't work. No sooner had they reached the
door separating Fluffy from the rest of the school than Professor
McGonagall turned up again and this time, she lost her temper.

"I suppose you think you're harder to get past than a pack of
enchantments!" she stormed. "Enough of this nonsense! If I hear you 've
come anywhere near here again, I'll take another fifty points from
Gryffindor! Yes, Weasley, from my own house!" Harry and Ron went back to
the common room, Harry had just said, "At least Hermione's on Snape's
tail," when the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open and Hermione came
in.

"I'm sorry, Harry!" she wailed. "Snape came out and asked me what I was
doing, so I said I was waiting for Flitwick, and Snape went to get him,
and I've only just got away, I don't know where Snape went."

"Well, that's it then, isn't it?" Harry said.

The other two stared at him. He was pale and his eyes were glittering.

"I'm going out of here tonight and I'm going to try and get to the Stone
first."

"You're mad!" said Ron.

"You can't!" said Hermione. "After what McGonagall and Snape have said?
You'll be expelled!"

"SO WHAP" Harry shouted. "Don't you understand? If Snape gets hold of
the Stone, Voldemort's coming back! Haven't you heard what it was like
when he was trying to take over? There won't be any Hogwarts to get
expelled from! He'll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark
Arts! Losing points doesn't matter anymore, can't you see? D'you think
he'll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor wins the house
cup? If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I'll have to
go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find me there, it's
only dying a bit later than I would have, because I'm never going over
to the Dark Side! I'm going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing
you two say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed my parents, remember?"

He glared at them.

"You're right Harry," said Hermione in a small voice.

"I'll use the invisibility cloak," said Harry. "It's just lucky I got it
back."

"But will it cover all three of us?" said Ron.

"All -- all three of us?"

"Oh, come off it, you don't think we'd let you go alone?"

"Of course not," said Hermione briskly. "How do you think you'd get to
the Stone without us? I'd better go and took through my books, there
might be something useful..."

"But if we get caught, you two will be expelled, too."

"Not if I can help it," said Hermione grimly. "Flitwick told me in
secret that I got a hundred and twelve percent on his exam. They're not
throwing me out after that."

After dinner the three of them sat nervously apart in the common room.
Nobody bothered them; none of the Gryffindors had anything to say to
Harry any more, after all. This was the first night he hadn't been upset
by it. Hermione was skimming through all her notes, hoping to come
across one of the enchantments they were about to try to break. Harry
and Ron didn't talk much. Both of them were thinking about what they
were about to do.

Slowly, the room emptied as people drifted off to bed.

"Better get the cloak," Ron muttered, as Lee Jordan finally left,
stretching and yawning. Harry ran upstairs to their dark dormitory. He
putted out the cloak and then his eyes fell on the flute Hagrid had
given him for Christmas. He pocketed it to use on Fluffy -- he didn't
feel much like singing.

He ran back down to the common room.

"We'd better put the cloak on here, and make sure it covers all three of
us -- if Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own --"

"What are you doing?" said a voice from the corner of the room. Neville
appeared from behind an armchair, clutching Trevor the toad, who looked
as though he'd been making another bid for freedom.

"Nothing, Neville, nothing," said Harry, hurriedly putting the cloak
behind his back.

Neville stared at their guilty faces.

"You're going out again," he said.

"No, no, no," said Hermione. "No, we're not. Why don't you go to bed,
Neville?"

Harry looked at the grandfather clock by the door. They couldn't afford
to waste any more time, Snape might even now be playing Fluffy to sleep.

"You can't go out," said Neville, "you'll be caught again. Gryffindor
will be in even more trouble."

"You don't understand," said Harry, "this is important."

But Neville was clearly steeling himself to do something desperate.

I won't let you do it," he said, hurrying to stand in front of the
portrait hole. "I'll -- I'll fight you!"

"Neville, "Ron exploded, "get away from that hole and don't be an idiot
--"

"Don't you call me an idiot!" said Neville. I don't think you should be
breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to
people!"

"Yes, but not to us," said Ron in exasperation. "Neville, you don't know
what you're doing."

He took a step forward and Neville dropped Trevor the toad, who leapt
out of sight.

"Go on then, try and hit me!" said Neville, raising his fists. "I'm
ready!"

Harry turned to Hermione.

"Do something," he said desperately.

Hermione stepped forward.

"Neville," she said, "I'm really, really sorry about this."

She raised her wand.

"Petrificus Totalus!" she cried, pointing it at Neville.

Neville's arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole
body rigid, he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face,
stiff as a board.

Hermione ran to turn him over. Neville's jaws were jammed together so he
couldn't speak. Only his eyes were moving, looking at them in horror.

"What've you done to him?" Harry whispered.

"It's the full Body-Bind," said Hermione miserably. "Oh, Neville, I'm so
sorry."

"We had to, Neville, no time to explain," said Harry.

"You'll understand later, Neville," said Ron as they stepped over him
and pulled on the invisibility cloak.

But leaving Neville lying motionless on the floor didn't feel like a
very good omen. In their nervous state, every statue's shadow looked
like Filch, every distant breath of wind sounded like Peeves swooping
down on them. At the foot of the first set of stairs, they spotted Mrs.
Norris skulking near the top.

"Oh, let's kick her, just this once," Ron whispered in Harry's ear, but
Harry shook his head. As they climbed carefully around her, Mrs. Norris
turned her lamplike eyes on them, but didn't do anything.

They didn't meet anyone else until they reached the staircase up to the
third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that
people would trip.

"Who's there?" he said suddenly as they climbed toward him. He narrowed
his wicked black eyes. "Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are
you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?"

He rose up in the air and floated there, squinting at them.

"Should call Filch, I should, if something's a-creeping around unseen."

Harry had a sudden idea.

"Peeves," he said, in a hoarse whisper, "the Bloody Baron has his own
reasons for being invisible."

Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself in time
and hovered about a foot off the stairs.

"So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, Sir," he said greasily. "My
mistake, my mistake -- I didn't see you -- of course I didn't, you're
invisible -- forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir."

"I have business here, Peeves," croaked Harry. "Stay away from this
place tonight."

"I will, sir, I most certainly will," said Peeves, rising up in the air
again. "Hope your business goes well, Baron, I'll not bother you."

And he scooted off

"Brilliant, Harry!" whispered Ron.

A few seconds later, they were there, outside the third-floor corridor
-- and the door was already ajar.

"Well, there you are," Harry said quietly, "Snape's already got past
Fluffy."

Seeing the open door somehow seemed to impress upon all three of them
what was facing them. Underneath the cloak, Harry turned to the other
two.

"If you want to go back, I won't blame you," he said. "You can take the
cloak, I won't need it now."

"Don't be stupid," said Ron.

"We're coming," said Hermione.

Harry pushed the door open.

As the door creaked, low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of
the dog's noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though it
couldn't see them.

"What's that at its feet?" Hermione whispered.

"Looks like a harp," said Ron. "Snape must have left it there."

"It must wake up the moment you stop playing," said Harry. "Well, here
goes..."

He put Hagrid's flute to his lips and blew. It wasn't really a tune, but
from the first note the beast's eyes began to droop. Harry hardly drew
breath. Slowly, the dog's growls ceased -- it tottered on its paws and
fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

"Keep playing," Ron warned Harry as they slipped out of the cloak and
crept toward the trapdoor. They could feel the dog's hot, smelly breath
as they approached the giant heads. "I think we'll be able to pull the
door open," said Ron, peering over the dog's back. "Want to go first,
Hermione?"

"No, I don't!"

"All right." Ron gritted his teeth and stepped carefully over the dog's
legs. He bent and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and
open.

"What can you see?" Hermione said anxiously.

"Nothing -- just black -- there's no way of climbing down, we'll just
have to drop."

Harry, who was still playing the flute, waved at Ron to get his
attention and pointed at himself.

"You want to go first? Are you sure?" said Ron. "I don't know how deep
this thing goes. Give the flute to Hermione so she can keep him asleep."

Harry handed the flute over. In the few seconds' silence, the dog
growled and twitched, but the moment Hermione began to play, it fell
back into its deep sleep.

Harry climbed over it and looked down through the trapdoor. There was no
sign of the bottom.

He lowered himself through the hole until he was hanging on by his
fingertips. Then he looked up at Ron and said, "If anything happens to
me, don't follow. Go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to
Dumbledore, right?"

"Right," said Ron.

"See you in a minute, I hope...

And Harry let go. Cold, damp air rushed past him as he fell down, down,
down and -- FLUMP. With a funny, muffled sort of thump he landed on
something soft. He sat up and felt around, his eyes not used to the
gloom. It felt as though he was sitting on some sort of plant.

"It's okay!" he called up to the light the size of a postage stamp,
which was the open trapdoor, "it's a soft landing, you can jump!"

Ron followed right away. He landed, sprawled next to Harry.

"What's this stuff?" were his first words.

"Dunno, some sort of plant thing. I suppose it's here to break the fall.
Come on, Hermione!"

The distant music stopped. There was a loud bark from the dog, but
Hermione had already jumped. She landed on Harry's other side.

"We must be miles under the school , she said.

"Lucky this plant thing's here, really," said Ron.

"Lucky!" shrieked Hermione. "Look at you both!"

She leapt up and struggled toward a damp wall. She had to struggle
because the moment she had landed, the plant had started to twist
snakelike tendrils around her ankles. As for Harry and Ron, their legs
had already been bound tightly in long creepers without their noticing.

Hermione had managed to free herself before the plant got a firm grip on
her. Now she watched in horror as the two boys fought to pull the plant
off them, but the more they strained against it, the tighter and faster
the plant wound around them.

"Stop moving!" Hermione ordered them. "I know what this is -- it's
Devil's Snare!"

"Oh, I'm so glad we know what it's called, that's a great help," snarled
Ron, leaning back, trying to stop the plant from curling around his
neck. "Shut up, I'm trying to remember how to kill it!" said Hermione.

"Well, hurry up, I can't breathe!" Harry gasped, wrestling with it as it
curled around his chest.

"Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare... what did Professor Sprout say? -- it
likes the dark and the damp

"So light a fire!" Harry choked.

"Yes -- of course -- but there's no wood!" Hermione cried, wringing her
hands.

"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?" Ron bellowed. "ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?"

"Oh, right!" said Hermione, and she whipped out her wand, waved it,
muttered something, and sent a jet of the same bluebell flames she had
used on Snape at the plant. In a matter of seconds, the two boys felt it
loosening its grip as it cringed away from the light and warmth.
Wriggling and flailing, it unraveled itself from their bodies, and they
were able to pull free.

"Lucky you pay attention in Herbology, Hermione," said Harry as he
joined her by the wall, wiping sweat off his face.

"Yeah," said Ron, "and lucky Harry doesn't lose his head in a crisis --
'there's no wood,' honestly."

"This way," said Harry, pointing down a stone passageway, which was the
only way forward.

All they could hear apart from their footsteps was the gentle drip of
water trickling down the walls. The passageway sloped downward, and
Harry was reminded of Gringotts. With an unpleasant jolt of the heart,
he remembered the dragons said to be guarding vaults in the wizards'
bank. If they met a dragon, a fully-grown dragon -- Norbert had been bad
enough...

"Can you hear something?" Ron whispered.

Harry listened. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up
ahead.

"Do you think it's a ghost?"

"I don't know... sounds like wings to me."

"There's light ahead -- I can see something moving."

They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly
lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. It was full of small,
jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the
opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.

"Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?" said Ron.

"Probably," said Harry. "They don't look very vicious, but I suppose if
they all swooped down at once... well, there's no other choice... I'll
run."

He took a deep breath, covered his face with his arms, and sprinted
across the room. He expected to feel sharp beaks and claws tearing at
him any second, but nothing happened. He reached the door untouched. He
pulled the handle, but it was locked.

The other two followed him. They tugged and heaved at the door, but it
wouldn't budge, not even when Hermione tried her Alohomora charm.

"Now what?" said Ron.

"These birds... they can't be here just for decoration," said Hermione.

They watched the birds soaring overhead, glittering -- glittering?

"They're not birds!" Harry said suddenly. "They're keys! Winged keys --
look carefully. So that must mean..." he looked around the chamber while
the other two squinted up at the flock of keys. "... yes -- look!
Broomsticks! We've got to catch the key to the door!"

"But there are hundreds of them!"

Ron examined the lock on the door.

"We're looking for a big, old-fashioned one -- probably silver, like the
handle."

They each seized a broomstick and kicked off into the air, soaring into
the midst of the cloud of keys. They grabbed and snatched, but the
bewitched keys darted and dived so quickly it was almost impossible to
catch one.

Not for nothing, though, was Harry the youngest Seeker in a century. He
had a knack for spotting things other people didn't. After a minute's
weaving about through the whirl of rainbow feathers, he noticed a large
silver key that had a bent wing, as if it had already been caught and
stuffed roughly into the keyhole.

"That one!" he called to the others. "That big one -- there -- no, there
-- with bright blue wings -- the feathers are all crumpled on one side."

Ron went speeding in the direction that Harry was pointing, crashed into
the ceiling, and nearly fell off his broom.

"We've got to close in on it!" Harry called, not taking his eyes off the
key with the damaged wing. "Ron, you come at it from above -- Hermione,
stay below and stop it from going down and I'll try and catch it. Right,
NOW!"

Ron dived, Hermione rocketed upward, the key dodged them both, and Harry
streaked after it; it sped toward the wall, Harry leaned forward and
with a nasty, crunching noise, pinned it against the stone with one
hand. Ron and Hermione's cheers echoed around the high chamber.

They landed quickly, and Harry ran to the door, the key struggling in
his hand. He rammed it into the lock and turned -- it worked. The moment
the lock had clicked open, the key took flight again, looking very
battered now that it had been caught twice.

"Ready?" Harry asked the other two, his hand on the door handle. They
nodded. He pulled the door open.

The next chamber was so dark they couldn't see anything at all. But as
they stepped into it, light suddenly flooded the room to reveal an
astonishing sight.

They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black
chessmen, which were all taller than they were and carved from what
looked like black stone. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the
white pieces. Harry, Ron and Hermione shivered slightly -- the towering
white chessmen had no faces.

"Now what do we do?" Harry whispered.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Ron. "We've got to play our way across
the room."

Behind the white pieces they could see another door.

"How?" said Hermione nervously.

"I think," said Ron, "we're going to have to be chessmen."

He walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the
knight's horse. At once, the stone sprang to life. The horse pawed the
ground and the knight turned his helmeted head to look down at Ron.

"Do we -- er -- have to join you to get across?" The black knight
nodded. Ron turned to the other two.

"This needs thinking about 	he said. I suppose we've got to take the
place of three of the black pieces...."

Harry and Hermione stayed quiet, watching Ron think. Finally he said,
"Now, don't be offended or anything, but neither of you are that good at
chess --"

"We're not offended," said Harry quickly. "Just tell us what to do."

"Well, Harry, you take the place of that bishop, and Hermione, YOU 90
next to him instead of that castle."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to be a knight," said Ron.

The chessmen seemed to have been listening, because at these words a
knight, a bishop, and a castle turned their backs on the white pieces
and walked off the board, leaving three empty squares that Harry, Ron,
and Hermione took.

"White always plays first in chess," said Ron, peering across the board.
"Yes... look..."

A white pawn had moved forward two squares.

Ron started to direct the black pieces. They moved silently wherever he
sent them. Harry's knees were trembling. What if they lost?

"Harry -- move diagonally four squares to the right."

Their first real shock came when their other knight was taken. The white
queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board, where he
lay quite still, facedown.

"Had to let that happen," said Ron, looking shaken. "Leaves you free to
take that bishop, Hermione, go on."

Every time one of their men was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy.
Soon there was a huddle of limp black players slumped along the wall.
Twice, Ron only just noticed in time that Harry and Hermione were in
danger. He himself darted around the board, taking almost as many white
pieces as they had lost black ones.

"We're nearly there," he muttered suddenly. "Let me think let me
think..."

The white queen turned her blank face toward him.

"Yes..." said Ron softly, "It's the only way... I've got to be taken."

"NOF Harry and Hermione shouted.

"That's chess!" snapped Ron. "You've got to make some sacrifices! I take
one step forward and she'll take me -- that leaves you free to checkmate
the king, Harry!"

"But --"

"Do you want to stop Snape or not?"

"Ron --"

"Look, if you don't hurry up, he'll already have the Stone!"

There was no alternative.

"Ready?" Ron called, his face pale but determined. "Here I go - now,
don't hang around once you've won."

He stepped forward, and the white queen pounced. She struck Ron hard
across the head with her stone arm, and he crashed to the floor -
Hermione screamed but stayed on her square - the white queen dragged Ron
to one side. He looked as if he'd been knocked out.

Shaking, Harry moved three spaces to the left.

The white king took off his crown and threw it at Harry's feet. They had
won. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. With
one last desperate look back at Ron, Harry and Hermione charged through
the door and up the next passageway.

"What if he's --?"

"He'll be all right," said Harry, trying to convince himself. "What do
you reckon's next?"

"We've had Sprout's, that was the Devil's Snare; Flitwick must've put
charms on the keys; McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them
alive; that leaves Quirrell's spell, and Snape's."

They had reached another door.

"All right?" Harry whispered.

"Go on."

Harry pushed it open.

A disgusting smell filled their nostrils, making both of them pull their
robes up over their noses. Eyes watering, they saw, flat on the floor in
front of them, a troll even larger than the one they had tackled, out
cold with a bloody lump on its head.

"I'm glad we didn't have to fight that one," Harry whispered as they
stepped carefully over one of its massive legs. "Come on, I can't
breathe."

He pulled open the next door, both of them hardly daring to look at what
came next - but there was nothing very frightening in here, just a table
with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.

"Snape's," said Harry. "What do we have to do?"

They stepped over the threshold, and immediately a fire sprang up behind
them in the doorway. It wasn't ordinary fire either; it was purple. At
the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward.
They were trapped.

"Look!" Hermione seized a roll of paper lying next to the bottles. Harry
looked over her shoulder to read it:

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, which ever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting bidden in line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;

Second, different are those who stand at either end,

But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,

Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Hermione let out a great sigh and Harry, amazed, saw that she was
smiling, the very last thing he felt like doing.

"Brilliant," said Hermione. "This isn't magic -- it's logic -- a puzzle.
A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be
stuck in here forever."

"But so will we, won't we?" "Of course not," said Hermione. "Everything
we need is here on this paper. Seven bottles: three are poison; two are
wine; one will get us safely through the black fire, and one will get us
back through the purple."

"But how do we know which to drink?"

"Give me a minute."

Hermione read the paper several times. Then she walked up and down the
line of bottles, muttering to herself and pointing at them. At last, she
clapped her hands.

"Got it," she said. "The smallest bottle will get us through the black
fire -- toward the Stone."

Harry looked at the tiny bottle.

"There's only enough there for one of us," he said. "That's hardly one
swallow."

They looked at each other.

"Which one will get you back through the purple flames?"

Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.

"You drink that," said Harry. "No, listen, get back and get Ron. Grab
brooms from the flying- key room, they'll get you out of the trapdoor
and past Fluffy -- go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to
Dumbledore, we need him. I might be able to hold Snape off for a while,
but I'm no match for him, really."

"But Harry -- what if You-Know-Who's with him?"

"Well -- I was lucky once, wasn't I?" said Harry, pointing at his scar.
"I might get lucky again."

Hermione's lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at Harry and threw her
arms around him.

"Hermione!"

"Harry -- you're a great wizard, you know."

"I'm not as good as you," said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of
him.

"Me!" said Hermione. "Books! And cleverness! There are more important
things -- friendship and bravery and -- oh Harry -- be careful!"

"You drink first," said Harry. "You are sure which is which, aren't
you?"

"Positive," said Hermione. She took a long drink from the round bottle
at the end, and shuddered.

"It's not poison?" said Harry anxiously.

"No -- but it's like ice."

"Quick, go, before it wears off."

"Good luck -- take care."

"GO!"

Hermione turned and walked straight through the purple fire.

Harry took a deep breath and picked up the smallest bottle. He turned to
face the black flames.

"Here I come," he said, and he drained the little bottle in one gulp.

It was indeed as though ice was flooding his body. He put the bottle
down and walked forward; he braced himself, saw the black flames licking
his body, but couldn't feel them -- for a moment he could see nothing
but dark fire -- then he was on the other side, in the last chamber.

There was already someone there -- but it wasn't Snape. It wasn't even
Voldemort.


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE MAN WITH TWO FACES

It was Quirrell.

"You!" gasped Harry.

Quirrell smiled. His face wasn't twitching at all.

"Me," he said calmly. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here,
Potter."

"But I thought -- Snape --"

"Severus?" Quirrell laughed, and it wasn't his usual quivering treble,
either, but cold and sharp. "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't
he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to
him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

Harry couldn't take it in. This couldn't be true, it couldn't.

"But Snape tried to kill me!"

"No, no, no. I tried to kill you. Your friend Miss Granger accidentally
knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at that Quidditch
match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I'd
have got you off that broom. I'd have managed it before then if Snape
hadn't been muttering a countercurse, trying to save you."

"Snape was trying to save me?"

"Of course," said Quirrell coolly. "\Why do you think he wanted to
referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn't do it
again. Funny, really... he needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything
with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was
trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, he did make himself unpopular...
and what a waste of time, when after all that, I'm going to kill you
tonight."

Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped
themselves tightly around Harry.

"You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school on
Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what
was guarding the Stone."

"You let the troll in?"

"Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls -- you must have seen what
I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while
everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already
suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off -- and not
only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog
didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly.

"Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror.

It was only then that Harry realized what was standing behind Quirrell.
It was the Mirror of Erised.

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured,
tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with
something like this... but he's in London... I'll be far away by the
time he gets back...."

All Harry could think of doing was to keep Quirrell talking and stop him
from concentrating on the mirror.

"I saw you and Snape in the forest --" he blurted out.

"Yes," said Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to look at the
back. "He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got.
He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me - as though he could,
when I had Lord Voldemort on my side...."

Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into
it.

"I see the Stone... I'm presenting it to my master... but where is it?"

Harry struggled against the ropes binding him, but they didn't give. He
had to keep Quirrell from giving his whole attention to the mirror.

"But Snape always seemed to hate me so much."

"Oh, he does," said Quirrell casually, "heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts
with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never
wanted you dead."

"But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing -- I thought Snape was
threatening you...."

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face.

"Sometimes," he said, "I find it hard to follow my master's instructions
-- he is a great wizard and I am weak --"

"You mean he was there in the classroom with you?" Harry gasped.

"He is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell quietly. "I met him when I
traveled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of
ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong
I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too
weak to seek it.... Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I
have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me."
Quirrell shivered suddenly. "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I
failed to steal the stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He
punished me... decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me...."

Quirrell's voice trailed away. Harry was remembering his trip to Diagon
Alley -how could he have been so stupid? He'd seen Quirrell there that
very day, shaken hands with him in the Leaky Cauldron.

Quirrell cursed under his breath.

"I don't understand... is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break
it?"

Harry's mind was racing.

What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment, he
thought, is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the
mirror, I should see myseff finding it -- which means I'll see where
it's hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realizing what I'm up
to?

He tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without
Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around his ankles were too tight: he
tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored him. He was still talking to
himself. "What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

And to Harry's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come
from Quirrell himself

"Use the boy... Use the boy..."

Quirrell rounded on Harry.

"Yes -- Potter -- come here."

He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry
got slowly to his feet.

"Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you
see."

Harry walked toward him.

I must lie, he thought desperately. I must look and lie about what I
see, that's all.

Quirrell moved close behind him. Harry breathed in the funny smell that
seemed to come from Quirrell's turban. He closed his eyes, stepped in
front of the mirror, and opened them again.

He saw his reflection, pale and scared-looking at first. But a moment
later, the reflection smiled at him. It put its hand into its pocket and
pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its
pocket -- and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his
real pocket. Somehow -- incredibly -- he'd gotten the Stone.

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"

Harry screwed up his courage.

"I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore," he invented. "I -- I've
won the house cup for Gryffindor."

Quirrell cursed again.

"Get out of the way," he said. As Harry moved aside, he felt the
Sorcerer's Stone against his leg. Dare he make a break for it?

But he hadn't walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though
Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.

"He lies... He lies..."

"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted. "Tell me the truth! What did
you just see?"

The high voice spoke again.

"Let me speak to him... face-to-face..."

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough... for this...."

Harry felt as if Devil's Snare was rooting him to the spot. He couldn't
move a muscle. Petrified, he watched as Quirrell reached up and began to
unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell's
head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the
spot.

Harry would have screamed, but he couldn't make a sound. Where there
should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most
terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red
eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

"Harry Potter..." it whispered.

Harry tried to take a step backward but his legs wouldn't move.

"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapor ... I
have form only when I can share another's body... but there have always
been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds.... Unicorn
blood has strengthened me, these past weeks... you saw faithful Quirrell
drinking it for me in the forest... and once I have the Elixir of Life,
I will be able to create a body of my own.... Now... why don't you give
me that Stone in your pocket?"

So he knew. The feeling suddenly surged back into Harry's legs. He
stumbled backward.

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better save your own life and join
me... or you'll meet the same end as your parents.... They died begging
me for mercy..."

"LIAR!" Harry shouted suddenly.

Quirrell was walking backward at him, so that Voldemort could still see
him. The evil face was now smiling.

"How touching..." it hissed. "I always value bravery... Yes, boy, your
parents were brave.... I killed your father first; and he put up a
courageous fight... but your mother needn't have died... she was trying
to protect you.... Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have
died in vain."

"NEVER!"

Harry sprang toward the flame door, but Voldemort screamed "SEIZE HIM!"
and the next second, Harry felt Quirrell's hand close on his wrist. At
once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Harry's scar; his head felt as
though it was about to split in two; he yelled, struggling with all his
might, and to his surprise, Quirrell let go of him. The pain in his head
lessened -- he looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone, and
saw him hunched in pain, looking at his fingers -- they were blistering
before his eyes.

"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged,
knocking Harry clean off his feet' landing on top of him, both hands
around Harry's neck -- Harry's scar was almost blinding him with pain,
yet he could see Quirrell howling in agony.

"Master, I cannot hold him -- my hands -- my hands!"

And Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go
of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms -- Harry could see
they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.

"Then kill him, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort.

Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry, by
instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face --

"AAAARGH!"

Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering, too, and then Harry knew:
Quirrell couldn't touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible
pain -- his only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough
pain to stop him from doing a curse.

Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm, and hung on as
tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off -- the
pain in Harry's head was building -- he couldn't see -- he could only
hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's yells of, "KILL HIM!
KILL HIM!" and other voices, maybe in Harry's own head, crying, "Harry!
Harry!"

He felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from his grasp, knew all was lost, and
fell into blackness, down ... down... down...

Something gold was glinting just above him. The Snitch! He tried to
catch it, but his arms were too heavy.

He blinked. It wasn't the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. How
strange.

He blinked again. The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view
above him.

"Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledore. Harry stared at him. Then he
remembered: "Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He's got the Stone! Sir,
quick --"

"Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times," said
Dumbledore. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."

"Then who does? Sir, I --"

"Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out.

Harry swallowed and looked around him. He realized he must be in the
hospital wing. He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next
to him was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop.

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Dumbledore, beaming. "What
happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a
complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your
friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to
send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam
Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated
it."

"How long have I been in here?"

"Three days. Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved
you have come round, they have been extremely worried."

"But sit, the Stone

I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor
Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to
prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say.

"You got there? You got Hermione's owl?"

"We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it
became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just
left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you."

"It was you."

"I feared I might be too late."

"You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the Stone much longer --"

"Not the Stone, boy, you -- the effort involved nearly killed you. For
one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has
been destroyed."

"Destroyed?" said Harry blankly. "But your friend -- Nicolas Flamel --"

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted.
"You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had
a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best."

"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"

"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then,
yes, they will die."

Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Harry's face.

"To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas
and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long
day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great
adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As
much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings
would choose above all -- the trouble is, humans do have a knack of
choosing precisely those things that are worst for them." Harry lay
there, lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the
ceiling.

"Sir?" said Harry. "I've been thinking... sir -- even if the Stone's
gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know- Who --"

"Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear
of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

"Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back,
isn't he? I mean, he hasn't gone, has he?"

"No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking
for another body to share... not being truly alive, he cannot be killed.
He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers
as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his
return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to
fight what seems a losing battle next time -- and if he is delayed
again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

Harry nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made his head hurt. Then
he said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can
tell me... things I want to know the truth about...."

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing,
and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall
answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which
case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

"Well... Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried
to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the
first place?"

Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not
now. You will know, one day... put it from your mind for now, Harry.
When you are older... I know you hate to hear this... when you are
ready, you will know."

And Harry knew it would be no good to argue.

"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot
understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your
mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign... to
have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone,
will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell,
full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort,
could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person
marked by something so good."

Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill,
which gave Harry time to dry his eyes on the sheet. When he had found
his voice again, Harry said, "And the invisibility cloak - do you know
who sent it to me?"

"Ah - your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought
you might like it." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Useful things... your
father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food
when he was here."

"And there's something else..."

"Fire away."

"Quirrell said Snape --"

"Professor Snape, Harry." "Yes, him -- Quirrell said he hates me because
he hated my father. Is that true?"

"Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr.
Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive."

"What?"

"He saved his life."

"What?"

"Yes..." said Dumbledore dreamily. "Funny, the way people's minds work,
isn't it? Professor Snape couldn't bear being in your father's debt....
I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt
that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to
hating your father's memory in peace...."

Harry tried to understand this but it made his head pound, so he
stopped.

"And sir, there's one more thing..."

"Just the one?"

"How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?"

"Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant
ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only
one who wanted to find the Stone -- find it, but not use it -- would be
able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or
drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes.... Now,
enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bettie
Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come
across a vomitflavored one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost
my liking for them -- but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't
you?"

He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he
choked and said, "Alas! Ear wax!"

Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was a nice woman, but very strict.

"Just five minutes," Harry pleaded.

"Absolutely not."

"You let Professor Dumbledore in..."

"Well, of course, that was the headmaster, quite different. You need
rest."

"I am resting, look, lying down and everything. Oh, go on, Madam
Pomfrey..."

"Oh, very well," she said. "But five minutes only."

And she let Ron and Hermione in.

"Harry!"

Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around him again, but Harry was
glad she held herself in as his head was still very sore.

"Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to -- Dumbledore was so worried
--"

"The whole school's talking about it," said Ron. "What really happened?"

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more
strange and exciting than the wild rumors. Harry told them everything:
Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; and Voldemort. Ron and Hermione were a
very good audience; they gasped in all the right places, and when Harry
told them what was under Quirrell's turban, Hermione screamed out loud.

"So the Stone's gone?" said Ron finally. "Flamel's just going to die?"

"That's what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that -- what was it? -- 'to
the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.

"I always said he was off his rocker," said Ron, looking quite impressed
at how crazy his hero was.

"So what happened to you two?" said Harry.

"Well, I got back all right," said Hermione. "I brought Ron round --
that took a while -- and we were dashing up to the owlery to contact
Dumbledore when we met him in the entrance hall -- he already knew -- he
just said, 'Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?' and hurtled off to the
third floor."

"D'you think he meant you to do it?" said Ron. "Sending you your
father's cloak and everything?"

"Well, " Hermione exploded, "if he did -- I mean to say that's terrible
-- you could have been killed."

"No, it isn't," said Harry thoughtfully. "He's a funny man, Dumbledore.
I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or
less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty
good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just
taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident he let me
find out how the mirror worked. It's almost like he thought I had the
right to face Voldemort if I could...."

"Yeah, Dumbledore's off his rocker, all right," said Ron proudly.
"Listen, you've got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The
points are all in and Slytherin won, of course -- you missed the last
Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw without you -- but
the food'll be good."

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over.

"You've had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT" she said firmly.

After a good night's sleep, Harry felt nearly back to normal.

I want to go to the feast," he told Madam Pomfrey as she straightened
his many candy boxes. I can, can't I?"

"Professor Dumbledore says you are to be allowed to go," she said
stiffily, as though in her opinion Professor Dumbledore didn't realize
how risky feasts could be. "And you have another visitor."

"Oh, good," said Harry. "Who is it?"

Hagrid sidled through the door as he spoke. As usual when he was
indoors, Hagrid looked too big to be allowed. He sat down next to Harry,
took one look at him, and burst into tears.

"It's -- all -- my -- ruddy -- fault!" he sobbed, his face in his hands.
I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only
thing he didn't know, an' I told him! Yeh could've died! All fer a
dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter
live as a Muggle!"

"Hagrid!" said Harry, shocked to see Hagrid shaking with grief and
remorse, great tears leaking down into his beard. "Hagrid, he'd have
found out somehow, this is Voldemort we're talking about, he'd have
found out even if you hadn't told him."

"Yeh could've died!" sobbed Hagrid. "An' don' say the name!"

"VOLDEMORT!" Harry bellowed, and Hagrid was so shocked, he stopped
crying. "I've met him and I'm calling him by his name. Please cheer up,
Hagrid, we saved the Stone, it's gone, he can't use it. Have a Chocolate
Frog, I've got loads...."

Hagrid wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said, "That reminds
me. I've got yeh a present."

"It's not a stoat sandwich, is it?" said Harry anxiously, and at last
Hagrid gave a weak chuckle. "Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off
yesterday ter fix it. 'Course, he shoulda sacked me instead -- anyway,
got yeh this..."

It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it
curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him
from every page were his mother and father.

"Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer
photos... knew yeh didn' have any... d'yeh like it?"

Harry couldn't speak, but Hagrid understood.

Harry made his way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. He
had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving
him one last checkup, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked
out in the Slytherin colors of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's
winning the house cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner
showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.

When Harry walked in there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started
talking loudly at once. He slipped into a seat between Ron and Hermione
at the Gryffindor table and tried to ignore the fact that people were
standing up to look at him.

Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you
with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our
delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a
little fuller than they were... you have the whole summer ahead to get
them nice and empty before next year starts....

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the
points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and
twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two;
Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred
and seventy- two."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table.
Harry could see Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. It was a
sickening sight.

"Yes, Yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent
events must be taken into account."

The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out.
Let me see. Yes...

"First -- to Mr. Ronald Weasley..."

Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn.

"...for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I
award Gryffindor house fifty points."

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars
overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other
prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past
McGonagall's giant chess set!"

At last there was silence again.

"Second -- to Miss Hermione Granger... for the use of cool logic in the
face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Harry strongly suspected she had
burst into tears. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside
themselves -- they were a hundred points up. "Third -- to Mr. Harry
Potter..." said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet for pure nerve
and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves
hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points
-- exactly the same as Slytherin. They had tied for the house cup -- if
only Dumbledore had given Harry just one more point.

Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.

"There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It takes a
great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to
stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville
Longbottom."

Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some
sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted
from the Gryffindor table. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood up to yell and
cheer as Neville, white with shock, disappeared under a pile of people
hugging him. He had never won so much as a point for Gryffindor before.
Harry, still cheering, nudged Ron in the ribs and pointed at Malfoy, who
couldn't have looked more stunned and horrified if he'd just had the
Body-Bind Curse put on him.

"Which means, Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even
Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, "we
need a little change of decoration."

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet
and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a
towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape was shaking Professor
McGonagall's hand, with a horrible, forced smile. He caught Harry's eye
and Harry knew at once that Snape's feelings toward him hadn't changed
one jot. This didn't worry Harry. It seemed as though life would be back
to normal next year, or as normal as it ever was at Hogwarts.

It was the best evening of Harry's life, better than winning at
Quidditch, or Christmas, or knocking out mountain trolls... he would
never, ever forget tonight.

Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but
come they did. To their great surprise, both he and Ron passed with good
marks; Hermione, of course, had the best grades of the first years. Even
Neville scraped through, his good Herbology mark making up for his
abysmal Potions one. They had hoped that Goyle, who was almost as stupid
as he was mean, might be thrown out, but he had passed, too. It was a
shame, but as Ron said, you couldn't have everything in life.

And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed,
Neville's toad was found lurking in a corner of the toilets; notes were
handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the
holidays ("I always hope they'll forget to give us these," said Fred
Weasley sadly); Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats
that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express;
talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier;
eating Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns;
pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling
into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station.

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened
old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate
in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out
of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

"You must come and stay this summer," said Ron, "both of you -- I'll
send you an owl."

"Thanks," said Harry, "I'll need something to look forward to." People
jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle
world. Some of them called:

"Bye, Harry!"

"See you, Potter!"

"Still famous," said Ron, grinning at him.

"Not where I'm going, I promise you," said Harry.

He, Ron, and Hermione passed through the gateway together. "There he is,
Mom, there he is, look!"

It was Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister, but she wasn't pointing at
Ron.

"Harry Potter!" she squealed. "Look, Mom! I can see

"Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point."

Mrs. Weasley smiled down at them.

"Busy year?" she said.

"Very," said Harry. "Thanks for the fudge and the sweater, Mrs.
Weasley."

"Oh, it was nothing, dear."

"Ready, are you?"

It was Uncle Vernon, still purple-faced, still mustached, still looking
furious at the nerve of Harry, carrying an owl in a cage in a station
full of ordinary people. Behind him stood Aunt Petunia and Dudley,
looking terrified at the very sight of Harry.

"You must be Harry's family!" said Mrs. Weasley.

"In a manner of speaking," said Uncle Vernon. "Hurry up, boy, we haven't
got all day." He walked away.

Harry hung back for a last word with Ron and Hermione.

"See you over the summer, then."

"Hope you have -- er -- a good holiday," said Hermione, looking
uncertainly after Uncle Vernon, shocked that anyone could be so
unpleasant.

"Oh, I will," said Harry, and they were surprised at the grin that was
spreading over his face. "They don't know we're not allowed to use magic
at home. I'm going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer...."

THE END

HARRY POTTER AND THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS
by J. K. Rowling

(this is BOOK 2 in the Harry Potter series)

Original Scanned/OCR: Friday, April 07, 2000
v1.0
(edit where needed, change version number by 0.1)


C H A P T E RR		O N E

THE WORST BIRTHDAY

Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at
number four, Privet Drive. Mr. Vernon Dursley had been woken in
the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from his
nephew Harry's room.

"Third time this week!" he roared across the table. "If you can't
control that owl, it'll have to go!"

Harry tried, yet again, to explain.

"She's bored," he said. "She's used to flying around outside. If I could
just let her out at night -"

"Do I look stupid?" snarled Uncle Vernon, a bit of fried egg dangling
from his bushy mustache. "I know what'll happen if that owl's let
out."

He exchanged dark looks with his wife, Petunia.

Harry tried to argue back but his words were drowned by a long,
loud belch from the Dursleys' son, Dudley.

1



"I want more bacon."

"There's more in the frying pan, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia,
turning misty eyes on her massive son. "We must build you up while
we've got the chance .... I don't like the sound of that school food
......

"Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when I was at Smeltings,"
said Uncle Vernon heartily. "Dudley gets enough, don't you, son?"

Dudley, who was so large his bottom drooped over either side of the
kitchen chair, grinned and turned to Harry.

"Pass the frying pan."

"You've forgotten the magic word," said Harry irritably.

The effect of this simple sentence on the rest of the family was
incredible: Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a crash that
shook the whole kitchen; Mrs. Dursley gave a small scream and
clapped her hands to her mouth; Mr. Dursley jumped to his feet,
veins throbbing in his temples.

"I meant `please'!" said Harry quickly. "I didn't mean -"

"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU," thundered his uncle, spraying spit
over the table, "ABOUT SAYING THE `M' WORD IN OUR
HOUSE?"

"But I -"

"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY!" roared Uncle
Vernon, pounding the table with his fist.

"I just -"

"I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF
YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!"

Harry stared from his purple-faced uncle to his pale aunt, who was
trying to heave Dudley to his feet.

"All right," said Harry, "all right. . . "

Uncle Vernon sat back down, breathing like a winded rhinoceros and
watching Harry closely out of the corners of his small, sharp eyes.

Ever since Harry had come home for the summer holidays, Uncle
Vernon had been treating him like a bomb that might go off at any
moment, because Harry Potter wasn't a normal boy. As a matter of
fact, he was as not normal as it is possible to be.

Harry Potter was a wizard - a wizard fresh from his first year at
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And if the Dursleys
were unhappy to have him back for the holidays, it was nothing to how
Harry felt.

He missed Hogwarts so much it was like having a constant
stomachache. He missed the castle, with its secret passageways and
ghosts, his classes (though perhaps not Snape, the Potions master), the
mail arriving by owl, eating banquets in the Great Hall, sleeping in his
four-poster bed in the tower dormitory, visiting the gamekeeper,
Hagrid, in his cabin next to the Forbidden Forest in the grounds, and,
especially, Quidditch, the most popular sport in the wizarding world
(six tall goal posts, four flying balls, and fourteen players on
broomsticks).

All Harry's spellbooks, his wand, robes, cauldron, and top-of-the-line
Nimbus Two Thousand broomstick had been locked in a cupboard
under the stairs by Uncle Vernon the instant Harry had come home.
What did the Dursleys care if Harry lost his place on the House
Quidditch team because he hadn't practiced all summer? What was it
to the Dursleys if Harry went back to school without any of his
homework done? The Dursleys were what wizards called Muggles
(not a drop of magical blood in their veins),

and as far as they were concerned, having a wizard in the family was
a matter of deepest shame. Uncle Vernon had even padlocked
Harry's owl, Hedwig, inside her cage, to stop her from carrying
messages to anyone in the wizarding world.

Harry looked nothing like the rest of the family. Uncle Vernon was
large and neckless, with an enormous black mustache; Aunt Petunia
was horse-faced and bony; Dudley was blond, pink, and porky. Harry,
on the other hand, was small and skinny, with brilliant green eyes and
jet-black hair that was always untidy. He wore round glasses, and on
his forehead was a thin, lightning-shaped scar.

It was this scar that made Harry so particularly unusual, even for a
wizard. This scar was the only hint of Harry's very mysterious past, of
the reason he had been left on the Dursleys' doorstep eleven years
before.

At the age of one year old, Harry had somehow survived a curse from
the greatest Dark sorcerer of all time, Lord Voldemort, whose name
most witches and wizards still feared to speak. Harry's parents had
died in Voldemort's attack, but Harry had escaped with his lightning
scar, and somehow - nobody understood why Voldemort's powers had
been destroyed the instant he had failed to kill Harry.

So Harry had been brought up by his dead mother's sister and her
husband. He had spent ten years with the Dursleys, never
understanding why he kept making odd things happen without meaning
to, believing the Dursleys' story that he had got his scar in the car
crash that had killed his parents.

And then, exactly a year ago, Hogwarts had written to Harry,

and the whole story had come out. Harry had taken up his place at
wizard school, where he and his scar were famous ... but now the
school year was over, and he was back with the Dursleys for the
summer, back to being treated like a dog that had rolled in something
smelly.

The Dursleys hadn't even remembered that today happened to be
Harry's twelfth birthday. Of course, his hopes hadn't been high; they'd
never given him a real present, let alone a cake - but to ignore it
completely ...

At that moment, Uncle Vernon cleared his throat importantly and said,
"Now, as we all know, today is a very important day."

Harry looked up, hardly daring to believe it.

"This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career, "
said Uncle Vernon.

	Harry went back to his toast. Of course, he thought bitterly, Un
cle Vernon was talking about the stupid dinner party. He'd been talk
ing of nothing else for two weeks. Some rich builder and his wife
were coming to dinner and Uncle Vernon was hoping to get a huge
order from him (Uncle Vernon's company made drills).

"I think we should run through the schedule one more time," said
Uncle Vernon. "We should all be in position at eight o'clock. Petunia,
you will be -?"

"In the lounge," said Aunt Petunia promptly, "waiting to welcome them
graciously to our home."

"Good, good. And Dudley?"

"I'll be waiting to open the door." Dudley put on a foul, simpering
smile. "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

"They'll love him!" cried Aunt Petunia rapturously.

"Excellent, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon. Then he rounded on Harry.
"And you?"

"I'll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I'm not
there," said Harry tonelessly.

"Exactly," said Uncle Vernon nastily. "I will lead them into the
lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them -drinks. At eight-
fifteen -"

"I'll announce dinner," said Aunt Petunia.

"And, Dudley, you'll say -"

"May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?" said
Dudley, offering his fat arm to an invisible woman.

"My perfect little gentleman!" sniffed Aunt Petunia.

"And you?" said Uncle Vernon viciously to Harry.

"I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I'm not there,"
said Harry dully.

"Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at
dinner. Petunia, any ideas?"

"Vernon tells me you're a wonderful golfer, Mr. Mason.... Do tell me
where you bought your dress, Mrs. Mason ......

"Perfect. . . Dudley?"

"How about -'We had to write an essay about our hero at school,
Mr. Mason, and I wrote about you."'

This was too much for both Aunt Petunia and Harry. Aunt Petunia
burst into tears and hugged her son, while Harry ducked under the
table so they wouldn't see him laughing.

"And you, boy?"

Harry fought to keep his face straight as he emerged.

"I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I'm not there,"
he said.

"Too right, you will," said Uncle Vernon forcefully. "The Ma
sons don't know anything about you and it's going to stay that way.
When dinner's over, you take Mrs. Mason back to the lounge for
coffee, Petunia, and I'll bring the subject around to drills. With any
luck, I'll have the deal signed and sealed before the news at ten.
be shopping for a vacation home in Majorca this time to
morrow.
Harry couldn't feel too excited about this. He didn't think the
Dursleys would like him any better in Majorca than they did on
Privet Drive.
"Right - I'm off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for
Dudley and me. And you," he snarled at Harry. "You stay out of
your aunt's way while she's cleaning."
Harry left through the back door. It was a brilliant, sunny day.
He crossed the lawn, slumped down on the garden bench, and sang
under his breath:
"Happy birthday to me ... happy birthday to me. . .
No cards, no presents, and he would be spending the evening
pretending not to exist. He gazed miserably into the hedge. He had
never felt so lonely. More than anything else at Hogwarts, more
even than playing Quidditch, Harry missed his best friends, Ron
Weasley and Hermione Granger. They, however, didn't seem to be
missing him at all. Neither of them had written to him all summer,
even though Ron had said he was going to ask Harry to come and
stay.
Countless times, Harry had been on the point of unlocking
Hedwig's cage by magic and sending her to Ron and Hermione
with a letter, but it wasn't worth the risk. Underage wizards weren't
allowed to use magic outside of school. Harry hadn't told the

Dursleys this; he knew it was only their terror that he might turn them
all into dung beetles that stopped them from locking him in the
cupboard under the stairs with his wand and broomstick. For the first
couple of weeks back, Harry had enjoyed muttering nonsense words
under his breath and watching Dudley tearing out of the room as fast
as his fat legs would carry him. But the long silence from Ron and
Hermione had made Harry feel so cut off from the magical world that
even taunting Dudley had lost its appeal - and now Ron and Hermione
had forgotten his birthday.

What wouldn't he give now for a message from Hogwarts? From any
witch or wizard? He'd almost be glad of a sight of his archenemy,
Draco Malfoy, just to be sure it hadn't all been a dream ....

Not that his whole year at Hogwarts had been fun. At the very end of
last term, Harry had come face-to-face with none other than Lord
Voldemort himself. Voldemort might be a ruin of his former self, but
he was still terrifying, still cunning, still determined to regain power.
Harry had slipped through Voldemort's clutches for a second time, but
it had been a narrow escape, and even now, weeks later, Harry kept
waking in the night, drenched in cold sweat, wondering where
Voldemort was now, remembering his livid face, his wide, mad eyes

Harry suddenly sat bolt upright on the garden bench. He had been
staring absent-mindedly into the hedge - and the hedge was staring back.
Two enormous green eyes had appeared among the leaves.

Harry jumped to his feet just as a jeering voice floated across the
lawn.

"I know what day it is," sang Dudley, waddling toward him.

The huge eyes blinked and vanished.

"What?" said Harry, not taking his eyes off the spot where they had
been.

"I know what day it is," Dudley repeated, coming right up to him.

"Well done," said Harry. "So you've finally learned the days of the
week."

"Today's your birthday," sneered Dudley. "How come you haven't got
any cards? Haven't you even got friends at that freak place?"

"Better not let your mum hear you talking about my school," said
Harry coolly.

Dudley hitched up his trousers, which were slipping down his fat
bottom.

"Why're you staring at the hedge?" he said suspiciously.

	" I , m trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on
fire," said Harry.

Dudley stumbled backward at once, a look of panic on his fat face.

"You c-can't - Dad told you you're not to do m-magic - he said he'll
chuck you out of the house - and you haven't got anywhere else to go -
you haven't got any friends to take you -"

"Jiggery pokery!" said Harry in a fierce voice. "Hocus pocus squiggly
wiggly -"

"MUUUUUUM!" howled Dudley, tripping over his feet as he dashed
back toward the house. "MUUUUM! He's doing you know what!"

Harry paid dearly for his moment of fun. As neither Dudley nor

the hedge was in any way hurt, Aunt Petunia knew he hadn't really
done magic, but he still had to duck as she aimed a heavy blow at his
head with the soapy frying pan. Then she gave him work to do, with
the promise he wouldn't eat again until he'd finished.

While Dudley lolled around watching and eating ice cream, Harry
cleaned the windows, washed the car, mowed the lawn, trimmed the
flowerbeds, pruned and watered the roses, and repainted the garden
bench. The sun blazed overhead, burning the back of his neck. Harry
knew he shouldn't have risen to Dudley's bait, but Dudley had said
the very thing Harry had been thinking himself... maybe he didn't have
any friends at Hogwarts ....

Wish they could see famous Harry Potter now, he thought savagely as he
spread manure on the flower beds, his back aching, sweat running
down his face.

It was half past seven ,in the evening when at last, exhausted, he
heard Aunt Petunia calling him.

"Get in here! And walk on the newspaper!"

Harry moved gladly into the shade of the gleaming kitchen. On top of
the fridge stood tonight's pudding: a huge mound of whipped cream
and sugared violets. A loin of roast pork was sizzling in the oven.

"Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!" snapped Aunt Petunia,
pointing to two slices of bread and a lump of cheese on the kitchen
table. She was already wearing a salmon-pink cocktail dress.

Harry washed his hands and bolted down his pitiful supper. The
moment he had finished, Aunt Petunia whisked away his plate.
"Upstairs! Hurry!"

As he passed the door to the living room, Harry caught a
glimpse of Uncle Vernon and Dudley in bow ties and dinner jack
ets. He had only just reached the upstairs landing when the door
bell rang and Uncle Vernon's furious face appeared at the foot of
the stairs.
"Remember, boy - one sound -"
Harry crossed to his bedroom on tiptoe slipped inside, closed
the door, and turned to collapse on his bed.
The trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it.

C H-H A P T E RR		T W o

I

DOBBY'S WARNING

arry managed not to shout out, but it was a close thing. The little
creature on the bed had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the
size of tennis balls. Harry knew instantly that this was what had been
watching him out of the garden hedge that morning.

As they stared at each other, Harry heard Dudley's voice from the hall.

"May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

The creature slipped off the bed and bowed so low that the end of its
long, thin nose touched the carpet. Harry noticed that it was wearing
what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm- and leg-holes.

"Er - hello," said Harry nervously.

"Harry Potter!" said the creature in a high-pitched voice Harry was
sure would carry down the stairs. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet
you, sir ... Such an honor it is . . . ."



"Th-thank you," said Harry, edging along the wall and sinking into his
desk chair, next to Hedwig, who was asleep in her large cage. He
wanted to ask, "What are you?" but thought it would sound too rude,
so instead he said, "Who are you?"

"Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf," said the creature.

"Oh - really?" said Harry. "Er - I don't want to be rude or anything,
but - this isn't a great time for me to have a house-elf in my
bedroom."

Aunt Petunias high, false laugh sounded from the living room. The elf
hung his head.

"Not that I'm not pleased to meet you," said Harry quickly, "but, er,
is there any particular reason you're here?"

"Oh, yes, sir," said Dobby earnestly. "Dobby has come to tell you,
sir ... it is difficult, sir ... Dobby wonders where to begin . . . ."

"Sit down," said Harry politely, pointing at the bed.

To his horror, the elf burst into tears - very noisy tears.

"S-sit down!" he wailed. "Never ... never ever. . . "

Harry thought he heard the voices downstairs falter.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I didn't mean to offend you or anything -"

"Offend Dobby!" choked the elf. "Dobby has never been asked to sit
down by a wizard - like an equal-"

Harry, trying to say "Shh!" and look comforting at the same time,
ushered Dobby back onto the bed where he sat hiccoughing, looking
like a large and very ugly doll. At last he managed to control himself,
and sat with his great eyes fixed on Harry in an expression of watery
adoration.

"You can't have met many decent wizards," said Harry, trying to
cheer him up.

Dobby shook his head. Then, without warning, he leapt up and
started banging his head furiously on the window, shouting, "Bad
Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

"Don't - what are you doing?" Harry hissed, springing up and pulling
Dobby back onto the bed - Hedwig had woken up with a
particularly loud screech and was beating her wings wildly against the
bars of her cage.

"Dobby had to punish himself, sir," said the elf, who had gone slightly
cross-eyed. "Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir . . . ."

"Your family?"

"The wizard family Dobby serves, sir... DOBBY'S is a houseelf -
bound to serve one house and one family forever . .....

"Do they know you're here?" asked Harry curiously.

Dobby shuddered.

"Oh, no, sir, no ... Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously
for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the
oven door for this. If they ever knew, sir _"

"But won't they notice if you shut your ears in the oven door?"

"Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby is always having to punish himself for
something, sir. They lets Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they
reminds me to do extra punishments ......

"But why don't you leave? Escape?"

"A house-elf must be set free, sir. And the family will never set
Dobby free ... Dobby will serve the family until he dies, sir . . . ."

Harry stared.

"And I thought I had it bad staying here for another four weeks,"

he said. "This makes the Dursleys sound almost human. Can't anyone
help you? Can't I?"

Almost at once, Harry wished he hadn't spoken. Dobby dissolved again
into wails of gratitude.

"Please," Harry whispered frantically, "please be quiet. If the Dursleys
hear anything, if they know you're here -"

"Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby ... Dobby has heard of your
greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew . .....

Harry, who was feeling distinctly hot in the face, said, "Whatever
you've heard about my greatness is a load of rubbish. I'm not even top
of my year at Hogwarts; that's Hermione, she -"

But he stopped quickly, because thinking about Hermione was painful.

"I-Tarry Potter is humble and modest," said Dobby reverently, his orb-
like eyes aglow. "Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over He-Who-
Must-Not-Be-Named -"

"Voldemort?" said Harry.

Dobby clapped his hands over his bat ears and moaned, "Ah, speak not
the name, sir! Speak not the name!"

"Sorry" said Harry quickly. "I know lots of people don't like it. My
friend Ron -"

He stopped again. Thinking about Ron was painful, too.

Dobby leaned toward Harry, his eyes wide as headlights.

'Dobby heard tell," he said hoarsely, "that Harry Potter met the Dark
Lord for a second time just weeks ago ... that Harry Potter escaped
Yet again. "

Harry nodded and Dobby's eyes suddenly shone with tears.

,Ah, sir," he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby

pillowcase he was wearing. "Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has
braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect
Harry Potter, to warn him, even if he does have to shut his ears in
the oven door later... Harry Potter must notgo back to Hogwarts."

There was a silence broken only by the chink of knives and forks
from downstairs and the distant rumble of Uncle Vernon's voice.

"W-what?" Harry stammered. "But I've got to go back - term starts
on September first. It's all that's keeping me going. You don't know
what it's like here. I don't belong here. I belong in your world - at
Hogwarts."

"No, no, no," squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears
flapped. "Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great,
too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be
in mortal danger."

"Why?" said Harry in surprise.

"There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things
happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year,"
whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known it
for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too
important, sir!"

"What terrible things?" said Harry at once. "Who's plotting them?"

Dobby made a funny choking noise and then banged his head
frantically against the wall.

"All right!" cried Harry, grabbing the elf's arm to stop him. "You can't
tell me. I understand. But why are you warning me?" A sudden,
unpleasant thought struck him. "Hang on - this hasn't got anything to
do with Vol- - sorry - with You-Know-Who, has it?

You could just shake or nod," he added hastily as Dobby's head
tilted worryingly close to the wall again.

Slowly, Dobby shook his head.

"Not -not He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sir ='

But Dobby's eyes were wide and he seemed to be trying to give
Harry a hint. Harry, however, was completely lost.

"He hasn't got a brother, has he?"

Dobby shook his head, his eyes wider than ever.

"Well then, I can't think who else would have a chance of making
horrible things happen at Hogwarts," said Harry. "I mean, there's
Dumbledore, for one thing - you know who Dumbledore is, don't
you?"

Dobby bowed his head.

"Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever
had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's powers
rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his
strength. But, sir" - Dobby's voice dropped to an urgent whisper -
"there are powers Dumbledore doesn't ... powers no decent wizard.
. ."

And before Harry could stop him, Dobby bounded off the bed,
seized Harry's desk lamp, and started beating himself around the
head with earsplitting yelps.

A sudden silence fell downstairs. Two seconds later Harry, heart
thudding madly, heard Uncle Vernon coming into the hall, calling,
"Dudley must have left his television on again, the little tyke!"

"Quick! In the closet!" hissed Harry, stuffing Dobby in, shutting the
door, and flinging himself onto the bed just as the door handle turned.

"What - the - devil - are - you - doing?" said Uncle Vernon through
gritted teeth, his face horribly close to Harry's. "You've just ruined the
punch line of my Japanese golfer joke .... One more sound and you'll
wish you'd never been born, boy!"

He stomped flat-footed from the room.

Shaking, Harry let Dobby out of the closet.

"See what it's like here?" he said. "See why I've got to go back to
Hogwarts? It's the only place I've got -well, I think I've got friends. "

"Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?" said Dobby slyly.

"I expect they've just been - wait a minute," said Harry, frowning.
"How do you know my friends haven't been writing to me?"

Dobby shuffled his feet.

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best -
"

"Have you been stopping my letters?"

"Dobby has them here, sir," said the elf. Stepping nimbly out of Harry's
reach, he pulled a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the
pillowcase he was wearing. Harry could make out Hermione's neat
writing, Ron's untidy scrawl, and even a scribble that looked as though
it was from the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid.

Dobby blinked anxiously up at Harry.

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry... Dobby hoped ... if Harry Potter
thought his friends had forgotten him ... Harry Potter might not want to
go back to school, sir . .....

Harry wasn't listening. He made a grab for the letters, but Dobby
jumped out of reach.

"Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word

that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must
not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"

"No," said Harry angrily. "Give me my friends' letters!"

"Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice," said the elf sadly.

Before Harry could move, Dobby had darted to the bedroom door,
pulled it open, and sprinted down the stairs.

Mouth dry, stomach lurching, Harry sprang after him, trying not to
make a sound. He jumped the last six steps, landing catlike on the
hall carpet, looking around for Dobby. From the dining room he
heard Uncle Vernon saying, ". . . tell Petunia that very funny story
about those American plumbers, Mr. Mason. She's been dying to
hear. . . "

Harry ran up the hall into the kitchen and felt his stomach disappear.

Aunt Petunia's masterpiece of a pudding, the mountain of cream and
sugared violets, was floating up near the ceiling. On top of a
cupboard in the corner crouched Dobby.

"No," croaked Harry. "Please ... they'll kill me ......

"Harry Potter must say he's not going back to school -"

"Dobby ... please ...

"Say it, sir -"

"I can't -"

Dobby gave him a tragic look.

"Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter's own good."

The pudding fell to the floor with a heart-stopping crash. Cream
splattered the windows and walls as the dish shattered. With a crack
like a whip, Dobby vanished.

There were screams from the dining room and Uncle Vernon

burst into the kitchen to find Harry, rigid with shock, covered from head
to foot in Aunt Petunias pudding.

At first, it looked as though Uncle Vernon would manage to gloss the
whole thing over. ("Just our nephew - very disturbed

	meeting strangers upsets him, so we kept him upstairs 	) He

shooed the shocked Masons back into the dining room, promised
Harry he would flay him to within an inch of his life when the Ma
sons had left, and handed him a mop. Aunt Petunia dug some ice
cream out of the freezer and Harry, still shaking, started scrubbing
the kitchen clean.

Uncle Vernon might still have been able to make his deal - if it hadn't
been for the owl.

Aunt Petunia was just passing around a box of after-dinner mints when
a huge barn owl swooped through the dining room window, dropped a
letter on Mrs. Mason's head, and swooped out again. Mrs. Mason
screamed like a banshee and ran from the house shouting about
lunatics. Mr. Mason stayed just long enough to tell the Dursleys that his
wife was mortally afraid of birds of all shapes and sizes, and to ask
whether this was their idea of a joke.

Harry stood in the kitchen, clutching the mop for support, as Uncle
Vernon advanced on him, a demonic glint in his tiny eyes.

"Read it!" he hissed evilly, brandishing the letter the owl had delivered.
"Go on - read it!"

Harry took it. It did not contain birthday greetings.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your
place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine.

As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells
outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to
expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of
Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that
risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is
a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation
of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.

Enjoy your holidays! Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE

Ministry of Magic

Harry looked up from the letter and gulped.

"You didn't tell us you weren't allowed to use magic outside school,"
said Uncle Vernon, a mad gleam dancing in his eyes. "For got to
mention it .... Slipped your mind, I daresay .....

He was bearing down on Harry like a great bulldog, all his teeth
bared. "Well, I've got news for you, boy . ... I'm locking you up ....
You're never going back to that school ... never ... and if you try and
magic yourself out - they'll expel you!"

And laughing like a maniac, he dragged Harry back upstairs.

Uncle Vernon was as bad as his word. The following morning,



he paid a man to fit bars on Harry's window. He himself fitted a cat-
flap in the bedroom door, so that small amounts of food could be
pushed inside three times a day. They let Harry out to use the
bathroom morning and evening. Otherwise, he was locked in his room
around the clock.

Three days later, the Dursleys were showing no sign of relenting, and
Harry couldn't see any way out of his situation. He lay on his bed
watching the sun sinking behind the bars on the window and wondered
miserably what was going to happen to him.

What was the good of magicking himself out of his room if Hogwarts
would expel him for doing it? Yet life at Privet Drive had reached an
all-time low. Now that the Dursleys knew they weren't going to wake
up as fruit bats, he had lost his only weapon. Dobby might have saved
Harry from horrible happenings at Hogwarts, but the way things were
going, he'd probably starve to death anyway.

The cat-flap rattled and Aunt Petunias hand appeared, pushing a bowl
of canned soup into the room. Harry, whose insides were aching with
hunger, jumped off his bed and seized it. The soup was stone-cold, but
he drank half of it in one gulp. Then he crossed the room to Hedwig's
cage and tipped the soggy vegetables at the bottom of the bowl into
her empty food tray. She ruffled her feathers and gave him a look of
deep disgust.

"It's no good turning your beak up at it - that's all we've got," said
Harry grimly.

He put the empty bowl back on the floor next to the cat-flap and lay
back down on the bed, somehow even hungrier than he had been
before the soup.

Supposing he was still alive in another four weeks, what would happen
if he didn't turn up at Hogwarts? Would someone be sent to see why
he hadn't come back? Would they be able to make the Dursleys let
him go?

The room was growing dark. Exhausted, stomach rumbling, mind
spinning over the same unanswerable questions, Harry fell into an
uneasy sleep.

He dreamed that he was on show in a zoo, with a card reading
UNDERAGE WIZARD attached to his cage. People goggled through the bars
at him as he lay, starving and weak, on a bed of straw. He saw
Dobby's face in the crowd and shouted out, asking for help, but Dobby
called, "Harry Potter is safe there, sir!" and vanished. Then the
Dursleys appeared and Dudley rattled the bars of the cage, laughing at
him.

"Stop it," Harry muttered as the rattling pounded in his sore head.
"Leave me alone ... cut it out ... I'm trying to sleep . . . ."

He opened his eyes. Moonlight was shining through the bars on the
window. And someone was goggling through the bars at him: a freckle-
faced, red-haired, long-nosed someone.

Ron Weasley was outside Harry's window.

H-H A P T E RR T 11-H RR E E

THE BURROW

Ron.l" breathed Harry, creeping to the window and pushing it up so
they could talk through the bars. "Ron, how did you - What the -?"

Harry's mouth fell open as the full impact of what he was seeing hit
him. Ron was leaning out of the back window of an old turquoise car,
which was parked in midair Grinning at Harry from the front seats
were Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers.

"All right, Harry?" asked George.

"What's been going on?" said Ron. "Why haven't you been answering
my letters? I've asked you to stay about twelve times, and then Dad
came home and said you'd got an official warning for using magic in
front of Muggles -"

"It wasn't me - and how did he know?"

"He works for the Ministry," said Ron. "You know we're not supposed
to do spells outside school -"



"You should talk," said Harry, staring at the floating car.

"Oh, this doesn't count," said Ron. "We're only borrowing this. It's
Dad's, we didn't enchant it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles
you live with -"

"I told you, I didn't - but it'll take too long to explain now look, can you
tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won't
let me come back, and obviously I can't magic myself out, because the
Ministry'Il think that's the second spell I've done in three days, so -"

"Stop gibbering," said Ron. "We've come to take you home with us."

"But you can't magic me out either -"

"We don't need to," said Ron, jerking his head toward the front seat
and grinning. "You forget who I've got with me."

"Tie that around the bars," said Fred, throwing the end of a rope to
Harry.

"If the Dursleys wake up, I'm dead," said Harry as he tied the rope
tightly around a bar and Fred revved up the car.

"Don't worry," said Fred, "and stand back."

Harry moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig, who seemed to
have realized how important this was and kept still and silent. The car
revved louder and louder and suddenly, with a crunching noise, the
bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred drove straight up in
the air. Harry ran back to the window to see the bars dangling a few
feet above the ground. Panting, Ron hoisted them up into the car.
Harry listened anxiously, but there was no sound from the Dursleys'
bedroom.

When the bars were safely in the back seat with Ron, Fred reversed
as close as possible to Harry's window.

"Get in," Ron said.

"But all my Hogwarts stuff - my wand - my broomstick -"

"Where is it?"

"Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can't get out of this
room -"

"No problem," said George from the front passenger seat. "Out of
the way, Harry."

Fred and George climbed catlike through the window into Harry's
room. You had to hand it to them, thought Harry, as George took an
ordinary hairpin from his pocket and started to pick the lock.

"A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of
Muggle trick," said Fred, "but we feel they're skills worth learning,
even if they are a bit slow."

There was a small click and the door swung open.

"So - we'll get your trunk - you grab anything you need from your
room and hand it out to Ron," whispered George.

"Watch out for the bottom stair - it creaks," Harry whispered back
as the twins disappeared onto the dark landing.

Harry dashed around his room, collecting his things and passing them
out of the window to Ron. Then he went to help Fred and George
heave his trunk up the stairs. Harry heard Uncle Vernon cough.

At last, panting, they reached the landing, then carried the trunk
through Harry's room to the open window. Fred climbed back into
the car to pull with Ron, and Harry and George pushed from the
bedroom side. Inch by inch, the trunk slid through the window.

Uncle Vernon coughed again.

"A bit more," panted Fred, who was pulling from inside the car.
"One good push -"

Harry and George threw their shoulders against the trunk and it slid
out of the window into the back seat of the car.

"Okay, let's go," George whispered.

But as Harry climbed onto the windowsill there came a sudden loud
screech from behind him, followed immediately by the thunder of
Uncle Vernon's voice.

"THAT RUDDY OWL!"

"I've forgotten Hedwig!"

Harry tore back across the room as the landing light clicked on - he
snatched up Hedwig's cage, dashed to the window, and passed it
out to Ron. He was scrambling back onto the chest of drawers when
Uncle Vernon hammered on the unlocked door and it crashed open.

For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then
he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived at Harry, grabbing
him by the ankle.

Ron, Fred, and George seized Harry's arms and pulled as hard as
they could.

"Petunia!" roared Uncle Vernon. "He's getting away! HE'S
GETTING AWAY!"

But the Weasleys gave a gigantic tug and Harry's leg slid out of
Uncle Vernon's grasp - Harry was in the car - he'd slammed the
door shut

"Put your foot down, Fred!" yelled Ron, and the car shot suddenly
toward the moon.

Harry couldn't believe it - he was free. He rolled down the

window, the night air whipping his hair, and looked back at the
shrinking rooftops of Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and
Dudley were all hanging, dumbstruck, out of Harry's window.

"See you next summer!" Harry yelled.

The Weasleys roared with laughter and Harry settled back in his seat,
grinning from ear to ear.

"Let Hedwig out," he told Ron. "She can fly behind us. She hasn't had
a chance to stretch her wings for ages."

George handed the hairpin to Ron and, a moment later, Hedwig soared
joyfully out of the window to glide alongside them like a ghost.

"So - what's the story, Harry?" said Ron impatiently. "What's been
happening?"

Harry told them all about Dobby, the warning he'd given Harry and
the fiasco of the violet pudding. There was a long, shocked silence
when he had finished.

"Very fishy," said Fred finally.

"Definitely dodgy" agreed George. "So he wouldn't even tell you who's
supposed to be plotting all this stuff?"

"I don't think he could," said Harry. "I told you, every time he got close
to letting something slip, he started banging his head against the wall."

He saw Fred and George look at each other.

"What, you think he was lying to me?" said Harry.

"Well," said Fred, "put it this way - house-elves have got powerful
magic of their own, but they can't usually use it without their master's
permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you com

ing back to Hogwarts. Someone's idea of a joke. Can you think of
anyone at school with a grudge against you?"

"Yes," said Harry and Ron together, instantly.

"Draco Malfoy," Harry explained. "He hates me."

"Draco Malfoy?" said George, turning around. "Not Lucius Malfoy's
son?"

"Must be, it's not a very common name, is it?" said Harry.

Y.

"I've heard Dad talking about him," said George. "He was a big
supporter of You-Know-Who."

"And when You-Know-Who disappeared," said Fred, craning
around to look at Harry, "Lucius Malfoy came back saying he'd never
meant any of it. Load of dung - Dad reckons he was right in You-
Know-Who's inner circle."

Harry had heard these rumors about Malfoy's family before, and they
didn't surprise him at all. Malfoy made Dudley Dursley look

	like a kind, thoughtful, and sensitive boy.
	"I don't know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf 	said
	Harry.

"Well, whoever owns him will be an old wizarding family, and they'll
be rich," said Fred.

"Yeah, Mum's always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing,"
said George. "But all we've got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and
gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old manors
and castles and places like that; you wouldn't catch one in our house .
. . ."

Harry was silent. Judging by the fact that Draco Malfoy usually had
the best of everything, his family was rolling in wizard gold; he

could just see Malfoy strutting around a large manor house. Sending
the family servant to stop Harry from going back to Hogwarts also
sounded exactly like the sort of thing Malfoy would do. Had Harry
been stupid to take Dobby seriously?

"I'm glad we came to get you, anyway," said Ron. "I was getting
really worried when you didn't answer any of my letters. I thought it
was Errol's fault at first

-"

"Who's Errol?"

"Our owl. He's ancient. It wouldn't be the first time he'd collapsed
on a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes -"

"Who?"

"The owl Mum and Dad bought Percy when he was made prefect,"
said Fred from the front.

"But Percy wouldn't lend him to me," said Ron. "Said he needed
him."

"Percy's been acting very oddly this summer," said George,
frowning. "And he has been sending a lot of letters and spending a
load of time shut up in his room .... I mean, there's only so many
times you can polish a prefect badge .... You're driving too far west,
Fred," he added, pointing at a compass on the dashboard. Fred
twiddled the steering wheel.

"So, does your dad know you've got the car?" said Harry, guessing
the answer.

"Er, no," said Ron, "he had to work tonight. Hopefully we'll be able
to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it."

"What does your dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway?"

"He works in the most boring department," said Ron. "The Misuse
of Muggle Artifacts Office."

"The what?"

"It's all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you
know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like,
last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antiques
shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home, and tried to serve
her friends tea in it. It was a nightmare - Dad was working overtime
for weeks."

"What happened?"

"The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place
and one man ended up in the hospital with the sugar tongs clamped
to his nose. Dad was going frantic - it's only him and an old warlock
called Perkins in the office -and they had to do Memory Charms and
all sorts of stuff to cover it up -"

"But your dad - this car -"

Fred laughed. "Yeah, Dad's crazy about everything to do with
Muggles; our shed's full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells
on it, and puts it back together again. If he raided our house he'd
have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad."

"That's the main road," said George, peering down through the
windshield. "We'll be there in ten minutes .... Just as well, it's getting
light . . . ."

A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east.

Fred brought the car lower, and Harry saw a dark patchwork of
fields and clumps of trees.

"We're a little way outside the village," said George. "Ottery St.
Catchpole."

Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun
was now gleaming through the trees.

"Touchdown!" said Fred as, with a slight bump, they hit the ground.
They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard, and
Harry looked out for the first time at Ron's house.

It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra
rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high
and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (which,
Harry reminded himself, it probably was). Four or five chimneys were
perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground
near the entrance read, THE BuRRow. Around the front door lay a jumble
of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens
were pecking their way around the yard.

"It's not much," said Ron.

"It's wonderful," said Harry happily, thinking of Privet Drive.

They got out of the car.

"Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," said Fred, "and wait for Mum to
call us for breakfast Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going,
`Mum, look who turned up in the night!' and she'll be all pleased to see
Harry and no one need ever know we flew the car."

"Right," said Ron. "Come on, Harry, I sleep at the - at the top

Ron had gone a nasty greenish color, his eyes fixed on the house. The
other three wheeled around.

Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and
for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much
she looked like a saber-toothed tiger.

"Ah, "said Fred.

"Oh, dear," said George.

Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips,
staring from one guilty face to the next. She was wearing a flowered
apron with a wand sticking out of the pocket.

"So, "she said.

"Morning, Mum," said George, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty,
winning voice.

"Have you any idea how worried I've been?" said Mrs. Weasley in a
deadly whisper.

"Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to -"

All three of Mrs. Weasley's sons were taller than she was, but they
cowered as her rage broke over them.

"Beds empty! No note! Cargone - could have crashed - out of my

mind with worry - did you care? - never, as long as I've lived -
you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this
from Bill or Charlie or Percy -"

"Perfect Percy," muttered Fred.

"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S
BOOK!" yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred's chest. "You
could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your
father his job -"

It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself
hoarse before she turned on Harry, who backed away.

"I'm very pleased to see you, Harry, dear," she said. "Come in and
have some breakfast."

She turned and walked back into the house and Harry, after a nervous
glance at Ron, who nodded encouragingly, followed her.

The kitchen was small and rather cramped. There was a

scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle, and Harry sat down
on the edge of his seat, looking around. He had never been in a wizard
house before.

The clock on the wall opposite him had only one hand and no numbers
at all. Written around the edge were things like Time to make tea, Time
to feed the chickens, and You're late. Books were stacked three deep on
the mantelpiece, books with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese,
Enchantment in Baking, and One Minute Feasts - It's Magic! And unless
Harry's ears were deceiving him, the old radio next to the sink had just
announced that coming up was "Witching Hour, with the popular
singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck."

Mrs. Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little
haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages
into the frying pan. Every now and then she muttered things like "don't
know what you were thinking of," and "never would have believed it."

"I don't blame you, dear," she assured Harry, tipping eight or nine
sausages onto his plate. "Arthur and I have been worried about you,
too. Just last night we were saying we'd come and get you ourselves if
you hadn't written back to Ron by Friday. But really," (she was now
adding three fried eggs to his plate) "flying an illegal car halfway
across the country - anyone could have seen you -"

She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to
clean themselves, clinking gently in the background.

"It was cloudy, Mum!" said Fred.

"You keep your mouth closed while you're eating!" Mrs. Weasley
snapped.

"They were starving him, Mum!" said George.

"And you!" said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened
expression that she started cutting Harry bread and buttering it for
him.

At that moment there was a diversion in the form of a small,
redheaded figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the kitchen,
gave a small squeal, and ran out again.

"Ginny," said Ron in an undertone to Harry. "My sister. She's been
talking about you all summer."

"Yeah, she'll be wanting your autograph, Harry," Fred said with a grin,
but he caught his mother's eye and bent his face over his plate without
another word. Nothing more was said until all four plates were clean,
which took a surprisingly short time.

"Blimey, I'm tired," yawned Fred, setting down his knife and fork at last.
"I think I'll go to bed and -"

"You will not," snapped Mrs. Weasley. "It's your own fault you've
been up all night. You're going to de-gnome the garden for me; they're
getting completely out of hand again -"

"Oh, Mum -"

"And you two," she said, glaring at Ron and Fred. "You can go up to
bed, dear," she added to Harry. "You didn't ask them to fly that
wretched car -"

But Harry, who felt wide awake, said quickly, "I'll help Ron. I've
never seen a de-gnoming -"

"That's very sweet of you, dear, but it's dull work," said Mrs. Weasley.
"Now, let's see what Lockhart's got to say on the subject -"

And she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece.
George groaned.

"Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden -"

Harry looked at the cover of Mrs. Weasley's book. Written across it
in fancy gold letters were the words Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to
Household Pests. There was a big photograph on the front of a very good-
IOI)king wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. As always
in the wizarding world, the photograph was moving; the wizard, who
Harry supposed was Gilderoy Lockhart, kept winking cheekily up at
them all. Mrs. Weasley beamed down at him.

"Oh, he is marvelous," she said. "He knows his household pests, all
right, it's a wonderful book . . . ."

"Mum fancies him," said Fred, in a very audible whisper.

"Don't be so ridiculous, Fred," said Mrs. Weasley, her cheeks rather
pink. "All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go
and get on with it, and woe betide you if there's a single gnome in that
garden when I come out to inspect it."

Yawning and grumbling, the Weasleys slouched outside with Harry
behind them. The garden was large, and in Harry's eyes, exactlY
what a garden should be. The Dursleys wouldn't have liked it - there
were plenty of weeds, and the grass needed cutting but there were
gnarled trees all around the walls, plants Harry had never seen spilling
from every flower bed, and a big green pond full of frogs.

"Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know," Harry told Ron

they crossed the lawn.

"Yeah, I've seen those things they think are gnomes," said Ron, bent
double with his head in a peony bush, "like fat little Santa Clauses with
fishing rods . . . ."

There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered, and
Ron straightened up. "This is a gnome," he said grimly.

"Gerroff me! Gerroff me!" squealed the gnome.

It was certainly nothing like Santa Claus. It was small and leathery
looking, with a large, knobby, bald head exactly like a potato. Ron held
it at arm's length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet; he
grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down.

"This is what you have to do," he said. He raised the gnome above his
head ("Gerroff me!") and started to swing it in great circles like a
lasso. Seeing the shocked look on Harry's face, Ron added, "It doesn't
hurt them - you've just got to make them really dizzy so they can't find
their way back to the gnomeholes."

He let go of the gnome's ankles: It flew twenty feet into the air and
landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.

"Pitiful," said Fred. "I bet I can get mine beyond that stump."

Harry learned quickly not to feel too sorry for the gnomes. He decided
just to drop the first one he caught over the hedge, but the gnome,
sensing weakness, sank its razor-sharp teeth into Harry's finger and he
had a hard job shaking it off - until

"Wow, Harry - that must've been fifty feet ......

The air was soon thick with flying gnomes.

"See, they're not too bright," said George, seizing five or six gnomes at
once. "The moment they know the de-gnoming's going on they storm
up to have a look. You'd think they'd have learned by now just to stay
put."

Soon, the crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away in a
straggling line, their little shoulders hunched.

"They'll be back," said Ron as they watched the gnomes disappear into
the hedge on the other side of the field. "They love it here .... Dad's
too soft with them; he thinks they're funny . . . ."

Just then, the front door slammed.

"He's back!" said George. "Dad's home!"

They hurried through the garden and back into the house.

Mr. Weasley was slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and
his eyes closed. He was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he
had was as red as any of his children's. He was wearing long green
robes, which were dusty and travel-worn.

"What a night," he mumbled, groping for the teapot as they all sat
down around him. "Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher
tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned ......

Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed.

"Find anything, Dad?" said Fred eagerly.

"All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle," yawned
Mr. Weasley. "There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn't my
department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about
some extremely odd ferrets, but that's the Committee on Experimental
Charms, thank goodness ......

"Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?" said George.

"Just Muggle-baiting," sighed Mr. Weasley. "Sell them a key that
keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it
.... Of course, it's very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle
would admit their key keeps shrinking - they'll insist they just keep
losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if
it's staring them in the face .... But the things our lot have taken to
enchanting, you wouldn't believe -"

"LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?"

Mrs. Weasley had appeared, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr.
Weasley's eyes jerked open. He stared guiltily at his wife.

"C-cars, Molly, dear?"

"Yes, Arthur, cars," said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing. "Imagine a
wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do
with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was
enchanting it to make it fly."

Mr. Weasley blinked.

"Well, dear, I think you'll find that he would be quite within the law to
do that, even if - er - he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his
wife the truth .... There's a loophole in the law, you'll find .... As long
as he wasn't intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly
wouldn't -"

"Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you
wrote that law!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "Just so you could carry on
tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your
information, Harry arrived this morning in the car you weren't
intending to fly!"

"Harry?" said Mr. Weasley blankly. "Harry who?"

He looked around, saw Harry, and jumped.

"Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Ron's told us
so much about -"

"Your sons flew that car to Harry's house and back last night."

shouted Mrs. Weasley. "What have you got to say about that, eh?"

"Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Did it go all right? I - I
mean," he faltered as sparks flew from Mrs. Weasley's eyes, "that -
that was very wrong, boys - very wrong indeed ......

"Let's leave them to it," Ron muttered to Harry as Mrs. Weasley
swelled like a bullfrog. "Come on, I'll show you my bedroom."

They slipped out of the kitchen and down a narrow passageway to an
uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up

through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar. Harry just
caught sight of a pair of bright brown eyes staring at him before it
closed with a snap.

"Ginny," said Ron. "You don't know how weird it is for her to be this
shy. She never shuts up normally -"

They climbed two more flights until they reached a door with peeling
paint and a small plaque on it, saying RONALD'S ROOM.

Harry stepped in, his head almost touching the sloping ceiling, and
blinked. It was like walking into a furnace: Nearly everything in Ron's
room seemed to be a violent shade of orange: the bedspread, the
walls, even the ceiling. Then Harry realized that Ron had covered
nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same
seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying
broomsticks, and waving energetically.

"Your Quidditch team?" said Harry.

"The Chudley Cannons," said Ron, pointing at the orange bedspread,
which was emblazoned with two giant black C's and a speeding
cannonball. "Ninth in the league."

Ron's school spellbooks were stacked untidily in a corner, next to a
pile of comics that all seemed to feature The Adventures of Martin
Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Ron's magic wand was lying on top of a fish
tank full of frog spawn on the windowsill, next to his fat gray rat,
Scabbers, who was snoozing in a patch of sun.

Harry stepped over a pack of Self-Shuffling playing cards on the floor
and looked out of the tiny window. In the field far below he could see
a gang of gnomes sneaking one by one back through the Weasleys'
hedge. Then he turned to look at Ron, who was watching him almost
nervously, as though waiting for his opinion.

"It's a bit small," said Ron quickly. "Not like that room you had
with the Muggles. And I'm right underneath the ghoul in the attic;
he's always banging on the pipes and groaning ......
But Harry, grinning widely, said, "This is the best house I've ever
been in."
Ron's ears went pink. .

C H4 A P T E R		V O U R

AT F L 0 V RR 11 $ H
AND BLOTTS

ife at the Burrow was as different as possible from life on Privet
Drive. The Dursleys liked everything neat and ordered; the Weasleys'
house burst with the strange and unexpected. Harry got a shock the
first time he looked in the mirror over the kitchen mantelpiece and it
shouted, "Tuck your shirt in, scruffy!" The ghoul in the attic howled
and dropped pipes whenever he felt things were getting too quiet, and
small explosions from Fred and George's bedroom were considered
perfectly normal. What Harry found most unusual about life at Ron's,
however, wasn't the talking mirror or the clanking ghoul: It was the
fact that everybody there seemed to like him.

Mrs. Weasley fussed over the state of his socks and tried to force him
to eat fourth helpings at every meal. Mr. Weasley liked Harry to sit
next to him at the dinner table so that he could bombard him with
questions about life with Muggles, asking him to explain how things
like plugs and the postal service worked.

42



"Fascinating." he would say as Harry talked him through using a
telephone. "Ingenious, really, how many ways Muggles have found of
getting along without magic."

Harry heard from Hogwarts one sunny morning about a week after he
had arrived at the Burrow. He and Ron went down to breakfast to find
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny already sitting at the kitchen table.
The moment she saw Harry, Ginny accidentally knocked her porridge
bowl to the floor with a loud clatter. Ginny seemed very prone to
knocking things over whenever Harry entered a room. She dived under
the table to retrieve the bowl and emerged with her face glowing like
the setting sun. Pretending he hadn't noticed this, Harry sat down and
took the toast Mrs. Weasley offered him.

"Letters from school," said Mr. Weasley, passing Harry and Ron
identical envelopes of yellowish parchment, addressed in green ink.
"Dumbledore already knows you're here, Harry - doesn't miss a trick,
that man. You two've got them, too," he added, as Fred and George
ambled in, still in their pajamas.

For a few minutes there was silence as they all read their letters.
Harry's told him to catch the Hogwarts Express as usual from King's
Cross station on September first. There was also a list of the new
books he'd need for the coming year.

SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE:

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2

by Miranda Goshawk

Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart
Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart
Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart

4 ",3

Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart
Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart
Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart
Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart

Fred, who had finished his own list, peered over at Harry's.

"You've been told to get all Lockhart's books, too!" he said. "The new
Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a fan - bet it's a
witch."

At this point, Fred caught his mother's eye and quickly busied himself
with the marmalade.

"That lot won't come cheap," said George, with a quick look at his
parents. "Lockhart's books are really expensive ......

"Well, we'll manage," said Mrs. Weasley, but she looked worried. "I
expect we'll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny's things secondhand."

"Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?" Harry asked Ginny.

She nodded, blushing to the roots of her flaming hair, and put her
elbow in the butter dish. Fortunately no one saw this except Harry,
because just then Ron's elder brother Percy walked in. He was
already dressed, his Hogwarts prefect badge pinned to his sweater
vest.

"Morning, all," said Percy briskly. "Lovely day."

He sat down in the only remaining chair but leapt up again almost
immediately, pulling from underneath him a moulting, gray feather
duster - at least, that was what Harry thought it was, until he saw that
it was breathing.

* 44

"Errol!" said Ron, taking the limp owl from Percy and extracting a
letter from under its wing. "Finally - he's got Hermione's answer. I
wrote to her saying we were going to try and rescue you from the
Dursleys."

He carried Errol to a perch just inside the back door and tried to
stand him on it, but Errol flopped straight off again so Ron lay him on
the draining board instead, muttering, "Pathetic." Then he ripped
open Hermione's letter and read it out loud:

"`Dear Ron, and Harry if you're there,

	"`I hope everything went all right and that Harry is okay and that
you didn't do anything illegal to get him out, Ron, because that would
get Harry into trouble, too. I've been really worried and if Harry is all
right, will you please let me know at once, but perhaps it would be bet
ter if you used a different owl because I think another delivery might
finish your one off.

"'I'm very busy with schoolwork, of course'- How can she be?" said Ron
in horror. "We're on vacation! - 'and we're going to London next
Wednesday to buy my new books. Why don't we meet in Diago n Alley?

"`Let me know what's happening as soon as you can. Love from Hermione.
"'

"Well, that fits in nicely, we can go and get all your things then, too,"
said Mrs. Weasley, starting to clear the table. "What're you all up to
today?"

Harry, Ron, Fred, and George were planning to go up the hill to a
small paddock the Weasleys owned. It was surrounded by trees that
blocked it from view of the village below, meaning that they could
practice Quidditch there, as long as they didn't fly too high.

* 4$

They couldn't use real Quidditch balls, which would have been hard to
explain if they had escaped and flown away over the village; instead
they threw apples for one another to catch. They took turns riding
Harry's Nimbus Two Thousand, which was easily the best broom;
Ron's old Shooting Star was often outstripped by passing butterflies.

Five minutes later they were marching up the hill, broomsticks over
their shoulders. They had asked Percy if he wanted to join them, but
he had said he was busy. Harry had only seen Percy at mealtimes so
far; he stayed shut in his room the rest of the time.

"Wish I knew what he was up to," said Fred, frowning. "He's not
himself. His exam results came the day before you did; twelve
O.WL.s and he hardly gloated at all."

"Ordinary Wizarding Levels," George explained, seeing Harry's
puzzled look. "Bill got twelve, too. If we're not careful, we'll have
another Head Boy in the family. I don't think I could stand the shame."

Bill was the oldest Weasley brother. He and the next brother, Charlie,
had already left Hogwarts. Harry had never met either of them, but
knew that Charlie was in Romania studying dragons and Bill in Egypt
working for the wizard's bank, Gringotts.

"Dunno how Mum and Dad are going to afford all our school stuff this
year," said George after a while. "Five sets of Lockhart books! And
Ginny needs robes and a wand and everything ......

Harry said nothing. He felt a bit awkward. Stored in an underground
vault at Gringotts in London was a small fortune that his parents had
left him. Of course, it was only in the wizarding world that he had
money; you couldn't use Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts

46

in Muggle shops. He had never mentioned his Gringotts bank account
to the Dursleys; he didn't think their horror of anything connected with
magic would stretch to a large pile of gold.

Mrs. Weasley woke them all early the following Wednesday. After a
quick half a dozen bacon sandwiches each, they pulled on their coats
and Mrs. Weasley took a flowerpot off the kitchen mantelpiece and
peered inside.

"We're running low, Arthur," she sighed. "We'll have to buy some
more today... Ah well, guests first! After you, Harry dear!"

And she offered him the flowerpot.

Harry stared at them all watching him.

"W-what am I supposed to do?" he stammered.

"He's never traveled by Floo powder," said Ron suddenly. "Sorry,
Harry, I forgot."

"Never?" said Mr. Weasley. "But how did you get to Diagon Alley to
buy your school things last year?"

"I went on the Underground -"

"Really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Were there escapators? How
exactly -"

"Not now, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley. "Floo powder's a lot quicker,
dear, but goodness me, if you've never used it before -"

"He'll be all right, Mum," said Fred. "Harry, watch us first."

He took a pinch of glittering powder out of the flowerpot, stepped up
to the fire, and threw the powder into the flames.

With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred,
who stepped right into it, shouted, "Diagon Alley!" and vanished.

* 41

"You must speak clearly, dear," Mrs. Weasley told Harry as George
dipped his hand into the flowerpot. "And be sure to get out at the right
grate ......

"The right what?" said Harry nervously as the fire roared and whipped
George out of sight, too.

"Well, there are an awful lot of wizard fires to choose from, you know,
but as long as you've spoken clearly -"

"He'll be fine, Molly, don't fuss," said Mr. Weasley, helping himself to
Floo powder, too.

"But, dear, if he got lost, how would we ever explain to his aunt and
uncle?"

"They wouldn't mind," Harry reassured her. "Dudley would think it
was a brilliant joke if I got lost up a chimney, don't worry about that -"

"Well ... all right ... you go after Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley. "Now,
when you get into the fire, say where you're going

"And keep your elbows tucked in," Ron advised.

"And your eyes shut," said Mrs. Weasley. "The soot -"

"Don't fidget," said Ron. "Or you might well fall out of the wrong
fireplace -"

"But don't panic and get out too early; wait until you see Fred and
George."

Trying hard to bear all this in mind, Harry took a pinch of Floo powder
and walked to the edge of the fire. He took a deep breath, scattered
the powder into the flames, and stepped forward; the fire felt like a
warm breeze; he opened his mouth and immediately swallowed a lot
of hot ash.

"D-Dia-gon Alley," he coughed.

48

It felt as though he was being sucked down a giant drain. He seemed
to be spinning very fast - the roaring in his ears was deafening -he
tried to keep his eyes open but the whirl of green flames made him
feel sick - something hard knocked his elbow and he tucked it in
tightly, still spinning and spinning - now it felt as though cold hands
were slapping his face - squinting through his glasses he saw a blurred
stream of fireplaces and snatched glimpses of the rooms beyond - his
bacon sandwiches were churning inside him - he closed his eyes again
wishing it would stop, and then

He fell, face forward, onto cold stone and felt the bridge of his glasses
snap.

Dizzy and bruised, covered in soot, he got gingerly to his feet, holding
his broken glasses up to his eyes. He was -,cite alone, but where he
was, he had no idea. All he could tell was that he was standing in the
stone fireplace of what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard's shop - but
nothing in here was ever likely to be on a Hogwarts school list.

A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a bloodstained
pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down
from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter,
and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. Even worse, the
dark, narrow street Harry could see through the dusty shop window
was definitely not Diagon Alley.

The sooner he got out of here, the better. Nose still stinging where it
had hit the hearth, Harry made his way swiftly and silently toward the
door, but before he'd got halfway toward it, two people appeared on
the other side of the glass - and one of them was the

49

very last person Harry wanted to meet when he was lost, covered in
soot, and wearing broken glasses: Draco Malfoy.

Harry looked quickly around and spotted a large black cabinet to his
left; he shot inside it and pulled the doors closed, leaving a small crack
to peer through. Seconds later, a bell clanged, and Malfoy stepped into
the shop.

The man who followed could only be Draco's father. He had the same
pale, pointed face and identical cold, gray eyes. Mr. Malfoy crossed
the shop, looking lazily at the items on display, and rang a bell on the
counter before turning to his son and saying, "Touch nothing, Draco."

Malfoy, who had reached for the glass eye, said, "I thought you were
going to buy me a present."

"I said I would buy you a racing broom," said his father, drumming his
fingers on the counter.

"What's the good of that if I'm not on the House team?" said Malfoy,
looking sulky and bad-tempered. "Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two
Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could
play for Gryffindor. He's not even that good, it's just because he's
famous ... famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead . . . ."

Malfoy bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls.

". . . everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and
his broomstick -"

"You have told me this at least a dozen times already," said Mr.
Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son. "And I would remind you that it
is not - prudent - to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when
most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord
disappear - ah, Mr. Borgin."

50

A stooping man had appeared behind the counter, smoothing his
greasy hair back from his face.

"Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," said Mr. Borgin in a
voice as oily as his hair. "Delighted - and young Master Malfoy, too -
charmed. How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today,
and very reasonably priced -"

"I'm not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling," said Mr. Malfoy.

"Selling?" The smile faded slightly from Mr. Borgin's face.

"You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more
raids," said Mr. Malfoy, taking a roll of parchment from his inside
pocket and unraveling it for Mr. Borgin to read. "I have a few - ah -
items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call
......

Mr. Borgin fixed a pair of pince-nez to his nose and looked down the
list.

"The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble you, sir, surely?"

Mr. Malfoy's lip curled.

"I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a
certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There
are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act - no doubt that flea-
bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it

Harry felt a hot surge of anger.

"- and as you see, certain of these poisons might make it appear -"

"I understand, sir, of course," said Mr. Borgin. "Let me see. . ."

"Can I have that?" interrupted Draco, pointing at the withered hand on
its cushion.

51

"Ah, the Hand of Glory!" said Mr. Borgin, abandoning Mr. Malfoy's
list and scurrying over to Draco. "Insert a candle and it gives light only
to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine
taste, sir."

"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer,
Borgin," said Mr. Malfoy coldly, and Mr. Borgin said quickly, "No
offense, sir, no offense meant -"

"Though if his grades don't pick up," said Mr. Malfoy, more coldly still,
"that may indeed be all he is fit for -"

"It's not my fault," retorted Draco. "The teachers all have favorites,
that Hermione Granger -"

"I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family
beat you in every exam," snapped Mr. Malfoy.

"Ha!" said Harry under his breath, pleased to see Draco looking both
abashed and angry.

"It's the same all over," said Mr. Borgin, in his oily voice. "Wizard
blood is counting for less everywhere -"

"Not with me," said Mr. Malfoy, his long nostrils flaring.

"No, sir, nor with me, sir," said Mr. Borgin, with a deep bow.

"In that case, perhaps we can return to my list," said Mr. Malfoy
shortly. "I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I have important
business elsewhere today -"

They started to haggle. Harry watched nervously as Draco drew
nearer and nearer to his hiding place, examining the objects for sale.
Draco paused to examine a long coil of hangman's rope and to read,
smirking, the card propped on a magnificent necklace of opals,
Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed - Has Claimed the Lives of Nineteen Muggle
Owners to Date.

* 52

Draco turned away and saw the cabinet right in front of him. He
walked forward - he stretched out his hand for the handle

"Done," said Mr. Malfoy at the counter. "Come, Draco -"

Harry wiped his forehead on his sleeve as Draco turned away.

"Good day to you, Mr. Borgin. I'll expect you at the manor tomorrow
to pick up the goods."

The moment the door had closed, Mr. Borgin dropped his oily manner.

"Good day yourself, Mister Malfoy, and if the stories are true, you
haven't sold me half of what's hidden in your manor ......

Muttering darkly, Mr. Borgin disappeared into a back room. Harry
waited for a minute in case he came back, then, quietly as he could,
slipped out of the cabinet, past the glass cases, and out of the shop
door.

Clutching his broken glasses to his face, Harry stared around. He had
emerged into a dingy alleyway that seemed to be made up entirely of
shops devoted to the Dark Arts. The one he'd just left, Borgin and
Burkes, looked like the largest, but opposite was a nasty window
display of shrunken heads and, two doors down, a large cage was
alive with gigantic black spiders. Two shabby-looking wizards were
watching him from the shadow of a doorway, muttering to each other.
Feeling jumpy, Harry set off, trying to hold his glasses on straight and
hoping against hope he'd be able to find a way out of here.

An old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous
candles told him he was in Knockturn Alley. This didn't help, as Harry
had never heard of such a place. He supposed he hadn't spoken
clearly enough through his mouthful of ashes



back in the Weasleys' fire. Trying to stay calm, he wondered what to
do.

"Not lost are you, my dear?" said a voice in his ear, making him jump.

An aged witch stood in front of him, holding a tray of what looked
horribly like whole human fingernails. She leered at him, showing
mossy teeth. Harry backed away.

"I'm fine, thanks," he said. "I'm just -"

"HARRY! What d'yeh think yer doin' down there?"

Harry's heart leapt. So did the witch; a load of fingernails cascaded
down over her feet and she cursed as the massive form of Hagrid, the
Hogwarts gamekeeper, came striding toward them, beetle-black eyes
flashing over his great bristling beard.

"Hagrid!" Harry croaked in relief. "I was lost - Floo powder -"

Hagrid seized Harry by the scruff of the neck and pulled him away
from the witch, knocking the tray right out of her hands. Her shrieks
followed them all the way along the twisting alleyway out into bright
sunlight. Harry saw a familiar, snow-white marble building in the
distance - Gringotts Bank. Hagrid had steered him right into Diagon
Alley.

"Yer a mess!" said Hagrid gruffly, brushing soot off Harry so
forcefully he nearly knocked him into a barrel of dragon dung outside
an apothecary. "Skulkin' around Knockturn Alley, I dunno dodgy place,
Harry - don' want no one ter see yeh down there -"

"I realized that," said Harry, ducking as Hagrid made to brush him off
again. "I told you, I was lost - what were you doing down there,
anyway?"

* 54

"I was lookin' fer a Flesh-Eatin' Slug Repellent," growled Hagrid.
"They're ruinin' the school cabbages. Yer not on yer own?"

"I'm staying with the Weasleys but we got separated," Harry explained.
"I've got to go and find them . . . ."

They set off together down the street.

"How come yeh never wrote back ter me?" said Hagrid as Harry
jogged alongside him (he had to take three steps to every stride of
Hagrid's enormous boots). Harry explained all about Dobby and the
Dursleys.

"Lousy Muggles," growled Hagrid. "If I'd've known -"

"Harry! Harry! Over here!"

Harry looked up and saw Hermione Granger standing at the top of the
white flight of steps to Gringotts. She ran down to meet them, her
bushy brown hair flying behind her.

"What happened to your glasses? Hello, Hagrid - Oh, it's wonderful to
see you two again - Are you coming into Gringotts, Harry?"

"As soon as I've found the Weasleys," said Harry.

"Yeh won't have long ter wait," Hagrid said with a grin.

Harry and Hermione looked around: Sprinting up the crowded street
were Ron, Fred, George, Percy, and Mr. Weasley.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley panted. "We hoped you'd only gone one

	grate too far . 	He mopped his glistening bald patch. "Molly's

frantic - she's coming now -"

"Where did you come out?" Ron asked.

"Knockturn Alley," said Hagrid grimly.

"Excellent." said Fred and George together.

"We've never been allowed in," said Ron enviously.

*55*

"I should ruddy well think not," growled Hagrid.
Mrs. Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swing
ing wildly in one hand, Ginny just clinging onto the other.
"Oh, Harry - oh, my dear - you could have been any
where -"
Gasping for breath she pulled a large clothes brush out of her
bag and began sweeping off the soot Hagrid hadn't managed to
beat away. Mr. Weasley took Harry's glasses, gave them a tap of his
wand, and returned them, good as new.
"Well, gotta be off," said Hagrid, who was having his hand
wrung by Mrs. Weasley ("Knockturn Alley! If you hadn't found
him, Hagrid!"). "See yer at Hogwarts!" And he strode away, head
and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed street.
"Guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes?" Harry asked Ron and
Hermione as they climbed the Gringotts steps. "Malfoy and his fa
ther."
"Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?" said Mr. Weasley sharply
behind them.
"No, he was selling ='
"So he's worried," said Mr. Weasley with grim satisfaction. "Oh,
I'd love to get Lucius Malfoy for something ......
"You be careful, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley sharply as they were
bowed into the bank by a goblin at the door. "That family's trou
ble. Don't go biting off more than you can chew -"
"So you don't think I'm a match for Lucius Malfoy?" said Mr.
Weasley indignantly, but he was distracted almost at once by the
sight of Hermione's parents, who were standing nervously at the
counter that ran all along the great marble hall, waiting for
Hermione to introduce them.

,5 s

"But you're Muggles!" said Mr. Weasley delightedly. "We must have a drink!
What's that you've got there? Oh, you're changing Muggle money. Molly,
look!" He pointed excitedly at the tenpound notes in Mr. Granger's hand.

"Meet you back here," Ron said to Hermione as the Weasleys and Harry
were led off to their underground vaults by another Gringotts goblin.

The vaults were reached by means of small, goblin-driven carts that sped
along miniature train tracks through the bank's underground tunnels.
Harry enjoyed the breakneck journey down to the Weasleys' vault, but felt
dreadful, far worse than he had in Knockturn Alley, when it was opened.
There was a very small pile of silver Sickles inside, and just one gold Galleon.
Mrs. Weasley felt right into the corners before sweeping the whole lot into
her bag. Harry felt even worse when they reached his vault. He tried to
block the contents from view as he hastily shoved handfuls of coins into a
leather bag.

Back outside on the marble steps, they all separated. Percy muttered
vaguely about needing a new quill. Fred and George had spotted their
friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were going to
a secondhand robe shop. Mr. Weasley was insisting on taking the Grangers
off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.

"We'll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your schoolbooks,"
said Mrs. Weasley, setting off with Ginny. "And not one step down
Knockturn Alley!" she shouted at the twins' retreating backs.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione strolled off along the winding, cobbled street.
The bag of gold, silver, and bronze jangling cheerfully

*57*

in Harry's pocket was clamoring to be spent, so he bought three
large strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice creams, which they slurped
happily as they wandered up the alley, examining the fascinating
shop windows. Ron gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Can
non robes in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies until
Hermione dragged them off to buy ink and parchment next door.
In Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, they met Fred, George,
and Lee Jordan, who were stocking up on Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous
Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks, and in a tiny junk shop full of bro
ken wands, lopsided brass scales, and old cloaks covered in potion
stains they found Percy, deeply immersed in a small and deeply
boring book called Prefects Who Gained Power.
`A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers, " Ron read
aloud off the back cover. "That sounds fascinating . . . ."

"Go away," Percy snapped.
"'Course, he's very ambitious, Percy, he's got it all planned
out .... He wants to be Minister of Magic. . . " Ron told Harry
and Hermione in an undertone as they left Percy to it.
An hour later, they headed for Flourish and Blotts. They were by
no means the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they
approached it, they saw to their surprise a large crowd jostling out
side the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed

by a large banner stretched across the upper windows:

GILDEROY LOCKHART
will be signing copies of his autobiography
MAGICAL ME
today 12:30 P.m. to 4:30 P.m.

"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's
written almost the whole booklist!"

The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs.
Weasley's age. A harrassed-looking wizard stood at the door, saying,
"Calmly, please, ladies .... Don't push, there ... mind the books, now . .
. . "

	Harry, Ron, and Hermione squeezed inside. A long line wound
right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing
his books. They each grabbed a copy of The Standard Book of Spells,
Grade 2 and sneaked up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys
were standing with Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

"Oh, there you are, good," said Mrs. Weasley. She sounded breathless
and kept patting her hair. "We'll be able to see him in a minute ......

Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded
by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly
white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of
forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard's
hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.

A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs
with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with
every blinding flash.

"Out of the way, there," he snarled at Ron, moving back to get a better
shot. "This is for the Daily Prophet -"

"Big deal," said Ron, rubbing his foot where the photographer had
stepped on it.

Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up. He saw Ron

*59*


and then he saw Harry. He stared. Then he leapt to his feet and positively
shouted, "It can't be Harry Potter?"

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized
Harry's arm, and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into applause.
Harry's face burned as Lockhart shook his hand for the photographer, who
was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys.

"Nice big smile, Harry," said Lockhart, through his own gleaming teeth.
"Together, you and I are worth the front page."

When he finally let go of Harry's hand, Harry could hardly feel his fingers.
He tried to sidle back over to the Weasleys, but Lockhart threw an arm
around his shoulders and clamped him tightly to his side.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, waving for quiet. "What an
extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little
announcement I've been sitting on for some time!

"When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only
wanted to buy my autobiography -which I shall be happy to present him
now, free of charge-" The crowd applauded again. "He had no idea,"
Lockhart continued, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to
the end of his nose, "that he would shortly be getting much, much more
than my book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting
the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and
pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of
Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft
and Wizardry!"

The crowd cheered and clapped and Harry found himself being

60

presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering
slightly under their weight, he managed to make his way out of the
limelight to the edge of the room, where Ginny was standing next to
her new cauldron.

"You have these," Harry mumbled to her, tipping the books into the
cauldron. "I'll buy my own -"

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" said a voice Harry had no
trouble recognizing. He straightened up and found himself face-to-face
with Draco Malfoy, who was wearing his usual sneer.

"Famous Harry Potter," said Malfoy. "Can't even go into a bookshop
without making the front page."

"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" said Ginny. It was the first
time she had spoken in front of Harry. She was glaring at Malfoy.

"Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" drawled Malfoy. Ginny went
scarlet as Ron and Hermione fought their way over, both clutching
stacks of Lockhart's books.

"Oh, it's you," said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were something
unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. "Bet you're surprised to see Harry
here, eh?"

"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley," retorted
Malfoy. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for
all those."

Ron went as red as Ginny. He dropped his books into the cauldron,
too, and started toward Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione grabbed the
back of his jacket.

"Ron!" said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George.
"What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."

61

"Well, well, well - Arthur Weasley."

It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco's shoulder,
sneering in just the same way.

"Lucius," said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr. Malfoy. "All those raids
... I hope they're paying you overtime?"

He reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy
Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of A Beginner's Guide
to Transfiguration.

"Obviously not," Mr. Malfoy said. "Dear me, what's the use of being a
disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or Ginny.

"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard,
Malfoy," he said.

"Clearly," said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs.
Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you
keep, Weasley ... and I thought your family could sink no lower ='

There was a thud of metal as Ginny's cauldron went flying; Mr.
Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward
into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down
on all their heads; there was a yell of, "Get him, Dad!" from Fred or
George; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!"; the crowd
stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; "Gentlemen,
please - please!" cried the assistant, and then, louder than all

"Break it up, there, gents, break it up -"

62

Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant he had
pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr.
Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an Encyclopedia of Toadstools. He was still
holding Ginny's old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes
glittering with malice.

"Here, girl - take your book - it's the best your father can give you -" Pulling
himself out of Hagrid's grip he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop.

"Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur," said Hagrid, almost lifting Mr. Weasley
off his feet as he straightened his robes. "Rotten ter the core, the whole family,
everyone knows that - no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter - bad blood, that's what it
is - come on now - let's get outta here."

The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them leaving, but he barely
came up to Hagrid's waist and seemed to think better of it. They hurried up the
street, the Grangers shaking with fright and Mrs. Weasley beside herself with
fury.

"A fine example to set for your children . . . brawling in public . . . what
Gilderoy Lockhart must've thought -"

"He was pleased," said Fred. "Didn't you hear him as we were leaving? He was
asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he'd be able to work the fight into
his report - said it was all publicity -"

But it was a subdued group that headed back to the fireside in the Leaky
Cauldron, where Harry, the Weasleys, and all their shopping would be
traveling back to the Burrow using Floo powder. They said good-bye to the
Grangers, who were leaving the pub for the Muggle street on the other side;
Mr. Weasley started to ask

63

them how bus stops worked, but stopped quickly at the look on Mrs.
Weasley's face.

Harry took off his glasses and put them safely in his pocket before
helping himself to Floo powder. It definitely wasn't his favorite way to
travel.

C H-H A P T E RR		F I v E

THE	WHOMPING
	WILLOW

he end of the summer vacation came too quickly for Harry's liking.
He was looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts, but his month
at the Burrow had been the happiest of his life. It was difficult not to
feel jealous of Ron when he thought of the Dursleys and the sort of
welcome he could expect next time he turned up on Privet Drive.

On their last evening, Mrs. Weasley conjured up a sumptuous dinner
that included all of Harry's favorite things, ending with a
mouthwatering treacle pudding. Fred and George rounded off the
evening with a display of Filibuster fireworks; they fiIled the kitchen
with red and blue stars that bounced from ceiling to wall for at least
half an hour. Then it was time for a last mug of hot chocolate and
bed.

It took a long while to get started next morning. They were up at
dawn, but somehow they still seemed to have a great deal to do.

65



Mrs. Weasley dashed about in a bad mood looking for spare socks and
quills; people kept colliding on the stairs, half-dressed with bits of toast
in their hands; and Mr. Weasley nearly broke his neck, tripping over a
stray chicken as he crossed the yard carrying Ginny's trunk to the car.

Harry couldn't see how eight people, six large trunks, two owls, and a
rat were going to fit into one small Ford Anglia. He had reckoned, of
course, without the special features that Mr. Weasley had added.

"Not a word to Molly," he whispered to Harry as he opened the. trunk
and showed him how it had been magically expanded so that the
luggage fitted easily.

When at last they were all in the car, Mrs. Weasley glanced into the
back seat, where Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Percy were all sitting
comfortably side by side, and said, "Muggles do know more than we
give them credit for, don't they?" She and Ginny got into the front seat,
which had been stretched so that it resembled a park bench. "I mean,
you'd never know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?"

Mr. Weasley started up the engine and they trundled out of the yard,
Harry turning back for a last look at the house. He barely had time to
wonder when he'd see it again when they were back George had
forgotten his box of Filibuster fireworks. Five minutes after that, they
skidded to a halt in the yard so that Fred could run in for his
broomstick. They had almost reached the highway when Ginny
shrieked that she'd left her diary. By the time she had clambered back
into the car, they were running very late, and tempers were running
high.

* 66

Mr. Weasley glanced at his watch and then at his wife.

"Molly, dear -"

"No, Arthur -"

"No one would see - this little button here is an Invisibility Booster I
installed - that'd get us up in the air - then we fly above the clouds.
We'd be there in ten minutes and no one would be any the wiser -"

"I said no, Arthur, not in broad daylight -"

They reached King's Cross at a quarter to eleven. Mr. Weasley
dashed across the road to get trolleys for their trunks and they all
hurried into the station.

Harry had caught the Hogwarts Express the previous year. The tricky
part was getting onto platform nine and three-quarters, which wasn't
visible to the Muggle eye. What you had to do was walk through the
solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. It didn't hurt, but it had to
be done carefully so that none of the Muggles noticed you vanishing.

"Percy first," said Mrs. Weasley, looking nervously at the clock
overhead, which showed they had only five minutes to disappear
casually through the barrier.

Percy strode briskly forward and vanished. Mr. Weasley went next;
Fred and George followed.

"I'll take Ginny and you two come right after us," Mrs. Weasley told
Harry and Ron, grabbing Ginny's hand and setting off. In the blink of
an eye they were gone.

"Let's go together, we've only got a minute," Ron said to Harry.

Harry made sure that Hedwig's cage was safely wedged on top of his
trunk and wheeled his trolley around to face the barrier. He felt

61

perfectly confident; this wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as using Floo
powder. Both of them bent low over the handles of their trolleys and
walked purposefully toward the barrier, gathering speed. A few feet
away from it, they broke into a run and

CRASH.

Both trolleys hit the barrier and bounced backward; Ron's trunk fell
off with a loud thump, Harry was knocked off his feet, and Hedwig's
cage bounced onto the shiny floor, and she rolled away, shrieking
indignantly; people all around them stared and a guard nearby yelled,
"What in blazes d'you think you're doing?"

"Lost control of the trolley," Harry gasped, clutching his ribs as he
got up. Ron ran to pick up Hedwig, who was causing such a scene
that there was a lot of muttering about cruelty to animals from the
surrounding crowd.

"Why can't we get through?" Harry hissed to Ron.

"I dunno -"

Ron looked wildly around. A dozen curious people were still
watching them.

"We're going to miss the train," Ron whispered. "I don't understand
why the gateway's sealed itself -"

Harry looked up at the giant clock with a sickening feeling in the pit
of his stomach. Ten seconds ... nine seconds ...

He wheeled his trolley forward cautiously until it was right against the
barrier and pushed with all his might. The metal remained solid.

Three seconds . . . two seconds ... one second ...

"It's gone," said Ron, sounding stunned. "The train's left. What if
Mum and Dad can't get back through to us? Have you got any
Muggle money?"

68

And they marched off through the crowd of curious Muggles, out of
the station and back onto the side road where the old Ford Anglia was
parked.

Ron unlocked the cavernous trunk with a series of taps from his wand.
They heaved their luggage back in, put Hedwig on the back seat, and
got into the front.

"Check that no one's watching," said Ron, starting the ignition with
another tap of his wand. Harry stuck his head out of the window:
Traffic was rumbling along the main road ahead, but their street was
empty.

"Okay," he said.

Ron pressed a tiny silver button on the dashboard. The car around
them vanished - and so did they. Harry could feel the seat vibrating
beneath him, hear the engine, feel his hands on his knees and his
glasses on his nose, but for all he could see, he had become a pair of
eyeballs, floating a few feet above the ground in a dingy street full of
parked cars.

"Let's go," said Ron's voice from his right.

And the ground and the dirty buildings on either side fell away,
dropping out of sight as the car rose; in seconds, the whole of London
lay, smoky and glittering, below them.

Then there was a popping noise and the car, Harry, and Ron
reappeared.

"Uh-oh," said Ron, jabbing at the Invisibility Booster. "It's faulty -"

Both of them pummeled it. The car vanished. Then it flickered back
again.

"Hold on!" Ron yelled, and he slammed his foot on the acceler

* 7 0

ator; they shot straight into the low, woolly clouds and everything
turned dull and foggy.

"Now what?" said Harry, blinking at the solid mass of cloud pressing
in on them from all sides.

"We need to see the train to know what direction to go in," said Ron.

"Dip back down again - quickly -"

They dropped back beneath the clouds and twisted around in their
seats, squinting at the ground.

"I can see it!" Harry yelled. "Right ahead - there!"

The Hogwarts Express was streaking along below them like a scarlet
snake.

"Due north," said Ron, checking the compass on the dashboard.
"Okay, we'll just have to check on it every half hour or so - hold on

And they shot up through the clouds. A minute later, they burst out
into a blaze of sunlight.

It was a different world. The wheels of the car skimmed the sea of
fluffy cloud, the sky a bright, endless blue under the blinding white sun.

"All we've got to worry about now are airplanes," said Ron.

They looked at each other and started to laugh; for a long time, they
couldn't stop.

It was as though they had been plunged into a fabulous dream. This,
thought Harry, was surely the only way to travel - past swirls and
turrets of snowy cloud, in a car full of hot, bright sunlight, with a fat
pack of toffees in the glove compartment, and the prospect of seeing
Fred's and George's jealous faces when they

* 71

landed smoothly and spectacularly on the sweeping lawn in front of
Hogwarts castle.

They made regular checks on the train as they flew farther and
farther north, each dip beneath the clouds showing them a different
view. London was soon far behind them, replaced by neat green
fields that gave way in turn to wide, purplish moors, a great city alive
with cars like multicolored ants, villages with tiny toy churches.

Several uneventful hours later, however, Harry had to admit that
some of the fun was wearing off. The toffees had made them
extremely thirsty and they had nothing to drink. He and Ron had
pulled off their sweaters, but Harry's T-shirt was sticking to the back
of his seat and his glasses kept sliding down to the end of his sweaty
nose. He had stopped noticing the fantastic cloud shapes now and
was thinking longingly of the train miles below, where you could buy
ice-cold pumpkin juice from a trolley pushed by a plump witch. Why
hadn't they been able to get onto platform nine and three-quarters?

"Can't be much further, can it?" croaked Ron, hours later still, as the
sun started to sink into their floor of cloud, staining it a deep pink.
"Ready for another check on the train?"

It was still right below them, winding its way past a snowcapped
mountain. It was much darker beneath the canopy of clouds.

Ron put his foot on the accelerator and drove them upward again,
but as he did so, the engine began to whine.

Harry and Ron exchanged nervous glances.

"It's probably just tired," said Ron. "It's never been this far before
......

12

And they both pretended not to notice the whining growing
louder and louder as the sky became steadily darker. Stars were
blossoming in the blackness. Harry pulled his sweater back on, try
ing to ignore the way the windshield wipers were now waving fee
bly, as though in protest.
"Not far," said Ron, more to the car than to Harry, "not far
now," and he patted the dashboard nervously.
When they flew back beneath the clouds a little while later, they
had to squint through the darkness for a landmark they knew.
"There!" Harry shouted, making Ron and Hedwig jump.
"Straight ahead!"
Silhouetted on the dark horizon, high on the cliff over the lake,
stood the many turrets and towers of Hogwarts castle.
But the car had begun to shudder and was losing speed.
"Come on," Ron said cajolingly, giving the steering wheel a lit
tle shake, "nearly there, come on -"
The engine groaned. Narrow jets of steam were issuing from un
der the hood. Harry found himself gripping the edges of his seat
very hard as they flew toward the lake.
The car gave a nasty wobble. Glancing out of his window, Harry
saw the smooth, black, glassy surface of the water, a mile below.
Ron's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The car wobbled
again.
"Come on," Ron muttered.
They were over the lake - the castle was right ahead - Ron
put his foot down.
There was a loud clunk, a splutter, and the engine died com
pletely.

"Uh-oh," said Ron, into the silence.

The nose of the car dropped. They were falling, gathering speed,
heading straight for the solid castle wall.

"Noooooo!" Ron yelled, swinging the steering wheel around; they
missed the dark stone wall by inches as the car turned in a great arc,
soaring over the dark greenhouses, then the vegetable patch, and then
out over the black lawns, losing altitude all the time.

Ron let go of the steering wheel completely and pulled his wand out of
his back pocket

"STOP! STOP!" he yelled, whacking the dashboard and the
windshield, but they were still plummeting, the ground flying up toward
them

"WATCH OUT FOR THAT TREE!" Harry bellowed, lunging for the
steering wheel, but too late

CRUNCH.

With an earsplitting bang of metal on wood, they hit the thick tree
trunk and dropped to the ground with a heavy jolt. Steam was
billowing from under the crumpled hood; Hedwig was shrieking in
terror; a golfball-size lump was throbbing on Harry's head where he
had hit the windshield; and to his right, Ron let out a low, despairing
groan.

"Are you okay?" Harry said urgently.

"My wand," said Ron, in a shaky voice. "Look at my wand -"

It had snapped, almost in two; the tip was dangling limply, held on by a
few splinters.

Harry opened his mouth to say he was sure they'd be able to mend it
up at the school, but he never even got started. At that very moment,
something hit his side of the car with the force of a

* Y4 *

charging bull, sending him lurching sideways into Ron, just as an
equally heavy blow hit the roof.

"What's happen -?"

Ron gasped, staring through the windshield, and Harry looked around
just in time to see a branch as thick as a python smash into it. The tree
they had hit was attacking them. Its trunk was bent almost double, and
its gnarled boughs were pummeling every inch of the car it could
reach.

"Aaargh!" said Ron as another twisted limb punched a large dent into
his door; the windshield was now trembling under a hail of blows from
knuckle-like twigs and a branch as thick as a battering ram was
pounding furiously on the roof, which seemed to be caving

"Run for it!" Ron shouted, throwing his full weight against his door, but
next second he had been knocked backward into Harry's lap by a
vicious uppercut from another branch.

"We're done for!" he moaned as the ceiling sagged, but suddenly the
floor of the car was vibrating - the engine had restarted.

"Reverse!" Harry yelled, and the car shot backward; the tree was still
trying to hit them; they could hear its roots creaking as it almost ripped
itself up, lashing out at them as they sped out of reach.

"That," panted Ron, "was close. Well done, car -"

The car, however, had reached the end of its tether. With two sharp
clunks, the doors flew open and Harry felt his seat tip sideways: Next
thing he knew he was sprawled on the damp ground. Loud thuds told
him that the car was ejecting their luggage from the trunk; Hedwig's
cage flew through the air and burst open; she rose out of it with an
angry screech and sped off toward the castle

Y5

without a backward look. Then, dented, scratched, and steaming,
the car rumbled off into the darkness, its rear lights blazing angrily.

"Come back!" Ron yelled after it, brandishing his broken wand.
"Dad'll kill me!"

But the car disappeared from view with one last snort from its
exhaust.

"Can you believe our luck?" said Ron miserably, bending down to
pick up Scabbers. "Of all the trees we could've hit, we had to get
one that hits back."

He glanced over his shoulder at the ancient tree, which was still
flailing its branches threateningly.

"Come on," said Harry wearily, "we'd better get up to the school
......

It wasn't at all the triumphant arrival they had pictured. Stiff, cold,
and bruised, they seized the ends of their trunks and began dragging
them up the grassy slope, toward the great oak front doors.

"I think the feast's already started," said Ron, dropping his trunk at
the foot of the front steps and crossing quietly to look through a
brightly lit window. "Hey - Harry - come and look - it's the Sorting!"

Harry hurried over and, together, he and Ron peered in at the Great
Hall.

Innumerable candles were hovering in midair over four long,
crowded tables, making the golden plates and goblets sparkle.
Overhead, the bewitched ceiling, which always mirrored the sky
outside, sparkled with stars.

Through the forest of pointed black Hogwarts hats, Harry saw a long
line of scared-looking first years fiIing into the Hall. Ginny

* 76

was among them, easily visible because of her vivid Weasley ha-ir.
Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall, a bespectacled witch with her hair
in a tight bun, was placing the famous Hogwarts Sorting Hat on a
stool before the newcomers.

Every year, this aged old hat, patched, frayed, and dirty, sorted new
students into the four Hogwarts houses (Gryffindor, Hufflepuff,
Ravenclaw, and Slytherin). Harry well remembered putting it on,
exactly one year ago, and waiting, petrified, for its decision as it
muttered aloud in his ear. For a few horrible seconds he had feared
that the hat was going to put him in Slytherin, the house that had
turned out more Dark witches and wizards than any other -but he had
ended up in Gryffindor, along with Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the
Weasleys. Last term, Harry and Ron had helped Gryffindor win the
House Championship, beating Slytherin for the first time in seven
years.

A very small, mousy-haired boy had been called forward to place the
hat on his head. Harry's eyes wandered past him to where Professor
Dumbledore, the headmaster, sat watching the Sorting from the staff
table, his long silver beard and half-moon glasses shining brightly in the
candlelight. Several seats along, Harry saw Gilderoy Lockhart,
dressed in robes of aquamarine. And there at the end was Hagrid,
huge and hairy, drinking deeply from his goblet.

"Hang on. . . " Harry muttered to Ron. "There's an empty chair at the
staff table .... Where's Snape?"

Professor Severus Snape was Harry's least favorite teacher. Harry
also happened to be Snape's least favorite student. Cruel, sarcastic,
and disliked by everybody except the students from his own house
(Slytherin), Snape taught Potions.

"Maybe he's ill!" said Ron hopefully.

"Maybe he's left," said Ha-rry, "because he missed out on the Defense
Against Dark Arts job again!"

"Or he might have been sacked!" said Ron enthusiastically. "I mean,
everyone hates him -"

"Or maybe," said a very cold voice right behind them, "he's waiting to
hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train."

Harry spun around. There, his black robes rippling in a cold breeze,
stood Severus Snape. He was a thin man with sallow skin, a hooked
nose, and greasy, shoulder-length black hair, and at this moment, he
was smiling in a way that told Harry he and Ron were in very deep
trouble.

"Follow me," said Snape.

Not daring even to look at each other, Harry and Ron followed Snape
up the steps into the vast, echoing entrance hall, which was lit with
flaming torches. A delicious smell of food was wafting from the Great
Hall, but Snape led them away from the warmth and light, down a
narrow stone staircase that led into the dungeons.

"In!" he said, opening a door halfway down the cold passageway and
pointing.

They entered Snape's office, shivering. The shadowy walls were lined
with shelves of large glass) ars, in which floated all manner of
revolting things Harry didn't really want to know the name of at the
moment. The fireplace was dark and empty. Snape closed the door
and turned to look at them.

"So," he said softly, "the train isn't good enough for the famous Harry
Potter and his faithful sidekick Weasley. Wanted to arrive with a bang,
did we, boys?"

"No, sir, it was the barrier at King's Cross, it -"

78

"Silence!" said Snape coldly. "What have you done with the
car?"
Ron gulped. This wasn't the first time Snape had given Harry the
impression of being able to read minds. But a moment later, he un
derstood, as Snape unrolled today's issue of the Evening Prophet.
"You were seen," he hissed, showing them the headline: FLY
ING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES. He began to read
aloud: "Two Muggles in London, convinced they saw an old car
flying over the Post Office tower ... at noon in Norfolk, Mrs.
Hetty Bayliss, while hanging out her washing ... Mr. Angus Fleet,
of Peebles, reported to police ... Six or seven Muggles in all. I be
lieve your father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office?"
he said, looking up at Ron and smiling still more nastily. "Dear,
dear ... his own son. . . "
Harry felt as though he'd just been walloped in the stomach by
one of the mad tree's larger branches. If anyone found out Mr.
Weasley had bewitched the car ... he hadn't thought of that ....
"I noticed, in my search of the park, that considerable damage
seems to have been done to a very valuable Whomping Willow,"
Snape went on.
"That tree did more damage to us than we -" Ron blurted out.
"Silence!" snapped Snape again. "Most unfortunately, you are
not in my House and the decision to expel you does not rest with
me. I shall go and fetch the people who do have that happy power.
You will wait here."
Harry and Ron stared at each other, white-faced. Harry didn't
feel hungry any more. He now felt extremely sick. He tried not to
look at a large, slimy something suspended in green liquid on a

shelf behind Snape's desk. If Snape had gone to fetch Professor
McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House, they were hardly any better
off. She might be fairer than Snape, but she was still extremely strict.

Ten minutes later, Snape returned, and sure enough it was Professor
McGonagall who accompanied him. Harry had seen Professor
McGonagall angry on several occasions, but either he had forgotten
just how thin her mouth could go, or he had never seen her this angry
before. She raised her wand the moment she entered; Harry and Ron
both flinched, but she merely pointed it at the empty fireplace, where
flames suddenly erupted.

"Sit," she said, and they both backed into chairs by the fire.

"Explain," she said, her glasses glinting ominously.

Ron launched into the story, starting with the barrier at the station
refusing to let them through.

"

-so we had no choice, Professor, we couldn't get on the train."

"Why didn't you send us a letter by owl? I believe you have an owl?"
Professor McGonagall said coldly to Harry.

Harry gaped at her. Now she said it, that seemed the obvious thing to
have done.

"I - I didn't think -"

"That," said Professor McGonagall, "is obvious."

There was a knock on the office door and Snape, now looking happier
than ever, opened it. There stood the headmaster, Professor
Dumbledore.

Harry's whole body went numb. Dumbledore was looking unusually
grave. He stared down his very crooked nose at them, and

*80*

Harry suddenly found himself wishing he and Ron were still being
beaten up by the Whomping Willow.

There was a long silence. Then Dumbledore said, "Please explain why
you did this."

It would have been better if he had shouted. Harry hated the
disappointment in his voice. For some reason, he was unable to look
Dumbledore in the eyes, and spoke instead to his knees. He told
Dumbledore everything except that Mr. Weasley owned the
bewitched car, making it sound as though he and Ron had happened to
find a flying car parked outside the station. He knew Dumbledore
would see through this at once, but Dumbledore asked no questions
about the car. When Harry had finished, he merely continued to peer
at them through his spectacles.

"We'll go and get our stuff," said Ron in a hopeless sort of voice.

"What are you talking about, Weasley?" barked Professor
McGonagall.

"Well, you're expelling us, aren't you?" said Ron.

Harry looked quickly at Dumbledore.

"Not today, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore. "But I must impress upon
both of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to
both your families tonight. I must also warn you that if you do anything
like this again, I will have no choice but to expel you."

Snape looked as though Christmas had been canceled. He cleared his
throat and said, "Professor Dumbledore, these boys have flouted the
Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, caused serious
damage to an old and valuable tree - surely acts of this nature -"

* 8i

"It will be for Professor McGonagall to decide on these boys'
punishments, Severus," said Dumbledore calmly. "They are in her
House and are therefore her responsibility." He turned to Professor
McGonagall. "I must go back to the feast, Minerva, I've got to give
out a few notices. Come, Severus, there's a delicious-looking cus
tard tart I want to sample -"
Snape shot a look of pure venom at Harry and Ron as he allowed
himself to be swept out of his office, leaving them alone with Pro
fessor McGonagall, who was still eyeing them like a wrathful eagle.
"You'd better get along to the hospital wing, Weasley, you're
bleeding."
"Not much," said Ron, hastily wiping the cut over his eye with
his sleeve. "Professor, I wanted to watch my sister being Sorted -"
"The Sorting Ceremony is over," said Professor McGonagall.
"Your sister is also in Gryffindor."
"Oh, good," said Ron.
"And speaking of Gryffindor -" Professor McGonagall said
sharply, but Harry cut in: "Professor, when we took the car, term
hadn't started, so - so Gryffindor shouldn't really have points
taken from it - should it?" he finished, watching her anxiously.
Professor McGonagall gave him a piercing look, but he was sure
she had almost smiled. Her mouth looked less thin, anyway.
"I will not take any points from Gryffindor," she said, and
Harry's heart lightened considerably. "But you will both get a de
tention."
It was better than Harry had expected. As for Dumbledore's
writing to the Dursleys, that was nothing. Harry knew perfectly
well they'd just be disappointed that the Whomping Willow hadn't
squashed him flat.

82

Professor McGonagall raised her wand again and pointed it at Snape's
desk. A large plate of sandwiches, two silver goblets, and a jug of-iced
pumpkin juice appeared with a pop.

"You will eat in here and then go straight up to your dormitory," she
said. "I must also return to the feast."

When the door had closed behind her, Ron let out a long, low whistle.

"I thought we'd had it," he said, grabbing a sandwich.

"So did I," said Harry, taking one, too.

"Can you believe our luck, though?" said Ron thickly through a
mouthful of chicken and ham. "Fred and George must've flown that
car five or six times and no Muggle ever saw them." He swallowed
and took another huge bite. "Why couldn't we get through the barrier?"

Harry shrugged. "We'll have to watch our step from now on, though,"
he said, taking a grateful swig of pumpkin juice. "Wish we could've
gone up to the feast ......

"She didn't want us showing off," said Ron sagely. "Doesn't want
people to think it's clever, arriving by flying car."

When they had eaten as many sandwiches as they could (the plate
kept refilling itself) they rose and left the office, treading the familiar
path to Gryffindor Tower. The castle was quiet; it seemed that the
feast was over. They walked past muttering portraits and creaking
suits of armor, and climbed narrow flights of stone stairs, until at last
they reached the passage where the secret entrance to Gryffindor
Tower was hidden, behind an oil painting of a very fat woman in a
pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said as they approached.

"Er -" said Harry.

They didn't know the new year's password, not having met a
Gryffindor prefect yet, but help came almost immediately; they heard
hurrying feet behind them and turned to see Hermione dashing toward
them.

"There you are! Where have you been? The most ridiculous rumors -
someone said you'd been expelled for crashing a flying car

"Well, we haven't been expelled," Harry assured her.

"You're not telling me you did fly here?" said Hermione, sounding
almost as severe as Professor McGonagall.

"Skip the lecture," said Ron impatiently, "and tell us the new
password."

"It's `wattlebird,"' said Hermione impatiently, "but that's not the point -
"

Her words were cut short, however, as the portrait of the fat lady
swung open and there was a sudden storm of clapping. It looked as
though the whole of Gryffindor House was still awake, packed into
the circular common room, standing on the lopsided tables and
squashy armchairs, waiting for them to arrive. Arms reached through
the portrait hole to pull Harry and Ron inside, leaving Hermione to
scramble in after then-t.

"Brilliant!" yelled Lee Jordan. "Inspired! What an entrance! Flying a
car right into the Whomping Willow, people'll be talking about that
one for years -"

"Good for you," said a fifth year Harry had never spoken to; someone
was patting him on the back as though he'd just won a marathon;
Fred and George pushed their way to the front of the crowd and said
together, "Why couldn't we've come in the car, eh?"

84

Ron was scarlet in the face, grinning embarrassedly, but Harry could
see one person who didn't look happy at all. Percy was visible over
the heads of some excited first years, and he seemed to be trying to
get near enough to start telling them off. Harry nudged Ron in the
ribs and nodded in Percy's direction. Ron got the point at once.

"Got to get upstairs - bit tired," he said, and the two of them started
pushing their way toward the door on the other side of the room,
which led to a spiral staircase and the dormitories.

"'Night," Harry called back to Hermione, who was wearing a scowl
just like Percy's.

They managed to get to the other side of the common room, still
having their backs slapped, and gained the peace of the staircase.
They hurried up it, right to the top, and at last reached the door of
their old dormitory, which now had a sign on it saying SECOND YEARS.
They entered the familiar, circular room, with its five four-posters
hung with red velvet and its high, narrow windows. Their trunks had
been brought up for them and stood at the ends of their beds.

Ron grinned guiltily at Harry.

"I know I shouldn't've enjoyed that or anything, but ='

The dormitory door flew open and in came the other second year
Gryffindor boys, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville
Longbottom.

"Unbelievable!" beamed Seamus.

"Cool," said Dean.

"Amazing," said Neville, awestruck.

Harry couldn't help it. He grinned, too.

* 85 *

H-H A P T E RR		s 1 x

GILDEROY LOCKHART

he next day, however, Harry barely grinned once. Things started to go
downhill from breakfast in the Great Hall. The four long house tables
were laden with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of
toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling
(today, a dull, cloudy gray). Harry and Ron sat down at the Gryffindor
table next to Hermione, who had her copy of Voyages with Vampires
propped open against a milk jug. There was a slight stiffness in the
way she said "Morning," which told Harry that she was still
disapproving of the way they had arrived. Neville Longbottom, on the
other hand, greeted them cheerfully. Neville was a round-faced and
accident-prone boy with the worst memory of anyone Harry had ever
met.

"Mail's due any minute - I think Gran's sending a few things I forgot."

Harry had only just started his porridge when, sure enough, there was
a rushing sound overhead and a hundred or so owls

86



streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the
chattering crowd. A big, lumpy package bounced off Neville's head
and, a second later, something large and gray fell into Hermione's jug,
spraying them all with milk and feathers.

"Enrol!" said Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Errol
slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red
envelope in his beak.

"Oh, no -" Ron gasped.

"It's all right, he's still alive," said Hermione, prodding Errol gently with
the tip of her finger.

"It's not that - it's that."

Ron was pointing at the red envelope. It looked quite ordinary to
Harry, but Ron and Neville were both looking at it as though they
expected it to explode.

"What's the matter?" said Harry.

"She's - she's sent me a Howler," said Ron faintly.

"You'd better open it, Ron," said Neville in a timid whisper. "It'll be
worse if you don't My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and" -
he gulped - "it was horrible."

Harry looked from their petrified faces to the red envelope.

"What's a Howler?" he said.

But Ron's whole attention was fixed on the letter, which had begun to
smoke at the corners.

"Open it," Neville urged. "It'll all be over in a few minutes -"

Ron stretched out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from Errol's
beak, and slit it open. Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears. A split
second later, Harry knew why. He thought for a moment it had
exploded; a roar of sound fiIled the huge hall, shaking dust from the
ceiling.

8 _

"-	E CAR, I WO ULDN'T HAVE BEEN S UR-

STEALING THE

PRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET
HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO
THINK WHAT YOUR FATHERAND I WENT THROUGH WHEN
WE SAW IT WAS GONE -"

Mrs. Weasleys yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made the
plates and spoons rattle on the table, and echoed deafeningly off the
stone walls. People throughout the hall were swiveling around to see
who had received the Howler, and Ron sank so low in his chair that
only his crimson forehead could be seen.

"- LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT
YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING
YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD
BOTH HAVE DIED -"

Harry had been wondering when his name was going to crop up. He
tried very hard to look as though he couldn't hear the voice that was
making his eardrums throb.

"-ABSOLUTELYDISGUSTED - YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN
INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF
YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU
STRAIGHT BACK HOME."

A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from Ron's
hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. Harry and Ron sat
stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over them. A few
people laughed and, gradually, a babble of talk broke out again.

Hermione closed Voyages with Vampires and looked down at the top
of Ron's head.

* 88

"Well, I don't know what you expected, Ron, but you -"

"Don't tell me I deserved it," snapped Ron.

Harry pushed his porridge away. His insides were burning with guilt.
Mr. Weasley was facing an inquiry at work. After all Mr. and Mrs.
Weasley had done for him over the summer ...

But he had no time to dwell on this; Professor McGonagall was
moving along the Gryffindor table, handing out course schedules.
Harry took his and saw that they had double Herbology with the
Hufepuffs first.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the castle together, crossed the
vegetable patch, and made for the greenhouses, where the magical
plants were kept. At least the Howler had done one good thing:
Hermione seemed to think they had now been punished enough and
was being perfectly friendly again.

As they neared the greenhouses they saw the rest of the class
standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. Harry, Ron, and
Hermione had only just joined them when she came striding into view
across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Professor
Sprout's arms were full of bandages, and with another twinge of guilt,
Harry spotted the Whomping Willow in the distance, several of its
branches now in slings.

Professor Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over
her flyaway hair; there was usually a large amount of earth on her
clothes and her fingernails would have made Aunt Petunia faint.
Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was immaculate in sweeping robes of
turquoise, his golden hair shining under a perfectly positioned turquoise
hat with gold trimming.

"Oh, hello there!" he called, beaming around at the assembled

89

students. "Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor
a Whomping Willow! But I don't want you running away with the idea
that I'm better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met
several of these exotic plants on my travels . . ."

"Greenhouse three today, chaps!" said Professor Sprout, who was
looking distinctly disgruntled, not at all her usual cheerful self.

There was a murmur of interest. They had only ever worked in
greenhouse one before - greenhouse three housed far more interesting
and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt
and unlocked the door. Harry caught a whiff of damp earth and
fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-
sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. He was about to follow Ron
and Hermione inside when Lockhart's hand shot out.

"Harry! I've been wanting a word - you don't mind if he's a couple of
minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?"

Judging by Professor Sprout's scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart said,
"That's the ticket," and closed the greenhouse door in her face.

"Harry," said Lockhart, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight
as he shook his head. "Harry, Harry, Harry."

Completely nonplussed, Harry said nothing.

"When I heard -well, of course, it was all my fault. Could have kicked
myself."

Harry had no idea what he was talking about. He was about to say so
when Lockhart went on, "Don't know when I've been more shocked.
Flying a car to Hogwarts! Well, of course, I knew at once why you'd
done it. Stood out a mile. Harry, Harry, Harry."

It was remarkable how he could show every one of those brilliant
teeth even when he wasn't talking.

90

"Gave you a taste for publicity, didn't I?" said Lockhart. "Gave
you the bug. You got onto the front page of the paper with me and
you couldn't wait to do it again."
"Oh, no, Professor, see -"
"Harry, Harry, Harry," said Lockhart, reaching out and grasping
his shoulder. "I understand. Natural to want a bit more once you've
had that first taste - and I blame myself for giving you that, be
cause it was bound to go to your head - but see here, young man,
you can't start flying cars to try and get yourself noticed. Just calm
down, all right? Plenty of time for all that when you're older. Yes,
yes, I know what you're thinking! 'It's all right for him, he's an in
ternationally famous wizard already!' But when I was twelve, I was
just as much of a nobody as you are now. In fact, Id say I was even
more of a nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven't
they? All that business with He-\"o-Must-Not-Be-Named!" He
glanced at the lightning scar on Harry's forehead. "I know, I
know - it's not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly's Most
Charming-Smile Award five times in a row, as I have - but it's a
start, Harry, it's a start."
He gave Harry a hearty wink and strode off. Harry stood
stunned for a few seconds, then, remembering he was supposed to
be in the greenhouse, he opened the door and slid inside.
Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the cen
ter of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-colored ear
muffs were lying on the bench. When Harry had taken his place
between Ron and Hermione, she said, "We'll be repotting Man
drakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Man
drake?"
To nobody's surprise, Hermione's hand was first into the air.

s1

"Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative," said Hermione,
sounding as usual as though she had swallowed the textbook. "It is
used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their
original state."

"Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor," said Professor Sprout. "The
Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also,
however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"

Hermione's hand narrowly missed Harry's glasses as it shot up again.

"The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it," she said
promptly.

"Precisely. Take another ten points," said Professor Sprout. "Now, the
Mandrakes we have here are still very young."

She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone
shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants,
purplish green in color, were growing there in rows. They looked quite
unremarkable to Harry, who didn't have the slightest idea what
Hermione meant by the "cry" of the Mandrake.

"Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," said Professor Sprout.

There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn't
pink and fluffy.

"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely
covered," said Professor Sprout. "When it is safe to remove them, I
will give you the thumbs-up. Right - earmuffs on."

Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears. They shut out sound
completely. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own
ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants
firmly, and pulled hard.

*92*

Harry let out a gasp of surprise that no one could hear.

Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out
of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He had
pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling at the top of his
lungs.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and
plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until
only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her
hands, gave them all the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she
said calmly as though she'd just done nothing more exciting than water
a begonia. "However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as
I'm sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your
earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your
attention when it is time to pack up.

"Four to a tray - there is a large supply of pots here - compost in the
sacks over there - and be careful of the Venemous Tentacula, it's
teething."

She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making
it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her
shoulder.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were joined at their tray by a curly-haired
Hufflepuff boy Harry knew by sight but had never spoken to.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," he said brightly, shaking Harry by the hand.
"Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter... And you're
Hermione Granger - always top in everything"

* 9%

(Hermione beamed as she had her hand shaken too) "- and Ron
Weasley. Wasn't that your flying car?"

Ron didn't smile. The Howler was obviously still on his mind.

"That Lockhart's something, isn't he?" said Justin happily as they
began fiIling their plant pots with dragon dung compost. "Awfully
brave chap. Have you read his books? Id have died of fear if Id been
cornered in a telephone booth by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and -
zap - just fantastic.

"My name was down for Eton, you know. I can't tell you how glad I
am I came here instead. Of course, Mother was slightly disappointed,
but since I made her read Lockhart's books I think she's begun to see
how useful it'll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family . . . ."

After that they didn't have much chance to talk. Their earmuffs were
back on and they needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor
Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn't. The Mandrakes
didn't like coming out of the earth, but didn't seem to want to go back
into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and
gnashed their teeth; Harry spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a
particularly fat one into a pot.

By the end of the class, Harry, like everyone else, was sweaty,
aching, and covered in earth. Everyone traipsed back to the castle for
a quick wash and then the Gryffindors hurried off to Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall's classes were always hard work, but today
was especially difficult. Everything Harry had learned last year
seemed to have leaked out of his head during the summer. He was
supposed to be turning a beetle into a button, but all he managed

* 94

to do was give his beetle a lot of exercise as it scuttled over the
desktop avoiding his wand.

Ron was having far worse problems. He had patched up his wand
with some borrowed Spellotape, but it seemed to be damaged beyond
repair. It kept crackling and sparking at odd moments, and every time
Ron tried to transfigure his beetle it engulfed him in thick gray smoke
that smelled of rotten eggs. Unable to see what he was doing, Ron
accidentally squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a
new one. Professor McGonagall wasn't pleased.

Harry was relieved to hear the lunch bell. His brain felt like a wrung
sponge. Everyone fiIed out of the classroom except him and Ron, who
was whacking his wand furiously on the desk.

"Stupid - useless - thing -"

"Write home for another one," Harry suggested as the wand let off a
volley of bangs like a firecracker.

"Oh, yeah, and get another Howler back," said Ron, stuffing the now
hissing wand into his bag. " `It's your own fault your wand got snapped -
'"

They went down to lunch, where Ron's mood was not improved by
Hermione's showing them the handful of perfect coat buttons she had
produced in Transfiguration.

"What've we got this afternoon?" said Harry, hastily changing the
subject.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione at once.

"Why, "demanded Ron, seizing her schedule, "have you outlined all
Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?"

Hermione snatched the schedule back, blushing furiously.

* 95 *

They finished lunch and went outside into the overcast courtyard.
Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in Voyages
with Vampires again. Harry and Ron stood talking about Quidditch for
several minutes before Harry became aware that he was being closely
watched. Looking up, he saw the very small, mousy-haired boy he'd
seen trying on the Sorting Hat last night staring at Harry as though
transfixed. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle
camera, and the moment Harry looked at him, he went bright red.

"All right, Harry? I'm -I'm Colin Creevey," he said breathlessly, taking
a tentative step forward. "I'm in Gryffindor, too. D'you think - would it
be all right if - can I have a picture?" he said, raising the camera
hopefully.

"A picture?" Harry repeated blankly.

"So I can prove I've met you," said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging
further forward. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About
how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he
disappeared and everything and how you've still got a lightning scar on
your forehead" (his eyes raked Harry's hairline) "and a boy in my
dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll
move." Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said,
"It's amazing here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do
was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he
couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home
to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you" - he looked
imploringly at Harry - "maybe your friend could take it and I could
stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"

96

"Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos, Potter?"

Loud and scathing, Draco Malfoy's voice echoed around the
courtyard. He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked, as he always
was at Hogwarts, by his large and thuggish cronies, Crabbe and
Goyle.

"Everyone line up!" Malfoy roared to the crowd. "Harry Potter's
giving out signed photos!"

"No, I'm not," said Harry angrily, his fists clenching. "Shut up,
Malfoy."

"You're just jealous," piped up Colin, whose entire body was about
as thick as Crabbe's neck.

`jealous?"said Malfoy, who didn't need to shout anymore: half the
courtyard was listening in. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar right
across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open
makes you that special, myself."

Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering stupidly.

"Eat slugs, Malfoy," said Ron angrily. Crabbe stopped laughing and
started rubbing his knuckles in a menacing way.

"Be careful, Weasley," sneered Malfoy. "You don't want to start any
trouble or your Mommy'll have to come and take you away from
school." He put on a shrill, piercing voice. "Ifyou put another toe
out of line' - "

A knot of Slytherin fifth-years nearby laughed loudly at this.

"Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter," smirked Malfoy. "It'd
be worth more than his family's whole house -"

Ron whipped out his Spellotaped wand, but Hermione shut Voyages
with Vampires with a snap and whispered, "Look out!"

"What's all this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart was striding

* 97

toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. "Who's giv
ing out signed photos?"
Harry started to speak but he was cut short as Lockhart flung an
arm around his shoulders and thundered jovially, "Shouldn't have
asked! We meet again, Harry!"
Pinned to Lockhart's side and burning with humiliation, Harry
saw Malfoy slide smirking back into the crowd.
"Come on then, Mr. Creevey," said Lockhart, beaming at Colin.
"A double portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll both sign it
for you."
Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell
rang behind them, signaling the start of afternoon classes.
"Off you go, move along there," Lockhart called to the crowd,
and he set off back to the castle with Harry, who was wishing he
knew a good Vanishing Spell, still clasped to his side.
"A word to the wise, Harry," said Lockhart paternally as they
entered the building through a side door. "I covered up for you
back there with young Creevey - if he was photographing me,
too, your schoolmates won't think you're setting yourself up so
much . . . ."
Deaf to Harry's stammers, Lockhart swept him down a corridor
lined with staring students and up a staircase.
"Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of
your career isn't sensible - looks a tad bigheaded, Harry, to be
frank. There may well come a time when, like me, you'll need to
keep a stack handy wherever you go, but" - he gave a little chor
tle - "I don't think you're quite there yet."
They had reached Lockhart's classroom and he let Harry go at

98

last. Harry yanked his robes straight and headed for a seat at the very
back of the class, where he busied himself with piling all seven of
Lockhart's books in front of him, so that he could avoid looking at the
real thing.

The rest of the class came clattering in, and Ron and Hermione sat
down on either side of Harry.

"You could've fried an egg on your face" said Ron. "You'd better hope
Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a Harry Potter fan
club."

"Shut up," snapped Harry. The last thing he needed was for Lockhart
to hear the phrase "Harry Potter fan club."

When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly
and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's
copy of Travels with Trolls, and held it up to show his own, winking
portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. "Gilderoy Lockhart,
Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force
Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-
Charming-Smile Award - but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of
the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

He waited for them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books -well done. I
thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about

just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in -"

When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of
the class and said, "You have thirty minutes - start - now!"

Harry looked down at his paper and read:


1.	What is Gilderoy Lockhart 's favorite color?

2.	What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?

3.	What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest
achievement to date?

On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

54.	When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his
ideal gift be?

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through
them in front of the class.

"Tut, tut - hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is
lilac. I say so in Year with the Yeti. And a few of you need to read
Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully - I clearly state in chapter
twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all
magic and non-magic peoples - though I wouldn't say no to a large
bottle of Ogdeds Old Firewhisky!"

He gave them another roguish wink. Ron was now staring at
Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; Seamus
Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were shaking
with silent laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, was listening to
Lockhart with rapt attention and gave a start when he mentioned her
name.

". . . but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the
world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions - good
girl! In fact" - he flipped her paper over - "full marks! Where is Miss
Hermione Granger?"

*100*

Hermione raised a trembling hand.

"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Quite excellent! Take ten points for
Gryffindor! And so - to business -"

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.

"Now - be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest
creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your
worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst
I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

In spite of himself, Harry leaned around his pile of books for a better
look at the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Dean and
Seamus had stopped laughing now. Neville was cowering in his front
row seat.

"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might
provoke them."

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

"Yes," he said dramatically. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies. "

Seamus Finnigan couldn't control himself. He let out a snort of
laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.

"Yes?" He smiled at Seamus.

"Well, they're not - they're not very - dangerous, are they?" Seamus
choked.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at
Seamus. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed
faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies
arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they

*101*

had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and
making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

"Right, then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you make of
them!" And he opened the cage.

It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets.
Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air.
Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row
with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more
effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and
sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures
from the walls, up-ended the waste basket, grabbed bags and books
and threw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half the
class was sheltering under desks and Neville was swinging from the
iron chandelier in the ceiling.

"Come on now - round them up, round them up, they're only pixies,"
Lockhart shouted.

He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed,

"Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"

It had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized his wand and
threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his
own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a
second later as the chandelier gave way.

The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the exit. In the relative
calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Harry,
Ron, and Hermione, who were almost at the door, and said, "Well, I'll
ask you three to just nip the rest of them back into their cage." He
swept past them and shut the door quickly behind him.

*102*

"Can you believe him?" roared Ron as one of the remaining pixies bit
him painfully on the ear.

"He just wants to give us some hands-on experience," said Hermione,
immobilizing two pixies at once with a clever Freezing Charm and
stuffing them back into their cage.

"Hands on? "said Harry, who was trying to grab a pixie dancing out of
reach with its tongue out. "Hermione, he didn't have a clue what he
was doing -"

"Rubbish," said Hermione. "You've read his books - look at all those
amazing things he's done -"

"He says he's done," Ron muttered.


arry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight
whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor. Harder
to avoid was Colin Creevey, who seemed to have memorized Harry's
schedule. Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say, "All
right, Harry?" six or seven times a day and hear, "Hello, Colin," back,
however exasperated Harry sounded when he said it.

Hedwig was still angry with Harry about the disasterous car journey
and Ron's wand was still malfunctioning, surpassing itself on Friday
morning by shooting out of Ron's hand in Charms and hitting tiny old
Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large,
throbbing green boil where it had struck. So with one thing and
another, Harry was quite glad to reach the weekend. He, Ron, and
Hermione were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. Harry,
however, was shaken awake several hours earlier

*104*



than he would have liked by Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor
Quidditch team.

"Whassamatter?" said Harry groggily.

"Quidditch practice!" said Wood. "Come on!"

Harry squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hanging across
the pink-and-gold sky. Now that he was awake, he couldn't
understand how he could have slept through the racket the birds were
making.

"Oliver," Harry croaked. "It's the crack of dawn."

"Exactly," said Wood. He was a tall and burly sixth year and, at the
moment, his eyes were gleaming with a crazed enthusiasm. "It's part
of our new training program. Come on, grab your broom, and let's go,"
said Wood heartily. "None of the other teams have started training yet;
we're going to be first off the mark this year -"

Yawning and shivering slightly, Harry climbed out of bed and tried to
find his Quidditch robes.

"Good man," said Wood. "Meet you on the field in fifteen minutes.

When he'd found his scarlet team robes and pulled on his cloak for
warmth, Harry scribbled a note to Ron explaining where he'd gone and
went down the spiral staircase to the common room, his Nimbus Two
Thousand on his shoulder. He had just reached the portrait hole when
there was a clatter behind him and Colin Creevey came dashing down
the spiral staircase, his camera swinging madly around his neck and
something clutched in his hand.

"I heard someone saying your name on the stairs, Harry! Look what
I've got here! I've had it developed, I wanted to show you -"

*105*

Harry looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin was brandishing
under his nose.

A moving, black-and-white Lockhart was tugging hard on an arm
Harry recognized as his own. He was pleased to see that his
photographic self was putting up a good fight and refusing to be
dragged into view. As Harry watched, Lockhart gave up and
slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture.

"Will you sign it?" said Colin eagerly.

"No," said Harry flatly, glancing around to check that the room was
really deserted. "Sorry, Colin, I'm in a hurry - Quidditch practice -"

He climbed through the portrait hole.

"Oh, wow! Wait for me! I've never watched a Quidditch game
before!"

Colin scrambled through the hole after him.

"It'll be really boring," Harry said quickly, but Colin ignored him, his
face shining with excitement.

"You were the youngest House player in a hundred years, weren't
you, Harry? Weren't you?" said Colin, trotting alongside him. "You
must be brilliant. I've never flown. Is it easy? Is that your own
broom? Is that the best one there is?"

Harry didn't know how to get rid of him. It was like having an
extremely talkative shadow.

"I don't really understand Quidditch," said Colin breathlessly. "Is it
true there are four balls? And two of them fly around trying to knock
people off their brooms?"

"Yes," said Harry heavily, resigned to explaining the complicated
rules of Quidditch. "They're called Bludgers. There are two Beaters

), *106*

on each team who carry clubs to beat the Bludgers away from their
side. Fred and George Weasley are the Gryffindor Beaters."

"And what are the other balls for?" Colin asked, tripping down a
couple of steps because he was gazing open-mouthed at Harry.

"Well, the Quafe - that's the biggish red one - is the one that scores
goals. Three Chasers on each team throw the Quaffle to each other
and try and get it through the goal posts at the end of the pitch -
they're three long poles with hoops on the end."

"And the fourth ball -"

"- is the Golden Snitch," said Harry, "and it's very small, very fast, and
difficult to catch. But that's what the Seeker's got to do, because a
game of Quidditch doesn't end until the Snitch has been caught. And
whichever team's Seeker gets the Snitch earns his team an extra
hundred and fifty points."

"And you're the Gryffindor Seeker, aren't you?" said Colin in awe.

"Yes," said Harry as they left the castle and started across the dew-
drenched grass. "And there's the Keeper, too. He guards the goal
posts. That's it, really."

But Colin didn't stop questioning Harry all the way down the sloping
lawns to the Quidditch field, and Harry only shook him off when he
reached the changing rooms; Colin called after him in a piping voice,
"I'll go and get a good seat, Harry!" and hurried off to the stands.

The rest of the Gryffindor team were already in the changing room.
Wood was the only person who looked truly awake. Fred and George
Weasley were sitting, puffy-eyed and touslehaired, next to fourth year
Alicia Spinnet, who seemed to be nodding off against the wall behind
her. Her fellow Chasers, Katie

*107*

Bell and Angelina Johnson, were yawning side by side opposite
them.

"There you are, Harry, what kept you?" said Wood briskly. "Now, I
wanted a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the field,
because I spent the summer devising a whole new training program,
which I really think will make all the difference ....

Wood was holding up a large diagram of a Quidditch field, on which
were drawn many lines, arrows, and crosses in differentcolored inks.
He took out his wand, tapped the board, and the arrows began to
wiggle over the diagram like caterpillars. As Wood launched into a
speech about his new tactics, Fred Weasley's head drooped right
onto Alicia Spinnet's shoulder and he began to snore.

The first board took nearly twenty minutes to explain, but there was
another board under that, and a third under that one. Harry sank into
a stupor as Wood droned on and on.

"So," said Wood, at long last, jerking Harry from a wistful fantasy
about what he could be eating for breakfast at this very moment up
at the castle. "Is that clear? Any questions?"

"I've got a question, Oliver," said George, who had woken with a
start. "Why couldn't you have told us all this yesterday when we
were awake?"

Wood wasn't pleased.

"Now, listen here, you lot," he said, glowering at them all. "We
should have won the Quidditch cup last year. We're easily the best
team. But unfortunately -owing to circumstances beyond our control -
"

*108*

Harry shifted guiltily in his seat. He had been unconscious in the
hospital wing for the final match of the previous year, meaning that
Gryffindor had been a player short and had suffered their worst
defeat in three hundred years.

Wood took a moment to regain control of himself. Their last defeat
was clearly still torturing him.

"So this year, we train harder than ever before .... Okay, let's go and
put our new theories into practice!" Wood shouted, seizing his
broomstick and leading the way out of the locker rooms. Stifflegged
and still yawning, his team followed.

They had been in the locker room so long that the sun was up
completely now, although remnants of mist hung over the grass in the
stadium. As Harry walked onto the field, he saw Ron and Hermione
sitting in the stands.

"Aren't you finished yet?" called Ron incredulously.

"Haven't even started," said Harry, looking jealously at the toast and
marmalade Ron and Hermione had brought out of the Great Hall.
"Wood's been teaching us new moves."

He mounted his broomstick and kicked at the ground, soaring up into
the air. The cool morning air whipped his face, waking him far more
effectively than Wood's long talk. It felt wonderful to be back on the
Quidditch field. He soared right around the stadium at full speed,
racing Fred and George.

"What's that funny clicking noise?" called Fred as they hurtled around
the corner.

Harry looked into the stands. Colin was sitting in one of the highest
seats, his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound
strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.

*io9*

"Look this way, Harry! This way!" he cried shrilly.

"Who's that?" said Fred.

"No idea," Harry lied, putting on a spurt of speed that took him as far
away as possible from Colin.

"What's going on?" said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the
air toward them. "Why's that first year taking pictures? I don't like it.
He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training
program."

"He's in Gryffindor," said Harry quickly.

"And the Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver," said George.

"What makes you say that?" said Wood testily.

"Because they're here in person," said George, pointing.

Several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broomsticks
in their hands.

"I don't believe it!" Wood hissed in outrage. "I booked the field for
today! We'll see about this!"

Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to
in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Harry, Fred, and
George followed.

"Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. "This is our practice
time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of trollish
cunning on his face as he replied, "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."

Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls
on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the
Gryffindors, leering to a man.

"But I booked the field!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "I
booked it!"

*110*

"Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from
Professor Snape. `I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team
permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to
train their new Seeker."'

"You've got a new Seeker?" said Wood, distracted. "Where?"

And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh,
smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco
Malfoy.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking at Malfoy with
dislike.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint as the whole
Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. "Let me show you the
generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished,
brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the
words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors'
noses in the early morning sun.

"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint carelessly,
flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "I believe it outstrips
the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old
Cleansweeps" - he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both
clutching Cleansweep Fives - "sweeps the board with them."

None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a
moment. Malfoy was smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced
to slits.

"Oh, look," said Flint. "A field invasion."

Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.

*111*

"What's happening?" Ron asked Harry. "Why aren't you playing? And
what's he doing here?"

He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.

"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," said Malfoy, smugly.
"Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our
team.

Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of
him.

"Good, aren't they?" said Malfoy smoothly. "But perhaps the
Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms,
too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum
would bid for them."

The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," said
Hermione sharply. "They got in on pure talent."

The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered.

"No one asked your opinion, you fiIthy little Mudblood," he spat.

Harry knew at once that Malfoy had said something really bad
because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in
front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, Alicia
shrieked, "How dare you!" ; and Ron plunged his hand into his robes,
pulled out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and
pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Malfoys face.

A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot
out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and
sending him reeling backward onto the grass.

12

"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squealed Hermione.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he
gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth
onto his lap.

The Slytherin team were paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled
up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Malfoy was on all
fours, banging the ground with his fist. The Gryffindors were
gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs.
Nobody seemed to want to touch him.

"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," said Harry to
Hermione, who nodded bravely, and the pair of them pulled Ron up
by the arms.

"What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can
cure him, can't you?" Colin had run down from his seat and was now
dancing alongside them as they left the field. Ron gave a huge heave
and more slugs dribbled down his front.

"Oooh," said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. "Can you hold
him still, Harry?"

"Get out of the way, Colin!" said Harry angrily. He and Hermione
supported Ron out of the stadium and across the grounds toward
the edge of the forest.

"Nearly there, Ron," said Hermione as the gamekeeper's cabin came
into view. "You'll be all right in a minute - almost there -"

They were within twenty feet of Hagrid's house when the front door
opened, but it wasn't Hagrid who emerged. Gilderoy Lockhart,
wearing robes of palest mauve today, came striding out.

"Quick, behind here," Harry hissed, dragging Ron behind a nearby
bush. Hermione followed, somewhat reluctantly.

*113* *

"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!" Lockhart was
saying loudly to Hagrid. "If you need help, you know where I am! I'll
let you have a copy of my book. I'm surprised you haven't already got
one - I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, good-bye!" And he
strode away toward the castle.

Harry waited until Lockhart was out of sight, then pulled Ron out of
the bush and up to Hagrid's front door. They knocked urgently.

Hagrid appeared at once, looking very grumpy, but his expression
brightened when he saw who it was.

"Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me - come in, come in -
thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again -"

Harry and Hermione supported Ron over the threshold into the one-
roomed cabin, which had an enormous bed in one corner, a fire
crackling merrily in the other. Hagrid didn't seem perturbed by Ron's
slug problem, which Harry hastily explained as he lowered Ron into a
chair.

"Better out than in," he said cheerfully, plunking a large copper basin in
front of him. "Get 'em all up, Ron."

"I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to stop," said
Hermione anxiously, watching Ron bend over the basin. "That's a
difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand -"

Hagrid was bustling around making them tea. His boarhound, Fang,
was slobbering over Harry.

"What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?" Harry asked, scratching
Fang's ears.

"Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well," growled

*114*

Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and
setting down the teapot. "Like I don' know. An' bangin' on about
some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my
kettle."

It was most unlike Hagrid to criticize a Hogwarts' teacher, and Harry
looked at him in surprise. Hermione, however, said in a voice
somewhat higher than usual, "I think you're being a bit unfair.
Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for
the job -"

"He was the on' man for the job," said Hagrid, offering them a Y

plate of treacle fudge, while Ron coughed squelchily into his basin.
"An' I mean the on' one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer Y

the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're
startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now. So
tell me," said Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron. "Who was he tryin' ter
curse?"

"Malfoy called Hermione something - it must've been really bad,
because everyone went wild."

"It was bad," said Ron hoarsely, emerging over the tabletop looking
pale and sweaty. "Malfoy called her `Mudblood,' Hagrid -"

Ron dived out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made their
appearance. Hagrid looked outraged.

"He didn'!" he growled at Hermione.

"He did," she said. "But I don't know what it means. I could tell it
was really rude, of course -"

"It's about the most insulting thing he could think of," gasped Ron,
coming back up. "Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is
Muggle-born - you know, non-magic parents. There are

*115*

some wizards - like Malfoy's family - who think they're better than
everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood." He
gave a small burp, and a single slug fell into his outstretched hand. He
threw it into the basin and continued, "I mean, the rest of us know it
doesn't make any difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom -
he's pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way
up."

"An' they haven't invented a spell our Hermione can' do," said Hagrid
proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta.

"It's a disgusting thing to call someone," said Ron, wiping his sweaty
brow with a shaking hand. "Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's
ridiculous. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we
hadn't married Muggles we'd've died out."

He retched and ducked out of sight again.

"Well, I don' blame yeh fer tryin' ter curse him, Ron," said Hagrid
loudly over the thuds of more slugs hitting the basin. "Bu' maybe it
was a good thing yer wand backfired. 'Spect Lucius Malfoy
would've come marchin' up ter school if yeh'd cursed his son. Least
yer not in trouble."

Harry would have pointed out that trouble didn't come much worse
than having slugs pouring out of your mouth, but he couldn't; Hagrid's
treacle fudge had cemented his jaws together.

"Harry," said Hagrid abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought.
"Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard you've bin givin' out signed
photos. How come I haven't got one?"

Furious, Harry wrenched his teeth apart.

"I have not been giving out signed photos," he said hotly. "If
Lockhart's still spreading that around -"

*116*

But then he saw that Hagrid was laughing.

"I'm on'y jokin'," he said, patting Harry genially on the back and
sending him face first into the table. "I knew yeh hadn't really. I told
Lockhart yeh didn' need teh. Yer more famous than him without
tryin'."

"Bet he didn't like that," said Harry, sitting up and rubbing his chin.

"Don' think he did," said Hagrid, his eyes twinkling. "An' then I told
him Id never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go. Treacle
fudge, Ron?" he added as Ron reappeared.

"No thanks," said Ron weakly. "Better not risk it."

"Come an' see what I've bin growin'," said Hagrid as Harry and
Hermione finished the last of their tea.

In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid's house were a dozen of
the largest pumpkins Harry had ever seen. Each was the size of a
large boulder.

"Gettin' on well, aren't they?" said Hagrid happily. "Fer the Halloween
feast ... should be big enough by then."

"What've you been feeding them?" said Harry.

Hagrid looked over his shoulder to check that they were alone.

"Well, I've bin givin' them - you know - a bit o' help -"

Harry noticed Hagrid's flowery pink umbrella leaning against the back
wall of the cabin. Harry had had reason to believe before now that
this umbrella was not all it looked; in fact, he had the strong
impression that Hagrid's old school wand was concealed inside it.
Hagrid wasn't supposed to use magic. He had been expelled from
Hogwarts in his third year, but Harry had never found out why -any
mention of the matter and Hagrid would clear his

*117*

throat loudly and become mysteriously deaf until the subject was
changed.

"An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?" said Hermione, halfway
between disapproval and amusement. "Well, you've done a good job on
them."

"That's what yer little sister said," said Hagrid, nodding at Ron. "Met
her jus' yesterday." Hagrid looked sideways at Harry, his beard
twitching. "Said she was jus' lookin' round the grounds, but I reckon
she was hopin' she might run inter someone else at my house." He
winked at Harry. "If yeh ask me, she wouldn' say no ter a signed -"

"Oh, shut up," said Harry. Ron snorted with laughter and the ground
was sprayed with slugs.

"Watch it!" Hagrid roared, pulling Ron away from his precious
pumpkins.

It was nearly lunchtime and as Harry had only had one bit of treacle
fudge since dawn, he was keen to go back to school to eat. They said
good-bye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle, Ron hiccoughing
occasionally, but only bringing up two very small slugs.

They had barely set foot in the cool entrance hall when a voice rang
out, "There you are, Potter - Weasley." Professor McGonagall was
walking toward them, looking stern. "You will both do your detentions
this evening."

"What're we doing, Professor?" said Ron, nervously suppressing a
burp.

"You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr. Filch,"
said Professor McGonagall. "And no magic, Weasley - elbow grease."

*118*

Ron gulped. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was loathed by every student
in the school.

"And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan
mail," said Professor McGonagall.

"Oh n - Professor, can't I go and do the trophy room, too?" said Harry
desperately.

"Certainly not," said Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows.
"Professor Lockhart requested you particularly. Eight o'clock sharp,
both of you."

Harry and Ron slouched into the Great Hall in states of deepest
gloom, Hermione behind them, wearing a well-you-did-break-school-
rules  sort of expression. Harry didn't enjoy his shepherd's pie as
much as he'd thought. Both he and Ron felt they'd got the worse deal.

"Filch'll have me there all night," said Ron heavily. "No magic! There
must be about a hundred cups in that room. I'm no good at Muggle
cleaning."

"I'd swap anytime," said Harry hollowly. "I've had loads of practice
with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart's fan mail ... he'll be a
nightmare ......

Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and in what seemed like no
time, it was five minutes to eight, and Harry was dragging his feet
along the second-floor corridor to Lockhart's office. He gritted his
teeth and knocked.

The door flew open at once. Lockhart beamed down at him.

"Ah, here's the scalawag!" he said. "Come in, Harry, come in -"

Shining brightly on the walls by the light of many candles were
countless framed photographs of Lockhart. He had even signed a few
of them. Another large pile lay on his desk.



"You can address the envelopes!" Lockhart told Harry, as though
this was a huge treat. "This first one's to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her -
huge fan of mine -"

The minutes snailed by. Harry let Lockhart's voice wash over him,
occasionally saying, "Mmm" and "Right" and "Yeah." Now and then
he caught a phrase like, "Fame's a fickle friend, Harry," or "Celebrity
is as celebrity does, remember that."

The candles burned lower and lower, making the light dance over the
many moving faces of Lockhart watching him. Harry moved his
aching hand over what felt like the thousandth envelope, writing out
Veronica Smethley's address. It must be nearly time to leave, Harry
thought miserably, please let it be nearly time...

And then he heard something - something quite apart from the
spitting of the dying candles and Lockhart's prattle about his fans.

It was a voice, a voice to chill the bone marrow, a voice of
breathtaking, ice-cold venom.

"Come ... come to me.... Let me rip you.... Let me tear you .... Let me kill you . .
. ."

Harry gave a huge jump and a large lilac blot appeared on Veronica
Smethley's street.

"What?" he said loudly.

"I know!" said Lockhart. "Six solid months at the top of the best-
seller list! Broke all records!"

"No," said Harry frantically. "That voice!"

"Sorry?" said Lockhart, looking puzzled. "What voice?"

"That - that voice that said - didn't you hear it?"

Lockhart was looking at Harry in high astonishment.

* 3-2o *

"What are you talking about, Harry? Perhaps you're getting a litde
drowsy? Great Scott - look at the time! We've been here nearly four
hours! Id never have believed it - the time's flown, hasn't it?"

Harry didn't answer. He was straining his ears to hear the voice again,
but there was no sound now except for Lockhart telling him he mustn't
expect a treat like this every time he got detention. Feeling dazed,
Harry left.

It was so late that the Gryffindor common room was almost empty.
Harry went straight up to the dormitory. Ron wasn't back yet. Harry
pulled on his pajamas, got into bed, and waited. Half an hour later, Ron
arrived, nursing his right arm and bringing a strong smell of polish into
the darkened room.

"My muscles have all seized up," he groaned, sinking on his bed.
"Fourteen times he made me buff up that Quidditch cup before he was
satisfied. And then I had another slug attack all over a Special Award
for Services to the School. Took ages to get the slime off... How was
it with Lockhart?"

Keeping his voice low so as not to wake Neville, Dean, and Seamus,
Harry told Ron exactly what he had heard.

"And Lockhart said he couldn't hear it?" said Ron. Harry could see
him frowning in the moonlight. "D'you think he was lying? But I don't
get it - even someone invisible would've had to open the door."

"I know," said Harry, lying back in his four-poster and staring at the
canopy above him. "I don't get it either."

* 12-1 *

122
October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle.
Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among
the staff and students. Her Pepperup potion worked instantly, though it left
the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Ginny Weasley,
who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The
steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole
head was on fire.
Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on
end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid's
pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Oliver Wood's enthusiasm for
regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harry
was to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before
Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and
splattered with mud..


123
Even aside from the rain and wind it hadn't been a happy practice session.
Fred and George, who had been spying on the Slytherin team, had seen for
themselves the speed of those new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. They
reported that the Slytherin team was no more than seven greenish blurs,
shooting through the air like missiles.
As Harry squelched along the deserted corridor he came across somebody
who looked just as preoccupied as he was. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost
of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out of a window, muttering
under his breath, ". . . don't fulfill their requirements . . . half an inch, if that .
. ."
"Hello, Nick," said Harry.
"Hello, hello," said Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking round. He
wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff,
which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He
was pale as smoke, and Harry could see right through him to the dark sky
and torrential rain outside.
"You look troubled, young Potter," said Nick, folding a transparent letter as
he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet.
"So do you," said Harry.
"Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no
importance. . . . It's not as though I really wanted to join. . . . Thought I'd
apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfill requirements' -"
In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face.
"But you would think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter
back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a
blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?"


124
"Oh - yes," said Harry, who was obviously supposed to agree.
"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean,
and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great
deal of pain and ridicule. However -" Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter
open and read furiously: "'We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have
parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be
impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as
Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret,
therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements.
With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.'"
Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away.
"Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry! Most people
would think that's good and beheaded, but oh, no, it's not enough for Sir
Properly Decapitated-Podmore."
Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far
calmer tone, "So - what's bothering you? Anything I can do?"
"No," said Harry. "Not unless you know where we can get seven free
Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly -"
The rest of Harry's sentence was drowned out by a high-pitched mewling
from somewhere near his ankles. He looked down and found himself gazing
into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat
who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his
endless battle against students.
"You'd better get out of here, Harry," said Nick quickly. "Filch isn't in a
good mood - he's got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog
brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He's been cleaning all morning,
and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place -"

.125
"Right," said Harry, backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs. Norris,
but not quickly enough. Drawn to the spot by the mysterious power that
seemed to connect him with his foul cat, Argus Filch burst suddenly through
a tapestry to Harry's right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rule-breaker.
There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose
was unusually purple.
"Filth!" he shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he
pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped from Harry's Quidditch robes.
"Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me,
Potter!"
So Harry waved a gloomy good-bye to Nearly Headless Nick and followed
Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on the
floor.
Harry had never been inside Filch's office before; it was a place most
students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil
lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered about
the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels,
Harry could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever
punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A
highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind
Filch's desk. It was common knowledge that he was always begging
Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling.
Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around
looking for parchment.
"Dung," he muttered furiously, "great sizzling dragon bogies . . . frog brains
. . . rat intestines . . . I've had enough of it . . . make an example . . . where's
the form . . . yes . . ."

.126
He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it
out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot.
"Name . . . Harry Potter. Crime . . ."
"It was only a bit of mud!" said Harry.
"It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra hour scrubbing!"
shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose.
"Crime . . . befouling the castle . . . suggested sentence . . ."
Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry who
waited with bated breath for his sentence to fall.
But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of
the office, which made the oil lamp rattle.
"PEEVES!" Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a transport of rage. "I'll
have you this time, I'll have you!"
And without a backward glance at Harry, Filch ran flat-footed from the
office, Mrs. Norris streaking alongside him.
Peeves was the school poltergeist, a grinning, airborne menace who lived to
cause havoc and distress. Harry didn't much like Peeves, but couldn't help
feeling grateful for his timing. Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done (and it
sounded as though he'd wrecked something very big this time) would
distract Filch from Harry.
Thinking that he should probably wait for Filch to come back, Harry sank
into a moth-eaten chair next to the desk. There was only one thing on it apart
from his half-completed form: a large, glossy, purple envelope with silver
lettering on the front. With a quick glance at the door to check that Filch
wasn't on his way back, Harry picked up the envelope and read: kwikspell A
Correspondence Course in Beginners' Magic.

127
Intrigued, Harry flicked the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf of
parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said: Feel out
of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to
perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork? There
is an answer! Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn
course. Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell
method! Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes: "I had no memory for
incantations and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell
course, I am the center of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of
my Scintillation Solution!" Warlock D. J. Prod of Didsbury says: "My wife
used to sneer at my feeble charms, but one month into your fabulous
Kwikspell course and I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you,
Kwikspell!"
Fascinated, Harry thumbed through the rest of the envelope's contents. Why
on earth did Filch want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean he wasn't a
proper wizard? Harry was just reading "Lesson One: Holding Your Wand
(Some Useful Tips)" when shuffling footsteps outside told him Filch was
coming back. Stuffing the parchment back into the envelope, Harry threw it
back onto the desk just as the door opened.
Filch was looking triumphant.
"That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!" he was saying gleefully to
Mrs. Norris. "We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet -"
His eyes fell on Harry and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope, which,
Harry realized too late, was lying two feet away from where it had started.
Filch's pasty face went brick red. Harry braced himself for a tidal wave of
fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope, and threw it
into a drawer.
"Have you - did you read -?" he sputtered.

.128
"No," Harry lied quickly.
Filch's knobbly hands were twisting together.
"If I thought you'd read my private - not that it's mine - for a friend - be that
as it may - however -"
Harry was staring at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked madder. His eyes
were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks, and the tartan
scarf didn't help.
"Very well - go - and don't breathe a word - not that - however, if you didn't
read - go now, I have to write up Peeves' report - go -"
Amazed at his luck, Harry sped out of the office, up the corridor, and back
upstairs. To escape from Filch's office without punishment was probably
some kind of school record.
"Harry! Harry! Did it work?"
Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, Harry
could see the wreckage of a large black-and-gold cabinet that appeared to
have been dropped from a great height.
"I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch's office," said Nick eagerly.
"Thought it might distract him -"
"Was that you?" said Harry gratefully. "Yeah, it worked, I didn't even get
detention. Thanks, Nick!"
They set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Harry noticed,
was still holding Sir Patrick's rejection letter..

129
"I wish there was something I could do for you about the Headless Hunt,"
Harry said.
Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and Harry walked right through
him. He wished he hadn't; it was like stepping through an icy shower.
"But there is something you could do for me," said Nick excitedly. "Harry -
would I be asking too much - but no, you wouldn't want -"
"What is it?" said Harry.
"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," said Nearly
Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.
"Oh," said Harry, not sure whether he should look sorry or happy about this.
"Right."
"I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be
coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you would
attend. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger would be most welcome, too, of
course - but I daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?" He watched Harry
on tenterhooks.
"No," said Harry quickly, "I'll come -"
"My dear boy! Harry Potter, at my deathday party! And" - he hesitated,
looking excited - "do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick
how very frightening and impressive you find me?"
"Of - of course," said Harry.
Nearly Headless Nick beamed at him. "A deathday party?" said Hermione
keenly when Harry had changed at last and joined her and Ron in the
common room. "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've
been to one of those - it'll be fascinating!".

130
"Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" said Ron, who
was halfway through his Potions homework and grumpy. "Sounds dead
depressing to me. . . ."
Rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but inside
all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over the countless
squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework or, in
the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen
if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander. Fred had "rescued" the
brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class
and it was now smouldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of
curious people.
Harry was at the point of telling Ron and Hermione about Filch and the
Kwikspell course when the salamander suddenly whizzed into the air,
emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly round the room. The
sight of Percy bellowing himself hoarse at Fred and George, the spectacular
display of tangerine stars showering from the salamander's mouth, and its
escape into the fire, with accompanying explosions, drove both Filch and the
Kwikspell envelope from Harry's mind. By the time Halloween arrived,
Harry was regretting his rash promise to go to the deathday party. The rest of
the school was happily anticipating their Halloween feast; the Great Hall had
been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid's vast pumpkins had been
carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, and there were
rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the
entertainment.
"A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded Harry bossily. "You said
you'd go to the deathday party."
So at seven o'clock, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked straight past the
doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold
plates and candles, and directed their steps instead toward the dungeons.

.131
The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined
with candles, too, though the effect was far from cheerful: These were long,
thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light
even over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step
they took. As Harry shivered and drew his robes tightly around him, he
heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous
blackboard.
"Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered. They turned a corner and
saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet
drapes.
"My dear friends," he said mournfully. "Welcome, welcome . . . so pleased
you could come. . . ."
He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside.
It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white,
translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor,
waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by
an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead
blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Their breath rose
in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.
"Shall we have a look around?" Harry suggested, wanting to warm up his
feet.
"Careful not to walk through anyone," said Ron nervously, and they set off
around the edge of the dance floor. They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a
ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost,
who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Harry
wasn't surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin
ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the
other ghosts.

.132
"Oh, no," said Hermione, stopping abruptly. "Turn back, turn back, I don't
want to talk to Moaning Myrtle -"
"Who?" said Harry as they backtracked quickly.
"She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor," said
Hermione.
"She haunts a toilet?"
"Yes. It's been out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums and
flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it's awful
trying to have a pee with her wailing at you -"
"Look, food!" said Ron.
On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black
velvet. They approached it eagerly but next moment had stopped in their
tracks, horrified. The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish were laid
on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, were heaped on
salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry
green mold and, in pride of place, an enormous gray cake in the shape of a
tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington
died 31st October, 1492
Harry watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched
low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through
one of the stinking salmon.
"Can you taste it if you walk though it?" Harry asked him.
"Almost," said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away.

.133
"I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavor," said Hermione
knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid
haggis.
"Can we move? I feel sick," said Ron.
They had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped
suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before them.
"Hello, Peeves," said Harry cautiously.
Unlike the ghosts around them, Peeves the Poltergeist was the very reverse
of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, a
revolving bow tie, and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.
"Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in
fungus.
"No thanks," said Hermione.
"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves, his eyes dancing.
"Rude you was about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed,
"OY! MYRTLE!"
"Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset," Hermione
whispered frantically. "I didn't mean it, I don't mind her - er, hello, Myrtle."
The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face Harry
had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.
"What?" she said sulkily.
"How are you, Myrtle?" said Hermione in a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to
see you out of the toilet."

.134
Myrtle sniffed.
"Miss Granger was just talking about you -" said Peeves slyly in Myrtle's
ear.
"Just saying - saying - how nice you look tonight," said Hermione, glaring
at Peeves.
Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously.
"You're making fun of me," she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her
small, see-through eyes.
"No - honestly - didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" said
Hermione, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs.
"Oh, yeah -"
"She did -"
"Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while
Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. "D'you think I don't know what
people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable,
moaning, moping Myrtle!"
"You've forgotten pimply," Peeves hissed in her ear.
Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon.
Peeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts, yelling, "Pimply!
Pimply!"
"Oh, dear," said Hermione sadly.
Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward them through the crowd.

.135
"Enjoying yourselves?"
"Oh, yes," they lied.
"Not a bad turnout," said Nearly Headless Nick proudly. "The Wailing
Widow came all the way up from Kent. . . . It's nearly time for my speech,
I'd better go and warn the orchestra. . . ."
The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and
everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a
hunting horn sounded.
"Oh, here we go," said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly.
Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a
headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; Harry started to clap, too,
but stopped quickly at the sight of Nick's face.
The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing
and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his
bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn.
The ghost leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the
crowd (everyone laughed), and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick,
squashing his head back onto his neck.
"Nick!" he roared. "How are you? Head still hanging in there?"
He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nearly Headless Nick on the shoulder.
"Welcome, Patrick," said Nick stiffly.
"Live 'uns!" said Sir Patrick, spotting Harry, Ron, and Hermione and giving
a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowd
howled with laughter).

.136
"Very amusing," said Nearly Headless Nick darkly.
"Don't mind Nick!" shouted Sir Patrick's head from the floor. "Still upset we
won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say - look at the fellow -"
"I think," said Harry hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick's very
- frightening and - er -"
"Ha!" yelled Sir Patrick's head. "Bet he asked you to say that!"
"If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" said Nearly
Headless Nick loudly, striding toward the podium and climbing into an icy
blue spotlight.
"My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow . . ."
But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt
had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd were turning to
watch. Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience, but gave
up as Sir Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers.
Harry was very cold by now, not to mention hungry.
"I can't stand much more of this," Ron muttered, his teeth chattering, as the
orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto the dance
floor.
"Let's go," Harry agreed.
They backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked
at them, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of
black candles.
"Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully, leading the way
toward the steps to the entrance hall.

.137
And then Harry heard it.
". . . rip . . . tear . . . kill . . ."
It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice he had heard in
Lockhart's office.
He stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all his
might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.
"Harry, what're you -?"
"It's that voice again - shut up a minute -"
". . . soo hungry . . . for so long . . ."
"Listen!" said Harry urgently, and Ron and Hermione froze, watching him.
". . . kill . . . time to kill . . ."
The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away -
moving upward. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped him as he stared
at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upward? Was it a phantom, to
whom stone ceilings didn't matter?
"This way," he shouted, and he began to run, up the stairs, into the entrance
hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here, the babble of talk from the
Halloween feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. Harry sprinted up the
marble staircase to the first floor, Ron and Hermione clattering behind him.
"Harry, what're we -"
"SHH!"

.138
Harry strained his ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter
still, he heard the voice: ". . . I smell blood. . . . I SMELL BLOOD!"
His stomach lurched -
"It's going to kill someone!" he shouted, and ignoring Ron's and Hermione's
bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to
listen over his own pounding footsteps -
Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Ron and Hermione
panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last,
deserted passage.
"Harry, what was that all about?" said Ron, wiping sweat off his face. "I
couldn't hear anything. . . ."
But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.
"Look!"
Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly,
squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the
wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming
torches. the chamber of secrets has been opened. enemies of the heir,
beware.
"What's that thing - hanging underneath?" said Ron, a slight quiver in his
voice.
As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped - there was a large puddle of
water on the floor; Ron and Hermione grabbed him, and they inched toward
the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All three of them
realized what it was at once, and leapt backward with a splash..Mrs. Norris,


the caretaker's cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch
bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.
For a few seconds, they didn't move. Then Ron said, "Let's get out of here."
"Shouldn't we try and help -" Harry began awkwardly.
"Trust me," said Ron. "We don't want to be found here."
But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that
the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood
came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy
talk of well-fed people; next moment, students were crashing into the
passage from both ends.
The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted
the hanging cat. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood alone, in the middle of the
corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see
the grisly sight.
Then someone shouted through the quiet.
"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"
It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes
alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the
hanging, immobile cat.

C H A P T X IR		N I N E

THE WRTITING
ON THE WALL

What's going on here? What's going on?" Attracted no doubt by
Malfoy's shout, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the
crowd. Then he saw Mrs. Norris and fell back, clutching his face in
horror.

"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he shrieked.

And his popping eyes fell on Harry.

"You!"he screeched. "You! You've murdered my cat! You've
killed her! I'll kill you! I'll -"

"Argus!"

Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other
teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harry, Ron, and Hermione
and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr.
Weasley, Miss Granger."

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.

*140*



"My office is nearest, Headmaster - just upstairs - please feel free -"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.

The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and
important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall
and Snape.

As they entered Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of
movement across the walls; Harry saw several of the Lockharts in the
pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit
the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore lay Mrs. Norris
on the polished surface and began to examine her. Harry, Ron, and
Hermione exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside the pool
of candlelight, watching.

The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an inch from
Mrs. Norris's fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon
spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. Professor
McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape
loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar
expression: It was as though he was trying hard not to smile. And
Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making suggestions.

"It was definitely a curse that killed her - probably the Transmogrifian
Torture - I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I
know the very countercurse that would have saved her . .....

Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs.
He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris,
his face in his hands. Much as he detested Filch, Harry

*141*

couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as
he felt for himself If Dumbledore believed Filch, he would be expelled
for sure.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and
tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand but nothing happened: She
continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed.

". . . I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadogou,"
said Lockhart, "a series of attacks, the full story's in my
autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various
amulets, which cleared the matter up at once ......

The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in
agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove his hair
net.

At last Dumbledore straightened up.

"She's not dead, Argus," he said softly.

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of
murders he had prevented.

"Not dead?" choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris.
"But why's she all - all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore ("Ah! I thought so!" said
Lockhart). "But how, I cannot say . . . ."

"Ask him!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to
Harry.

"No second year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly. "it
would take Dark Magic of the most advanced -"

"He did it, he did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "You saw
what he wrote on the wall! He found - in my office - he knows I'm a -
I'm a -" Filch's face worked horribly. "He knows I'm a Squib!" he
finished.

142

"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" Harry said loudly, uncomfortably
aware of everyone looking at him, including all the Lockharts on the
walls. "And I don't even know what a Squib is."

"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "He saw my Kwikspell letter!"

"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows, and
Harry's sense of forboding increased; he was sure nothing Snape had
to say was going to do him any good.

"Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the
wrong time," he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth as though he
doubted it. "But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here.
Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn't he at the
Halloween feast?"

Harry, Ron and Hermione all launched into an explanation about the
deathday party. ". . . there were hundreds of ghosts, theyll tell you we were
there -"

"But why not join the feast afterward?" said Snape, his black eyes
glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?"

Ron and Hermione looked at Harry.

"Because - because -" Harry said, his heart thumping very fast;
something told him it would sound very far-fetched if he told them he
had been led there by a bodiless voice no one but he could hear,
"because we were tired and wanted to go to bed," he said.

"Without any supper?" said Snape, a triumphant smile flickering across
his gaunt face. "I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people
at their parties."

"We weren't hungry," said Ron loudly as his stomach gave a huge
rumble.

Snape's nasty smile widened.

*143*

"I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful," he
said. "It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges
until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should
be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be
honest."

"Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see no
reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the
head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has
done anything wrong."

Dumbledore was giving Harry a searching look. His twinkling light-
blue gaze made Harry feel as though he were being X-rayed.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly.

Snape looked furious. So did Filch.

"My cat has been Petrified!" he shrieked, his eyes popping. "I want to
see some punishment!"

"We will be able to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore patiently.
"Professer Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As
soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that
will revive Mrs. Norris."

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times.
I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep -"

"Excuse me," said Snape icily. "But I believe I am the Potions master
at this school."

There was a very awkward pause.

"You may go," Dumbledore said to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

They went, as quickly as they could without actually running. When
they were a floor up from Lockhart's office, they turned into

*144*

an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them. Harry
squinted at his friends' darkened faces.

"D'you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?"

"No," said Ron, without hesitation. "Hearing voices no one else can
hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."

Something in Ron's voice made Harry ask, "You do believe me, don't
you?"

"'Course I do," said Ron quickly. "But -you must admit it's weird ......

"I know it's weird," said Harry. "The whole thing's weird. What was
that writing on the wall about? The Cbamber Has Been Opened...
What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know, it rings a sort of bell," said Ron slowly. "I think someone
told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once ... might've
been Bill . . . ."

"And what on earth's a Squib?" said Harry.

To his surprise, Ron stifled a snigger.

"Well - it's not funny really - but as it's Filch, he said. "A Squib is
someone who was born into a wizarding family but hasn't got any
magic powers. Kind of the opposite of Muggle-born wizards, but
Squibs are quite unusual. If Filch's trying to learn magic from a
Kwikspell course, I reckon he must be a Squib. It would explain a lot.
Like why he hates students so much." Ron gave a satisfied smile.
"He's bitter."

A clock chimed somewhere.

"Midnight," said Harry. "We'd better get to bed before Snape comes
along and tries to frame us for something else."

*145*



For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the attack on
Mrs. Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone's minds by pacing the spot
where she had been attacked, as though he thought the attacker might
come back. Harry had seen him scrubbing the message on the wall
with Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but to no
effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone. When
Filch wasn't guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking red-
eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and
trying to put them in detention for things like "breathing loudly' and
"looking happy."

Ginny Weasley seemed very disturbed by Mrs. Norris's fate.
According to Ron, she was a great cat lover.

"But you haven't really got to know Mrs. Norris," Ron told her
bracingly. "Honestly, we're much better off without her." Ginny's lip
trembled. "Stuff like this doesn't often happen at Hogwarts," Ron
assured her. "They'll catch the maniac who did it and have him out of
here in no time. I just hope he's got time to Petrify Filch before he's
expelled. I'm only joking -" Ron added hastily as Ginny blanched.

The attack had also had an effect on Hermione. It was quite usual for
Hermione to spend a lot of time reading, but she was now doing
almost nothing else. Nor could Harry and Ron get much response
from her when they asked what she was up to, and not until the
following Wednesday did they find out.

Harry had been held back in Potions, where Snape had made him stay
behind to scrape tubeworms off the desks. After a hurried lunch, he
went upstairs to meet Ron in the library, and saw Justin Finch-
Fletchley, the Hufflepuff boy from Herbology, coming

*146*

toward him. Harry had just opened his mouth to say hello when Justin
caught sight of him, turned abruptly, and sped off in the opposite
direction.

Harry found Ron at the back of the library, measuring his History of
Magic homework. Professor Binns had asked for a threefoot-long
composition on "The Medieval Assembly of European

	Wizards."
	"I don't believe it, I'm still eight inches short 	said Ron fu

riously, letting go of his parchment, which sprang back into a roll.
"And Hermione's done four feet seven inches and her writing's
tiny. "

"Where is she?" asked Harry, grabbing the tape measure and unrolling
his own homework.

"Somewhere over there," said Ron, pointing along the shelves. "Looking
for another book. I think she's trying to read the whole library before
Christmas."

Harry told Ron about Justin Finch-Fletchley running away from him.

"Dunno why you care. I thought he was a bit of an idiot," said Ron,
scribbling away, making his writing as large as possible. "All that junk
about Lockhart being so great -"

Hermione emerged from between the bookshelves. She looked irritable
and at last seemed ready to talk to them.

"All the copies of Hogwarts, A History have been taken out," she said,
sitting down next to Harry and Ron. "And there's a two-week waiting
list. I wish I hadn't left my copy at home, but I couldn't fit it in my trunk
with all the Lockhart books."

"Why do you want it?" said Harry.

*141*

"The same reason everyone else wants it," said Hermione, "to read
up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."

"What's that?" said Harry quickly.

"That's just it. I can't remember," said Hermione, biting her lip. "And
I can't find the story anywhere else -"

"Hermione, let me read your composition," said Ron desperately,
checking his watch.

"No, I won't," said Hermione, suddenly severe. "You've had ten
days to finish it -"

"I only need another two inches, come on -"

The bell rang. Ron and Hermione led the way to History of Magic,
bickering.

History of Magic was the dullest subject on their schedule. Professor
Binns, who taught it, was their only ghost teacher, and the most
exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was his entering the
room through the blackboard. Ancient and shriveled, many people
said he hadn't noticed he was dead. He had simply got up to teach
one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front of the
staff room fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since.

Today was as boring as ever. Professor Binns opened his notes and
began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner until nearly
everyone in the class was in a deep stupor, occasionally coming to
long enough to copy down a name or date, then falling asleep again.
He had been speaking for half an hour when something happened
that had never happened before. Hermione put up her hand.

Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lec

*148*

ture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.

"Miss - er -?"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything
about the Chamber of Secrets," said Hermione in a clear voice.

Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open,
gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender Brown's
head came up off her arms and Neville Longbottom's elbow slipped
off his desk.

Professor Binns blinked.

"My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy voice. "I
deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his
throat with a small noise like chalk s!-ping and continued, "In
September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers

"

He stuttered to a halt. Hermione's hand was waving in the air again.

"Miss Grant?"

"Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

Professor Binns was looking at her in such amazement, Harry was
sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive or dead.

"Well," said Professor Binns slowly, "yes, one could argue that, I
suppose." He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a
student properly before. "However, the legend of which you speak is
such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale -"

But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns's every
word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. Harry

*149*

could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show of
interest.

"Oh, very well," he said slowly. "Let me see ... the Chamber of
Secrets ...

"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand
years ago - the precise date is uncertain - by the four greatest witches
and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after
them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and
Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying
Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common
people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued.

"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking
out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the
castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between
them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin
wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He
believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families.
He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be
untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the
subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the
school."

Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled
old tortoise.

"Reliable historical sources tell us this much," he said. "But these
honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the
Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a

*150*

hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew
nothing.

"Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets
so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at
the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of
Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of
all who were unworthy to study magic."

There was silence as he finished telling the story, but it wasn't the
usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns's classes. There was
unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for
more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed.

"The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he said. "Naturally,
the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many
times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A
tale told to frighten the gullible."

Hermione's hand was back in the air.

"Sir - what exactly do you mean by the `horror within' the
Chamber?"

"That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of
Slytherin alone can control," said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy
voice.

The class exchanged nervous looks.

"I tell you, the thing does not exist," said Professor Binns, shuffling his
notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."

"But, sir," said Seamus Finnigan, "if the Chamber can only be opened
by Slytherin's true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would
they?"

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," said Professor Binns in an aggravated

*151*

tone. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and
headmistresses haven't found the thing -"

"But, Professor," piped up Parvati Patil, "you'd probably have to use
Dark Magic to open it -"

"Just because a wizard doesn't use Dark Magic doesn't mean he
can't, Miss Pennyfeather," snapped Professor Binns. "I repeat, if the
likes of Dumbledore -"

"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore
couldn't -" began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had had
enough.

"That will do," he said sharply. "It is a myth! It does not exist! There
is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a
secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We
will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable
fact!"

And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor.

"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony," Ron told
Harry and Hermione as they fought their way through the teeming
corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off their bags before
dinner. "But I never knew he started all this pure-blood stuff. I
wouldn't be in his house if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat
had tried to put me in Slytherin, I'd've got the train straight back
home ......

Hermione nodded fervently, but Harry didn't say anything. His
stomach had just dropped unpleasantly.

Harry had never told Ron and Hermione that the Sorting Hat

*152*

had seriously considered putting him in Slytherin. He could remember,
as though it were yesterday, the small voice that had spoken in his ear
when he'd placed the hat on his head a year before: You could be great,
you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin would help you on the
way to greatness, no doubt about that...

But Harry, who had already heard of Slytherin House's reputa

tion for turning out Dark wizards, had thought desperately, Not
Slytherin! and the hat had said, Oh, well, if you're sure ... better be
Gryffindor...

As they were shunted along in the throng, Colin Creevy went past.

"Hiya, Harry!"

"Hullo, Colin," said Harry automatically.

"Harry - Harry - a boy in my class has been saying you're

But Colin was so small he couldn~t fight against the tide of people
bearing him toward the Great Hall; they heard him squeak, "See you,
Harry!" and he was gone.

"What's a boy in his class saying about you?" Hermione wondered.

"That I'm Slytherin's heir, I expect," said Harry, his stomach dropping
another inch or so as he suddenly remembered the way Justin Finch-
Fletchley had run away from him at lunchtime.

"People here'll believe anything," said Ron in disgust.

The crowd thinned and they were able to climb the next staircase
without difficulty.

"D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Ron asked
Hermione.

"I don't know," she said, frowning. "Dumbledore couldn't cure

* 1,5 % *

Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her
might not be - well - human."

As she spoke, they turned a corner and found themselves at the end
of the very corridor where the attack had happened. They stopped
and looked. The scene was just as it had been that night, except that
there was no stiff cat hanging from the torch bracket, and an empty
chair stood against the wall bearing the message "The Chamber of
Secrets has been Opened."

"That's where Filch has been keeping guard," Ron muttered.

They looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.

"Can't hurt to have a poke around," said Harry, dropping his bag and
getting to his hands and knees so that he could crawl along, searching
for clues.

"Scorch marks!" he said. "Here - and here -"

"Come and look at this!" said Hermione. "This is funny . . . ."

Harry got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the
wall. Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane, where around
twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a
small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though
they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" said Hermione
wonderingly.

"No," said Harry, "have you, Ron? Ron?"

He looked over his shoulder. Ron was standing well back and seemed
to be fighting the impulse to run.

"What's up?" said Harry.

"I - don't - like - spiders," said Ron tensely.

"I never knew that," said Hermione, looking at Ron in surprise.
"You've used spiders in Potions loads of times ......

*154*

"I don't mind them dead," said Ron, who was carefully looking
anywhere but at the window. "I just don't like the way they move ....

Hermione giggled.

"It's not funny," said Ron, fiercely. "If you must know, when I was
three, Fred turned my - my teddy bear into a great big fiIthy spider
because I broke his toy broomstick .... You wouldn't like them either if
you'd been holding your bear and suddenly it had too many legs and. .
. "

He broke off, shuddering. Hermione was obviously still trying not to
laugh. Feeling they had better get off the subject, Harry said,
"Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from?
Someone's mopped it up."

"It was about here," said Ron, recovering himself to walk a few paces
past Filch's chair and pointing. "Level with this door."

He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as
though he'd been burned.

"What's the matter?" said Harry.

"Can't go in there," said Ron gruffly. "That's a girls' toilet."

"Oh, Ron, there won't be anyone in there," said Hermione, standing up
and coming over. "That's Moaning Myrtle's place. Come on, let's have
a look."

And ignoring the large OUT of ORDER sign, she opened the door.

It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom Harry had ever set
foot in. Under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror were a row of
chipped sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given
off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the
wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched and one of
them was dangling off its hinges.

* -L 5,5

Hermione put her fingers to her lips and set off toward the end stall.
When she reached it she said, "Hello, Myrtle, how are you?"

Harry and Ron went to look. Moaning Myrtle was floating above the
tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin.

"This is a girls' bathroom," she said, eyeing Ron and Harry suspiciously.
"They're not girls."

"No," Hermione agreed. "I just wanted to show them how er - nice it is
in here."

She waved vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor.

"Ask her if she saw anything," Harry mouthed at Hermione.

"What are you whispering?" said Myrtle, staring at him.

"Nothing," said Harry quickly. "We wanted to ask -"

"I wish people would stop talking behind my back!" said Myrtle, in a
voice choked with tears. "I do have feelings, you know, even if I am
dead -"

"Myrtle, no one wants to upset you," said Hermione. "Harry only -"

"No one wants to upset me! That's a good one!" howled Myrtle. "My
life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along
ruining my death!"

"We wanted to ask you if you've seen anything funny lately," said
Hermione quickly. "Because a cat was attacked right outside your
front door on Halloween."

"Did you see anyone near here that night?" said Harry.

"I wasn't paying attention," said Myrtle dramatically. "Peeves upset me
so much I came in here and tried to kill myself Then, of course, I
remembered that I'm - that I'm "

"Already dead," said Ron helpfully.

* IL 56*

Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over, and dived
headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanishing
from sight, although from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had
come to rest somewhere in the U-bend.

Harry and Ron stood with their mouths open, but Hermione shrugged
wearily and said, "Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle ....
Come on, let's go."

Harry had barely closed the door on Myrtle's gurgling sobs when a
loud voice made all three of them jump.

"RON!"

Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs, prefect
badge agleam, an expression of complete shock on his face.

"That's a girls' bathroom!" he gasped. "What were you -?"

"Just having a look around," Ron shrugged. "Clues, you know -"

Percy swelled in a manner that reminded Harry forcefully of Mrs.
Weasley.

"Get - away - from - there -" Perry said, striding toward them and
starting to bustle them along, flapping his arms. "Don't you care what
this looks like? Coming back here while everyone's at dinner -"

"Why shouldn't we be here?" said Ron hotly, stopping short and glaring
at Percy. "Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!"

"That's what I told Ginny," said Percy fiercely, "but she still seems to
think you're going to be expelled, I've never seen her so upset, crying
her eyes out, you might think of her, all the first years are thoroughly
overexcited by this business -"

"You don't care about Ginny," said Ron, whose ears were now

*157*

reddening. "You're just worried I'm going to mess up your chances of
being Head Boy -"

"Five points from Gryffindor!" Percy said tersely, fingering his prefect
badge. "And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more detective work, or
I'll write to Mum!"

And he strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron's ears.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione chose seats as far as possible from Percy
in the common room that night. Ron was still in a very bad temper and
kept blotting his Charms homework. When he reached absently for his
wand to remove the smudges, it ignited the parchment. Fuming almost
as much as his homework, Ron slammed The Standard Book of Spells,
Grade 2 shut. To Harry's surprise, Hermione followed suit.

"Who can it be, though?" she said in a quiet voice, as though
continuing a conversation they had just been having. "Who'd want to
frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?"

"Let's think," said Ron in mock puzzlement. "Who do we know who
thinks Muggle-borns are scum?"

He looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back, unconvinced.

"If you're talking about Malfoy -"

"Of course I am!" said Ron. "You heard him - `You'll be next,
Mudbloods!'- come on, you've only got to look at his foul rat face to
know it's him -"

"Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?" said Hermione skeptically.

"Look at his family," said Harry, closing his books, too. "The whole lot
of them have been in Slytherin; he's always boasting about it. They
could easily be Slytherin's descendants. His father's definitely evil
enough."

*158*

"They couldve had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!"
said Ron. "Handing it down, father to son ......

"Well," said Hermione cautiously, "I suppose it's possible ......

"But how do we prove it?" said Harry darkly.

"There might be a way," said Hermione slowly, dropping her voice still
further with a quick glance across the room at Percy. "Of course, it
would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking
about fifty school rules, I expect -"

"If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know,
won't you?" said Ron irritably.

"All right," said Hermione coldly. "What we'd need to do is to get
inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions
without him realizing it's us."

"But that's impossible," Harry said as Ron laughed.

"No, it's not," said Hermione. "All we'd need would be some Polyjuice
Potion."

"What's that?" said Ron and Harry together.

"Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago -"

"D'you think we've got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to
Snape?" muttered Ron.

"It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it! We could
change into three of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us.
Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He's probably boasting about it
in the Slytherin common room right now, if only we could hear him."

"This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me," said Ron, frowning.
"What if we were stuck looking like three of the Slytherins forever?"

"It wears off after a while," said Hermione, waving her hand

*159*

impatiently. "But getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult.
Snape said it was in a book called Moste Potente Potions and it's
bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library."
There was only one way to get out a book from the Restricted
Section: You needed a signed note of permission from a teacher.
"Hard to see why we'd want the book, really," said Ron, "if we
weren't going to try and make one of the potions."
"I think," said Hermione, "that if we made it sound as though
we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance ......
"Oh, come on, no teacher's going to fall for that," said Ron.
"They'd have to be really thick . . . ."

C H-H A P T V It		T 1' N

THE ROGUE BLUDGER

ince the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not
brought live creatures to class. Instead, he read passages from his
books to them, and sometimes reenacted some of the more dramatic
bits. He usually picked Harry to help him with these reconstructions;
so far, Harry had been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager
whom Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head
cold, and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything except
lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him.

Harry was hauled to the front of the class during their very next
Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time acting a werewolf If
he hadn't had a very good reason for keeping Lockhart in a good
mood, he would have refused to do it.

"Nice loud howl, Harry - exactly - and then, if you'll believe it, I
pounced - like this - slammed him to the floor - thus with one hand, I
managed to hold him down - with my other, I

*161*



put my wand to his throat -I then screwed up my remaining strength
and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm - he let
out a piteous moan - go on, Harry - higher than that - good - the fur
vanished - the fangs shrank - and he turned back into a man. Simple,
yet effective - and another village will remember me forever as the
hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf
attacks."

The bell rang and Lockhart got to his feet.

"Homework - compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga
Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of the
best one!"

The class began to leave. Harry returned to the back of the room,
where Ron and Hermione were waiting.

"Ready?" Harry muttered.

"Wait till everyone's gone," said Hermione nervously. "All right . . . "

She approached Lockhart's desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in
her hand, Harry and Ron right behind her.

"Er - Professor Lockhart?" Hermione stammered. "I wanted to - to
get this book out of the library. Just for background reading." She
held out the piece of paper, her hand shaking slightly. "But the thing
is, it's in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to
sign for it - I'm sure it would help me understand what you say in
Gadding with Ghouls about slow-acting venoms

"Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!" said Lockhart, taking the note from
Hermione and smiling widely at her. "Possibly my very favorite
book. You enjoyed it?"

-162

"Oh, yes," said Hermione eagerly. "So clever, the way you trapped that
last one with the tea-strainer -"

"Well, I'm sure no one will mind me giving the best student of the year
a little extra help," said Lockhart warmly, and he pulled out an
enormous peacock quill. "Yes, nice, isn't it?" he said, misreading the
revolted look on Ron's face. "I usually save it for book-signings."

He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it
back to Hermione.

"So, Harry," said Lockhart, while Hermione folded the note with
fumbling fingers and slipped it into her bag. "Tomorrow's the first
Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin,
is it not? I hear you're a useful player. I was a Seeker, too. I was
asked to try for the National Squad, but preferred to dedicate my life
to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if ever you feel the need
for a little private training, don't hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass
on my expertise to less able players ......

Harry made an indistinct noise in his throat and then hurried off after
Ron and Hermione.

"I don't believe it," he said as the three of them examined the signature
on the note. "He didn't even look at the book we wanted."

"That's because he's a brainless git," said Ron. "But who cares, we've
got what we needed -"

"He is not a brainless git," said Hermione shrilly as they half ran
toward the library.

"Just because he said you were the best student of the year -"

They dropped their voices as they entered the muffled stillness of the
library. Madam Pince, the librarian, was a thin, irritable woman who
looked like an underfed vulture.

*163*

"Moste Potente Potions?" she repeated suspiciously, trying to take the
note from Hermione; but Hermione wouldn't let go.

"I was wondering if I could keep it," she said breathlessly.

"Oh, come on," said Ron, wrenching it from her grasp and thrusting it
at Madam Pince. "We'll get you another autograph. Lockhart'll sign
anything if it stands still long enough."

Madam Pince held the note up to the light, as though determined to
detect a forgery, but it passed the test. She stalked away between the
lofty shelves and returned several minutes later carrying a large and
moldy-looking book. Hermione put it carefully into her bag and they
left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.

Five minutes later, they were barricaded in Moaning Myrtle's out-of-
order bathroom once again. Hermione had overridden Ron's objections
by pointing out that it was the last place anyone in their right minds
would go, so they were guaranteed some privacy. Moaning Myrtle
was crying noisily in her stall, but they were ignoring her, and she
them.

Hermione opened Moste Potente Potions carefully, and the three of
them bent over the damp-spotted pages. It was clear from a glance
why it belonged in the Restricted Section. Some of the potions had
effects almost too gruesome to think about, and there were some very
unpleasant illustrations, which included a man who seemed to have
been turned inside out and a witch sprouting several extra pairs of
arms out of her head.

"Here it is," said Hermione excitedly as she found the page headed The
Polyjuice Potion. It was decorated with drawings of people halfway
through transforming into other people. Harry sin

*164*

cerely hoped the artist had imagined the looks of intense pain on their
faces.

"This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen," said Hermione as
they scanned the recipe. "Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and
knotgrass," she murmured, running her finger down the list of
ingredients. "Well, they're easy enough, they're in the student store-
cupboard, we can help ourselves .... Oooh, look, powdered horn of a
bicorn - don't know where we're going to get that - shredded skin of a
boomslang -. that'll be tricky, too and of course a bit of whoever we
want to change into."

"Excuse me?" said Ron sharply. "What d'you mean, a bit of whoever
we're changing into? I'm drinking nothing with Crabbe's toenails in it -"

Hermione continued as though she hadn't heard him.

"We don't have to worry about that yet, though, because we add those
bits last ......

Ron turned, speechless, to Harry, who had another worry.

"D'you realize how much we're going to have to steal, Hermione?
Shredded skin of a boomslang, that's definitely not in the students'
cupboard. What're we going to do, break into Snape's private stores? I
don't know if this is a good idea ......

Hermione shut the book with a snap.

"Well, if you two are going to chicken out, fine," she said. There were
bright pink patches on her cheeks and her eyes were brighter than
usual. "I don't want to break rules, you know. I think threatening
Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if
you don't want to find out if it's Malfoy, I'll go straight to Madam Pince
now and hand the book back in ='

*165

"I never thought Id see the day when you'd be persuading us to
break rules," said Ron. "All right, we'll do it. But not toenails, okay?"

"How long will it take to make, anyway?" said Harry as Hermione,
looking happier, opened the book again.

"Well, since the fluxweed has got to be picked at the full moon and
the lacewings have got to be stewed for twenty-one days ... I'd say
it'd be ready in about a month, if we can get all the ingredients."

"A month?" said Ron. "Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggle-
borns in the school by then!" But Hermione's eyes narrowed
dangerously again, and he added swiftly, "But it's the best plan we've
got, so full steam ahead, I say."

However, while Hermione was checking that the coast was clear for
them to leave the bathroom, Ron muttered to Harry, "It'll be a lot less
hassle if you can just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow.

Harry woke early on Saturday morning and lay for a while thinking
about the coming Quidditch match. He was nervous, mainly at the
thought of what Wood would say if Gryffindor lost, but also at the
idea of facing a team mounted on the fastest racing brooms gold
could buy. He had never wanted to beat Slytherin so badly. After
half an hour of lying there with his insides churning, he got up,
dressed, and went down to breakfast early, where he found the rest
of the Gryffindor team huddled at the long, empty table, all looking
uptight and not speaking much.

As eleven o'clock approached, the whole school started to make its
way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day

*166*

with a hint of thunder in the air. Ron and Hermione came hurrying
over to wish Harry good luck as he entered the locker rooms. The
team pulled on their scarlet Gryffindor robes, then sat down to listen to
Wood's usual pre-match pep talk.

"Slytherin has better brooms than us," he began. "No point denying it.
But we've got better people on our brooms. We've trained harder than
they have, we've been flying in all weathers -" ("Too true," muttered
George Weasley. "I haven't been properly dry since August") "- and
we're going to make them rue the day they let that little bit of slime,
Malfoy, buy his way onto their team."

Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Harry.

"It'll be down to you, Harry, to show them that a Seeker has to have
something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or
die trying, Harry, because we've got to win today, we've got to."

"So no pressure, Harry" said Fred, winking at him.

As they walked out onto the pitch, a roar of noise greeted them; mainly
cheers, because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were anxious to see
Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherins in the crowd made their boos and
hisses heard, too. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint
and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other
threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.

"On my whistle," said Madam Hooch. "Three ... two ... one. . .

With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen
players rose toward the leaden sky. Harry flew higher than any of
them, squinting around for the Snitch.

*167*

"All right there, Scarhead?" yelled Malfoy, shooting underneath him as
though to show off the speed of his broom.

Harry had no time to reply. At that very moment, a heavy black
Bludger came pelting toward him; he avoided it so narrowly that he
felt it ruffle his hair as it passed.

"Close one, Harry!" said George, streaking past him with his club in his
hand, ready to knock the Bludger back toward a Slytherin. Harry saw
George give the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian
Pucey, but the Bludger changed direction in midair and shot straight
for Harry again.

Harry dropped quickly to avoid it, and George managed to hit it hard
toward Malfoy. Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang
and shot at Harry's head.

Harry put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the
pitch. He could hear the Bludger whistling along behind him. What
was going on? Bludgers never concentrated on one player like this; it
was their job to try and unseat as many people as possible ....

Fred Weasley was waiting for the Bludger at the other end. Harry
ducked as Fred swung at the Bludger with all his might; the Bludger
was knocked off course.

"Gotcha!" Fred yelled happily, but he was wrong; as though it was
magnetically attracted to Harry, the Bludger pelted after him once
more and Harry was forced to fly off at full speed.

It had started to rain; Harry felt heavy drops fall onto his face,
splattering onto his glasses. He didn't have a clue what was going on
in the rest of the game until he heard Lee Jordan, who was
commentating, say, "Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero ='

*168*

The Slytherins' superior brooms were clearly doing their jobs, and
meanwhile the mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock Harry
out of the air. Fred and George were now flying so close to him on
either side that Harry could see nothing at all except their flailing arms
and had no chance to look for the Snitch, let alone catch it.

"Someone's - tampered - with - this - Bludger -" Fred grunted,
swinging his bat with all his might at it as it launched a new attack on
Harry.

"We need time out," said George, trying to signal to Wood and stop
the Bludger breaking Harry's nose at the same time.

Wood had obviously got the message. Madam Hooch's whistle rang
out and Harry, Fred, and George dived for the ground, still trying to
avoid the mad Bludger.

"What's going on?" said Wood as the Gryffindor team huddled
together, while Slytherins in the crowd jeered. "We're being
flattened. Fred, George, where were you when that Bludger stopped
Angelina scoring?"

"We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger from
murdering Harry, Oliver," said George angrily. "Someone's fixed it -
it won't leave Harry alone. It hasn't gone for anyone else all game.
The Slytherins must have done something to it."

"But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch's office since
our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then . . . . "
said Wood, anxiously.

Madam Hooch was walking toward them. Over her shoulder, Harry
could see the Slytherin team jeering and pointing in his direction.

169

"Listen," said Harry as she came nearer and nearer, "with you two
flying around me all the time the only way I'm going to catch the
Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and
let me deal with the rogue one."

"Don't be thick," said Fred. "It'll take your head off."

Wood was looking from Harry to the Weasleys.

(I Oliver, this is insane," said Alicia Spinner angrily. "You can't let Harry
deal with that thing on his own. Let's ask for an inquiry -))

"If we stop now, we'll have to forfeit the match!" said Harry. "And
we're not losing to Slytherin just because of a crazy Bludger! Come
on, Oliver, tell them to leave me alone!"

"This is all your fault," George said angrily to Wood. " `Get the Snitch
or die trying,' what a stupid thing to tell him -"

Madam Hooch had joined them.

"Ready to resume play?" she asked Wood.

Wood looked at the determined look on Harry's face.

"All right," he said. "Fred, George, you heard Harry -leave him alone
and let him deal with the Bludger on his own."

The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam Hooch's whistle,
Harry kicked hard into the air and heard the telltale whoosh of the
Bludger behind him. Higher and higher Harry climbed; he looped and
swooped, spiraled, zigzagged, and rolled. Slightly dizzy, he nevertheless
kept his eyes wide open, rain was speckling his glasses and ran up his
nostrils as he hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the
Bludger. He could hear laughter from the crowd; he knew he must
look very stupid, but the rogue Bludger was heavy and couldn't change
direction as quickly as Harry could; he began a kind of roller-coaster
ride around the

*170*

edges of the stadium, squinting through the silver sheets of rain to the
Gryffindor goal posts, where Adrian Pucey was trying to get past
Wood

A whistling in Harry's ear told him the Bludger had just missed him
again; he turned right over and sped in the opposite direction.

"Training for the ballet, Potter?" yelled Malfoy as Harry was forced to
do a stupid kind of twirl in midair to dodge the Bludger, and he fled, the
Bludger trailing a few feet behind him; and then, glaring back at
Malfoy in hatred, he saw it - the Golden Snitch. It was hovering inches
above Malfoy's left ear - and Malfoy, busy laughing at Harry, hadn't
seen it.

For an agonizing moment, Harry hung in midair, not daring to speed
toward Malfoy in case he looked up and saw the Snitch.

WHAM.

He had stayed still a second too long. The Bludger had hit him at last,
smashed into his elbow, and Harry felt his arm break. Dimly, dazed by
the searing pain in his arm, he slid sideways on his rain-drenched
broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at
his side - the Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time
W-ming at his face - Harry swerved out of the way, one idea firmly
lodged in his numb brain: get to Malfoy.

Through a haze of rain and pain he dived for the shimmering, sneering
face below him and saw its eyes widen with fear: Malfoy thought
Harry was attacking him.

"What the -" he gasped, careening out of Harry's way.

Harry took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch;
he felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch but was now only

*171*

gripping the broom with his legs, and there was a yell from the crowd
below as he headed straight for the ground, trying hard not to pass
out.

With a splattering thud he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His
arm was hanging at a very strange angle; riddled with pain, he heard,
as though from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. He
focused on the Snitch clutched in his good hand.

"Aha," he said vaguely. "We've won."

And he fainted.

He came around, rain falling on his face, still lying on the field, with
someone leaning over him. He saw a glitter of teeth.

"Oh, no, not you," he moaned.

"Doesn't know what he's saying," said Lockhart loudly to the anxious
crowd of Gryffindors pressing around them. "Not to worry, Harry.
I'm about to fix your arm."

"No!"said Harry. "I'll keep it like this, thanks ......

He tried to sit up, but the pain was terrible. He heard a familiar
clicking noise nearby.

"I don't want a photo of this, Colin," he said loudly.

"Lie back, Harry," said Lockhart soothingly. "It's a simple charm I've
used countless times -"

"Why can't I just go to the hospital wing?" said Harry through
clenched teeth.

"He should really, Professor," said a muddy Wood, who couldn't
help grinning even though his Seeker was injured. "Great capture,
Harry, really spectacular, your best yet, Id say -"

Through the thicket of legs around him, Harry spotted Fred and

*112*

George Weasley, wrestling the rogue Bludger into a box. It was still
putting up a terrific fight.

"Stand back," said Lockhart, who was rolling up his jade-green
sleeves.

"No - don't -" said Harry weakly, but Lockhart was twirling his wand
and a second later had directed it straight at Harry's arm.

A strange and unpleasant sensation started at Harry's shoulder and
spread all the way down to his fingertips. It felt as though his arm was
being deflated. He didn't dare look at what was happening. He had
shut his eyes, his face turned away from his arm, but his worst fears
were realized as the people above him gasped and Colin Creevey
began clicking away madly. His arm didn't hurt anymore - nor did it
feel remotely like an arm.

"Ah," said Lockhart. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the
point is, the bones are no longer broken. That's the thing to bear in
mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the hospital wing - ah, Mr. Weasley,
Miss Granger, would you escort him? - and Madam Pomfrey will be
able to - er - tidy you up a bit."

As Harry got to his feet, he felt strangely lopsided. Taking a deep
breath he looked down at his right side. What he saw nearly made him
pass out again.

Poking out of the end of his robes was what looked like a thick, flesh-
colored rubber glove. He tried to move his fingers. Nothing happened.

Lockhart hadn't mended Harry's bones. He had removed them.

Madam Pomfrey wasn't at all pleased.

"You should have come straight to me!" she raged, holding up

*173*

the sad, limp remainder of what, half an hour before, had been a
working arm. "I can mend bones in a second - but growing them back -
"

"You will be able to, won't you?" said Harry desperately.

"I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful," said Madam Pomfrey
grimly, throwing Harry a pair of pajamas. "You'll have to stay the
night ......

Hermione waited outside the curtain drawn around Harry's bed while
Ron helped him into his pajamas. It took a while to stuff the rubbery,
boneless arm into a sleeve.

"How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?" Ron called
through the curtain as he pulled Harry's limp fingers through the cuff.
"If Harry had wanted deboning he would have asked."

"Anyone can make a mistake," said Hermione. "And it doesn't hurt
anymore, does it, Harry?"

"No," said Harry, getting into bed. "But it doesn't do anything else
either."

As he swung himself onto the bed, his arm flapped pointlessly.

Hermione and Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain. Madam
Pomfrey was holding a large bottle of something labeled Skele-Gro.

"You're in for a rough night," she said, pouring out a steaming
beakerful and handing it to him. "Regrowing bones is a nasty business.

So was taking the Skele-Gro. It burned Harry's mouth and throat as it
went down, making him cough and splutter. Still tut-tutting about
dangerous sports and inept teachers, Madam Pomfrey re

*114*

treated, leaving Ron and Hermione to help Harry gulp down some
water.
"We won, though," said Ron, a grin breaking across his face.
"That was some catch you made. Malfoy's face ... he looked ready
to kill ......
"I want to know how he fixed that Bludger," said Hermione
darkly.
"We can add that to the list of questions we'll ask him when
we've taken the Polyjuice Potion," said Harry, sinking back onto
his pillows. "I hope it tastes better than this stuff .....

"If it's got bits of Slytherins in it? You've got to be joking," said
Ron.
The door of the hospital wing burst open at that moment. Filthy
and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor team had arrived to see
Harry.
"Unbelievable flying, Harry," said George. "I've just seen Mar
cus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on
top of his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn't seem too happy."
They had brought cakes, sweets, and bottles of pumpkin juice;
they gathered around Harry's bed and were just getting started on
what promised to be a good party when Madam Pomfrey came
storming over, shouting, "This boy needs rest, he's got thirty-three
bones to regrow! Out! OUT!"
And Harry was left alone, with nothing to distract him from the
stabbing pains in his limp arm.

Hours and hours later, Harry woke quite suddenly in the pitch
blackness and gave a small yelp of pain: His arm now felt full of

large splinters. For a second, he thought that was what had woken
him. Then, with a thrill of horror, he realized that someone was
sponging his forehead in the dark.

"Get off!" he said loudly, and then, "Dobby!"

The house-elf's goggling tennis ball eyes were peering at Harry
through the darkness. A single tear was running down his long,
pointed nose.

"Harry Potter came back to school," he whispered miserably.
"Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter. Ah sir, why didn't you
heed Dobby? Why didn't Harry Potter go back home when he
missed the train?"

Harry heaved himself up on his pillows and pushed Dobby's sponge
away.

"What're you doing here?" he said. "And how did you know I missed
the train?"

Dobby's lip trembled and Harry was seized by a sudden suspicion.

"It was you!" he said slowly. "You stopped the barrier from letting us
through!"

"Indeed yes, sir," said Dobby, nodding his head vigorously, ears
flapping. "Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter and sealed the
gateway and Dobby had to iron his hands afterward" - he showed
Harry ten long, bandaged fingers - "but Dobby didn't care, sir, for he
thought Harry Potter was safe, and never did Dobby dream that Harry
Potter would get to school another way!"

He was rocking backward and forward, shaking his ugly head.

"Dobby was 'so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was back at
Hogwarts, he let his master's dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby
never had, sir . .....

*176*

Harry slumped back onto his pillows.

"You nearly got Ron and me expelled," he said fiercely. "You'd better
get lost before my bones come back, Dobby, or I might strangle you."

Dobby smiled weakly.

"Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day
at home."

He blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he wore, looking
so pathetic that Harry felt his anger ebb away in spite of himself.

"Why d'you wear that thing, Dobby?" he asked curiously.

"This, sir?" said Dobby, plucking at the pillowcase. "'Tis a mark of the
house-elf's enslavement, sir. Dobby can only be freed if his masters
present him with clothes, sir. The family is careful not to pass Dobby
even a sock, sir, for then he would be free to leave their house
forever."

Dobby mopped his bulging eyes and said suddenly, "Harry Potter must
go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make -"

"Your Bludger?" said Harry, anger rising once more. "What d'you
mean, your Bludger? You made that Bludger try and kill me?"

"Not kill you, sir, never kill you!" said Dobby, shocked. "Dobby wants
to save Harry Potter's life! Better sent home, grievously injured, than
remain here sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be
sent home!"

"Oh, is that all?" said Harry angrily. "I don't suppose you're going to
tell me why you wanted me sent home in pieces?"

"Ah, if Harry Potter only knew!" Dobby groaned, more tears dripping
onto his ragged pillowcase. "If he knew what he means

*177*

to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world!
Dobby remembers how it was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named
was at the height of his powers, sir! We house-elfs were treated like
vermin, sir! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir," he admitted,
drying his face on the pillowcase. "But mostly, sir, life has improved
for my kind since you triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord's power was broken, and it
was a new dawn, sir, and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope
for those of us who thought the Dark days would never end, sit... And
now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening
already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history
is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more

Dobby froze, horrorstruck, then grabbed Harry's water jug from his
bedside table and cracked it over his own head, toppling out of sight. A
second later, he crawled back onto the bed, cross-eyed, muttering,
"Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby. . ."

"So there is a Chamber of Secrets?" Harry whispered. "And did you
say it's been opened before? Tell me, Dobby!"

He seized the elf's bony wrist as Dobby's hand inched toward the
water jug. "But I'm not Muggle-born - how can I be in danger from the
Chamber?"

"Ah, sir, ask no more, ask no more of poor Dobby," stammered the elf,
his eyes huge in the dark. "Dark deeds are planned in this place, but
Harry Potter must not be here when they happen - go home, Harry
Potter, go home. Harry Potter must not meddle in this, sir, 'tis too
dangerous -"

"Who is it, Dobby?" Harry said, keeping a firm hold on Dobby's

*178*

wrist to stop him from hitting himself with the water jug again. "Who's
opened it? Who opened it last time?"

"Dobby can't, sir, Dobby can't, Dobby mustn't tell!" squealed the elf.
"Go home, Harry Potter, go home!"

"I'm not going anywhere!" said Harry fiercely. "One of my best
friends is Muggle-born; she'll be first in line if the Chamber really has
been opened -"

"Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends!" moaned Dobby in a
kind of miserable ecstasy. "So noble! So valiant! But he must save
himself, he must, Harry Potter must not -"

Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. Harry heard it, too.
There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside.

"Dobby must go!" breathed the elf, terrified. There was a loud crack,
and Harry's fist was suddenly clenched on thin air. He slumped back
into bed, his eyes on the dark doorway to the hospital wing as the
footsteps drew nearer.

Next moment, Dumbledore was backing into the dormitory, wearing a
long woolly dressing gown and a nightcap. He was carrying one end
of what looked like a statue. Professor McGonagall appeared a
second later, carrying its feet. Together, they heaved it onto a bed.

"Get Madam Pomfrey," whispered Dumbledore, and Professor
McGonagall hurried past the end of Harry's bed out of sight. Harry lay
quite still, pretending to be asleep. He heard urgent voices, and then
Professor McGonagall swept back into view, closely followed by
Madam Pomfrey, who was pulling a cardigan on over her nightdress.
He heard a sharp intake of breath.

"What happened?" Madam Pomfrey whispered to Dumbledore,
bending over the statue on the bed.

*l79*

"Another attack," said Dumbledore. "Minerva found him on the stairs.

"There was a bunch of grapes next to him," said Professor
McGonagall. "We think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Potter."

Harry's stomach gave a horrible lurch. Slowly and carefully, he raised
himself a few inches so he could look at the statue on the bed. A ray
of moonlight lay across its staring face.

It was Colin Creevey. His eyes were wide and his hands were stuck
up in front of him, holding his camera.

"Petrified?" whispered Madam Pomfrey.

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "But I shudder to think ... If Albus
hadn't been on the way downstairs for hot chocolate - who knows
what might have -"

The three of them stared down at Colin. Then Dumbledore leaned
forward and wrenched the camera out of Colin's rigid grip.

"You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?" said
Professor McGonagall eagerly.

Dumbledore didn't answer. He opened the back of the camera.

"Good gracious!" said Madam Pomfrey.

A jet of steam had hissed out of the camera. Harry, three beds away,
caught the acrid smell of burnt plastic.

"Melted," said Madam Pomfrey wonderingly. "All melted..."

"What does this mean, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked
urgently.

"It means," said Dumbledore, "that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed
open again."

Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth. Professor McGonagall
stared at Dumbledore.

*180*

"But, Albus ... surely ... who?"
"The question is not who," said Dumbledore, his eyes on Colin.
"The question is, how . . . ."
And from what Harry could see of Professor McGonagall's shad
owy face, she didn't understand this any better than he did.

C H-H A P T t R	ELEVEN

THE D-KJEL]ING C-L-IJIB

Harry woke up on Sunday morning to find the dormitory blazing with
winter sunlight and his arm reboned but very stiff. He sat up quickly
and looked over at Colin's bed, but it had been blocked from view by
the high curtains Harry had changed behind yesterday. Seeing that he
was awake, Madam Pomfrey came bustling over with a breakfast tray
and then began bending and stretching his arm and fingers.

"All in order," she said as he clumsily fed himself porridge lefthanded.
"When you've finished eating, you may leave."

Harry dressed as quickly as he could and hurried off to Gryffindor
Tower, desperate to tell Ron and Hermione about Colin and Dobby,
but they weren't there. Harry left to look for them, wondering where
they could have got to and feeling slightly hurt that they weren't
interested in whether he had his bones back or not.

*182*



As Harry passed the library, Percy Weasley strolled out of it,
looking in far better spirits than last time they'd met.

"Oh, hello, Harry," he said. "Excellent flying yesterday, really
excellent. Gryffindor has just taken the lead for the House Cup you
earned fifty points!"

"You haven't seen Ron or Hermione, have you?" said Harry.

"No, I haven't," said Percy, his smile fading. "I hope Ron's not in
another girls' toilet .....

Harry forced a laugh, watched Percy walk out of sight, and then
headed straight for Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. He couldn't see why
Ron and Hermione would be in there again, but after making sure
that neither Filch nor any prefects were around, he opened the door
and heard their voices coming from a locked stall.

"It's me," he said, closing the door behind him. There was a clunk, a
splash, and a gasp from within the stall and he saw Hermione's eye
peering through the keyhole.

`Harry!" she said. "You gave us such a fright - come in how's your
arm?"

"Fine," said Harry, squeezing into the stall. An old cauldron was
perched on the toilet, and a crackling from under the rim told Harry
they had lit a fire beneath it. Conjuring up portable, waterproof fires
was a speciality of Hermione's.

"We'd've come to meet you, but we decided to get started on the
Polyjuice Potion," Ron explained as Harry, with difficulty, locked the
stall again. "We've decided this is the safest place to hide it."

Harry started to tell them about Colin, but Hermione interrupted.

"We already know - we heard Professor McGonagall telling

Professor Flitwick this morning. That's why we decided we'd better get
going -"

"The sooner we get a confession out of Malfoy, the better," snarled
Ron. "D'you know what I think? He was in such a foul temper after
the Quidditch match, he took it out on Colin."

"There's something else," said Harry, watching Hermione tearing
bundles of knotgrass and throwing them into the potion. "Dobby came
to visit me in the middle of the night."

Ron and Hermione looked up, amazed. Harry told them everything
Dobby had told him - or hadn't told him. Hermione and Ron listened
with their mouths open.

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened before?" Hermione said.

"This settles it," said Ron in a triumphant voice. "Lucius Malfoy must've
opened the Chamber when he was at school here and now he's told
dear old Draco how to do it. It's obvious. Wish Dobby'd told you what
kind of monster's in there, though. I want to know how come nobody's
noticed it sneaking around the school."

"Maybe it can make itself invisible," said Hermione, prodding leeches to
the bottom of the cauldron. "Or maybe it can disguise itself - pretend to
be a suit of armor or something - I've read about Chameleon Ghouls -"

"You read too much, Hermione," said Ron, pouring dead lacewings on
top of the leeches. He crumpled up the empty lacewing bag and looked
at Harry.

"So Dobby stopped us from getting on the train and broke your

	arm 	He shook his head. "You know what, Harry? If he doesn't

stop trying to save your life he's going to kill you."

*184*

The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying
as though dead in the hospital wing had spread through the entire
school by Monday morning. The air was suddenly thick with rumor
and suspicion. The first years were now moving around the castle in
tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they
ventured forth alone.

Ginny Weasley, who sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms, was
distraught, but Harry felt that Fred and George were going the
wrong way about cheering her up. They were taking turns covering
themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind
statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told
them he was going to write to Mrs. Weasley and tell her Ginny was
having nightmares.

Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans,
amulets, and other protective devices was sweeping the school.
Neville Longbottom bought a large, evil-smelling green onion, a
pointed purple crystal, and a rotting newt tail before the other
Gryffindor boys pointed out that he was in no danger; he was a pure-
blood, and therefore unlikely to be attacked.

"They went for Filch first," Neville said, his round face fearful. "And
everyone knows I'm almost a Squib."

In the second week of December Professor McGonagall came
around as usual, collecting names of those who would be staying at
school for Christmas. Harry, Ron, and Hermione signed her list; they
had heard that Malfoy was staying, which struck them as very
suspicious. The holidays would be the perfect time to use the
Polyjuice Potion and try to worm a confession out of him.

Unfortunately, the potion was only half finished. They still

* 3-85*

needed the bicorn horn and the boomslang skin, and the only place
they were going to get them was from Snape's private stores. Harry
privately felt he'd rather face Slytherin's legendary monster than let
Snape catch him robbing his office.

"What we need," said Hermione briskly as Thursday afternoon's
double Potions lesson loomed nearer, "is a diversion. Then one of us
can sneak into Snape's office and take what we need."

Harry and Ron looked at her nervously.

"I think Id better do the actual stealing," Hermione continued in a
matter-of-fact tone. "You two will be expelled if you get into any more
trouble, and I've got a clean record. So all you need to do is cause
enough mayhem to keep Snape busy for five minutes or so.

Harry smiled feebly. Deliberately causing mayhem in Snape's Potions
class was about as safe as poking a sleeping dragon in the eye.

Potions lessons took place in one of the large dungeons. Thursday
afternoon's lesson proceeded in the usual way. Twenty cauldrons
stood steaming between the wooden desks, on which stood brass
scales and jars of ingredients. Snape prowled through the fumes,
making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors' work while the
Slytherins sniggered appreciatively. Draco Malfoy, who was Snape's
favorite student, kept flicking puffer-fish eyes at Ron and Harry, who
knew that if they retaliated they would get detention faster than you
could say "Unfair."

Harry's Swelling Solution was far too runny, but he had his mind on
more important things. He was waiting for Hermione's signal, and he
hardly listened as Snape paused to sneer at his watery

*186*

potion. When Snape turned and walked off to bully Neville, Hermione
caught Harry's eye and nodded.

Harry ducked swiftly down behind his cauldron, pulled one of Fred's
Filibuster fireworks out of his pocket, and gave it a quick prod with his
wand. The firework began to fizz and sputter. Knowing he had only
seconds, Harry straightened up, took aim, and lobbed it into the air; it
landed right on target in Goyle's cauldron.

Goyle's potion exploded, showering the whole class. People shrieked
as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them. Malfoy got a faceful and
his nose began to swell like a balloon; Goyle blundered around, his
hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of a dinner plate -
Snape was trying to restore calm and find out what had happened.
Through the confusion, Harry saw Hermione slip quietly into Snape's
office.

"Silence! SILENCE!" Snape roared. "Anyone who has been splashed,
come here for a Deflating Draft - when I find out who did this -"

Harry tried not to laugh as he watched Malfoy hurry forward, his head
drooping with the weight of a nose like a small melon. As half the
class lumbered up to Snape's desk, some weighted down with arms
like clubs, others unable to talk through gigantic puffedup lips, Harry
saw Hermione slide back into the dungeon, the front of her robes
bulging.

When everyone had taken a swig of antidote and the various swellings
had subsided, Snape swept over to Goyle's cauldron and scooped out
the twisted black remains of the firework. There was a sudden hush.

*187*

"If I ever find out who threw this," Snape whispered, "I shall make
sure that person is expelled."

Harry arranged his face into what he hoped was a puzzled
expression. Snape was looking right at him, and the bell that rang ten
minutes later could not have been more welcome.

"He knew it was me," Harry told Ron and Hermione as they hurried
back to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. "I could tell."

Hermione threw the new ingredients into the cauldron and began to
stir feverishly.

"It'll be ready in two weeks," she said happily.

"Snape can't prove it was you," said Ron reassuringly to Harry.
"What can he do?"

"Knowing Snape, something foul," said Harry as the potion frothed
and bubbled.

A week later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking across the
entrance hall when they saw a small knot of people gathered around
the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been
pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beckoned them
over, looking excited.

"They're starting a Dueling Club!" said Seamus. "First meeting
tonight! I wouldn't mind dueling lessons; they might come in handy
one of these days ......

"What, you reckon Slytherin's monster can duel?" said Ron, but he,
too, read the sign with interest.

"Could be useful," he said to Harry and Hermione as they went into
dinner. "Shall we go?"

Harry and Hermione were all for it, so at eight o'clock that

*188*

evening they hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining tables
had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by
thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety
black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed
beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" said Hermione as they edged into
the chattering crowd. "Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling
champion when he was young - maybe it'll be him."

"As long as it's not -" Harry began, but he ended on a groan:
Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes
of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing
his usual black.

Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called ' "Gather round,
gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me?
Excellent!

"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start
this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend
yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions - for full
details, see my published works.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said Lockhart,
flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about
dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short
demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you
youngsters to worry - you'll still have your Potions master when I'm
through with him, never fear!"

"Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" Ron muttered in
Harry's ear.

Snape's upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart

*189*

was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at him like that he'd have
been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least,
Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked
his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of
them.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative
position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we
will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured, watching Snape baring his
teeth.

"One - two - three -"

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them
at their opponent; Snape cried: "Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling
flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew
backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to
sprawl on the floor.

Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione was
dancing on tiptoes. "Do you think he's all right?" she squealed through
her fingers.

"Who cares?" said Harry and Ron together.

Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and
his wavy hair was standing on end.

"Well, there you have it!" he said, tottering back onto the platform.
"That was a Disarming Charm - as you see, I've lost my wand - ah,
thank you, Miss Brown - yes, an excellent idea to show them that,
Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying

*190*

so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to
stop you it would have been only too easy - however, I felt it would be
instructive to let them see . . ."

Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because
he said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now
and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me -"

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart
teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape reached Harry
and Ron first.

"Time to split up the dream team, I think," he sneered. "Weasley, you
can partner Finnigan. Potter -"

Harry moved automatically toward Hermione.

"I don't think so," said Snape, smiling coldly. "Mr. Malfoy, come over
here. Let's see what you make of the famous Potter. And you, Miss
Granger - you can partner Miss Bulstrode."

Malfoy strutted over, smirking. Behind him walked a Slytherin girl who
reminded Harry of a picture he'd seen in Holidays with Hags. She was
large and square and her heavy jaw jutted aggressively. Hermione
gave her a weak smile that she did not return.

"Face your partners!" called Lockhart, back on the platform. "And
bow!"

Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off
each other.

"Wands at the ready!" shouted Lockhart. "When I count to three, cast
your charms to disarm your opponents - only to disarm them - we don't
want any accidents - one ... two ... three -"

*191*

Harry swung his wand high, but Malfoy had already started on "two":
His spell hit Harry so hard he felt as though he'd been hit over the
head with a saucepan. He stumbled, but everything still seemed to be
working, and wasting no more time, Harry pointed his wand straight at
Malfoy and shouted, "Rictusempra!"

A jet of silver light hit Malfoy in the stomach and he doubled up,
wheezing.

"I said disarm only!" Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the
battling crowd, as Malfoy sank to his knees; Harry had hit him with a
Tickling Charm, and he could barely move for laughing. Harry hung
back, with a vague feeling it would be unsporting to bewitch Malfoy
while he was on the floor, but this was a mistake; gasping for breath,
Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry's knees, choked, "Tarantallegra!"
and the next second Harry's legs began to jerk around out of his
control in a kind of quickstep.

"Stop! Stop!" screamed Lockhart, but Snape took charge.

"Finite Incantatem!" he shouted; Harry's feet stopped dancing, Malfoy
stopped laughing, and they were able to look up.

A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Neville
and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron was holding up an
ashen-faced Seamus, apologizing for whatever his broken wand had
done; but Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode were still moving;
Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering
in pain; both their wands lay forgotten on the floor. Harry leapt
forward and pulled Millicent off. It was difficult: She was a lot bigger
than he was.

"Dear, dear," said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at
the aftermath of the duels. "Up you go, Macmillan ....

*192*

Careful there, Miss Fawcett .... Pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a
second, Boot

"I think Id better teach you how to block unfriendly spells," said
Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at
Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. "Let's
have a volunteer pair - Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about
you -"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," said Snape, gliding over like a large
and malevolent bat. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest
spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the
hospital wing in a matchbox." Neville's round, pink face went pinker.
"How about Malfoy and Potter?" said Snape with a twisted smile.

"Excellent idea!" said Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Malfoy into the
middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room.

"Now, Harry," said Lockhart. "When Draco points his wand at you,
you do this."

He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling
action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up,
saying, "Whoops -my wand is a little overexcited -"

Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered something
in his ear. Malfoy smirked, too. Harry looked up nervously at Lockhart
and said, "Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?"

"Scared?" muttered Malfoy, so that Lockhart couldn't hear him.

"You wish," said Harry out of the corner of his mouth.

Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. "Just do what I did,
Harry!"

"What, drop my wand?"

But Lockhart wasn't listening.

"Three - two - one - go!" he shouted.

Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, "Serpensortia!"

The end of his wand exploded. Harry watched, aghast, as a long black
snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between them, and
raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd
backed swiftly away, clearing the floor.

"Don't move, Potter," said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of
Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. "I'll get
rid of it ......

"Allow me!" shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake
and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten
feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged,
hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and
raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.

Harry wasn't sure what made him do it. He wasn't even aware of
deciding to do it. All he knew was that his legs were carrying him
forward as though he was on casters and that he had shouted stupidly
at the snake, "Leave him alone!" And miraculously - inexplicably - the
snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its
eyes now on Harry. Harry felt the fear drain out of him. He knew the
snake wouldn't attack anyone now, though how he knew it, he couldn't
have explained.

He looked up at Justin, grinning, expecting to see Justin looking

*194*

relieved, or puzzled, or even grateful - but certainly not angry and
scared.

"What do you think you're playing at?" he shouted, and before Harry
could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hall.

Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a
small puff of black smoke. Snape, too, was looking at Harry in an
unexpected way: It was a shrewd and calculating look, and Harry
didn't like it. He was also dimly aware of an ominous muttering all
around the walls. Then he felt a tugging on the back of his robes.

"Come on," said Rods voice in his ear. "Move - come on -"

Ron steered him out of the hall, Hermione hurrying alongside them. As
they went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as
though they were frightened of catching something. Harry didn't have
a clue what was going on, and neither Ron nor Hermione explained
anything until they had dragged him all the way up to the empty
Gryffindor common room. Then Ron pushed Harry into an armchair
and said, "You're a Parselmouth. Why didn't you tell us?"

"I'm a what?" said Harry.

`A Parselmouth!" said Ron. "You can talk to snakes!"

"I know," said Harry. "I mean, that's only the second time I've ever
done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the
zoo once - long story - but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil
and I sort of set it free without meaning to that was before I knew I
was a wizard -"

"A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?" Ron repeated
faintly.

*195*

"So?" said Harry. "I bet loads of people here can do it."

"Oh, no they can't," said Ron. "It's not a very common gift. Harry, this
is bad."

"What's bad?" said Harry, starting to feel quite angry. "What's wrong
with everyone? Listen, if I hadn't told that snake not to attack Justin -"

"Oh, that's what you said to it?"

"What d'you mean? You were there - you heard me -"

"I heard you speaking Parseltongue," said Ron. "Snake language. You
could have been saying anything - no wonder Justin panicked, you
sounded like you were egging the snake on or something - it was
creepy, you know -"

Harry gaped at him.

"I spoke a different language? But - I didn't realize - how can I speak
a language without knowing I can speak it?"

Ron shook his head. Both he and Hermione were looking as though
someone had died. Harry couldn't see what was so terrible.

"D'you want to tell me what's wrong with stopping a massive snake
biting off Justin's head?" he said. "What does it matter how I did it as
long as Justin doesn't have to join the Headless Hunt?"

"It matters," said Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed voice,
"because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was
famous for. That's why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent."

Harry's mouth fell open.

"Exactly," said Ron. "And now the whole school's going to think you're
his great-great-great-great-grandson or something -"

"But I'm not," said Harry, with a panic he couldn't quite explain.

"You'll find that hard to prove," said Hermione. "He lived about a
thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be."

* IL96 *

Harry lay awake for hours that night. Through a gap in the curtains
around his four-poster he watched snow starting to drift past the
tower window and wondered . . .

Could he be a descendant of Salazar Slithering? He didn't know
anything about his father's family, after all. The Dursleys had always
forbidden questions about his wizarding relatives.

Quietly, Harry tried to say something in Parseltongue. The words
wouldn't come. It seemed he had to be face-to-face with a snake to
do it.

	But I'm in Gryffindor, Harry thought. The Sorting Hat wouldn't
have put me in here if I had Slytherin blood...

Ah, said a nasty little voice in his brain, but the Sorting Hat wanted to
put you in Slytherin, don't you remember?

Harry turned over. He'd see Justin the next day in Herbology and he'd
explain that he'd been calling the snake off, not egging it on, which (he
thought angrily, pummeling his pillow) any fool should have realized.

By next morning, however, the snow that had begun in the night had
turned into a blizzard so thick that the last Herbology lesson of the
term was canceled: Professor Sprout wanted to fit socks and scarves
on the Mandrakes, a tricky operation she would entrust to no one else,
now that it was so important for the Mandrakes to grow quickly and
revive Mrs. Norris and Colin Creevey.

Harry fretted about this next to the fire in the Gryffindor common
room, while Ron and Hermione used their time off to play a game of
wizard chess.

"For heaven's sake, Harry," said Hermione, exasperated, as one

*197*

of Ron's bishops wrestled her knight off his horse and dragged him off
the board. "Go and find Justin if it's so important to you."

So Harry got up and left through the portrait hole, wondering where
Justin might be.

The castle was darker than it usually was in daytime because of the
thick, swirling gray snow at every window. Shivering, Harry walked
past classrooms where lessons were taking place, catching snatches of
what was happening within. Professor McGonagall was shouting at
someone who, by the sound of it, had turned his friend into a badger.
Resisting the urge to take a look, Harry walked on by, thinking that
Justin might be using his free time to catch up on some work, and
deciding to check the library first.

A group of the Hufliepuffs who should have been in Herbology were
indeed sitting at the back of the library, but they didn't seem to be
working. Between the long lines of high bookshelves, Harry could see
that their heads were close together and they were having what looked
like an absorbing conversation. He couldn't see whether Justin was
among them. He was walking toward them when something of what
they were saying met his ears, and he paused to listen, hidden in the
Invisibility section.

"So anyway," a stout boy was saying, "I told Justin to hide up in our
dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter's marked him down as his next
victim, it's best if he keeps a low profile for a while. Of course, Justin's
been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to
Potter he was Muggle-born. Justin actually told him he'd been down
for Eton. That's not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin's
heir on the loose, is it?"

"You definitely think it is Potter, then, Ernie?" said a girl with blonde
pigtails anxiously.

198

"Hannah," said the stout boy solemnly, "he's a Parselmouth. Everyone
knows that's the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a
decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself
Serpent-tongue."

There was some heavy murmuring at this, and Ernie went on,
"Remember what was written on the wall? Enemies of the Heir,
Beware. Potter had some sort of run-in with Filch. Next thing we
know, Flich's cat's attacked. That first year, Creevey, was annoying
Potter at the Quidditch match, taking pictures of him while he was
lying in the mud. Next thing we know - Creevey's been attacked."

"He always seems so nice, though," said Hannah uncertainly, "and,
well, he's the one who made You-Know-Who disappear. He can't be
all bad, can he?"

Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs bent closer, and
Harry edged nearer so that he could catch Ernie's words.

"No one knows how he survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I
mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should have
been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark wizard
could have survived a curse like that." He dropped his voice until it
was barely more than a whisper, and said, "That's probably why You-
Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn't want another
Dark Lord competing with him. I wonder what other powers Potter's
been hiding?"

Harry couldn't take anymore. Clearing his throat loudly, he stepped out
from behind the bookshelves. If he hadn't been feeling so angry, he
would have found the sight that greeted him funny: Every one of the
Hufflepuffs looked as though they had been Petrified by the sight of
him, and the color was draining out of Ernie's face.

*199*

"Hello," said Harry. "I'm looking for Justin Finch-Fletchley."

The Hufepuffs' worst fears had clearly been confirmed. They all
looked fearfully at Ernie.

"What do you want with him?" said Ernie in a quavering voice.

"I wanted to tell him what really happened with that snake at the
Dueling Club," said Harry.

Ernie bit his white lips and then, taking a deep breath, said, "We
were all there. We saw what happened."

"Then you noticed that after I spoke to it, the snake backed off?"
said Harry.

"All I saw," said Ernie stubbornly, though he was trembling as he
spoke, "was you speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake
toward Justin. "

"I didn't chase it at him!" Harry said, his voice shaking with anger. "It
didn't even touch him!"

"It was a very near miss," said Ernie. "And in case you're getting
ideas," he added hastily, "I might tell you that you can trace my
family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and
my blood's as pure as anyone's, so -"

- cc I don't care what sort of blood you've got!" said Harry fiercely.
"Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?"

"I've heard you hate those Muggles you live with," said Ernie swiftly.

"It's not possible to live with the Dursleys and not hate them," said
Harry. "Id like to see you try it."

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the library, earning himself
a reproving glare from Madam Pince, who was polishing the gilded
cover of a large spellbook.

*200*

Harry blundered up the corridor, barely noticing where he was going,
he was in such a fury. The result was that he walked into something
very large and solid, which knocked him backward onto the floor.

"Oh, hello, Hagrid," Harry said, looking up.

Hagrid's face was entirely hidden by a woolly, snow-covered
balaclava, but it couldn't possibly be anyone else, as he filled most of
the corridor in his moleskin overcoat. A dead rooster was hanging
from one of his massive, gloved hands.

"All righ', Harry?" he said, pulling up the balaclava so he could
speak. "Why aren't yeh in class?"

"Canceled," said Harry, getting up. "What're you doing in here?"

Hagrid held up the limp rooster.

"Second one killed this term," he explained. "It's either foxes or a
Blood-Suckin Bugbear, an' I need the Headmaster's permission ter
put a charm around the hen coop."

He peered more closely at Harry from under his thick, snowflecked
eyebrows.

"Yeh sure yeh're all righ'? Yeh look all hot an' bothered -"

Harry couldn't bring himself to repeat what Ernie and the rest of the
Hufflepuffs had been saying about him.

"It's nothing," he said. "Id better get going, Hagrid, it's Transfiguration
next and I've got to pick up my books."

He walked off, his mind still full of what Ernie had said about him.

	"Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he
let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born .....

* 2 0 IL *

Harry stamped up the stairs and turned along another corridor,
which was particularly dark; the torches had been extinguished by a
strong, icy draft that was blowing through a loose windowpane. He
was halfway down the passage when he tripped headlong over
something lying on the floor.

He turned to squint at what he'd fallen over and felt as though his
stomach had dissolved.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, rigid and cold, a look of
shock frozen on his face, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. And
that wasn't all. Next to him was another figure, the strangest sight
Harry had ever seen.

It was Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly-white and
transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal,
six inches off the floor. His head was half off and his face wore an
expression of shock identical to Justin's.

Harry got to his feet, his breathing fast and shallow, his heart doing a
kind of drumroll against his ribs. He looked wildly up and down the
deserted corridor and saw a line of spiders scuttling as fast as they
could away from the bodies. The only sounds were the muffled
voices of teachers from the classes on either side.

He could run, and no one would ever know he had been there. But
he couldn't just leave them lying here .... He had to get help ....
Would anyone believe he hadn't had anything to do with this?

As he stood there, panicking, a door right next to him opened with a
bang. Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting out.

"Why, it's potty wee Potter!" cackled Peeves, knocking Harry's
glasses askew as he bounced past him. "What's Potter up to? Why's
Potter lurking -"

*202*

Peeves stopped, halfway through a midair somersault. Upside down,
he spotted Justin and Nearly Headless Nick. He flipped the right
way up, filled his lungs and, before Harry could stop him, screamed,
"ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL
OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!
ATTAAAACK!"

Crash - crash - crash - door after door flew open along the corridor
and people flooded out. For several long minutes, there was a scene
of such confusion that Justin was in danger of being squashed and
people kept standing in Nearly Headless Nick. Harry found himself
pinned against the wall as the teachers shouted for quiet. Professor
McGonagall came running, followed by her own class, one of whom
still had black-and-white-striped hair. She used her wand to set off
aloud bang, which restored silence, and ordered everyone back into
their classes. No sooner had the scene cleared somewhat than Ernie
the Hufflepuff arrived, panting, on the scene.

"Caught in the act!" Ernie yelled, his face stark white, pointing his
finger dramatically at Harry.

"That will do, Macmillan!" said Professor McGonagall sharply.

Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly, surveying the
scene; Peeves always loved chaos. As the teachers bent over Justin
and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them, Peeves broke into song:

"Oh, Potter, you rotter, oh, what have you done,
You're killing off' students, you think it's good fun -"

"That's enough Peeves!" barked Professor McGonagall, and Peeves
zoomed away backward, with his tongue out at Harry.

*203*

Justin was carried up to the hospital wing by Professor Flitwick and
Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department, but nobody seemed
to know what to do for Nearly Headless Nick. In the end, Professor
McGonagall conjured a large fan out of thin air, which she gave to
Ernie with instructions to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs.
This Ernie did, fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft. This
left Harry and Professor McGonagall alone together.

"This way, Potter," she said.

"Professor," said Harry at once, "I swear I didn't -"

"This is out of my hands, Potter," said Professor McGonagall curtly.

They marched in silence around a corner and she stopped before a
large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle.

"Lemon drop!" she said. This was evidently a password, because the
gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped aside as the wall behind
him split in two. Even full of dread for what was coming, Harry
couldn't fail to be amazed. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase that
was moving smoothly upward, like an escalator. As he and Professor
McGonagall stepped onto it, Harry heard the wall thud closed behind
them. They rose upward in circles, higher and higher, until at last,
slightly dizzy, Harry saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass
knocker in the shape of a griffin.

He knew now where he was being taken. This must be where
Dumbledore lived.

*204*

C I3 A P T V RR	T W E I V

THE POLYJUICE POTION

hey stepped off the stone staircase at the top, and Professor
McGonagall rapped on the door. It opened silently and they entered.
Professor McGonagall told Harry to wait and left him there, alone.

Harry looked around. One thing was certain: of all the teachers'
offices Harry had visited so far this year, Dumbledore's was by far
the most interesting. If he hadn't been scared out of his wits that he
was about to be thrown out of school, he would have been very
pleased to have a chance to look around it.

It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A
number of curious silver instruments stood on spindlelegged tables,
whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered
with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom
were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous,
claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tattered
wizard's hat - the Sorting Hat.

*205*



Harry hesitated. He cast a wary eye around the sleeping witches and
wizards on the walls. Surely it couldn't hurt if he took the hat down
and tried it on again? Just to see ... just to make sure it had put him in
the right House

He walked quietly around the desk, lifted the hat from its shelf, and
lowered it slowly onto his head. It was much too large and slipped
down over his eyes, just as it had done the last time he'd put it on.
Harry stared at the black inside of the hat, waiting. Then a small voice
said in his ear, "Bee in your bonnet, Harry Potter?"

"Er, yes," Harry muttered. "Er - sorry to bother you - I wanted to ask -
"

"You've been wondering whether I put you in the right House," said
the hat smartly. "Yes ... you were particularly difficult to place. But I
stand by what I said before" - Harry's heart leapt - "you would have
done well in Slytherin -"

Harry's stomach plummeted. He grabbed the point of the hat and
pulled it off. It hung limply in his hand, grubby and faded. Harry
pushed it back onto its shelf, feeling sick.

"You're wrong," he said aloud to the still and silent hat. It didn't move.
Harry backed away, watching it. Then a strange, gagging noise behind
him made him wheel around.

He wasn't alone after all. Standing on a golden perch behind the door
was a decrepit-looking bird that resembled a half-plucked turkey.
Harry stared at it and the bird looked balefully back, making its
gagging noise again. Harry thought it looked very ill. Its eyes were dull
and, even as Harry watched, a couple more feathers fell out of its tail.

Harry was just thinking that all he needed was for Dumbledore's

pet bird to die while he was alone in the office with it, when the bird
burst into flames.

Harry yelled in shock and backed away into the desk. He looked
feverishly around in case there was a glass of water somewhere but
couldn't see one; the bird, meanwhile, had become a fireball; it gave
one loud shriek and next second there was nothing but a smouldering
pile of ash on the floor.

The office door opened. Dumbledore came in, looking very somber.

"Professor," Harry gasped. "Your bird - I couldn't do anything - he just
caught fire -"

To Harry's astonishment, Dumbledore smiled.

"About time, too," he said. "He's been looking dreadful for days; I've
been telling him to get a move on."

He chuckled at the stunned look on Harry's face.

"Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is
time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him . . ."

Harry looked down in time to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird poke
its head out of the ashes. It was quite as ugly as the old one.

"It's a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day," said Dumbledore,
seating himself behind his desk. "He's really very handsome most of
the time, wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures,
phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have
healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets."

In the shock of Fawkes catching fire, Harry had forgotten what he
was there for, but it all came back to him as Dumbledore settled

himself in the high chair behind the desk and fixed Harry with his
penetrating, light-blue stare.

Before Dumbledore could speak another word, however, the door of
the office flew open with an almighty bang and Hagrid burst in, a wild
look in his eyes, his balaclava perched on top of his shaggy black head
and the dead rooster still swinging from his hand.

"It wasn' Harry, Professor Dumbledore!" said Hagrid urgently. "I was
talkin' ter him seconds before that kid was found, he never had time, sir -
"

Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting on,
waving the rooster around in his agitation, sending feathers
everywhere.

"- it can't've bin him, I'll swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I
have to -"

"Hagrid, I -"

"- yeh've got the wrong boy, sir, I know Harry never ='

"Hagrid!" said Dumbledore loudly. "I do not think that Harry
attacked those people."

"Oh," said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at his side. "Right. I'll wait
outside then, Headmaster."

And he stomped out looking embarrassed.

"You don't think it was me, Professor?" Harry repeated hopefully as
Dumbledore brushed rooster feathers off his desk.

"No, Harry, I don't," said Dumbledore, though his face was somber
again. "But I still want to talk to you."

Harry waited nervously while Dumbledore considered him, the tips of
his long fingers together.

*208*

"I must ask you, Harry, whether there is anything you'd like to tell me,"
he said gently. "Anything at all."

Harry didn't know what to say. He thought of Malfoy shouting, "You'll
be next, Mudbloods!" and of the Polyjuice Potion simmering away in
Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Then he thought of the disembodied
voice he had heard twice and remembered what Ron had said:
"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the
wizarding world." He thought, too, about what everyone was saying
about him, and his growing dread that he was somehow connected
with Salazar Slytherin ....

"No," said Harry. "There isn't anything, Professor . . . ."

The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what
had hitherto been nervousness into real panic. Curiously, it was Nearly
Headless Nick's fate that seemed to worry people most. What could
possibly do that to a ghost? people asked each other; what terrible
power could harm someone who was already dead? There was
almost a stampede to book seats on the Hogwarts Express so that
students could go home for Christmas.

"At this rate, we'll be the only ones left," Ron told Harry and
Hermione. "Us, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. What a jolly holiday it's
going to be."

Crabbe and Goyle, who always did whatever Malfoy did, had signed
up to stay over the holidays, too. But Harry was glad that most people
were leaving. He was tired of people skirting around him in the
corridors, as though he was about to sprout fangs or spit poison; tired
of all the muttering, pointing, and hissing as he passed.

*209*

Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They went out of
their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors, shouting,
"Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming
through ......

Percy was deeply disapproving of this behavior.

"It is not a laughing matter," he said coldly.

"Oh, get out of the way, Percy," said Fred. "Harry's in a hurry."

"Yeah, he's off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his
fanged servant," said George, chortling.

Ginny didn't find it amusing either.

"Oh, don't," she wailed every time Fred asked Harry loudly who he
was planning to attack next, or when George pretended to ward Harry
off with a large clove of garlic when they met.

Harry didn't mind; it made him feel better that Fred and George, at
least, thought the idea of his being Slytherin's heir was quite ludicrous.
But their antics seemed to be aggravating Draco Malfoy, who looked
increasingly sour each time he saw them at it.

"It's because he's bursting to say it's really him," said Ron knowingly.
"You know how he hates anyone beating him at anything, and you're
getting all the credit for his dirty work."

"Not for long," said Hermione in a satisfied tone. "The Polyjuice
Potion's nearly ready. We'll be getting the truth out of him any day
now."

At last the term ended, and a silence deep as the snow on the grounds
descended on the castle. Harry found it peaceful, rather than gloomy,
and enjoyed the fact that he, Hermione, and the Weasleys had the run
of Gryffindor Tower, which meant they could

*210*

play Exploding Snap loudly without bothering anyone, and practice
dueling in private. Fred, George, and Ginny had chosen to stay at
school rather than visit Bill in Egypt with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.
Percy, who disapproved of what he termed their childish behavior,
didn't spend much time in the Gryffindor common room. He had
already told them pompously that he was only staying over Christmas
because it was his duty as a prefect to support the teachers during
this troubled time.

Christmas morning dawned, cold and white. Harry and Ron, the only
ones left in their dormitory, were woken very early by Hermione,
who burst in, fully dressed and carrying presents for them both.

"Wake up," she said loudly, pulling back the curtains at the window.

"Hermione - you're not supposed to be in here -" said Ron, shielding
his eyes against the light.

"Merry Christmas to you, too," said Hermione, throwing him his
present. "I've been up for nearly an hour, adding more lacewings to
the potion. It's ready."

Harry sat up, suddenly wide awake.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," said Hermione, shifting Scabbers the rat so that she could
sit down on the end of Ron's four-poster. "If we're going to do it, I
say it should be tonight."

At that moment, Hedwig swooped into the room, carrying a very
small package in her beak.

"Hello," said Harry happily as she landed on his bed. "Are you
speaking to me again?"

211

She nibbled his ear in an affectionate sort of way, which was a far
better present than the one that she had brought him, which turned
out to be from the Dursleys. They had sent Harry a toothpick and a
note telling him to find out whether he'd be able to stay at Hogwarts
for the summer vacation, too.

The rest of Harry's Christmas presents were far more satisfactory.
Hagrid had sent him a large tin of treacle fudge, which Harry decided
to soften by the fire before eating; Ron had given him a book called
Flying with the Cannons, a book of interesting facts about his favorite
Quidditch team, and Hermione had bought him a luxury eagle-feather
quill. Harry opened the last present to find a new, hand-knitted
sweater from Mrs. Weasley and a large plum cake. He read her card
with a fresh surge of guilt, thinking about Mr. Weasley's car (which
hadn't been seen since its crash with the Whomping Willow), and the
bout of rule-breaking he and Ron were planning next.

No one, not even someone dreading taking Polyjuice Potion later,
could fail to enjoy Christmas dinner at Hogwarts.

The Great Hall looked magnificent. Not only were there a dozen
frost-covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and
mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow was falling,
warm and dry, from the ceiling. Dumbledore led them in a few of his
favorite carols, Hagrid booming more and more loudly with every
goblet of eggnog he consumed. Percy, who hadn't noticed that Fred
had bewitched his prefect badge so that it now read "Pinhead," kept
asking them all what they were sniggering at. Harry didn't even care
that Draco Malfoy was making loud, snide remarks

* 2:L2 *

about his new sweater from the Slytherin table. With a bit of luck,
Malfoy would be getting his comeuppance in a few hours' time.

Harry and Ron had barely finished their third helpings of Christmas
pudding when Hermione ushered them out of the hall to finalize their
plans for the evening.

"We still need a bit of the people you're changing into," said
Hermione matter-of-facdy, as though she were sending them to the
supermarket for laundry detergent. "And obviously, it'll be best if you
can get something of Crabbe's and Goyle's; they're Malfoys best
friends, he'll tell them anything. And we also need to make sure the
real Crabbe and Goyle can't burst in on us while we're interrogating
him.

"I've got it all worked out," she went on smoothly, ignoring Harry's
and Ron's stupefied faces. She held up two plump chocolate cakes.
"I've filled these with a simple Sleeping Draught. All you have to do is
make sure Crabbe and Goyle find them. You know how greedy they
are, they're bound to eat them. Once they're asleep, pull out a few of
their hairs and hide them in a broom closet."

Harry and Ron looked incredulously at each other.

"Hermione, I don't think -"

"That could go seriously wrong -"

But Hermione had a steely glint in her eye not unlike the one
Professor McGonagall sometimes had.

"The potion will be useless without Crabbe's and Goyle's hair," she
said sternly. "You do want to investigate Malfoy, don't you?"

"Oh, all right, all right," said Harry. "But what about you? Whose hair
are you ripping out?"

*213*

"I've already got mine!" said Hermione brightly, pulling a tiny bottle
out of her pocket and showing them the single hair inside it.
"Remember Millicent Bulstrode wrestling with me at the Dueling
Club? She left this on my robes when she was trying to strangle me!
And she's gone home for Christmas - so I'll just have to tell the
Slytherins I've decided to come back."

When Hermione had bustled off to check on the Polyjuice Potion
again, Ron turned to Harry with a doom-laden expression.

"Have you ever heard of a plan where so many things could go
wrong?"

But to Harry's and Ron's utter amazement, stage one of the
operation went just as smoothly as Hermione had said. They lurked
in the deserted entrance hall after Christmas tea, waiting for Crabbe
and Goyle who had remained alone at the Slytherin table, shoveling
down fourth helpings of trifle. Harry had perched the chocolate
cakes on the end of the banisters. When they spotted Crabbe and
Goyle coming out of the Great Hall, Harry and Ron hid quickly
behind a suit of armor next to the front door.

"How thick can you get?" Ron whispered ecstatically as Crabbe
gleefully pointed out the cakes to Goyle and grabbed them. Grinning
stupidly, they stuffed the cakes whole into their large mouths. For a
moment, both of them chewed greedily, looks of triumph on their
faces. Then, without the smallest change of expression, they both
keeled over backward onto the floor.

By far the hardest part was hiding them in the closet across the hall.
Once they were safely stowed among the buckets and mops, Harry
yanked out a couple of the bristles that covered Goyle's fore

* _2 14 *

head and Ron pulled out several of Crabbe's hairs. They also stole
their shoes, because their own were far too small for Crabbe- and
Goyle-size feet. Then, still stunned at what they had just done, they
sprinted up to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

They could hardly see for the thick black smoke issuing from the stall
in which Hermione was stirring the cauldron. Pulling their robes up
over their faces, Harry and Ron knocked softly on the door.

"Hermione?"

They heard the scrape of the lock and Hermione emerged, shiny-
faced and looking anxious. Behind her they heard the gloop gloop
of the bubbling, glutinous potion. Three glass tumblers stood ready on
the toilet seat.

"Did you get them?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

Harry showed her Goyle's hair.

"Good. And I sneaked these spare robes out of the laundry," Hermione
said, holding up a small sack. "You'll need bigger sizes once you're
Crabbe and Goyle."

The three of them stared into the cauldron. Close up, the potion looked
like thick, dark mud, bubbling sluggishly.

"I'm sure I've done everything right," said Hermione, nervously
rereading the splotched page of Moste Potente Potions. "It looks like the
book says it should ... once we've drunk it, we'll have exactly an hour
before we change back into ourselves."

"Now what?" Ron whispered.

"We separate it into three glasses and add the hairs."

Hermione ladled large dollops of the potion into each of the glasses.
Then, her hand trembling, she shook Millicent Bulstrode's hair out of
its bottle into the first glass.

*215*

The potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. A
second later, it had turned a sick sort of yellow.

"Urgh - essence of Millicent Bulstrode," said Ron, eyeing it with
loathing. "Bet it tastes disgusting."

"Add yours, then," said Hermione.

Harry dropped Goyle's hair into the middle glass and Ron put Crabbe's
into the last one. Both glasses hissed and frothed: Goyle's turned the
khaki color of a booger, Crabbe's a dark, murky brown.

"Hang on," said Harry as Ron and Hermione reached for their glasses.
"We'd better not all drink them in here .... Once we turn into Crabbe
and Goyle we won't fit. And Millicent Bulstrode's no pixie.

"Good thinking," said Ron, unlocking the door. "We'll take separate
stalls."

Careful not to spill a drop of his Polyjuice Potion, Harry slipped into
the middle stall.

"Ready?" he called.

"Ready," came Ron's and Hermione's voices.

"One - two - three -"

Pinching his nose, Harry drank the potion down in two large gulps. It
tasted like overcooked cabbage.

Immediately, his insides started writhing as though he'd just swallowed
live snakes - doubled up, he wondered whether he was going to be
sick - then a burning sensation spread rapidly from his stomach to the
very ends of his fingers and toes - next, bringing him gasping to all
fours, came a horrible melting feeling, as the skin all over his body
bubbled like hot wax - and before his eyes, his hands began to grow,
the fingers thickened, the nails broadened,

* 2116 *

the knuckles were bulging like bolts -his shoulders stretched painfully
and a prickling on his forehead told him that hair was creeping down
toward his eyebrows - his robes ripped as his chest expanded like a
barrel bursting its hoops - his feet were agony in shoes four sizes too
small

As suddenly as it had started, everything stopped. Harry lay facedown
on the stone-cold floor, listening to Myrtle gurgling morosely in the end
toilet. With difficulty, he kicked off his shoes and stood up. So this was
what it felt like, being Goyle. His large hand trembling, he pulled off
his old robes, which were hanging a foot above his ankles, pulled on
the spare ones, and laced up Goyle's boatlike shoes. He reached up to
brush his hair out of his eyes and met only the short growth of wiry
bristles, low on his forehead. Then he realized that his glasses were
clouding his eyes because Goyle obviously didn't need them - he took
them off and called, "Are you two okay?" Goyle's low rasp of a voice
issued from his mouth.

"Yeah," came the deep grunt of Crabbe from his right.

Harry unlocked his door and stepped in front of the cracked mirror.
Goyle stared back at him out of dull, deepset eyes. Harry scratched
his ear. So did Goyle.

Ron's door opened. They stared at each other. Except that he looked
pale and shocked, Ron was indistinguishable from Crabbe, from the
pudding-bowl haircut to the long, gorilla arms.

"This is unbelievable," said Ron, approaching the mirror and prodding
Crabbe's flat nose. "Unbelievable. "

"We'd better get going," said Harry, loosening the watch that was
cutting into Goyle's thick wrist. "We've still got to find out

* 217*

where the Slytherin common room is. I only hope we can find
someone to follow. . ."

Ron, who had been gazing at Harry, said, "You don't know how
bizarre it is to see Goyle thinking." He banged on Hermione's door.
"C'mon, we need to go -"

A high-pitched voice answered him.

"I - I don't think I'm going to come after all. You go on without me.

"Hermione, we know Millicent Bulstrode's ugly, no one's going to
know it's you -"

"No - really - I don't think I'll come. You two hurry up, you re
wasting time

Harry looked at Ron, bewildered.

"That looks more like Goyle," said Ron. "That's how he looks every
time a teacher asks him a question."

"Hermione, are you okay?" said Harry through the door.

"Fine - I'm fine - go on -"

Harry looked at his watch. Five of their precious sixty minutes had
already passed.

"We'll meet you back here, all right?" he said.

Harry and Ron opened the door of the bathroom carefully, checked
that the coast was clear, and set off.

"Don't swing your arms like that," Harry muttered to Ron.

"Eh?"

"Crabbe holds them sort of stiff . . . ."

"How's this?"

"Yeah, that's better . . . ."

They went down the marble staircase. All they needed now was

*218*

a Slytherin that they could follow to the Slytherin common room, but
there was nobody around.

"Any ideas?" muttered Harry.

"The Slytherins always come up to breakfast from over there," said
Ron, nodding at the entrance to the dungeons. The words had barely
left his mouth when a girl with long, curly hair emerged from the
entrance.

"Excuse me," said Ron, hurrying up to her. "We've forgotten the way
to our common room."

"I beg your pardon?" said the girl stiffly. "Our common room? I'm a
Ravenclaw."

She walked away, looking suspiciously back at them.

Harry and Ron hurried down the stone steps into the darkness, their
footsteps echoing particularly loudly as Crabbe's and Goyle's huge
feet hit the floor, feeling that this wasn't going to be as easy as they
had hoped.

The labyrinthine passages were deserted. They walked deeper and
deeper under the school, constantly checking their watches to see
how much time they had left. After a quarter of an hour, just when
they were getting desperate, they heard a sudden movement ahead.

"Ha!" said Ron excitedly. "There's one of them now!"

The figure was emerging from a side room. As they hurried nearer,
however, their hearts sank. It wasn't a Slytherin, it was Percy.

"What're you doing down here?" said Ron in surprise.

Percy looked affronted.

"That," he said stiffly, "is none of your business. It's Crabbe, isn't it?"

2 19

"Wh - oh, yeah," said Ron.

"Well, get off to your dormitories," said Percy sternly. "It's not safe to
go wandering around dark corridors these days."

"You are," Ron pointed out.

"I," said Percy, drawing himself up, "am a prefect. Nothing's about to
attack me."

A voice suddenly echoed behind Harry and Ron. Draco Malfoy was
strolling toward them, and for the first time in his life, Harry was
pleased to see him.

"There you are," he drawled, looking at them. "Have you two been
pigging out in the Great Hall all this time? I've been looking for you; I
want to show you something really funny."

Malfoy glanced witheringly at Percy.

"And what're you doing down here, Weasley?" he sneered.

Percy looked outraged.

"You want to show a bit more respect to a school prefect!" he said. "I
don't like your attitude!"

Malfoy sneered and motioned for Harry and Ron to follow him. Harry
almost said something apologetic to Percy but caught himself just in
time. He and Ron hurried after Malfoy, who said as they turned into
the next passage, "That Peter Weasley -"

"Percy," Ron corrected him automatically.

"Whatever," said Malfoy. "I've noticed him sneaking around a lot
lately. And I bet I know what he's up to. He thinks he's going to catch
Slytherin's heir single-handed."

He gave a short, derisive laugh. Harry and Ron exchanged excited
looks.

Malfoy paused by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.

* 220 *

"What's the new password again?" he said to Harry.

"Er -" said Harry.

"Oh, yeah -pure-blood!" said Malfoy, not listening, and a stone door
concealed in the wall slid open. Malfoy marched through it, and
Harry and Ron followed him.

The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room
with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps
were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately
carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and several Slytherins were
silhouetted around it in high-backed chairs.

"Wait here," said Malfoy to Harry and Ron, motioning them to a pair
of empty chairs set back from the fire. "I'll go and get it my father's
just sent it to me -"

Wondering what Malfoy was going to show them, Harry and Ron
sat down, doing their best to look at home.

Malfoy came back a minute later, holding what looked like a
newspaper clipping. He thrust it under Ron's nose.

"That'll give you a laugh," he said.

Harry saw Ron's eyes widen in shock. He read the clipping quickly,
gave a very forced laugh, and handed it to Harry.

It had been clipped out of the Daily Prophet, and it said:

INQUIRY AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office,
was today fined fifty Galleons for bewitching a Muggle car.

Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft
and Wizardry, where the

221

enchanted car crashed earlier this year, called today for Mr.
Weasley's resignation.

"Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute," Mr. Malfoy told our
reporter. "He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws and his ridiculous
Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately."

Mr. Weasley was unavailable for comment, although his wife told
reporters to clear off or she'd set the family ghoul on them.

"Well?" said Malfoy impatiently as Harry handed the clipping back to
him. "Don't you think it's funny?"

"Ha, ha," said Harry bleakly.

"Arthur Weasley loves Muggles so much he should snap his wand in
half and go and join them," said Malfoy scornfully. "You'd never know
the Weasleys were pure-bloods, the way they behave."

Ron's - or rather, Crabbe's - face was contorted with fury.

"What's up with you, Crabbe?" snapped Malfoy.

"Stomachache," Ron grunted.

"Well, go up to the hospital wing and give all those Mudbloods a kick
from me," said Malfoy, snickering. "You know, I'm surprised the Daily
Prophet hasn't reported all these attacks yet," he went on thoughtfully.
"I suppose Dumbledore's trying to hush it all up. He'll be sacked if it
doesn't stop soon. Father's always said old Dumbledore's the worst
thing that's ever happened to this place. He loves Muggle-borns. A
decent headmaster would never've let slime like that Creevey in."

*222*

Malfoy started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and did a
cruel but accurate impression of Colin: "`Potter, can I have your
picture, Potter? Can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes,
please, Potter?"'

He dropped his hands and looked at Harry and Ron.

"What's the matter with you two?"

Far too late, Harry and Ron forced themselves to laugh, but Malfoy
seemed satisfied; perhaps Crabbe and Goyle were always slow on
the uptake.

"Saint Potter, the Mudbloods' friend," said Malfoy slowly. "He's
another one with no proper wizard feeling, or he wouldn't go around
with that jumped up Granger Mudblood. And people think he's
Slytherin's heir!"

Harry and Ron waited with bated breath: Malfoy was surely seconds
away from telling them it was him - but then

"I wish I knew who it is," said Malfoy petulantly. "I could help them."

Ron's jaw dropped so that Crabbe looked even more clueless than
usual. Fortunately, Malfoy didn't notice, and Harry, thinking fast,
said, "You must have some idea who's behind it all ......

"You know I haven't, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you?"
snapped Malfoy. "And Father won't tell me anything about the last
time the Chamber was opened either. Of course, it was fifty years
ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says
that it was all kept quiet and it'll look suspicious if I know too much
about it. But I know one thing - last time the Chamber of Secrets
was opened, a Mudblood died. So I bet it's a matter of time before
one of them's killed this time .... I hope it's Granger," he said with
relish.

Ron was clenching Crabbe's gigantic fists. Feeling that it would be a
bit of a giveaway if Ron punched Malfoy, Harry shot him a warning
look and said, "D'you know if the person who opened the Chamber
last time was caught?"

"Oh, yeah ... whoever it was was expelled," said Malfoy. "They're
probably still in Azkaban."

"Azkaban?" said Harry, puzzled.

"Azkaban - the wizard prison, Goyle," said Malfoy, looking at him in
disbelief "Honestly, if you were any slower, you'd be going
backward."

He shifted restlessly in his chair and said, "Father says to keep my
head down and let the Heir of Slytherin get on with it. He says the
school needs ridding of all the Mudblood filth, but not to get mixed
up in it. Of course, he's got a lot on his plate at the moment. You
know the Ministry of Magic raided our manor last week?"

Harry tried to force Goyle's dull face into a look of concern.

"Yeah. . ." said Malfoy. "Luckily, they didn't find much. Father's got
some very valuable Dark Arts stuff. But luckily, we've got our own
secret chamber under the drawing-room floor

-"

"Ho!" said Ron.

Malfoy looked at him. So did Harry. Ron blushed. Even his hair was
turning red. His nose was also slowly lengthening - their hour was
up, Ron was turning back into himself, and from the look of horror
he was suddenly giving Harry, he must be, too.

They both jumped to their feet.

"Medicine for my stomach," Ron grunted, and without further ado
they sprinted the length of the Slytherin common room, hurled
themselves at the stone wall, and dashed up the passage, hoping
against hope that Malfoy hadn't noticed anything. Harry

224

could feel his feet slipping around in Goyle's huge shoes and had to
hoist up his robes as he shrank; they crashed up the steps into the dark
entrance hall, which was full of a muffled pounding coming from the
closet where they'd locked Crabbe and Goyle. Leaving their shoes
outside the closet door, they sprinted in their socks up the marble
staircase toward Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"Well, it wasn't a complete waste of time," Ron panted, closing the
bathroom door behind them. "I know we still haven't found out who's
doing the attacks, but I'm going to write to Dad tomorrow and tell him
to check under the Malfoys' drawing room."

Harry checked his face in the cracked mirror. He was back to normal.
He put his glasses on as Ron hammered on the door of Hermione's
stall.

"Hermione, come out, we've got loads to tell you -"

"Go away!" Hermione squeaked.

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

"What's the matter?" said Ron. "You must be back to normal by now,
we are

But Moaning Myrtle glided suddenly through the stall door. Harry had
never seen her looking so happy.

"Ooooooh, wait till you see," she said. "It's awful-"

They heard the lock slide back and Hermione emerged, sobbing, her
robes pulled up over her head.

"What's up?" said Ron uncertainly. "Have you still got Millicent's nose
or something?"

Hermione let her robes fall and Ron backed into the sink.

Her face was covered in black fur. Her eyes had turned yellow and
there were long, pointed ears poking through her hair.

"It was a c-cat hair!" she howled. "M-Millicent Bulstrode

*225*

m-must have a cat! And the p-potion isn't supposed to be used for
animal transformations!"

"Uh-oh," said Ron.

"You'll be teased something dreadful," said Myrtle happily.

"It's okay, Hermione," said Harry quickly. "We'll take you up to the
hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey never asks too many questions ......

It took a long time to persuade Hermione to leave the bathroom.
Moaning Myrtle sped them on their way with a hearty guffaw. "Wait
till everyone finds out you've got a tail!"

ermione remained in the hospital wing for several weeks. There was a
flurry of rumor about her disappearance when the rest of the school
arrived back from their Christmas holidays, because of course
everyone thought that she had been attacked. So many students filed
past the hospital wing trying to catch a glimpse of her that Madam
Pomfrey took out her curtains again and placed them around
Hermione's bed, to spare her the shame of being seen with a furry
face.

Harry and Ron went to visit her every evening. When the new term
started, they brought her each day's homework.

"If Id sprouted whiskers, Id take a break from work," said Ron, tipping
a stack of books onto Hermione's bedside table one evening.

"Don't be silly, Ron, I've got to keep up," said Hermione briskly. Her
spirits were greatly improved by the fact that all the hair had

* "21 *



gone from her face and her eyes were turning slowly back to brown.
"I don't suppose you've got any new leads?" she added in a whisper,
so that Madam Pomfrey couldn't hear her.

"Nothing," said Harry gloomily.

"I was so sure it was Malfoy," said Ron, for about the hundredth time.

"What's that?" asked Harry, pointing to something gold sticking out
from under Hermione's pillow.

"Just a get well card," said Hermione hastily, trying to poke it out of
sight, but Ron was too quick for her. He pulled it out, flicked it open,
and read aloud:

"To Miss Granger, wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerned
teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class,
Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner
of Witch Weekly's Most- Charming-Smile Award. "

Ron looked up at Hermione, disgusted.

"You sleep with this under your pillow?"

But Hermione was spared answering by Madam Pomfrey sweeping
over with her evening dose of medicine.

"Is Lockhart the smarmiest bloke you've ever met, or what?" Ron
said to Harry as they left the infirmary and started up the stairs
toward Gryffindor Tower. Snape had given them so much
homework, Harry thought he was likely to be in the sixth year before
he finished it. Ron was just saying he wished he had asked Hermione
how many rat tails you were supposed to add to a HairRaising
Potion when an angry outburst from the floor above reached their
ears.

"That's Filch," Harry muttered as they hurried up the stairs and
paused, out of sight, listening hard.

* 228*

"You don't think someone else's been attacked?" said Ron tensely.

They stood still, their heads inclined toward Flich's voice, which
sounded quite hysterical.

`= even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven't got enough to
do! No, this is the final straw, I'm going to Dumbledore -"

His footsteps receded along the out-of-sight corridor and they heard a
distant door slam.

They poked their heads around the corner. Filch had clearly been
manning his usual lookout post: They were once again on the spot
where Mrs. Norris had been attacked. They saw at a glance what
Filch had been shouting about. A great flood of water stretched over
half the corridor, and it looked as though it was still seeping from
under the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Now that Filch had
stopped shouting, they could hear Myrtle's wails echoing off the
bathroom walls.

"Now what's up with her?" said Ron.

"Let's go and see," said Harry, and holding their robes over their
ankles they stepped through the great wash of water to the door
bearing its OUT OF ORDER sign, ignored it as always, and entered.

Moaning Myrtle was crying, if possible, louder and harder than ever
before. She seemed to be hiding down her usual toilet. It was dark in
the bathroom because the candles had been extinguished in the great
rush of water that had left both walls and floor soaking wet.

"What's up, Myrtle?" said Harry.

"Who's that?" glugged Myrtle miserably. "Come to throw something
else at me?"

Harry waded across to her stall and said, "Why would I throw
something at you?"

*229*

"Don't ask me," Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more
water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor. "Here I am,
minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a
book at me ......

"But it can't hurt you if someone throws something at you," said
Harry, reasonably. "I mean, it'd just go right through you, wouldn't
it?"

He had said the wrong thing. Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked,
"Let's all throw books at Myrtle, because she can't feel it! Ten points
if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through
her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game, I don't think!"

"Who threw it at you, anyway?" asked Harry.

"I don't know... I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about
death, and it fell right through the top of my head," said Myrtle,
glaring at them. "It's over there, it got washed out ......

Harry and Ron looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. A
small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby black cover and was as
wet as everything else in the bathroom. Harry stepped forward to
pick it up, but Ron suddenly flung out an arm to hold him back.

"What?" said Harry.

"Are you crazy?" said Ron. "It could be dangerous."

"Dangerous?"said Harry, laughing. "Come off it, how could it be
dangerous?"

"You'd be surprised," said Ron, who was looking apprehensively at
the book. "Some of the books the Ministry's confiscated Dad's told
me - there was one that burned your eyes out. And

*2%0*

everyone who read Sonnets of a Sorcerer spoke in limericks for the rest
of their lives. And some old witch in Bath had a book that you could
never stop reading! You just had to wander around with your nose in it,
trying to do everything one-handed. And -"

"All right, I've got the point," said Harry.

The little book lay on the floor, nondescript and soggy.

"Well, we won't find out unless we look at it," he said, and he ducked
around Ron and picked it up off the floor.

Harry saw at once that it was a diary, and the faded year on the cover
told him it was fifty years old. He opened it eagerly. On the first page
he could just make out the name "T M. Riddle" in smudged ink.

"Hang on," said Ron, who had approached cautiously and was looking
over Harry's shoulder. "I know that name .... T. M. Riddle got an
award for special services to the school fifty years ago."

"How on earth d'you know that?" said Harry in amazement.

"Because Filch made me polish his shield about fifty times in
detention," said Ron resentfully. "That was the one I burped slugs all
over. If you'd wiped slime off a name for an hour, you'd remember it,
too."

Harry peeled the wet pages apart. They were completely blank.
There wasn't the faintest trace of writing on any of them, not even
Auntie Mabel's birthday, or dentist, half-past three.

"He never wrote in it," said Harry, disappointed.

"I wonder why someone wanted to flush it away?" said Ron curiously.

Harry turned to the back cover of the book and saw the printed name
of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London.

*231 *

"He must've been Muggle-born," said Harry thoughtfufly. "To have
bought a diary from Vauxhall Road ......

"Well, it's not much use to you," said Ron. He dropped his voice. "Fifty
points if you can get it through Myrtle's nose."

Harry, however, pocketed it.

Hermione left the hospital wing, de-whiskered, tail-less, and furfree, at
the beginning of February. On her first evening back in Gryffindor
Tower, Harry showed her T. M. Riddle's diary and told her the story
of how they had found it.

"Oooh, it might have hidden powers," said Hermione enthusiastically,
taking the diary and looking at it closely.

"If it has, it's hiding them very well," said Ron. "Maybe it's shy. I don't
know why you don't chuck it, Harry."

"I wish I knew why someone did try to chuck it," said Harry. "I
wouldn't mind knowing how Riddle got an award for special services
to Hogwarts either."

"Could've been anything," said Ron. "Maybe he got thirty O.WL.s or
saved a teacher from the giant squid. Maybe he murdered Myrtle; that
would've done everyone a favor .....

But Harry could tell from the arrested look on Hermione's face that
she was thinking what he was thinking.

"What?" said Ron, looking from one to the other.

"Well, the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago, wasn't it?"
he said. "That's what Malfoy said."

"Yeah. . ." said Ron slowly.

"And this diary is fifty years old," said Hermione, tapping it excitedly.

*232*

a so?

.

"Oh, Ron, wake up," snapped Hermione. "We know the person who
opened the Chamber last time was expelled fifty years ago. We know
T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years
ago. Well, what if Riddle got his special award for catching the Heir of
Slytherin? His diary would probably tell us everything - where the
Chamber is, and how to open it, and what sort of creature lives in it -
the person who's behind the attacks this time wouldn't want that lying
around, would they?"

"That's a brilliant theory, Hermione," said Ron, "with just one tiny little
flaw. There's nothing written in his diary."

But Hermione was pulling her wand out of her bag.

"It might be invisible ink!" she whispered.

She tapped the diary three times and said, "Aparecium!"

Nothing happened. Undaunted, Hermione shoved her hand back into
her bag and pulled out what appeared to be a bright red eraser.

"It's a Revealer, I got it in Diagon Alley," she said.

She rubbed hard on January first. Nothing happened.

"I'm telling you, there's nothing to find in there," said Ron. "Riddle just
got a diary for Christmas and couldn't be bothered filling it in."

Harry couldn't explain, even to himself, why he didn't just throw
Riddle's diary away. The fact was that even though he knew the diary
was blank, he kept absentmindedly picking it up and turning the pages,
as though it were a story he wanted to finish. And while Harry was
sure he had never heard the name T. M. Riddle before, it still seemed
to mean something to him, almost as though

* 233 *

Riddle was a friend he'd had when he was very small, and had
halfforgotten. But this was absurd. He'd never had friends before
Hogwarts, Dudley had made sure of that.

Nevertheless, Harry was determined to find out more about Riddle, so
next day at break, he headed for the trophy room to examine Riddle's
special award, accompanied by an interested Hermione and a
thoroughly unconvinced Ron, who told them he'd seen enough of the
trophy room to last him a lifetime.

Riddle's burnished gold shield was tucked away in a corner cabinet. It
didn't carry details of why it had been given to him ("Good thing, too,
or it'd be even bigger and Id still be polishing it," said Ron). However,
they did find Riddle's name on an old Medal for Magical Merit, and on
a list of old Head Boys.

"He sounds like Percy," said Ron, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
"Prefect, Head Boy ... probably top of every class -"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," said Hermione in a slightly hurt
voice.

The sun had now begun to shine weakly on Hogwarts again. Inside
the castle, the mood had grown more hopeful. There had been no
more attacks since those on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, and
Madam Pomfrey was pleased to report that the Mandrakes were
becoming moody and secretive, meaning that they were fast leaving
childhood.

"The moment their acne clears up, they'll be ready for repotting again,"
Harry heard her telling Filch kindly one afternoon. "And after that, it
won't be long until we're cutting them up and stewing them. You'll
have Mrs. Norris back in no time."

* 243 *

Perhaps the Heir of Slytherin had lost his or her nerve, thought Harry.
It must be getting riskier and riskier to open the Chamber of Secrets,
with the school so alert and suspicious. Perhaps the monster,
whatever it was, was even now settling itself down to hibernate for
another fifty years ....

Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff didn't take this cheerful view. He was
still convinced that Harry was the guilty one, that he had "given
himself away" at the Dueling Club. Peeves wasn't helping matters; he
kept popping up in the crowded corridors singing "Oh, Potter, you
rotter . . ." now with a dance routine to match.

Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to think he himself had made the attacks
stop. Harry overheard him telling Professor McGonagall so while the
Gryffindors were lining up for Transfiguration.

"I don't think there'll be any more trouble, Minerva," he said, tapping
his nose knowingly and winking. "I think the Chamber has been locked
for good this time. The culprit must have known it was only a matter
of time before I caught him. Rather sensible to stop now, before I
came down hard on him.

"You know, what the school needs now is a morale-booster. Wash
away the memories of last term! I won't say any more just now, but I
think I know just the thing . . . ."

He tapped his nose again and strode off.

Lockhart's idea of a morale-booster became clear at breakfast time on
February fourteenth. Harry hadn't had much sleep because of a late-
running Quidditch practice the night before, and he hurried down to
the Great Hall, slightly late. He thought, for a moment, that he'd
walked through the wrong doors.

The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse

* 235*

still, heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling. Harry
went over to the Gryffindor table, where Ron was sitting looking
sickened, and Hermione seemed to have been overcome with giggles.

"What's going on?" Harry asked them, sitting down and wiping confetti
off his bacon.

Ron pointed to the teachers' table, apparently too disgusted to speak.
Lockhart, wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations, was
waving for silence. The teachers on either side of him were looking
stony-faced. From where he sat, Harry could see a muscle going in
Professor McGonagall's cheek. Snape looked as though someone had
just fed him a large beaker of Skele-Gro.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted. "And may I thank the
forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the
liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all - and it doesn't end
here!"

Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the entrance hall
marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however.
Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" beamed Lockhart. "They will be
roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun
doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the
spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how
to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick
knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've
ever met, the sly old dog!"

Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Snape was look

* 236

ing as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be
force-fed poison.

"Please, Hermione, tell me you weren't one of the forty-six, 51 said Ron
as they left the Great Hall for their first lesson. Hermione suddenly
became very interested in searching her bag for her schedule and
didn't answer.

All day long, the dwarfs kept barging into their classes to deliver
valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers, and late that afternoon as
the Gryffindors were walking upstairs for Charms, one of the dwarfs
caught up with Harry.

"Oy, you! 'Arty Potter!" shouted a particularly grim-looking dwarf,
elbowing people out of the way to get to Harry.

Hot all over at the thought of being given a valentine in front of a line
of first years, which happened to include Ginny Weasley, Harry tried
to escape. The dwarf, however, cut his way through the crowd by
kicking people's shins, and reached him before he'd gone two paces.

"I've got a musical message to deliver to 'Arry Potter in person," he
said, twanging his harp in a threatening sort of way.

"Not here," Harry hissed, trying to escape.

"Stay still!" grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry's bag and pulling
him back.

"Let me go!" Harry snarled, tugging.

With a loud ripping noise, his bag split in two. His books, wand,
parchment, and quill spilled onto the floor and his ink bottle smashed
over everything.

Harry scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf
started singing, causing something of a holdup in the corridor.

*237*

"What's going on here?" came the cold, drawling voice of Draco
Malfoy. Harry started stuffing everything feverishly into his ripped
bag, desperate to get away before Malfoy could hear his musical
valentine.

"What's all this commotion?" said another familiar voice as Percy
Weasley arrived.

Losing his head, Harry tried to make a run for it, but the dwarf
seized him around the knees and brought him crashing to the floor.

"Right," he said, sitting on Harry's ankles. "Here is your singing
valentine:

His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,

His hair is as dark as a blackboard.
I wish he was mine, he's really divine,
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord

Harry would have given all the gold in Gringotts to evaporate on the
spot. Trying valiantly to laugh along with everyone else, he got up, his
feet numb from the weight of the dwarf, as Percy Weasley did his
best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth.

"Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class,
now," he said, shooing some of the younger students away. "And you,
Malfoy-"

Harry, glancing over, saw Malfoy stoop and snatch up something.
Leering, he showed it to Crabbe and Goyle, and Harry realized that
he'd got Riddle's diary.

"Give that back," said Harry quietly.

"Wonder what Potter's written in this?" said Malfoy, who obvi

* 238

ously hadn't noticed the year on the cover and thought he had
Harry's own diary. A hush fell over the onlookers. Ginny was staring
from the diary to Harry, looking terrified.

"Hand it over, Malfoy," said Percy sternly.

"When I've had a look," said Malfoy, waving the diary tauntingly at
Harry.

Percy said, "As a school prefect -" but Harry had lost his temper. He
pulled out his wand and shouted, "Expelliarmus!" and just as
Snape had disarmed Lockhart, so Malfoy found the diary shooting
out of his hand into the air. Ron, grinning broadly, caught it.

"Harry!" said Percy loudly. "No magic in the corridors. I'll have to
report this, you know!"

But Harry didn't care, he was one-up on Malfoy, and that was worth
five points from Gryffindor any day. Malfoy was looking furious, and
as Ginny passed him to enter her classroom, he yelled spitefully after
her, "I don't think Potter liked your valentine much!"

Ginny covered her face with her hands and ran into class. Snarling,
Ron pulled out his wand, too, but Harry pulled him away. Ron didn't
need to spend the whole of Charms belching slugs.

It wasn't until they had reached Professor Flitwick's class that Harry
noticed something rather odd about Riddle's diary. All his other
books were drenched in scarlet ink. The diary, however, was as
clean as it had been before the ink bottle had smashed all over it. He
tried to point this out to Ron, but Ron was having trouble with his
wand again; large purple bubbles were blossoming out of the end,
and he wasn't much interested in anything else.

Harry went to bed before anyone else in his dormitory that night. This
was partly because he didn't think he could stand Fred and George
singing, "His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad" one more time,
and partly because he wanted to examine Riddle's diary again, and
knew that Ron thought he was wasting his time.

Harry sat on his four-poster and flicked through the blank pages, not
one of which had a trace of scarlet ink on it. Then he pulled a new
bottle out of his bedside cabinet, dipped his quill into it, and dropped a
blot onto the first page of the diary.

The ink shone brightly on the paper for a second and then, as though it
was being sucked into the page, vanished. Excited, Harry loaded up
his quill a second time and wrote, "My name is Harry Potter."

The words shone momentarily on the page and they, too, sank without
trace. Then, at last, something happened.

Oozing back out of the page, in his very own ink, came words Harry
had never written.

"Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my
diary?"

These words, too, faded away, but not before Harry had started to
scribble back.

"Someone tried to flush it down a toilet."

He waited eagerly for Riddle's reply.

"Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink.
But I always knew that there would be those who would not want this
diary read. "

"What do you mean?" Harry scrawled, blotting the page in his
excitement.

*240*

`I mean that this diary holds memories of terrible things. Things that were
covered up. Things that happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and
Wizardry. "

"That's where I am now," Harry wrote quickly. "I'm at Hogwarts, and
horrible stuff's been happening. Do you know anything about the
Chamber of Secrets?"

His heart was hammering. Riddle's reply came quickly, his writing
becoming untidier, as though he was hurrying to tell all he knew.

"Of course I know about the Chamber of Secrets. In my day, they told us it
was a legend, that it did not exist. But this was a lie. In my fifth year, the
Chamber was opened and the monster attacked several students, finally
killing one. I caught the person whod opened the Chamber and he was
expelled. But the Headmaster, Professor Dippet, ashamed that such a thing
had happened at Hogwarts, forbade me to tell the truth. A story was given
out that thegirl had died in a freak accident. They gave me a nice, shiny,
engraved trophy for my trouble and warned me to keep my mouth shut. But I
knew it could happen again. The monster lived on, and the one who had the
power to release it was not imprisoned. "

Harry nearly upset his ink bottle in his hurry to write back.

"It's happening again now. There have been three attacks and no one
seems to know who's behind them. Who was it last time?"

"I can show you, if you like, "came Riddle's reply. "You don't have

to take my word for it. I can take you inside my memory of the night
when I caught him. "

Harry hesitated, his quill suspended over the diary. What did Riddle
mean? How could he be taken inside somebody else's memory? He
glanced nervously at the door to the dormitory, which was

*241*

growing dark. When he looked back at the diary, he saw fresh words
forming.

"Let me show you. "

Harry paused for a fraction of a second and then wrote two letters.

(40K.55

The pages of the diary began to blow as though caught in a high wind,
stopping halfway through the month of June. Mouth hanging open,
Harry saw that the little square for June thirteenth seemed to have
turned into a miniscule television screen. His hands trembling slightly,
he raised the book to press his eye against the little window, and
before he knew what was happening, he was tilting forward; the
window was widening, he felt his body leave his bed, and he was
pitched headfirst through the opening in the page, into a whirl of color
and shadow.

He felt his feet hit solid ground, and stood, shaking, as the blurred
shapes around him came suddenly into focus.

He knew immediately where he was. This circular room with the
sleeping portraits was Dumbledore's office - but it wasn't Dumbledore
who was sitting behind the desk. A wizened, fraillooking wizard, bald
except for a few wisps of white hair, was reading a letter by
candlelight. Harry had never seen this man before.

"I'm sorry," he said shakily. "I didn't mean to butt in -"

But the wizard didn't look up. He continued to read, frowning slightly.
Harry drew nearer to his desk and stammered, "Er - I'll just go, shall
I?"

Still the wizard ignored him. He didn't seem even to have heard him.
Thinking that the wizard might be deaf, Harry raised his voice.

*242*

"Sorry I disturbed you. I'll go now," he half-shouted.

The wizard folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up, walked past
Harry without glancing at him, and went to draw the curtains at his
window.

The sky outside the window was ruby-red; it seemed to be sunset.
The wizard went back to the desk, sat down, and twiddled his thumbs,
watching the door.

Harry looked around the office. No Fawkes the phoenix - no whirring
silver contraptions. This was Hogwarts as Riddle had known it,
meaning that this unknown wizard was Headmaster, not Dumbledore,
and he, Harry, was little more than a phantom, completely invisible to
the people of fifty years ago.

There was a knock on the office door.

"Enter," said the old wizard in a feeble voice.

A boy of about sixteen entered, taking off his pointed hat. A silver
prefect's badge was glinting on his chest. He was much taller than
Harry, but he, too, had jet-black hair.

"Ah, Riddle," said the Headmaster.

"You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?" said Riddle. He looked
nervous.

"Sit down," said Dippet. "I've just been reading the letter you sent me.

"Oh," said Riddle. He sat down, gripping his hands together very
tightly.

"My dear boy," said Dipper kindly, "I cannot possibly let you stay at
school over the summer. Surely you want to go home for the
holidays?"

"No," said Riddle at once. "Id much rather stay at Hogwarts than go
back to that - to that -"

* 243*

"You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?" said
Dippet curiously.

"Yes, sir," said Riddle, reddening slightly.

"You are Muggle-born?"

"Half-blood, sir," said Riddle. "Muggle father, witch mother."

"And are both your parents -?"

"My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the
orphanage she lived just long enough to name me - Tom after my
father, Marvolo after my grandfather."

Dipper clucked his tongue sympathetically.

"The thing is, Tom," he sighed, "Special arrangements might have
been made for you, but in the current circumstances . . . ."

"You mean all these attacks, sir?" said Riddle, and Harry's heart
leapt, and he moved closer, scared of missing anything.

"Precisely," said the headmaster. "My dear boy, you must see how
foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when
term ends. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy ... the death of
that poor little girl .... You will be safer by far at your orphanage. As
a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about
closing the school. We are no nearer locating the er - source of all
this unpleasantness . . . ."

Riddle's eyes had widened.

"Sir - if the person was caught - if it all stopped -"

"What do you mean?" said Dippet with a squeak in his voice, sitting
up in his chair. "Riddle, do you mean you know something about
these attacks?"

"No, sir," said Riddle quickly.

But Harry was sure it was the same sort of "no" that he himself had
given Dumbledore.

*244*

Dippet sank back, looking faintly disappointed.

"You may go, Tom ......

Riddle slid off his chair and slouched out of the room. Harry
followed him.

Down the moving spiral staircase they went, emerging next to the
gargoyle in the darkening corridor. Riddle stopped, and so did
Harry, watching him. Harry could tell that Riddle was doing some
serious thinking. He was biting his lip, his forehead furrowed.

Then, as though he had suddenly reached a decision, he hurried off,
Harry gliding noiselessly behind him. They didn't see another person
until they reached the entrance hall, when a tall wizard with long,
sweeping auburn hair and a beard called to Riddle from the marble
staircase.

"What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?"

Harry gaped at the wizard. He was none other than a fifty-year-
younger Dumbledore.

"I had to see the headmaster, sir," said Riddle.

"Well, hurry off to bed," said Dumbledore, giving Riddle exactly the
kind of penetrating stare Harry knew so well. "Best not to roam the
corridors these days. Not since . . ."

He sighed heavily, bade Riddle good night, and strode off. Riddle
watched him walk out of sight and then, moving quickly, headed
straight down the stone steps to the dungeons, with Harry in hot
pursuit.

But to Harry's disappointment, Riddle led him not into a hidden
passageway or a secret tunnel but to the very dungeon in which
Harry had Potions with Snape. The torches hadn't been lit, and when
Riddle pushed the door almost closed, Harry could only just

*2 45 *

see him, standing stock-still by the door, watching the passage outside.

It felt to Harry that they were there for at least an hour. All he could
see was the figure of Riddle at the door, staring through the crack,
waiting like a statue. And just when Harry had stopped feeling
expectant and tense and started wishing he could return to the present,
he heard something move beyond the door.

Someone was creeping along the passage. He heard whoever it was
pass the dungeon where he and Riddle were hidden. Riddle, quiet as a
shadow, edged through the door and followed, Harry tiptoeing behind
him, forgetting that he couldn't be heard.

For perhaps five minutes they followed the footsteps, until Riddle
stopped suddenly, his head inclined in the direction of new noises.
Harry heard a door creak open, and then someone speaking in a
hoarse whisper.

"C'mon ... gotta get yeh outta here .... C'mon now ... in the box. . ."

There was something familiar about that voice ....

Riddle suddenly jumped around the corner. Harry stepped out behind
him. He could see the dark outline of a huge boy who was crouching
in front of an open door, a very large box next to it.

"Evening, Rubeus," said Riddle sharply.

The boy slammed the door shut and stood up.

"What yer doin' down here, Tom?"

Riddle stepped closer.

"It's all over," he said. "I'm going to have to turn you in, Rubeus.
They're talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don't stop."

4 6

"N" at d'yeh -"

"I don't think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don't make
good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and -"

"It never killed no one!" said the large boy, backing against the
closed door. From behind him, Harry could hear a funny rustling and
clicking.

"Come on, Rubeus," said Riddle, moving yet closer. "The dead girl's
parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make
sure that the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered ......

"It wasn't him!" roared the boy, his voice echoing in the dark
passage. "He wouldn'! He never!"

"Stand aside," said Riddle, drawing out his wand.

His spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. The door behind
the large boy flew open with such force it knocked him into the wall
opposite. And out of it came something that made Harry let out a
long, piercing scream unheard by anyone

A vast, low-slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a gleam of
many eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pincers - Riddle raised his
wand again, but he was too late. The thing bowled him over as it
scuttled away, tearing up the corridor and out of sight. Riddle
scrambled to his feet, looking after it; he raised his wand, but the
huge boy leapt on him, seized his wand, and threw him back down,
yelling, "NO000000!"

The scene whirled, the darkness became complete; Harry felt himself
falling and, with a crash, he landed spread-eagled on his four-poster
in the Gryffindor dormitory, Riddle's diary lying open on his stomach.

*24 7*

Before he had had time to regain his breath, the dormitory door
opened and Ron came in.

"There you are," he said.

Harry sat up. He was sweating and shaking.

"What's up?" said Ron, looking at him with concern.

"It was Hagrid, Ron. Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty
years ago."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had always known that Hagrid had an
unfortunate liking for large and monstrous creatures. During their first
year at Hogwarts he had tried to raise a dragon in his little wooden
house, and it would be a long time before they forgot the giant, three-
headed dog he'd christened "Fluffy." And if, as a boy, Hagrid had
heard that a monster was hidden somewhere in the castle, Harry was
sure he'd have gone to any lengths for a glimpse of it. He'd probably
thought it was a shame that the monster had been cooped up so
long, and thought it deserved the chance to stretch its many legs;
Harry could just imagine the thirteen-year-old Hagrid trying to fit a
leash and collar on it. But he was equally certain that Hagrid would
never have meant to kill anybody.

Harry half wished he hadn't found out how to work Riddle's diary.
Again and again Ron and Hermione made him recount what

he'd seen, until he was heartily sick of telling them and sick of the
long, circular conversations that followed.

"Riddle might have got the wrong person," said Hermione. "Maybe it
was some other monster that was attacking people . . . ."

"How many monsters d'you think this place can hold?" Ron asked
dully.

"We always knew Hagrid had been expelled," said Harry miserably.
"And the attacks must've stopped after Hagrid was kicked out.
Otherwise, Riddle wouldn't have got his award."

Ron tried a different tack.

"Riddle does sound like Percy - who asked him to squeal on Hagrid,
anyway?"

"But the monster had killed someone, Ron," said Hermione.

"And Riddle was going to go back to some Muggle orphanage if they
closed Hogwarts," said Harry. "I don't blame him for wanting to stay
here ......

"You met Hagrid down Knockturn Alley, didn't you, Harry?"

"He was buying a Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent," said Harry quickly.

The three of them fell silent. After a long pause, Hermione voiced the
knottiest question of all in a hesitant voice.

"Do you think we should go and ask Hagrid about it all?"

"That'd be a cheerful visit," said Ron. "'Hello, Hagrid. Tell us, have
you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?"'

In the end, they decided that they would not say anything to Hagrid
unless there was another attack, and as more and more days went by
with no whisper from the disembodied voice, they became

hopeful that they would never need to talk to him about why he had
been expelled. It was now nearly four months since Justin and Nearly
Headless Nick had been Petrified, and nearly everybody seemed to
think that the attacker, whoever it was, had retired for good. Peeves
had finally got bored of his "Oh, Potter, you rotter" song, Ernie
Macmillan asked Harry quite politely to pass a bucket of leaping
toadstools in Herbology one day, and in March several of the
Mandrakes threw a loud and raucous party in greenhouse three. This
made Professor Sprout very happy.

"The moment they start trying to move into each other's pots, we'll
know they're fully mature," she told Harry. "Then we'll be able to
revive those poor people in the hospital wing."

The second years were given something new to think about during
their Easter holidays. The time had come to choose their subjects for
the third year, a matter that Hermione, at least, took very seriously.

"it could affect our whole future," she told Harry and Ron as they
pored over lists of new subjects, marking them with checks.

"I just want to give up Potions," said Harry.

"We can't," said Ron gloomily. "We keep all our old subjects, or I'd've
ditched Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"But that's very important!" said Hermione, shocked.

"Not the way Lockhart teaches it," said Ron. "I haven't learned
anything from him except not to set pixies loose."

Neville Longbottom had been sent letters from all the witches and
wizards in his family, all giving him different advice on what to
choose. Confused and worried, he sat reading the subject lists with

his tongue poking out, asking people whether they thought Arithmancy
sounded more difficult than the study of Ancient Runes. Dean
Thomas, who, like Harry, had grown up with Muggles, ended up
closing his eyes and jabbing his wand at the list, then picking the
subjects it landed on. Hermione took nobody's advice but signed up for
everything.

Harry smiled grimly to himself at the thought of what Uncle Vernon
and Aunt Petunia would say if he tried to discuss his career in
wizardry with them. Not that he didn't get any guidance: Percy
Weasley was eager to share his experience.

"Depends where you want to go, Harry," he said. "It's never too early
to think about the future, so Id recommend Divination. People say
Muggle Studies is a soft option, but I personally think wizards should
have a thorough understanding of the non-magical community,
particularly if they're thinking of working in close contact with them -
look at my father, he has to deal with Muggle business all the time. My
brother Charlie was always more of an outdoor type, so he went for
Care of Magical Creatures. Play to your strengths, Harry."

But the only thing Harry felt he was really good at was Quidditch. In
the end, he chose the same new subjects as Ron, feeling that if he was
lousy at them, at least he'd have someone friendly to help him.

Gryffindor's next Quidditch match would be against Hufflepuff. Wood
was insisting on team practices every night after dinner, so that Harry
barely had time for anything but Quidditch and homework. However,
the training sessions were getting better, or at least

drier, and the evening before Saturday's match he went up to his
dormitory to drop off his broomstick feeling Gryffindor's chances for
the Quidditch cup had never been better.

But his cheerful mood didn't last long. At the top of the stairs to the
dormitory, he met Neville Longbottom, who was looking frantic.

"Harry - I don't know who did it - I just found -"

Watching Harry fearfully, Neville pushed open the door.

The contents of Harry's trunk had been thrown everywhere. His
cloak lay ripped on the floor. The bedclothes had been pulled off his
four-poster and the drawer had been pulled out of his bedside
cabinet, the contents strewn over the mattress.

Harry walked over to the bed, open-mouthed, treading on a few
loose pages of Travels with Trolls. As he and Neville pulled the
blankets back onto his bed, Ron, Dean, and Seamus came in. Dean
swore loudly.

"What happened, Harry?"

"No idea," said Harry. But Ron was examining Harry's robes. All the
pockets were hanging out.

"Someone's been looking for something," said Ron. "Is there anything
missing?"

Harry started to pick up all his things and throw them into his trunk.
It was only as he threw the last of the Lockhart books back into it
that he realized what wasn't there.

"Riddle's diary's gone," he said in an undertone to Ron.

"What?"

Harry jerked his head toward the dormitory door and Ron followed
him out. They hurried down to the Gryffindor common

room, which was half-empty, and joined Hermione, who was sitting
alone, reading a book called Ancient Runes Made Easy.

Hermione looked aghast at the news.

"But - only a Gryffindor could have stolen - nobody else knows our
password -"

"Exactly," said Harry.

They woke the next day to brilliant sunshine and a light, refreshing
breeze.

"Perfect Quidditch conditions!" said Wood enthusiastically at the
Gryffindor table, loading the team's plates with scrambled eggs.
"Harry, buck up there, you need a decent breakfast."

Harry had been staring down the packed Gryffindor table, wondering
if the new owner of Riddle's diary was right in front of his eyes.
Hermione had been urging him to report the robbery, but Harry didn't
like the idea. He'd have to tell a teacher all about the diary, and how
many people knew why Hagrid had been expelled fifty years ago? He
didn't want to be the one who brought it all up again.

As he left the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione to go and collect his
Quidditch things, another very serious worry was added to Harry's
growing list. He had just set foot on the marble staircase when he
heard it yet again

"Kill this time ... let me rip ... tear. . ."

He shouted aloud and Ron and Hermione both jumped away from him
in alarm.

"The voice!" said Harry, -looking over his shoulder. "I just heard it
again - didn't you?"

Ron shook his head, wide-eyed. Hermione, however, clapped a
hand to her forehead.

"Harry - I think I've just understood something! I've got to go to the
library!"

And she sprinted away, up the stairs.

"What does she understand?" said Harry distractedly, still looking
around, trying to tell where the voice had come from.

"Loads more than I do," said Ron, shaking his head.

"But why's she got to go to the library?"

"Because that's what Hermione does," said Ron, shrugging. "When in
doubt, go to the library."

Harry stood, irresolute, trying to catch the voice again, but people
were now emerging from the Great Hall behind him, talking loudly,
exiting through the front doors on their way to the Quidditch pitch.

"You'd better get moving," said Ron. "It's nearly eleven - the match -
"

Harry raced up to Gryffindor Tower, collected his Nimbus Two
Thousand, and joined the large crowd swarming across the grounds,
but his mind was still in the castle along with the bodiless voice, and
as he pulled on his scarlet robes in the locker. room, his only comfort
was that everyone was now outside to watch the game.

The teams walked onto the field to tumultuous applause. Oliver
Wood took off for a warm-up flight around the goal posts; Madam
Hooch released the balls. The Hufflepuffs, who played in canary
yellow, were standing in a huddle, having a last-minute discussion of
tactics.

Harry was just mounting his broom when Professor McGonagall
came half marching, half running across the pitch, carrying an
enormous purple megaphone.

Harry's heart dropped like a stone.

"This match has been cancelled," Professor McGonagall called
through the megaphone, addressing the packed stadium. There were
boos and shouts. Oliver Wood, looking devastated, landed and ran
toward Professor McGonagall without getting off his broomstick.

"But, Professor!" he shouted. "We've got to play - the cup

Gryffindor -"

Professor McGonagall ignored him and continued to shout through her
megaphone:

"All students are to make their way back to the House common
rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further
information. As quickly as you can, please!"

Then she lowered the megaphone and beckoned Harry over to her.

"Potter, I think you'd better come with me ......

Wondering how she could possibly suspect him this time, Harry saw
Ron detach himself from the complaining crowd; he came running up
to them as they set off toward the castle. To Harry's surprise,
Professor McGonagall didn't object.

"Yes, perhaps you'd better come, too, Weasley .....

Some of the students swarming around them were grumbling about
the match being canceled; others looked worried. Harry and Ron
followed Professor McGonagall back into the school and up the
marble staircase. But they weren't taken to anybody's office this time.

"This will be a bit of a shock," said Professor McGonagall in a
surprisingly gentle voice as they approached the infirmary. "There has
been another attack ... another double attack."

Harry's insides did a horrible somersault. Professor McGonagall
pushed the door open and he and Ron entered. .

Madam Pomfrey was bending over a fifth-year girl with long, curly
hair. Harry recognized her as the Ravenclaw they'd accidentally
asked for directions to the Slytherin common room. And on the bed
next to her was

"Hermione!" Ron groaned.

Hermione lay utterly still, her eyes open and glassy.

"They were found near the library," said Professor McGonagall. "I
don't suppose either of you can explain this? It was on the floor next
to them ......

She was holding up a small, circular mirror.

Harry and Ron shook their heads, both staring at Hermione.

"I will escort you back to Gryffindor Tower," said Professor
McGonagall heavily. "I need to address the students in any case.

"All students will return to their House common rooms by six o'clock
in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time.
You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use
the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch
training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more
evening activities."

The Gryffindors packed inside the common room listened to Professor
McGonagall in silence. She rolled up the parchment

from which she had been reading and said in a somewhat choked
voice, "I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is
likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these
attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they might know
anything about them to come forward."

She climbed somewhat awkwardly out of the portrait hole, and the
Gryffindors began talking immediately.

"That's two Gryffindors down, not counting a Gryffindor ghost, one
Ravenclaw, and one Hufflepuff, " said the Weasley twins' friend Lee
Jordan, counting on his fingers. "Haven't any of the teachers noticed
that the Slytherins are all safe? Isn't it obvious all this stuff's coming
from Slytherin? The Heir of Slytherin, the monster of Slytherin - why
don't they just chuck all the Slytherins out?" he roared, to nods and
scattered applause.

Percy Weasley was sitting in a chair behind Lee, but for once he didn't
seem keen to make his views heard. He was looking pale and stunned.

"Percy's in shock," George told Harry quietly. "That Ravenclaw girl -
Penelope Clearwater - she's a prefect. I don't think he thought the
monster would dare attack a prefect."

But Harry was only half-listening. He didn't seem to be able to get rid
of the picture of Hermione, lying on the hospital bed as though carved
out of stone. And if the culprit wasn't caught soon, he was looking at a
lifetime back with the Dursleys. Tom Riddle had turned Hagrid in
because he was faced with the prospect of a Muggle orphanage if the
school closed. Harry now knew exactly how he had felt.

"What're we going to do?" said Ron quietly in Harry's ear. "D'you
think they suspect Hagrid?"

"We've got to go and talk to him," said Harry, making up his
mind. "I can't believe it's him this time, but if he set the monster
loose last time he'll know how to get inside the Chamber of Secrets,
and that's a start."
"But McGonagall said we've got to stay in our tower unless we're
in class -"
"I think," said Harry, more quietly still, "it's time to get my dad's
old cloak out again."

Harry had inherited) ust one thing from his father: a long and sil
very Invisibility Cloak. It was their only chance of sneaking out of
the school to visit Hagrid without anyone knowing about it. They
went to bed at the usual time, waited until Neville, Dean, and Sea
mus had stopped discussing the Chamber of Secrets and finally
fallen asleep, then got up, dressed again, and threw the cloak over
themselves.
The journey through the dark and deserted castle corridors
wasn't enjoyable. Harry, who had wandered the castle at night sev
eral times before, had never seen it so crowded after sunset. Teach
ers, prefects, and ghosts were marching the corridors in pairs,
staring around for any unusual activity. Their Invisibility Cloak
didn't stop them making any noise, and there was a particularly
tense moment when Ron stubbed his toe only yards from the spot
where Snape stood standing guard. Thankfully, Snape sneezed at
almost exactly the moment Ron swore. It was with relief that they
reached the oak front doors and eased them open.
It was a clear, starry night. They hurried toward the lit windows
of Hagrid's house and pulled off the cloak only when they were
right outside his front door.

Seconds after they had knocked, Hagrid flung it open. They found
themselves face-to-face with him aiming a crossbow at them. Fang
the boarhound barked loudly behind him.

"Oh," he said, lowering the weapon and staring at them. "What're
you two doin' here?"

"What's that for?" said Harry, pointing at the crossbow as they
stepped inside.

"Nothin' - nothin' - " Hagrid muttered. "I've bin expectin' doesn'
matter - Sit down - I'll make tea -"

He hardly seemed to know what he was doing. He nearly
extinguished the fire, spilling water from the kettle on it, and then
smashed the teapot with a nervous jerk of his massive hand.

"Are you okay, Hagrid?" said Harry. "Did you hear about
Hermione?"

"Oh, I heard, all righ'," said Hagrid, a slight break in his voice.

He kept glancing nervously at the windows. He poured them both
large mugs of boiling water (he had forgotten to add tea bags) and
was just putting a slab of fruitcake on a plate when there was a loud
knock on the door.

Hagrid dropped the fruitcake. Harry and Ron exchanged
panicstricken looks, then threw the Invisibility Cloak back over
themselves and retreated into a corner. Hagrid checked that they
were hidden, seized his crossbow, and flung open his door once
more.

"Good evening, Hagrid."

It was Dumbledore. He entered, looking deadly serious, and was
followed by a second, very odd-looking man.

The stranger had rumpled gray hair and an anxious expression, and
was wearing a strange mixture of clothes: a pinstriped suit, a

scarlet tie, a long black cloak, and pointed purple boots. Under his arm
he carried a lime-green bowler.

"That's Dad's boss!" Ron breathed. "Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of
Magic!"

Harry elbowed Ron hard to make him shut up.

Hagrid had gone pale and sweaty. He dropped into one of his chairs
and looked from Dumbledore to Cornelius Fudge.

"Bad business, Hagrid," said Fudge in rather clipped tones. "Very bad
business. Had to come. Four attacks on Muggle-borns. Things've gone
far enough. Ministry's got to act."

"I never," said Hagrid, looking imploringly at Dumbledore. "You know I
never, Professor Dumbledore, sir -"

"I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence,"
said Dumbledore, frowning at Fudge.

"Look, Albus," said Fudge, uncomfortably. "Hagrid's record's against
him. Ministry's got to do something - the school governors have been
in touch -"

"Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help
in the slightest," said Dumbledore. His blue eyes were full of a fire
Harry had never seen before.

"Look at it from my point of view," said Fudge, fidgeting with his
bowler. "I'm under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen to be doing
something. If it turns out it wasn't Hagrid, he'll be back and no more
said. But I've got to take him. Got to. Wouldn't be doing my duty -"

"Take me?" said Hagrid, who was trembling. "Take me where?"

"For a short stretch only," said Fudge, not meeting Hagrid's eyes. "Not
a punishment, Hagrid, more a precaution. If someone else is caught,
you'll be let out with a full apology -"



"Not Azkaban?" croaked Hagrid.

Before Fudge could answer, there was another loud rap on the door.

Dumbledore answered it. It was Harry's turn for an elbow in the ribs;
he'd let out an audible gasp.

Mr. Lucius Malfoy strode into Hagrid's hut, swathed in a long black
traveling cloak, smiling a cold and satisfied smile. Fang started to
growl.

"Already here, Fudge," he said approvingly. "Good, good. . ."

"What're you doin' here?" said Hagrid furiously. "Get outta my house!"

"My dear man, please believe me, I have no pleasure at all in being
inside your - er - d'you call this a house?" said Lucius Malfoy, sneering
as he looked around the small cabin. "I simply called at the school and
was told that the headmaster was here."

"And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?" said Dumbledore.
He spoke politely, but the fire was still blazing in his blue eyes.

"Dreadful thing, Dumbledore," said Malfoy lazily, taking out a long roll
of parchment, "but the governors feel it's time for you to step aside.
This is an Order of Suspension - you'll find all twelve signatures on it.
I'm afraid we feel you're losing your touch. How many attacks have
there been now? Two more this afternoon, wasn't it? At this rate,
there'll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts, and we all know what
an awful loss that would be to the school."

"Oh, now, see here, Lucius," said Fudge, looking alarmed,
"Dumbledore suspended - no, no - last thing we want just now

262

"The appointment - or suspension - of the headmaster is a matter for
the governors, Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy smoothly. "And as
Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks -"

"See here, Malfoy, if Dumbledore can't stop them," said Fudge, whose
upper lip was sweating now, "I mean to say, who can?"

"That remains to be seen," said Mr. Malfoy with a nasty smile. "But as
all twelve of us have voted -"

Hagrid leapt to his feet, his shaggy black head grazing the ceiling.

'An' how many did yeh have ter threaten an' blackmail before they
agreed, Malfoy, eh?" he roared.

"Dear, dear, you know, that temper of yours will lead you into trouble
one of these days, Hagrid," said Mr. Malfoy. "I would advise you not
to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They won't like it at all."

"Yeh can' take Dumbledore!" yelled Hagrid, making Fang the
boarhound cower and whimper in his basket. "Take him away, an' the
Muggle-borns won' stand a chance! There'll be killin' next!"

"Calm yourself, Hagrid," said Dumbledore sharply. He looked at
Lucius Malfoy.

"If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside
-"

"But -" stuttered Fudge.

"No!"growled Hagrid.

Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off Lucius Malfoy's
cold gray ones.

"However," said Dumbledore, speaking very slowly and clearly so that
none of them could miss a word, "you will find that I will

* 26$*

ummer was creeping over the grounds around the castle; sky and lake
alike turned periwinkle blue and flowers large as cabbages burst into
bloom in the greenhouses. But with no Hagrid visible from the castle
windows, striding the grounds with Fang at his heels, the scene didn't
look right to Harry; no better, in fact, than the inside of the castle,
where things were so horribly wrong.

Harry and Ron had tried to visit Hermione, but visitors were now
barred from the hospital wing.

"We're taking no more chances," Madam Pomfrey told them severely
through a crack in the infirmary door. "No, I'm sorry, there's every
chance the attacker might come back to finish these people off . . ."

With Dumbledore gone, fear had spread as never before, so that the
sun warming the castle walls outside seemed to stop at the mullioned
windows. There was barely a face to be seen in the school

* 265*



that didn't look worried and tense, and any laughter that rang through
the corridors sounded shrill and unnatural and was quickly stifled.

Harry constantly repeated Dumbledore's final words to himself "I will
only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me... Help will
always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it." But what good
were these words? Who exactly were they supposed to ask for help,
when everyone was just as confused and scared as they were?

Hagrid's hint about the spiders was far easier to understand the
trouble was, there didn't seem to be a single spider left in the castle to
follow. Harry looked everywhere he went, helped (rather reluctantly)
by Ron. They were hampered, of course, by the fact that they weren't
allowed to wander off on their own but had to move around the castle
in a pack with the other Gryffindors. Most of their fellow students
seemed glad that they were being shepherded from class to class by
teachers, but Harry found it very irksome.

One person, however, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the
atmosphere of terror and suspicion. Draco Malfoy was strutting
around the school as though he had just been appointed Head Boy.
Harry didn't realize what he was so pleased about until the Potions
lesson about two weeks after Dumbledore and Hagrid had left, when,
sitting right behind Malfoy, Harry overheard him gloating to Crabbe
and Goyle.

"I always thought Father might be the one who got rid of
Dumbledore," he said, not troubling to keep his voice down. "I told you
he thinks Dumbledore's the worst headmaster the school's ever

*266*

had. Maybe we'll get a decent headmaster now. Someone who won't
want the Chamber of Secrets closed. McGonagall won't last long,
she's only filling in ......

Snape swept past Harry, making no comment about Hermione's
empty seat and cauldron.

"Sir," said Malfoy loudly. "Sir, why don't you apply for the
headmaster's job?"

"Now, now, Malfoy," said Snape, though he couldn't suppress a thin-
lipped smile. "Professor Dumbledore has only been suspended by the
governors. I daresay he'll be back with us soon enough."

"Yeah, right," said Malfoy, smirking. "I expect you'd have Father's
vote, sir, if you wanted to apply for the job - I'll tell Father you're the
best teacher here, sir -"

Snape smirked as he swept off around the dungeon, fortunately not
spotting Seamus Finnigan, who was pretending to vomit into his
cauldron.

"I'm quite surprised the Mudbloods haven't all packed their bags by
now," Malfoy went on. "Bet you five Galleons the next one dies. Pity
it wasn't Granger -"

The bell rang at that moment, which was lucky; at Malfoy's last
words, Ron had leapt off his stool, and in the scramble to collect bags
and books, his attempts to reach Malfoy went unnoticed.

"Let me at him," Ron growled as Harry and Dean hung onto his arms.
"I don't care, I don't need my wand, I'm going to kill him with my bare
hands -"

"Hurry up, I've got to take you all to Herbology," barked Snape over
the class's heads, and off they marched, with Harry, Ron, and Dean
bringing up the rear, Ron still trying to get loose. It was only

* 261*

safe to let go of him when Snape had seen them out of the castle and
they were making their way across the vegetable patch toward the
greenhouses.

The Herbology class was very subdued; there were now two missing
from their number, Justin and Hermione.

Professor Sprout set them all to work pruning the Abyssinian
Shrivelfigs. Harry went to tip an armful of withered stalks onto the
compost heap and found himself face-to-face with Ernie Macmillan.
Ernie took a deep breath and said, very formally, "I just want to say,
Harry, that I'm sorry I ever suspected you. I know you'd never attack
Hermione Granger, and I apologize for all the stuff I said. We're all in
the same boat now, and, well -"

He held out a pudgy hand, and Harry shook it.

Ernie and his friend Hannah came to work at the same Shrivelfig as
Harry and Ron.

"That Draco Malfoy character," said Ernie, breaking off dead twigs,
"he seems very pleased about all this, doesn't he? D'you know, I think
he might be Slytherin's heir."

"That's clever of you," said Ron, who didn't seem to have forgiven
Ernie as readily as Harry.

"Do you think it's Malfoy, Harry?" Ernie asked.

"No," said Harry, so firmly that Ernie and Hannah stared.

A second later, Harry spotted something.

Several large spiders were scuttling over the ground on the other side
of the glass, moving in an unnaturally straight line as though taking the
shortest route to a prearranged meeting. Harry hit Ron over the hand
with his pruning shears.

"Ouch! What're you -"

268

Harry pointed out the spiders, following their progress with his eyes
screwed up against the sun.

"Oh, yeah," said Ron, trying, and failing, to look pleased. "But we can't
follow them now -"

Ernie and Hannah were listening curiously.

Harry's eyes narrowed as he focused on the spiders. If they pursued
their fixed course, there could be no doubt about where they would
end up.

"Looks like they're heading for the Forbidden Forest . . . ."

And Ron looked even unhappier about that.

At the end of the lesson Professor Sprout escorted the class to their
Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. Harry and Ron lagged behind
the others so they could talk out of earshot.

"We'll have to use the Invisibility Cloak again," Harry told Ron. "We
can take Fang with us. He's used to going into the forest with Hagrid,
he might be some help."

"Right," said Ron, who was twirling his wand nervously in his fingers.
"Er - aren't there - aren't there supposed to be werewolves in the
forest?" he added as they took their usual places at the back of
Lockhart's classroom.

Preferring not to answer that question, Harry said, "There are good
things in there, too. The centaurs are all right, and the unicorns ...

Ron had never been into the Forbidden Forest before. Harry had
entered it only once and had hoped never to do so again.

Lockhart bounded into the room and the class stared at him. Every
other teacher in the place was looking grimmer than usual, but
Lockhart appeared nothing short of buoyant.

2 69

"Come now," he cried, beaming around him. "Why all these long
faces?"

People swapped exasperated looks, but nobody answered.

"Don't you people realize," said Lockhart, speaking slowly, as though
they were all a bit dim, "the danger has passed! The culprit has been
taken away -"

"Says who?" said Dean Thomas loudly.

"My dear young man, the Minister of Magic wouldn't have taken
Hagrid if he hadn't been one hundred percent sure that he was guilty,"
said Lockhart, in the tone of someone explaining that one and one
made two.

"Oh, yes he would," said Ron, even more loudly than Dean.

"I flatter myself I know a touch more about Hagrid's arrest than you
do, Mr. Weasley," said Lockhart in a self-satisfied tone.

Ron started to say that he didn't think so, somehow, but stopped in
midsentence when Harry kicked him hard under the desk.

"We weren't there, remember?" Harry muttered.

But Lockhart's disgusting cheeriness, his hints that he had always
thought Hagrid was no good, his confidence that the whole business
was now at an end, irritated Harry so much that he yearned to throw
Gadding with Ghouls right in Lockhart's stupid face. Instead he
contented himself with scrawling a note to Ron: Let's do it tonight.

Ron read the message, swallowed hard, and looked sideways at the
empty seat usually filled by Hermione. The sight seemed to stiffen his
resolve, and he nodded.

The Gryffindor common room was always very crowded these days,
because from six o'clock onward the Gryffindors had no -

*270*

where else to go. They also had plenty to talk about, with the result
that the common room often didn't empty until past midnight.

Harry went to get the Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk right after
dinner, and spent the evening sitting on it, waiting for the room to
clear. Fred and George challenged Harry and Ron to a few games of
Exploding Snap, and Ginny sat watching them, very subdued in
Hermione's usual chair. Harry and Ron kept losing on purpose, trying
to finish the games quickly, but even so, it was well past midnight
when Fred, George, and Ginny finally went to bed.

Harry and Ron waited for the distant sounds of two dormitory doors
closing before seizing the cloak, throwing it over themselves, and
climbing through the portrait hole.

It was another difficult journey through the castle, dodging all the
teachers. At last they reached the entrance hall, slid back the lock on
the oak front doors, squeezed between them, trying to stop any
creaking, and stepped out into the moonlit grounds.

"'Course," said Ron abruptly as they strode across the black grass,
"we might get to the forest and find there's nothing to follow. Those
spiders might not've been going there at all. I know it looked like they
were moving in that sort of general direction, but. . ."

His voice trailed away hopefully.

They reached Hagrid's house, sad and sorry-looking with its blank
windows. When Harry pushed the door open, Fang went mad with joy
at the sight of them. Worried he might wake everyone at the castle
with his deep, booming barks, they hastily fed him treacle fudge from
a tin on the mantelpiece, which glued his teeth together.

Harry left the Invisibility Cloak on Hagrid's table. There would be no
need for it in the pitch-dark forest.

* 21:L *

"C'mon, Fang, we're going for a walk," said Harry, patting his leg, and
Fang bounded happily out of the house behind them, dashed to the
edge of the forest, and lifted his leg against a large sycamore tree.

Harry took out his wand, murmured, "Lumos!" and a tiny light
appeared at the end of it, just enough to let them watch the path for
signs of spiders.

"Good thinking," said Ron. "Id light mine, too, but you know - it'd
probably blow up or something ......

Harry tapped Ron on the shoulder, pointing at the grass. Two solitary
spiders were hurrying away from the wandlight into the shade of the
trees.

"Okay," Ron sighed as though resigned to the worst, "I'm ready. Let's
go."

So, with Fang scampering around them, sniffing tree roots and leaves,
they entered the forest. By the glow of Harry's wand, they followed
the steady trickle of spiders moving along the path. They walked
behind them for about twenty minutes, not speaking, listening hard for
noises other than breaking twigs and rustling leaves. Then, when the
trees had become thicker than ever, so that the stars overhead were
no longer visible, and Harry's wand shone alone in the sea of dark,
they saw their spider guides leaving the path.

Harry paused, trying to see where the spiders were going, but
everything outside his little sphere of *light was pitch-black. He had
never been this deep into the forest before. He could vividly
remember Hagrid advising him not to leave the forest path last time
he'd been in here. But Hagrid was miles away now, probably sitting in
a cell in Azkaban, and he had also said to follow the spiders.

* 2-V2 *

Something wet touched Harry's hand and he jumped backward,
crushing Rods foot, but it was only Fang's nose.

"What d'you reckon?" Harry said to Ron, whose eyes he could just
make out, reflecting the light from his wand.

"We've come this far," said Ron.

So they followed the darting shadows of the spiders into the trees.
They couldn't move very quickly now; there were tree roots and
stumps in their way, barely visible in the near blackness. Harry could
feel Fang's hot breath on his hand. More than once, they had to stop,
so that Harry could crouch down and find the spiders in the wandlight.

They walked for what seemed like at least half an hour, their robes
snagging on low-slung branches and brambles. After a while, they
noticed that the ground seemed to be sloping downward, though the
trees were as thick as ever.

Then Fang suddenly let loose a great, echoing bark, making both Harry
and Ron jump out of their skins.

"What?" said Ron loudly, looking around into the pitch-dark, and
gripping Harry's elbow very hard.

"There's something moving over there," Harry breathed. "Listen ...
sounds like something big ......

They listened. Some distance to their right, the something big was
snapping branches as it carved a path through the trees.

"Oh, no," said Ron. "Oh, no, oh, no, oh -"

"Shut up," said Harry frantically. "It'll hear you."

"Hear me?" said Ron in an unnaturally high voice. "It's already heard
Fang!"

The darkness seemed to be pressing on their eyeballs as they

* 273*

stood, terrified, waiting. There was a strange rumbling noise and then
silence.

"What d'you think it's doing?" said Harry.

"Probably getting ready to pounce," said Ron.

They waited, shivering, hardly daring to move.

"D'you think it's gone?" Harry whispered.

"Dunno -"

Then, to their right, came a sudden blaze of light, so bright in the
darkness that both of them flung up their hands to shield their eyes.
Fang yelped and tried to run, but got lodged in a tangle of thorns and
yelped even louder.

"Harry!" Ron shouted, his voice breaking with relief "Harry, it's our
car!"

"What?"

"Come on!"

Harry blundered after Ron toward the light, stumbling and tripping,
and a moment later they had emerged into a clearing.

Mr. Weasley's car was standing, empty, in the middle of a circle of
thick trees under a roof of dense branches, its headlights ablaze. As
Ron walked, open-mouthed, toward it, it moved slowly toward him,
exactly like a large, turquoise dog greeting its owner.

"It's been here all the time!" said Ron delightedly, walking around the
car. "Look at it. The forest's turned it wild . . . ."

The sides of the car were scratched and smeared with mud.
Apparently it had taken to trundling around the forest on its own.
Fang didn't seem at all keen on it; he kept close to Harry, who could
feel him quivering. His breathing slowing down again, Harry stuffed
his wand back into his robes.

*214*

"And we thought it was going to attack us!" said Ron, leaning against
the car and patting it. "I wondered where it had gone!"

Harry squinted around on the floodlit ground for signs of more spiders,
but they had all scuttled away from the glare of the headlights.

"We've lost the trail," he said. "C'mon, let's go and find them."

Ron didn't speak. He didn't move. His eyes were fixed on a point
some ten feet above the forest floor, right behind Harry. His face was
livid with terror.

Harry didn't even have time to turn around. There was a loud clicking
noise and suddenly he felt something long and hairy seize him around
the middle and lift him off the ground, so that he was hanging
facedown. Struggling, terrified, he heard more clicking, and saw Ron's
legs leave the ground, too, heard Fang whimpering and howling - next
moment, he was being swept away into the dark trees.

Head hanging, Harry saw that what had hold of him was marching on
six immensely long, hairy legs, the front two clutching him tightly below
a pair of shining black pincers. Behind him, he could hear another of
the creatures, no doubt carrying Ron. They were moving into the very
heart of the forest. Harry could hear Fang fighting to free himself from
a third monster, whining loudly, but Harry couldn't have yelled even if
he had wanted to; he seemed to have left his voice back with the car
in the clearing.

He never knew how long he was in the creature's clutches; he only
knew that the darkness suddenly lifted enough for him to see that the
leaf-strewn ground was now swarming with spiders. Craning his neck
sideways, he realized that they had reached the ridge of

*21$*

a vast hollow, a hollow that had been cleared of trees, so that the stars
shone brightly onto the worst scene he had ever laid eyes on.

Spiders. Not tiny spiders like those surging over the leaves below.
Spiders the size of carthorses, eight-eyed, eight-legged, black, hairy,
gigantic. The massive specimen that was carrying Harry made its way
down the steep slope toward a misty, domed web in the very center of
the hollow, while its fellows closed in all around it, clicking their
pincers excitedly at the sight of its load.

Harry fell to the ground on all fours as the spider released him. Ron
and Fang thudded down next to him. Fang wasn't howling anymore,
but cowering silently on the spot. Ron looked exactly like Harry felt.
His mouth was stretched wide in a kind of silent scream and his eyes
were popping.

Harry suddenly realized that the spider that had dropped him was
saying something. It had been hard to tell, because he clicked his
pincers with every word he spoke.

"Aragog!" it called. "Aragog!"

And from the middle of the misty, domed web, a spider the size of a
small elephant emerged, very slowly. There was gray in the black of
his body and legs, and each of the eyes on his ugly, pincered head was
milky white. He was blind.

"What is it?" he said, clicking his pincers rapidly.

"Men," clicked the spider who had caught Harry.

"Is it Hagrid?" said Aragog, moving closer, his eight milky eyes
wandering vaguely.

"Strangers," clicked the spider who had brought Ron.

"Kill them," clicked Aragog fretfully. "I was sleeping ......

"We're friends of Hagrid's," Harry shouted. His heart seemed to have
left his chest to pound in his throat.

*216*

Click, click, click went the pincers of the spiders all around the hollow.

Aragog paused.

"Hagrid has never sent men into our hollow before," he said slowly.

"Hagrid's in trouble," said Harry, breathing very fast. "That's why
we've come."

"In trouble?" said the aged spider, and Harry thought he heard concern
beneath the clicking pincers. "But why has he sent you?"

Harry thought of getting to his feet but decided against it; he didn't
think his legs would support him. So he spoke from the ground, as
calmly as he could.

"They think,, up at the school, that Hagrid's been setting a a -
something on students. They've taken him to Azkaban."

Aragog clicked his pincers furiously, and all around the hollow the
sound was echoed by the crowd of spiders; it was like applause,
except applause didn't usually make Harry feel sick with fear.

"But that was years ago," said Aragog fretfully. "Years and years ago.
I remember it well. That's why they made him leave the school. They
believed that I was the monster that dwells in what they call the
Chamber of Secrets. They thought that Hagrid had opened the
Chamber and set me free."

"And you ... you didn't come from the Chamber of Secrets?" said
Harry, who could feel cold sweat on his forehead.

"I!" said Aragog, clicking angrily. "I was not born in the castle. I come
from a distant land. A traveler gave me to Hagrid when I was an egg.
Hagrid was only a boy, but he cared for me, hidden in a cupboard in
the castle, feeding me on scraps from the table. Hagrid

2Y

is my good friend, and a good man. When I was discovered, and
blamed for the death of a girl, he protected me. I have lived here in
the forest ever since, where Hagrid still visits me. He even found me
a wife, Mosag, and you see how our family has grown, all through
Hagrid's goodness ......

Harry summoned what remained of his courage.

"So you never - never attacked anyone?"

"Never," croaked the old spider. "It would have been my instinct, but
out of respect for Hagrid, I never harmed a human. The body of the
girl who was killed was discovered in a bathroom. I never saw any
part of the castle but the cupboard in which I grew up. Our kind like
the dark and the quiet ......

"But then ... Do you know what did kill that girl?" said Harry.
"Because whatever it is, it's back and attacking people again -"

His words were drowned by a loud outbreak of clicking and the
rustling of many long legs shifting angrily; large black shapes shifted
all around him.

"The thing that lives in the castle," said Aragog, "is an ancient creature
we spiders fear above all others. Well do I remember how I pleaded
with Hagrid to let me go, when I sensed the beast moving about the
school."

"What is it?" said Harry urgently.

More loud clicking, more rustling; the spiders seemed to be closing in.

"We do not speak of it!" said Aragog fiercely. "We do not name it! I
never even told Hagrid the name of that dread creature, though he
asked me, many times."

Harry didn't want to press the subject, not with the spiders

* 2-V8 *

pressing closer on all sides. Aragog seemed to be tired of tamng. He
was backing slowly into his domed web, but his fellow spiders
continued to inch slowly toward Harry and Ron.

"We'll just go, then," Harry called desperately to Aragog, hearing
leaves rustling behind him.

"Go?" said Aragog slowly. "I think not ......

"But - but -"

"My sons and daughters do not harm Hagrid, on my command. But I
cannot deny them fresh meat, when it wanders so willingly into our
midst. Good-bye, friend of Hagrid."

Harry spun around. Feet away, towering above him, was a solid wall
of spiders, clicking, their many eyes gleaming in their ugly black heads.

Even as he reached for his wand, Harry knew it was no good, there
were too many of them, but as he tried to stand, ready to die fighting,
a loud, long note sounded, and a blaze of light flamed through the
hollow.

Mr. Weasley's car was thundering down the slope, headlights glaring,
its horn screeching, knocking spiders aside; several were thrown onto
their backs, their endless legs waving in the air. The car screeched to
a halt in front of Harry and Ron and the doors flew open.

"Get Fang!" Harry yelled, diving into the front seat; Ron seized the
boarhound around the middle and threw him, yelping, into the back of
the car - the doors slammed shut - Ron didn't touch the accelerator
but the car didn't need him; the engine roared and they were off,
hitting more spiders. They sped up the slope, out of the hollow, and
they were soon crashing through the forest, branches

whipping the windows as the car wound its way cleverly through the
widest gaps, following a path it obviously knew.

Harry looked sideways at Ron. His mouth was still open in the silent
scream, but his eyes weren't popping anymore.

"Are you okay?"

Ron stared straight ahead, unable to speak.

They smashed their way through the undergrowth, Fang howling loudly
in the back seat, and Harry saw the side mirror snap off as they
squeezed past a large oak. After ten noisy, rocky minutes, the trees
thinned, and Harry could again see patches of sky.

The car stopped so suddenly that they were nearly thrown into the
windshield. They had reached the edge of the forest. Fang flung
himself at the window in his anxiety to get out, and when Harry
opened the door, he shot off through the trees to Hagrid's house, tail
between his legs. Harry got out too, and after a minute or so, Ron
seemed to regain the feeling in his limbs and followed, still stiff-necked
and staring. Harry gave the car a grateful pat as it reversed back into
the forest and disappeared from view.

Harry went back into Hagrid's cabin to get the Invisibility Cloak. Fang
was trembling under a blanket in his basket. When Harry got outside
again, he found Ron being violently sick in the pumpkin patch.

"Follow the spiders," said Ron weakly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
"I'll never forgive Hagrid. We're lucky to be alive."

"I bet he thought Aragog wouldn't hurt friends of his," said Harry.

"That's exactly Hagrid's problem!" said Ron, thumping the wall of the
cabin. "He always thinks monsters aren't as bad as they're

*280*

made out, and look where it's got him! A cell in Azkaban!" He was
shivering uncontrollably now. "What was the point of sending us in
there? What have we found out, Id like to know?"

"That Hagrid never opened the Chamber of Secrets," said Harry,
throwing the cloak over Ron and prodding him in the arm to make him
walk. "He was innocent."

Ron gave a loud snort. Evidently, hatching Aragog in a cupboard
wasn't his idea of being innocent.

As the castle loomed nearer Harry twitched the cloak to make sure
their feet were hidden, then pushed the creaking front doors ajar.
They walked carefully back across the entrance hall and up the
marble staircase, holding their breath as they passed corridors where
watchful sentries were walking. At last they reached the safety of the
Gryffindor common room, where the fire had burned itself into
glowing ash. They took off the cloak and climbed the winding stair to
their dormitory.

Ron fell onto his bed without bothering to get undressed. Harry,
however, didn't feel very sleepy. He sat on the edge of his fourposter,
thinking hard about everything Aragog had said.

The creature that was lurking somewhere in the castle, he thought,
sounded like a sort of monster Voldemort - even other monsters didn't
want to name it. But he and Ron were no closer to finding out what it
was, or how it Petrified its victims. Even Hagrid had never known
what was in the Chamber of Secrets.

Harry swung his legs up onto his bed and leaned back against his
pillows, watching the moon glinting at him through the tower window.

He couldn't see what else they could do. They had hit dead ends

*281*

everywhere. Riddle had caught the wrong person, the Heir of
Slytherin had got off, and no one could tell whether it was the same
person, or a different one, who had opened the Chamber this time.
There was nobody else to ask. Harry lay down, still thinking about
what Aragog had said.

He was becoming drowsy when what seemed like their very last
hope occurred to him, and he suddenly sat bolt upright.

"Ron," he hissed through the dark, "Ron -"

Ron woke with a yelp like Fang's, stared wildly around, and saw
Harry.

"Ron -that girl who died. Aragog said she was found in a bathroom,"
said Harry, ignoring Neville's snufing snores from the corner. "What
if she never left the bathroom? What if she's still there?"

Ron rubbed his eyes, frowning through the moonlight. And then he
understood, too.

"You don't think - not Moaning Myrtle?"

	A ll those times we were in that bathroom, and she was just
	three toilets away," said Ron bitterly at breakfast next day,

"and we could've asked her, and now. . ."

It had been hard enough trying to look for spiders. Escaping their
teachers long enough to sneak into a girls' bathroom, the girls' bathroom,
moreover, right next to the scene of the first attack, was going to be
almost impossible.

But something happened in their first lesson, Transfiguration, that drove
the Chamber of Secrets out of their minds for the first time in weeks.
Ten minutes into the class, Professor McGonagall told them that their
exams would start on the first of June, one week from today.

`Exams?" howled Seamus Finnigan. "We're still getting exams?"

There was a loud bang behind Harry as Neville Longbottom's wand
slipped, vanishing one of the legs on his desk. Professorr

*28%*



McGonagall restored it with a wave of her own wand, and turned,
frowning, to Seamus.

"The whole point of keeping the school open at this time is for you to
receive your education," she said sternly. "The exams will therefore
take place as usual, and I trust you are all studying hard."

Studying hard! It had never occurred to Harry that there would be
exams with the castle in this state. There was a great deal of mutinous
muttering around the room, which made Professor McGonagall scowl
even more darkly.

"Professor Dumbledore's instructions were to keep the school running
as normally as possible, she said. "And that, I need hardly point out,
means finding out how much you have learned this year.

Harry looked down at the pair of white rabbits he was supposed to be
turning into slippers. What had he learned so far this year? He couldn't
seem to think of anything that would be useful in an exam.

Ron looked as though he'd just been told he had to go and live in the
Forbidden Forest.

"Can you imagine me taking exams with this?" he asked Harry, holding
up his wand, which had just started whistling loudly.

Three days before their first exam, Professor McGonagall made
another announcement at breakfast.

"I have good news," she said, and the Great Hall, instead of falling
silent, erupted.

"Dumbledore's coming back!" several people yelled joyfully.

"You've caught the Heir of Slytherin!" squealed a girl at the
Ravenclaw table.

284*

"Quidditch matches are back on!" roared Wood excitedly.

When the hubbub had subsided, Professor McGonagall said,
"Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for
cutting at last. Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who
have been Petrified. I need hardly remind you all that one of them may
well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them. I am hopeful that
this dreadful year will end with our catching the culprit."

There was an explosion of cheering. Harry looked over at the
Slytherin table and wasn't at all surprised to see that Draco Malfoy
hadn't joined in. Ron, however, was looking happier than he'd looked in
days.

"It won't matter that we never asked Myrtle, then!" he said to Harry.
"Hermione'll probably have all the answers when they wake her up!
Mind you, she'll go crazy when she finds out we've got exams in three
days' time. She hasn't studied. It might be kinder to leave her where
she is till they're over."

Just then, Ginny Weasley came over and sat down next to Ron. She
looked tense and nervous, and Harry noticed that her hands were
twisting in her lap.

"What's up?" said Ron, helping himself to more porridge.

Ginny didn't say anything, but glanced up and down the Gryffindor
table with a scared look on her face that reminded Harry of someone,
though he couldn't think who.

"Spit it out," said Ron, watching her.

Harry suddenly realized who Ginny looked like. She was rocking
backward and forward slightly in her chair, exactly like Dobby did
when he was teetering on the edge of revealing forbidden information.

"I've got to tell you something," Ginny mumbled, carefully not looking at
Harry.

"What is it?" said Harry.

Ginny looked as though she couldn't find the right words.

"What?"said Ron.

Ginny opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Harry leaned
forward and spoke quietly, so that only Ginny and Ron could hear him.

"Is it something about the Chamber of Secrets? Have you seen
something? Someone acting oddly?"

Ginny drew a deep breath and, at that precise moment, Percy Weasley
appeared, looking tired and wan.

"If you've finished eating, I'll take that seat, Ginny. I'm starving, I've
only just come off patrol duty."

Ginny jumped up as though her chair had just been electrified, gave
Percy a fleeting, frightened look, and scampered away. Percy sat
down and grabbed a mug from the center of the table.

"Percy!" said Ron angrily. "She was just about to tell us some-' thing
important!"

Halfway through a gulp of tea, Percy choked.

"What sort of thing?" he said, coughing.

"I just asked her if she'd seen anything odd, and she started to say

"Oh - that - that's nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets," said
Percy at once.

"How do you know?" said Ron, his eyebrows raised.

"Well, er, if you must know, Ginny, er, walked in on me the other day
when I was - well, never mind - the point is, she spot

ted me doing something and I, um, I asked her not to mention it to
anybody. I must say, I did think she'd keep her word. It's nothing,
really, Id just rather -"

Harry had never seen Percy look so uncomfortable.

"What were you doing, Percy?" said Ron, grinning. "Go on, tell us, we
won't laugh."

Percy didn't smile back.

"Pass me those rolls, Harry, I'm starving."

Harry knew the whole mystery might be solved tomorrow without
their help, but he wasn't about to pass up a chance to speak to Myrtle
if it turned up - and to his delight it did, midmorning, when they were
being led to History of Magic by Gilderoy Lockhart.

Lockhart, who had so often assured them that all danger had passed,
only to be proved wrong right away, was now wholeheartedly
convinced that it was hardly worth the trouble to see them safely
down the corridors. His hair wasn't as sleek as usual; it seemed he
had been up most of the night, patrolling the fourth floor.

"Mark my words," he said, ushering them around a corner. "The first
words out of those poor Petrified people's mouths will be It was
Hagrid.' Frankly, I'm astounded Professor McGonagall thinks all
these security measures are necessary."

(ti agree, sir," said Harry, making Ron drop his books in surprise.

"Thank you, Harry, said Lockhart graciously while they waited for a
long line of Hufflepuffs to pass. "I mean, we teachers have quite
enough to be getting on with, without walking students to classes and
standing guard all night ......

"That's right," said Ron, catching on. "Why don't you leave us here, sir,
we've only got one more corridor to go -"

"You know, Weasley, I think I will," said Lockhart. "I really should go
and prepare my next class -"

And he hurried off.

"Prepare his class," Ron sneered after him. "Gone to curl his hair,
more like."

They let the rest of the Gryffindors draw ahead of them, then darted
down a side passage and hurried off toward Moaning Myrtle's
bathroom. But just as they were congratulating each other on their
brilliant scheme

"Potter! Weasley! What are you doing?"

It was Professor McGonagall, and her mouth was the thinnest of thin
lines.

"We were -we were-" Ron stammered. "We were going to - to go and
see -"

"Hermione," said Harry. Ron and Professor McGonagall both looked
at him.

"We haven't seen her for ages, Professor," Harry went on hurriedly,
treading on Ron's foot, "and we thought we'd sneak into the hospital
wing, you know, and tell her the Mandrakes are nearly ready and, er,
not to worry -"

Professor McGonagall was still staring at him, and for a moment,
Harry thought she was going to explode, but when she spoke, it was in
a strangely croaky voice.

"Of course," she said, and Harry, amazed, saw a tear glistening in her
beady eye. "Of course, I realize this has all been hardest on the friends
of those who have been ... I quite understand. Yes,

Potter, of course you may visit Miss Granger. I will inform Professor
Binns where you've gone. Tell Madam Pomfrey I have given my
permission."

Harry and Ron walked away, hardly daring to believe that they'd
avoided detention. As they turned the corner, they distinctly heard
Professor McGonagall blow her nose.

"That," said Ron fervently, "was the best story you've ever come up
with."

They had no choice now but to go to the hospital wing and tell Madam
Pomfrey that they had Professor McGonagall's permission to visit
Hermione.

Madam Pomfrey let them in, but reluctantly.

"There's just no point talking to a Petrified. person," she said, and they
had to admit she had a point when they'd taken their seats next to
Hermione. It was plain that Hermione didn't have the faintest inkling
that she had visitors, and that they might just as well tell her bedside
cabinet not to worry for all the good it would do.

"Wonder if she did see the attacker, though?" said Ron, looking sadly
at Hermione's rigid face. "Because if he sneaked up on them all, no
one'll ever know . .....

But Harry wasn't looking at Hermione's face. He was more interested
in her right hand. It lay clenched on top of her blankets, and bending
closer, he saw that a piece of paper was scrunched inside her fist.

Making sure that Madam Pomfrey was nowhere near, he pointed this
out to Ron.

"TG and get it out," Ron whispered, shifting his chair so that he
blocked Harry from Madam Pomfrey's view.

It was no easy task. Hermione's hand was clamped so tightly around
the paper that Harry was sure he was going to tear it. While Ron kept
watch he tugged and twisted, and at last, after several tense minutes,
the paper came free.

It was a page torn from a very old library book. Harry smoothed it out
eagerly and Ron leaned close to read it, too.

Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land,
there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk,
known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may
reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born

from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are
most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk
has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall
suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal
enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is
fatal to it.

And beneath this, a single word had been written, in a hand Harry
recognized as Hermione's. Pipes.

It was as though somebody had just flicked a light on in his brain.

"Ron," he breathed. "This is it. This is the answer. The monster in the
Chamber's a basilisk - a giant serpent! That why I've been hearing
that voice all over the place, and nobody else has heard it. It's because
I understand Parseltongue . . . ."

Harry looked up at the beds around him.

"The basilisk kills people by looking at them. But no one's died -
because no one looked it straight in the eye. Colin saw it through his
camera. The basilisk burned up all the film inside it, but Colin just got
Petrified. Justin . . . Justin must've seen the basilisk through Nearly
Headless Nick! Nick got the full blast of it, but he couldn't die again .
. . and Hermione and that Ravenclaw prefect were found with a
mirror next to them. Hermione had just realized the monster was a
basilisk. I bet you anything she warned the first person she met to
look around corners with a mirror first! And that girl pulled out her
mirror - and -"

Rods jaw had dropped.

"And Mrs. Norris?" he whispered eagerly.

Harry thought hard, picturing the scene on the night of Halloween.

"The water. . ." he said slowly. "The flood from Moaning Myrtle's
bathroom. I bet you Mrs. Norris only saw the reflection . . . ."

He scanned the page in his hand eagerly. The more he looked at it,
the more it made sense.

`: . . The crowing of the rooster . . . is fatal to it"! he read aloud. "Hagrid's
roosters were killed! The Heir of Slytherin didn't want one anywhere
near the castle once the Chamber was opened! Spidersflee before it.! It
all fits!"

"But how's the basilisk been getting around the place?" said Ron. "A
giant snake . . . Someone would've seen. . ."

Harry, however, pointed at the word Hermione had scribbled at the
foot of the page.

"Pipes," he said. "Pipes . . . Ron, it's been using the plumbing. I've
been hearing that voice inside the walls . . . ."

291*

Ron suddenly grabbed Harry's arm.
"The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets!" he said hoarsely.
"What if it's a bathroom? What if it's in -"
`= Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, "said Harry.
They sat there, excitement coursing through them, hardly able
to believe it.
"This means," said Harry, "I can't be the only Parselmouth in
the school. The Heir of Slytherin's one, too. That's how he's been
controlling the basilisk."
"What're we going to do?" said Ron, whose eyes were flashing.
"Should we go straight to McGonagall?"
"Let's go to the staff room," said Harry, jumping up. "She'll be
there in ten minutes. It's nearly break."
They ran downstairs. Not wanting to be discovered hanging
around in another corridor, they went straight into the deserted
staff room. It was a large, paneled room full of dark, wooden chairs.
Harry and Ron paced around it, too excited to sit down.
But the bell to signal break never came.
Instead, echoing through the corridors came Professor McGon
agall's voice, magically magnified.
`All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teach
ers return to the staff room. Immediately, please. "

Harry wheeled around to stare at Ron.
"Not another attack? Not now?"
"What'll we do?" said Ron, aghast. "Go back to the dormitory?"
"No," said Harry, glancing around. There was an ugly sort of
wardrobe to his left, full of the teachers' cloaks. "In here. Let's hear
what it's all about. Then we can tell them what we've found out."

They hid themselves inside it, listening to the rumbling of hundreds of
people moving overhead, and the staff room door banging open.
From between the musty folds of the cloaks, they watched the
teachers filtering into the room. Some of them were looking puzzled,
others downright scared. Then Professor McGonagall arrived.

"It has happened," she told the silent staff room. "A student has been
taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself."

Professor Flitwick let out a squeal. Professor Sprout clapped her
hands over her mouth. Snape gripped the back of a chair very hard
and said, "How can you be sure?"

"The Heir of Slytherin," said Professor McGonagall, who was very
white, "left another message. Right underneath the first one. `Her
skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever. "'

Professor Flitwick burst into tears.

"Who is it?" said Madam Hooch, who had sunk, weak-kneed, into a
chair. "Which student?"

"Ginny Weasley," said Professor McGonagall.

Harry felt Ron slide silently down onto the wardrobe floor beside
him.

"We shall have to send all the students home tomorrow," said
Professor McGonagall. "This is the end of Hogwarts. Dumbledore
always said. . ."

The staffroom door banged open again. For one wild moment,
Harry was sure it would be Dumbledore. But it was Lockhart, and
he was beaming.

"So sorry - dozed off - what have I missed?"

He didn't seem to notice that the other teachers were looking at him
with something remarkably like hatred. Snape stepped forward.

"Just the man," he said. "The very man. A girl has been snatched by
the monster, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your
moment has come at last."

Lockhart blanched.

"That's right, Gilderoy," chipped in Professor Sprout. "Weren't you
saying just last night that you've known all along where the entrance to
the Chamber of Secrets is?"

"I - well, I -"sputtered Lockhart.

"Yes, didn't you tell me you were sure you knew what was inside it?"
piped up Professor Flitwick.

"D-did I? I don't recall -"

"I certainly remember you saying you were sorry you hadn't had a
crack at the monster before Hagrid was arrested," said Snape. "Didn't
you say that the whole affair had been bungled, and that you should
have been given a free rein from the first?"

Lockhart stared around at his stony-faced colleagues.

"I - I really never - you may have misunderstood -"

"We'll leave it to you, then, Gilderoy," said Professor McGonagall.
"Tonight will be an excellent time to do it. We'll make sure everyone's
out of your way. You'll be able to tackle the monster all by youself. A
free rein at last."

Lockhart gazed desperately around him, but nobody came to the
rescue. He didn't look remotely handsome anymore. His lip was
trembling, and in the absence of his usually toothy grin, he looked
weak-chinned and feeble.

"V very well," he said. "I'll - I'll be in my office, getting getting ready."

And he left the room.

"Right," said Professor McGonagall, whose nostrils were flared,

"that's got him out from under our feet. The Heads of Houses should
go and inform their students what has happened. Tell them the
Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing tomorrow. Will the
rest of you please make sure no students have been left outside their
dormitories."

The teachers rose and left, one by one.

It was probably the worst day of Harry's entire life. He, Ron, Fred,
and George sat together in a corner of the Gryffindor common room,
unable to say anything to each other. Percy wasn't there. He had gone
to send an owl to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, then shut himself up in his
dormitory.

No afternoon ever lasted as long as that one, nor had Gryffindor
Tower ever been so crowded, yet so quiet. Near sunset, Fred and
George went up to bed, unable to sit there any longer.

"She knew something, Harry," said Ron, speaking for the first time
since they had entered the wardrobe in the staff room. "That's why
she was taken. It wasn't some stupid thing about Percy at all., She'd
found out something about the Chamber of Secrets. That must be why
she was -" Ron rubbed his eyes frantically. "I mean, she was a pure-
blood. There can't be any other reason."

Harry could see the sun sinking, blood-red, below the skyline. This was
the worst he had ever felt. If only there was something they could do.
Anything.

"Harry" said Ron. "D'you think there's any chance at all she's not - you
know ="

Harry didn't know what to say. He couldn't see how Ginny could still
be alive.

"D'you know what?" said Ron. "I think we should go and see

*295*

Lockhart. Tell him what we know. He's going to try and get into the
Chamber. We can tell him where we think it is, and tell him it's a
basilisk in there."

Because Harry couldn't think of anything else to do, and because he
wanted to be doing something, he agreed. The Gryffindors around
them were so miserable, and felt so sorry for the Weasleys, that
nobody tried to stop them as they got up, crossed the room, and left
through the portrait hole.

Darkness was falling as they walked down to Lockhart's office.
There seemed to be a lot of activity going on inside it. They could hear
scraping, thumps, and hurried footsteps.

Harry knocked and there was a sudden silence from inside. Then the
door opened the tiniest crack and they saw one of Lockhart's eyes
peering through it.

"Oh - Mr. Potter - Mr. Weasley -" he said, opening the door a bit
wider. "I'm rather busy at the moment - if you would be quick -"

"Professor, we've got some information for you," said Harry. "We
think it'll help you."

"Er - well - it's not terribly -" The side of Lockhart's face that they
could see looked very uncomfortable. "I mean - well all right -"

He opened the door and they entered.

His office had been almost completely stripped. Two large trunks
stood open on the floor. Robes, jade-green, lilac, midnightblue, had
been hastily folded into one of them; books were jumbled untidily into
the other. The photographs that had covered the walls were now
crammed into boxes on the desk.

*296*

"Are you going somewhere?" said Harry.

"Er, well, yes," said Lockhart, ripping a life-size poster of himself from
the back of the door as he spoke and starting to roll it up. "Urgent call -
unavoidable - got to go -"

"What about my sister?" said Ron jerkily.

"Well, as to that - most unfortunate -" said Lockhart, avoiding their
eyes as he wrenched open a drawer and started emptying the contents
into a bag. "No one regrets more than I -"

"You're the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!" said Harry.
"You can't go now! Not with all the Dark stuff going on here!"

"Well - I must say - when I took the job -" Lockhart muttered, now
piling socks on top of his robes. "nothing in the job description - didn't
expect -"

"You mean you're running away?" said Harry disbelievingly. "After all
that stuff you did in your books -"

"Books can be misleading," said Lockhart delicately.

"You wrote them!" Harry shouted.

"My dear boy," said Lockhart, straightening up and frowning at Harry.
"Do use your common sense. My books wouldn't have sold half as
well if people didn't think Id done all those things. No one wants to
read about some ugly old Armenian warlock, even if he did save a
village from werewolves. He'd look dreadful on the front cover. No
dress sense at all. And the witch who banished the Bandon Banshee
had a harelip. I mean, come on -"

"So you've just been taking credit for what a load of other people have
done?" said Harry incredulously.

"Harry, Harry," said Lockhart, shaking his head impatiently, "it's not
nearly as simple as that. There was work involved. I had

*297*

to track these people down. Ask them exactly how they managed to
do what they did. Then I had to put a Memory Charm on them so they
wouldn't remember doing it. If there's one thing I pride myself on, it's
my Memory Charms. No, it's been a lot of work, Harry. It's not all
book signings and publicity photos, you know. You want fame, you
have to be prepared for a long hard slog."

He banged the lids of his trunks shut and locked them.

"Let's see," he said. "I think that's everything. Yes. Only one thing
left."

He pulled out his wand and turned to them.

"Awfully sorry, boys, but I'll have to put a Memory Charm on you
now. Can't have you blabbing my secrets all over the place. Id never
sell another book -"

Harry reached his wand just in time. Lockhart had barely raised his,
when Harry bellowed, "Expelliarmus!"

Lockhart was blasted backward, falling over his trunk; his wand flew
high into the air; Ron caught it, and flung it out of the open window.

"Shouldn't have let Professor Snape teach us that one," said Harry
furiously, kicking Lockhart's trunk aside. Lockhart was looking up at
him, feeble once more. Harry was still pointing his wand at him.

"What d'you want me to do?" said Lockhart weakly. "I don't know
where the Chamber of Secrets is. There's nothing I can do."

"You're in luck," said Harry, forcing Lockhart to his feet at wandpoint.
"We think we know where it is. And what's inside it. Let's go."

*298*

They marched Lockhart out of his office and down the nearest stairs,
along the dark corridor where the messages shone on the wall, to the
door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

They sent Lockhart in first. Harry was pleased to see that he was
shaking.

Moaning Myrtle was sitting on the tank of the end toilet.

"Oh, it's you," she said when she saw Harry. "What do you want this
time?"

"To ask you how you died," said Harry.

Myrtle's whole aspect changed at once. She looked as though she had
never been asked such a flattering question.

"Ooooh, it was dreadful," she said with relish. "It happened right in
here. I died in this very stall. I remember it so well. Id hidden because
Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked,
and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said
something funny. A different language, I think it must have been.
Anyway, what really got me was that it was a boy speaking. So I
unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then -"
Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining. "I died."

"How?" said Harry.

"No idea," said Myrtle in hushed tones. "I just remember seeing a pair
of great, big, yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I
was floating away . . . ." She looked dreamily at Harry. "And then I
came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see.
Oh, she was sorry she'd ever laughed at my glasses."

"Where exactly did you see the eyes?" said Harry.

*299*

"Somewhere there," said Myrtle, pointing vaguely toward the sink in
front of her toilet.

Harry and Ron hurried over to it. Lockhart was standing well back, a
look of utter terror on his face.

It looked like an ordinary sink. They examined every inch of it, inside
and out, including the pipes below. And then Harry saw it: Scratched
on the side of one of the copper taps was a tiny snake.

"That tap's never worked," said Myrtle brightly as he tried to turn it.

"Harry," said Ron. "Say something. Something in Parseltongue."

"But -" Harry thought hard. The only times he'd ever managed to
speak Parseltongue were when he'd been faced with a real snake. He
stared hard at the tiny- engraving, trying to imagine it was real.

"Open up," he said.

He looked at Ron, who shook his head.

"English," he said.

Harry looked back at the snake, willing himself to believe it was alive.
If he moved his head, the candlelight made it look as though it were
moving.

"Open up," he said.

Except that the words weren't what he heard; a strange hissing had
escaped him, and at once the tap glowed with a brilliant white light and
began to spin. Next second, the sink began to move; the sink, in fact,
sank, right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide
enough for a man to slide into.

Harry heard Ron gasp and looked up again. He had made up his mind
what he was going to do.

*300*

"I'm going down there," he said. .

He couldn't not go, not now they had found the entrance to the
Chamber, not if there was even the faintest, slimmest, wildest chance
that Ginny might be alive.

"Me too," said Ron.

There was a pause.

"Well, you hardly seem to need me," said Lockhart, with a shadow
of his old smile. "I'll just -"

He put his hand on the door knob, but Ron and Harry both pointed
their wands at him.

"You can go first," Ron snarled.

White-faced and wandless, Lockhart approached the opening.

"Boys," he said, his voice feeble. "Boys, what good will it do?"

Harry jabbed him in the back with his wand. Lockhart slid his legs
into the pipe.

"I really don't think -" he started to say, but Ron gave him a push,
and he slid out of sight. Harry followed quickly. He lowered himself
slowly into the pipe, then let go.

It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. He could see
more pipes branching off in all directions, but none as large as theirs,
which twisted and turned, sloping steeply downward, and he knew
that he was falling deeper below the school than even the dungeons.
Behind him he could hear Ron, thudding slightly at the curves.

And then, just as he had begun to worry about what would happen
when he hit the ground, the pipe leveled out, and he shot out of the
end with a wet thud, landing on the damp floor of a dark stone tunnel
large enough to stand in. Lockhart was getting to his

*301

feet a little ways away, covered in slime and white as a ghost. Harry
stood aside as Ron came whizzing out of the pipe, too.

"We must be miles under the school," said Harry, his voice echoing in
the black tunnel.

"Under the lake, probably," said Ron, squinting around at the dark,
slimy walls.

All three of them turned to stare into the darkness ahead.

"Lumos!" Harry muttered to his wand and it lit again. "C'mon," he
said to Ron and Lockhart, and off they went, their footsteps slapping
loudly on the wet floor.

The tunnel was so dark that they could only see a little distance ahead.
Their shadows on the wet walls looked monstrous in the wandlight.

"Remember," Harry said quietly as they walked cautiously forward,
"any sign of movement, close your eyes right away . .....

But the tunnel was quiet as the grave, and the first unexpected sound
they heard was a loud crunch as Ron stepped on what turned out to be
a rat's skull. Harry lowered his wand to look at the floor and saw that
it was littered with small animal bones. Trying very hard not to
imagine what Ginny might look like if they found her, Harry led the
way forward, around a dark bend in the tunnel.

"Harry - there's something up there -" said Ron hoarsely, grabbing
Harry's shoulder.

They froze, watching. Harry could just see the outline of something
huge and curved, lying right across the tunnel. It wasn't moving.

"Maybe it's asleep," he breathed, glancing back at the other two.
Lockhart's hands were pressed over his eyes. Harry turned back to
look at the thing, his heart beating so fast it hurt.

* 302 *

Very slowly, his eyes as narrow as he could make them and still see,
Harry edged forward, his wand held high.

The light slid over a gigantic snake skin, of a vivid, poisonous green,
lying curled and empty across the tunnel floor. The creature that had
shed it must have been twenty feet long at least.

"Blimey," said Ron weakly.

There was a sudden movement behind them. Gilderoy Lockhart's
knees had given way.

"Get up," said Ron sharply, pointing his wand at Lockhart.

Lockhart got to his feet - then he dived at Ron, knocking him to the
ground.

Harry jumped forward, but too late - Lockhart was straightening up,
panting, Ron's wand in his hand and a gleaming smile back on his
face.

"The adventure ends here, boys!" he said. "I shall take a bit of this
skin back up to the school, tell them I was too late to save the girl,
and that you two tragically lost your minds at the sight of her
mangled body - say good-bye to your memories!"

He raised Ron's Spellotaped wand high over his head and yelled,
"Obliviate!"

The wand exploded with the force of a small bomb. Harry flung his
arms over his head and ran, slipping over the coils of snake skin, out
of the way of great chunks of tunnel ceiling that were thundering to
the floor. Next moment, he was standing alone, gazing at a solid wall
of broken rock.

"Ron!" he shouted. "Are you okay? Ron!"

"I'm here!" came Ron's muffled voice from behind the rockfall. "I'm
okay - this git's not, though - he got blasted by the wand ='

*303*

There was a dull thud and a loud "ow!" It sounded as though Ron had
just kicked Lockhart in the shins.

"What now?" Ron's voice said, sounding desperate. "We can't get
through - it'll take ages ......

Harry looked up at the tunnel ceiling. Huge cracks had appeared in it.
He had never tried to break apart anything as large as these rocks by
magic, and now didn't seem a good moment to try - what if the whole
tunnel caved in?

There was another thud and another "ow!" from behind the rocks.
They were wasting time. Ginny had already been in the Chamber of
Secrets for hours .... Harry knew there was only one thing to do.

"Wait there," he called to Ron. "Wait with Lockhart. I'll go on.... If I'm
not back in an hour. . .

There was a very pregnant pause,

"I'll try and shift some of this rock," said Ron, who seemed to be trying
to keep his voice steady. "So you can - can get back through. And,
Harry -"

"See you in a bit," said Harry, trying to inject some confidence into his
shaking voice.

And he set off alone past the giant snake skin.

Soon the distant noise of Ron straining to shift the rocks was gone.
The tunnel turned and turned again. Every nerve in Harry's body was
tingling unpleasantly. He wanted the tunnel to end, yet dreaded what
he'd find when it did. And then, at last, as he crept around yet another
bend, he saw a solid wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were
carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds.

*304*

Harry approached, his throat very dry. There was no need to pretend
these stone snakes were real; their eyes looked strangely alive.

He could guess what he had to do. He cleared his throat, and the
emerald eyes seemed to flicker.

"Open, "said Harry, in a low, faint hiss.

The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves slid smoothly
out of sight, and Harry, shaking from head to foot, walked inside.

e was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering
stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a
ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd,
greenish gloom that filled the place.

His heart beating very fast, Harry stood listening to the chill silence.
Could the basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner, behind a pillar? And
where was Ginny?

He pulled out his wand and moved forward between the serpentine
columns. Every careful footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls.
He kept his eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest
sign of movement. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes
seemed to be following him. More than once, with a jolt of the
stomach, he thought he saw one stir.

Then, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the
Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall.

*306*



Harry had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above: It
was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to
the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two
enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between
the feet, facedown, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming-red
hair.

"tinny!" Harry muttered, sprinting to her and dropping to his knees.
"tinny - don't be dead - please don't be dead -" He flung his wand
aside, grabbed Ginny's shoulders, and turned her over. Her face was
white as marble, and as cold, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn't
Petrified. But then she must be

"Ginny, please wake up," Harry muttered desperately, shaking her.
Ginny's head lolled hopelessly from side to side.

"She won't wake," said a soft voice.

Harry jumped and spun around on his knees.

A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar,
watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though
Harry were looking at him through a misted window. But there was
no mistaking him

"Tom - Tom Riddle?"

Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry's face.

"What d'you mean, she won't wake?" Harry said desperately. "She's
not - she's not -?"

"She's still alive," said Riddle. "But only just."

Harry stared at him. Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years
ago, yet here he stood, a weird, misty light shining about him, not a day
older than sixteen.

"Are you a ghost?" Harry said uncertainly.

* 30 7*

"A memory," said Riddle quietly. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years.

He pointed toward the floor near the statue's giant toes. Lying open
there was the little black diary Harry had found in Moaning Myrtle's
bathroom. For a second, Harry wondered how it had got there - but
there were more pressing matters to deal with.

"You've got to help me, Tom," Harry said, raising Ginny's head again.
"We've got to get her out of here. There's a basilisk ... I don't know
where it is, but it could be along any moment .... Please, help me -1)

Riddle didn't move. Harry, sweating, managed to hoist Ginny half off
the floor, and bent to pick up his wand again.

But his wand had gone.

"Did you see -?"

He looked up. Riddle was still watching him - twirling Harry's wand
between his long fingers.

"Thanks," said Harry, stretching out his hand for it.

A smile curled the corners of Riddle's mouth. He continued to stare at
Harry, twirling the wand idly.

"Listen," said Harry urgently, his knees sagging with Ginny's dead
weight. "We've got to go! If the basilisk comes -"

"It won't come until it is called," said Riddle calmly.

Harry lowered Ginny back onto the floor, unable to hold her up any
longer.

"What d'you mean?" he said. "Look, give me my wand, I might need it
-"

Riddle's smile broadened.

"You won't be needing it," he said.

*%08*

Harry stared at him.

"What d'you mean, I won't be -?"

"I've waited a long time for this, Harry Potter," said Riddle. "For the
chance to see you. To speak to you."

"Look," said Harry, losing patience, "I don't think you get it. We're in
the Chamber of Secrets. We can talk later -"

"We're going to talk now," said Riddle, still smiling broadly, and he
pocketed Harry's wand.

Harry stared at him. There was something very funny going on here
....

"How did Ginny get like this?" he asked slowly.

"Well, that's an interesting question," said Riddle pleasantly. "And quite
a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley's like this is
because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible
stranger."

"What are you talking about?" said Harry.

"The diary," said Riddle. `My diary. Little Ginny's been writing in it for
months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes - how
her brothers tease her, how she had to come to school with
secondhand robes and books, how" -Riddle's eyes glinted "how she
didn't think famous, good, great Harry Potter would ever like her . . . ."

All the time he spoke, Riddle's eyes never left Harry's face. There
was an almost hungry look in them.

"It's very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-
year-old girl," he went on. "But I was patient. I wrote back. I was
sympathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply loved me. No one's ever
understood me like you, Tom .... I'm so glad I've got this diary to

*309*

confide in .... It's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket . . . .

Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn't suit him. It made the hairs
stand up on the back of Harry's neck.

"If I say it myself, Harry, I've always been able to charm the people I
needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to
be exactly what I wanted .... I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of
her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more
powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding
Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul
back into her. . ."

"What d'you mean?" said Harry, whose mouth had gone very dry.

" Haven't you guessed yet, Harry Potter?" said Riddle softly. "Ginny
Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school
roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the
Serpent of Slytherin on four Mudbloods, and the Squib's cat.

"No," Harry whispered.

"Yes," said Riddle, calmly. "Of course, she didn't know what she was
doing at first. It was very amusing. I wish you could have seen her
new diary entries ... far more interesting, they became .... Dear Tom,"
he recited, watching Harry's horrified face, `I think I'm losing my
memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and 1 don't know how
they got there. Dear Tom, l can't remember what 1 did on the night of
Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I've got paint all down my front.
Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I'm pale and I'm not myself. I think he
suspects me... There was another attack today

*310

and I don't know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think I'm
going mad... I think I'm the one attacking everyone, Tom!"

Harry's fists were clenched, the nails digging deep into his Palms.

"it took a very long time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting her
diary," said Riddle. "But she finally became suspicious and tried to
dispose of it. And that's where you came in, Harry. You found it, and I
couldn't have been more delighted. Of all the people who could have
picked it up, it was you, the very person I was most anxious to meet . .
. ."

"And why did you want to meet me?" said Harry. Anger was coursing
through him, and it was an effort to keep his voice steady.

"Well, you see, Ginny told me all about you, Harry," said Riddle. "Your
whole fascinating history. " His eyes roved over the lightning scar on
Harry's forehead, and their expression grew hungrier. "I knew I must
find out more about you, talk to you, meet you if I could. So I decided
to show you my famous capture of that great oaf, Hagrid, to gain your
trust -"

"Hagrid's my friend," said Harry, his voice now shaking. "And you
framed him, didn't you? I thought you made a mistake, but -"

Riddle laughed his high laugh again.

"It was my word against Hagrid's, Harry. Well, you can imagine how
it looked to old Armando Dippet. On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor
but brilliant, parentless but so brave, school prefect, model student ...
on the other hand, big, blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week,
trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking off to the
Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls ... but I

* 31:L *

admit, even I was surprised how well the plan worked. I thought
someone must realize that Hagrid couldn't possibly be the Heir of
Slytherin. It had taken me five whole years to find out everything I
could about the Chamber of Secrets and discover the secret entrance
... as though Hagrid had the brains, or the power!

"Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, seemed to think
Hagrid was innocent. He persuaded Dipper to keep Hagrid and train
him as gamekeeper. Yes, I think Dumbledore might have guessed ....
Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers
did ......

"I bet Dumbledore saw right through you," said Harry, his teeth gritted.

"Well, he certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me after Hagrid
was expelled," said Riddle carelessly. "I knew it wouldn't be safe to
open the Chamber again while I was still at school. But I wasn't going
to waste those long years Id spent searching for it. I decided to leave
behind a diary, preserving my sixteen-year-old self in its pages, so that
one day, with luck, I would be able to lead another in my footsteps, and
finish Salazar Slytherin's noble work."

"Well, you haven't finished it," said Harry triumphantly. "No one's died
this time, not even the cat. In a few hours the Mandrake Draught will
be ready and everyone who was Petrified will be all right again -"

"Haven't I already told you," said Riddle quietly, "that killing Mudbloods
doesn't matter to me anymore? For many months now, my new target
has been -you."

Harry stared at him.

"Imagine how angry I was when the next time my diary was

*312*

opened, it was Ginny who was writing to me, not you. She saw you
with the diary, you see, and panicked. "What if you found out how to
work it, and I repeated all her secrets to you? What if, even worse, I
told you who'd been strangling roosters? So the foolish little brat waited
until your dormitory was deserted and stole it back. But I knew what I
must do. It was clear to me that you were on the trail of Slytherin's
heir. From everything Ginny had told me about you, I knew you would
go to any lengths to solve the mystery --

particularly if one of your best friends was attacked. And Ginny had
told me the whole school was buzzing because you could speak
Parseltongue ....

"So I made Ginny write her own farewell on the wall and come down
here to wait. She struggled and cried and became very boring. But
there isn't much life left in her .... She put too much into the diary, into
me. Enough to let me leave its pages at last .... I have been waiting for
you to appear since we arrived here. I knew you'd come. I have many
questions for you, Harry Potter."

"Like what?" Harry spat, fists still clenched.

"Well," said Riddle, smiling pleasantly, "how is it that you a skinny boy
with no extraordinary magical talent - managed to defeat the greatest
wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while
Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"

There was an odd red gleam in his hungry eyes now.

"Why do you care how I escaped?" said Harry slowly. "Voldemort was
after your time ......

"Voldemort," said Riddle softly, "is my past, present, and future, Harry
Potter . . . ."

He pulled Harry's wand from his pocket and began to trace it
through the air, writing three shimmering words:

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name
rearranged themselves:

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

"You see?" he whispered. "It was a name I was already using at
Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course. You think I
was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name forever? I, in whose
veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my
mother's side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who
abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his
wife was a witch? No, Harry - I fashioned myself a new name, a
name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak,
when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!"

Harry's brain seemed to have jammed. He stared numbly at Riddle,
at the orphaned boy who had grown up to murder Harry's own
parents, and so many others .... At last he forced himself to -,peak.

"You're not," he said, his quiet voice full of hatred.

"Not what?" snapped Riddle.

"Not the greatest sorcerer in the world," said Harry, breathing fast.
"Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the
world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were
strong, you didn't dare try and take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore
saw through you when you were at school and he still frightens you
now, wherever you're hiding these days -"

The smile had gone from Riddle's face, to be replaced by a very ugly
look.

*31-4*

"Dumbledore's been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of
me!" he hissed.

"He's not as gone as you might think!" Harry retorted. He was
speaking at random, wanting to scare Riddle, wishing rather than
believing it to be true

Riddle opened his mouth, but froze.

Music was coming from somewhere. Riddle whirled around to stare
down the empty Chamber. The music was growing louder. It was
eerie, spine-tingling, unearthly; it lifted the hair on Harry's scalp and
made his heart feel as though it was swelling to twice its normal size.
Then, as the music reached such a pitch that Harry felt it vibrating
inside his own ribs, flames erupted at the top of the nearest pillar.

A crimson bird the size of a swan had appeared, piping its weird music
to the vaulted ceiling. It had a glittering golden tail as long as a
peacock's and gleaming golden talons, which were gripping a ragged
bundle.

A second later, the bird was flying straight at Harry. It dropped the
ragged thing it was carrying at his feet, then landed heavily on his
shoulder. As it folded its great wings, Harry looked up and saw it had a
long, sharp golden beak and a beady black eye.

The bird stopped singing. It sat still and warm next to Harry's cheek,
gazing steadily at Riddle.

	"That's a phoenix 	said Riddle, staring shrewdly back at it.

	"Fawkes?" Harry breathed, and he felt the bird's golden claws
squeeze his shoulder gently

"And that -" said Riddle, now eyeing the ragged thing that Fawkes had
dropped, "that's the old school Sorting Hat -"

So it was. Patched, frayed, and dirty, the hat lay motionless at Harry's
feet.

Riddle began to laugh again. He laughed so hard that the dark
chamber rang with it, as though ten Riddles were laughing at once

"This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old
hat! Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now?"

Harry didn't answer. He might not see what use Fawkes or the
Sorting Hat were, but he was no longer alone, and he waited for
Riddle to stop laughing with his courage mounting.

"To business, Harry," said Riddle, still smiling broadly. "Twice - in your
past, in my future - we have met. And twice I failed to kill you. How
did you survive? Tell me everything. The longer you talk," he added
softly, "the longer you stay alive."

Harry was thinking fast, weighing his chances. Riddle had the wand.
He, Harry, had Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, neither of which would
be much good in a duel. It looked bad, all right ... but the longer Riddle
stood there, the more life was dwindling out of Ginny ... and in the
meantime, Harry noticed suddenly, Riddle's outline was becoming
clearer, more solid .... If it had to be a fight between him and Riddle,
better sooner than later.

"No one knows why you lost your powers when you attacked me,"
said Harry abruptly. "I don't know myself But I know why you
couldn't kill me. Because my mother died to save me. My common
Muggle-born mother," he added, shaking with suppressed rage. "She
stopped you killing me. And I've seen the real you, I saw you last
year. You're a wreck. You're barely alive. That's where all your
power got you. You're in hiding. You're ugly, you're foul -"

*%16*

Riddle's face contorted. Then he forced it into an awful smile. "So.
Your mother died to save you. Yes, that's a powerful countercharm. I
can see now ... there is nothing special about you, after all. I
wondered, you see. There are strange likenesses between us, after all.
Even you must have noticed. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by
Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts
since the great Slytherin himself We even look something alike ... but
after all, it was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me. That's
all I wanted to know."

Harry stood, tense, waiting for Riddle to raise his wand. But Riddle's
twisted smile was widening again.

"Now, Harry, I'm going to teach you a little lesson. Let's match the
powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against famous
Harry Potter, and the best weapons Dumbledore can give him . . . ."

He cast an amused eye over Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, then walked
away. Harry, fear spreading up his numb legs, watched Ridthe stop
between the high pillars and look up into the stone face of Slytherin,
high above him in the half-darkness. Riddle opened his mouth wide and
hissed - but Harry understood what he was saying ....

"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four. "

Harry wheeled around to look up at the statue, Fawkes swaying on his
shoulder.

Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving. Horrorstruck, Harry saw
his mouth opening, wider and wider, to make a huge black hole.

	And something was stirring inside the statue's mouth. Something
was slithering up from its depths. 3 1

Harry backed away until he hit the dark Chamber wall, and as he shut
his eyes tight he felt Fawkes' wing sweep his cheek as he took flight.
Harry wanted to shout, "Don't leave me!" but what chance did a
phoenix have against the king of serpents?

Something huge hit the stone floor of the Chamber. Harry felt it
shudder - he knew what was happening, he could sense it, could
almost see the giant serpent uncoiling itself from Slytherin's mouth.
Then he heard Riddle's hissing voice:

"Kill him. "

The basilisk was moving toward Harry; he could hear its heavy body
slithering heavily across the dusty floor. Eyes still tightly shut, Harry
began to run blindly sideways, his hands outstretched, feeling his way -
Voldemort was laughing

Harry tripped. He fell hard onto the stone and tasted blood the serpent
was barely feet from him, he could hear it coming

There was a loud, explosive spitting sound right above him, and then
something heavy hit Harry so hard that he was smashed into the wall.
Waiting for fangs to sink through his body he heard more mad hissing,
something thrashing wildly off the pillars

He couldn't help it - he opened his eyes wide enough to squint at what
was going on.

The enormous serpent, bright, poisonous green, thick as an oak trunk,
had raised itself high in the air and its great blunt head was weaving
drunkenly between the pillars. As Harry trembled, ready to close his
eyes if it turned, he saw what had distracted the snake.

Fawkes was soaring around its head, and the basilisk was snapping
furiously at him with fangs long and thin as sabers

Fawkes dived. His long golden beak sank out of sight and a

*318*

sudden shower of dark blood spattered the floor. The snake's tail
thrashed, narrowly missing Harry, and before Harry could shut his
eyes, it turned - Harry looked straight into its face and saw that its
eyes, both its great, bulbous yellow eyes, had been punctured by the
phoenix; blood was streaming to the floor, and the snake was spitting
in agony.

"NO!" Harry heard Riddle screaming. "LEAVE THE BIRD! LEAVE
THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU. YOU CAN STILL SMELL
HIM. KILL HIMI"

The blinded serpent swayed, confused, still deadly. Fawkes was
circling its head, piping his eerie song, jabbing here and there at its
scaly nose as the blood poured from its ruined eyes.

"Help me, help me," Harry muttered wildly, "someone - anyone

The snake's tail whipped across the floor again. Harry ducked.
Something soft hit his face.

The basilisk had swept the Sorting Hat into Harry's arms. Harry
seized it. It was all he had left, his only chance - he rammed it onto his
head and threw himself flat onto the floor as the basilisk's tail swung
over him again.

Help me - help me - Harry thought, his eyes screwed tight under the hat.
Please help me

There was no answering voice. Instead, the hat contracted, as though
an invisible hand was squeezing it very tightly.

Something very hard and heavy thudded onto the top of Harry's head,
almost knocking him out. Stars winking in front of his eyes, he grabbed
the top of the hat to pull it off and felt something long and hard
beneath it.

3 19

A gleaming silver sword had appeared inside the hat, its handle
glittering with rubies the size of eggs.

"KILL THE BOY! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU.
SNIFF -- SMELL HIM."

Harry was on his feet, ready. The basilisk's head was falling, its body
coiling around, hitting pillars as it twisted to face him. He could see the
vast, bloody eye sockets, see the mouth stretching wide, wide enough
to swallow him whole, lined with fangs long as his sword, thin,
glittering, venomous -

It lunged blindly -- Harry dodged and it hit the Chamber wall. It lunged
again, and its forked tongue lashed Harry's side. He raised the sword
in both his hands -

The basilisk lunged again, and this time its aim was true -- Harry threw
his whole weight behind the sword and drove it to the hilt into the roof
of the serpent's mouth -

But as warm blood drenched Harry's arms, he felt a searing pain just
above his elbow. One long, poisonous fang was sinking deeper and
deeper into his arm and it splintered as the basilisk keeled over
sideways and fell, twitching, to the floor.

Harry slid down the wall. He gripped the fang that was spreading
poison through his body and wrenched it out of his arm. But he knew it
was too late. White-hot pain was spreading slowly and steadily from
the wound. Even as he dropped the fang and watched his own blood
soaking his robes, his vision went foggy. The Chamber was dissolving
in a whirl of dull color.

A patch of scarlet swam past, and Harry heard a soft clatter of claws
beside him.

"Fawkes," said Harry thickly. "You were fantastic, Fawkes . . . ."

1,520

He felt the bird lay its beautiful head on the spot where the serpent's
fang had pierced him.

He could hear echoing footsteps and then a dark shadow moved in
front of him.

"You're dead, Harry Potter," said Riddle's voice above him. "Dead.
Even Dumbledore's bird knows it. Do you see what he's doing, Potter?
He's crying."

Harry blinked. Fawke's head slid in and out of focus. Thick, pearly tears
were trickling down the glossy feathers.

"I'm going to sit here and watch you die, Harry Potter. Take your time.
I'm in no hurry."

Harry felt drowsy. Everything around him seemed to be spinning.

"So ends the famous Harry Potter," said Riddle's distant voice. "Alone
in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by his friends, defeated at last by
the Dark Lord he so unwisely challenged. You'll be back with your dear
Mudblood mother soon, Harry... She bought you twelve years of
borrowed time ... but Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you knew
he must . . . ."

If this is dying, thought Harry, it's not so bad.

Even the pain was leaving him ....

But was this dying? Instead of going black, the Chamber seemed to be
coming back into focus. Harry gave his head a little shake and there was
Fawkes, still resting his head on Harry's arm. A pearly patch of tears was
shining all around the wound -- except that there was no wound

"Get away, bird," said Riddle's voice suddenly. "Get away from him -
I said, get away --"

Harry raised his head. Riddle was pointing Harry's wand at

Fawkes; there was a bang like a gun, and Fawkes took flight again in a
whirl of gold and scarlet.

"Phoenix tears. - ." said Riddle quietly, staring at Harry's arm. "Of
course ... healing powers ... I forgot. . ."

He looked into Harry's face. "But it makes no difference. In fact, I
prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter ... you and me....

He raised the wand

Then, in a rush of wings, Fawkes had soared back overhead and
something fell into Harry's lap -- the diary.

For a split second, both Harry and Riddle, wand still raised, stared at it.
Then, without thinking, without considering, as though he had meant to
do it all along, Harry seized the basilisk fang on the floor next to him
and plunged it straight into the heart of the book.

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the
diary in torrents, streaming over Harry's hands, flooding the floor.
Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing and then

He had gone. Harry's wand fell to the floor with a clatter and there
was silence. Silence except for the steady drip drip of ink still oozing
from the diary. The basilisk venom had burned a sizzling hole right
through it.

Shaking all over, Harry pulled himself up. His head was spinning as
though he'd just traveled miles by Floo powder. Slowly, he gathered
together his wand and the Sorting Hat, and, with a huge tug, retrieved
the glittering sword from the roof of the basilisk's mouth.

Then came a faint moan from the end of the Chamber. Ginny was
stirring. As Harry hurried toward her, she sat up. Her bemused

1,522

eyes traveled from the huge form of the dead basilisk, over Harry, in
his blood-soaked robes, then to the diary in his hand. She drew a great,
shuddering gasp and tears began to pour down her face.

"Harry -- oh, Harry -- I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn't
say it in front of Percy -- it was me, Harry -- but I -- I s-swear I d-
diddt mean to -- R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over -- and - how
did you kill that -- that thing? W-where's Riddle? The last thing I r-
remember is him coming out of the diary --"

" It's all right," said Harry, holding up the diary, and showing Ginny the
fang hole, "Riddle's finished. Look! Him and the basilisk. C'mon,
Ginny, let's get out of here --"

"I'm going to be expelled!" Ginny wept as Harry helped her
awkwardly to her feet. "I've looked forward to coming to Hogwarts
ever since B-Bill came and n-now I'll have to leave and -- w-what'll
Mum and Dad say?"

Fawkes was waiting for them, hovering in the Chamber entrance.
Harry urged Ginny forward; they stepped over the motionless coils of
the dead basilisk, through the echoing gloom, and back into the tunnel.
Harry heard the stone doors close behind them with a soft hiss.

After a few minutes' progress up the dark tunnel, a distant sound of
slowly shifting rock reached Harry's ears.

"Ron!" Harry yelled, speeding up. "Ginny's okay! I've got her!"

He heard Ron give a strangled cheer, and they turned the next bend to
see his eager face staring through the sizable gap he had managed to
make in the rock fall.

"Ginny!" Ron thrust an arm through the gap in the rock to pull

321,3

her through first. "You're alive! I don't believe it! What happened?"
How - what -- where did that bird come from?"

Fawkes had swooped through the gap after Ginny.

"He's Dumbledore's," said Harry, squeezing through himself

"How come you've got a sword?" said Ron, gaping at the glittering
weapon in Harry's hand.

"I'll explain when we get out of here," said Harry with a sideways
glance at Ginny, who was crying harder than ever.

"But --"

"Later," Harry said shortly. He didn't think it was a good idea to tell
Ron yet who'd been opening the Chamber, not in front of Ginny,
anyway. "Where's Lockhart?"

"Back there," said Ron, still looking puzzled but jerking his head up the
tunnel toward the pipe. "He's in a bad way. Come and see."

Led by Fawkes, whose wide scarlet wings emitted a soft golden glow
in the darkness, they walked all the way back to the mouth of the pipe.
Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting there, humming placidly to himself.

"His memory's gone," said Ron. "The Memory Charm backfired. Hit
him instead of us. Hasn't got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who
we are. I told him to come and wait here. He's a danger to himself"

Lockhart peered good-naturedly up at them all.

"Hello," he said. "Odd sort of place, this, isn't it? Do you live here?"

"No," said Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

Harry bent down and looked up the long, dark pipe.

"Have you thought how we're going to get back up this?" he said to
Ron.

*324*

Ron shook his head, but Fawkes the phoenix had swooped past Harry
and was now fluttering in front of him, his beady eyes bright in the
dark. He was waving his long golden tail feathers. Harry looked
uncertainly at him.

"He looks like he wants you to grab hold. . ." said Ron, looking
perplexed. "But you're much too heavy for a bird to pull up there -"

"Fawkes," said Harry, "isn't an ordinary bird." He turned quickly to the
others. "We've got to hold on to each other. Ginny, grab Ron's hand.
Professor Lockhart --"

"He means you," said Ron sharply to Lockhart.

"You hold Ginny's other hand --"

Harry tucked the sword and the Sorting Hat into his belt, Ron took
hold of the back of Harry's robes, and Harry reached out and took
hold of Fawkes's strangely hot tail feathers.

An extraordinary lightness seemed to spread through his whole body
and the next second, in a rush of wings, they were flying upward
through the pipe. Harry could hear Lockhart dangling below him,
saying, "Amazing! Amazing! This is just like magic!" The chill air was
whipping through Harry's hair, and before he'd stopped enjoying the
ride, it was over -- all four of them were hitting the wet floor of
Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and as Lockhart straightened his hat, the
sink that hid the pipe was sliding back into place.

Myrtle goggled at them.

"You're alive," she said blankly to Harry.

"There's no need to sound so disappointed," he said grimly, wiping
flecks of blood and slime off his glasses.

* 325*

"Oh, well ... Id just been thinking ... if you had died, you'd have been
welcome to share my toilet," said Myrtle, blushing silver.

"Urgh!" said Ron as they left the bathroom for the dark, deserted
corridor outside. "Harry! I think Myrtle's grown fond of you! You've
got competition, Ginny!"

But tears were still flooding silently down Ginny's face.

"Where now?" said Ron, with an anxious look at Ginny. Harry pointed.

Fawkes was leading the way, glowing gold along the corridor. They
strode after him, and moments later, found themselves outside
Professor McGonagall's office.

Harry knocked and pushed the door open.

G F-I A P T E IR

k' I G 14 T V V N

DO

Y'$ REWARD

or a moment there was silence as Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Lockhart
stood in the doorway, covered in muck and slime and (in Harry's case)
blood. Then there was a scream.

"Ginny!"

It was Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of the fire.
She leapt to her feet, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, and both of
them flung themselves on their daughter.

Harry, however, was looking past them. Professor Dumbledore was
standing by the mantelpiece, beaming, next to Professor McGonagall,
who was taking great, steadying gasps, clutching her chest. Fawkes
went whooshing past Harry's ear and settled on Dumbledore's
shoulder, just as Harry found himself and Ron being swept into Mrs.
Weasleys tight embrace.

"You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?"

"I think we'd all like to know that," said Professor McGonagall weakly.





Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry, who hesitated for a moment, then
walked over to the desk and laid upon it the Sorting Hat, the
rubyencrusted sword, and what remained of Riddle's diary.

Then he started telling them everything. For nearly a quarter of an
hour he spoke into the rapt silence: He told them about hearing the
disembodied voice, how Hermione had finally realized that he was
hearing a basilisk in the pipes; how he and Ron had followed the
spiders into the forest, that Aragog had told them where the last
victim of the basilisk had died; how he had guessed that Moaning
Myrtle had been the victim, and that the entrance to the Chamber of
Secrets might be in her bathroom ....

"Very well," Professor McGonagall prompted him as he paused, "so
you found out where the entrance was -- breaking a hundred school
rules into pieces along the way, I might add - but how on earth did
you all get out of there alive, Potter?"

So Harry, his voice now growing hoarse from all this talking, told
them about Fawkes's timely arrival and about the Sorting Hat giving
him the sword. But then he faltered. He had so far avoided
mentioning Riddle's diary -- or Ginny. She was standing with her
head against Mrs. Weasley's shoulder, and tears were still coursing
silently down her cheeks. What if they expelled her? Harry thought in
panic. Riddle's diary didn't work anymore .... How could they prove
it had been he who'd made her do it all?

Instinctively, Harry looked at Dumbledore, who smiled faintly, the
firelight glancing off his half-moon spectacles.

"\What interests me most," said Dumbledore gently, "is how Lord
Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is
currently in hiding in the forests of Albania."

*328*

Relief -- warm, sweeping, glorious relief -- swept over Harry. "W-
what's that?" said Mr. Weasley in a stunned voice. "YouKnow-Who?
En-enchant Ginny? But Ginny's not ... Ginny hasn't been ... has she?"

"It was this diary," said Harry quickly, picking it up and showing it to
Dumbledore. "Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen . . . ."

Dumbledore took the diary from Harry and peered keenly down his
long, crooked nose at its burnt and soggy pages.

"Brilliant," he said softly. "Of course, he was probably the most
brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen." He turned around to the
Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered.

"Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom
Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He
disappeared after leaving the school ... traveled far and wide ... sank
so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our
kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that
when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable.
Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever,
handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."

"But, Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley. "What's our Ginny got to do with -
with -- him?"

"His d-diaryl" Ginny sobbed. "I've b-been writing in it, and he's been
w-writing back all year --"

"tinny!" said Mr. Weasley, flabbergasted. "Haven't I taught you
anything. What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can
think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain?  Why didn't
you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like
that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic ='

*329*

"I d-didn't know," sobbed Ginny. "I found it inside one of the books
Mum got me. I th-thought someone had just left it in there and
forgotten about it --"

"Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away,"
Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice. "This has been a terrible
ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards
than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort." He strode over
to the door and opened it. "Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming
mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up," he added,
twinkling kindly down at her. "You will find that Madam Pomfrey is
still awake. She's just giving out Mandrake juice -- I daresay the
basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment."

"So Hermione's okay!" said Ron brightly.

"There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny," said Dumbledore.

Mrs. Weasley led Ginny out, and Mr. Weasley followed, still looking
deeply shaken.

"You know, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully to
Professor McGonagall, "I think all this merits a good feast. Might I ask
you to go and alert the kitchens?"

"Right," said Professor McGonagall crisply, also moving to the door.
"I'll leave you to deal with Potter and Weasley, shall I?"

"Certainly," said Dumbledore.

She left, and Harry and Ron gazed uncertainly at Dumbledore. What
exactly had Professor McGonagall meant, deal with them? Surely -
surely - they weren't about to be punished?

"I seem to remember telling you both that I would have to expel you if
you broke any more school rules, said Dumbledore.

*%30*

Ron opened his mouth in horror.

"Which goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our
words," Dumbledore went on, smiling. "You will both receive Special
Awards for Services to the School and -- let me see - yes, I think two
hundred points apiece for Gryffindor."

Ron went as briglitly pink as Lockhart's valentine flowers and closed
his mouth again.

"But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this
dangerous adventure," Dumbledore added. "Why so modest,
Gilderoy?"

Harry gave a start. He had completely forgotten about Lockhart. He
turned and saw that Lockhart was standing in a corner of the room,
still wearing his vague smile. When Dumbledore addressed him,
Lockhart looked over his shoulder to see who he was talking to.

"Professor Dumbledore," Ron said quickly, "there was an accident
down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Lockhart --"

"Am I a professor?" said Lockhart in mild surprise. "Goodness. I
expect I was hopeless, was I?"

"He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired," Ron
explained quietly to Dumbledore.

"Dear me," said Dumbledore, shaking his head, his long silver
mustache quivering. "Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!"

"Sword?" said Lockhart dimly. "Haven't got a sword. That boy has,
though." He pointed at Harry. "He'll lend you one."

"Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary, too?"
Dumbledore said to Ron. "Id like a few more words with Harry .....

Lockhart ambled out. Ron cast a curious look back at Dumbledore and
Harry as he closed the door.

Dumbledore crossed to one of the chairs by the fire.

"Sit down, Harry," he said, and Harry sat, feeling unaccountably
nervous.

"First of all, Harry, I want to thank you," said Dumbledore, eyes
twinkling again. "You must have shown me real loyalty down in the
Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you."

He stroked the phoenix, which had fluttered down onto his knee.
Harry grinned awkwardly as Dumbledore watched him.

"And so you met Tom Riddle," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "I
imagine he was most interested in you . . . . "

Suddenly, something that was nagging at Harry came tumbling out of
his mouth.

"Professor Dumbledore ... Riddle said I'm like him. Strange likenesses,
he said ......

"Did he, now?" said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully at Harry from
under his thick silver eyebrows. "And what do you think, Harry?"

"I don't think I'm like him!" said Harry, more loudly than he'd intended.
"I mean, I'm -- I'm in Gryffindor, I'm . . ."

But he fell silent, a lurking doubt resurfacing in his mind.

"Professor," he started again after a moment. "The Sorting Hat told me
Id -- Id have done well in Slytherin. Everyone thought I was Slytherin's
heir for a while ... because I can speak Parseltongue ....

"You can speak Parseltongue, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly,
"because Lord Voldemort -- who is the last remaining ancestor

*$32*

of Salazar Slytherin -- can speak Parseltongue. Unless I'm much
mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he
gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I'm sure ....

"Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?" Harry said, thunderstruck.

"It certainly seems so."

"So I should be in Slytherin," Harry said, looking desperately into
Dumbledore's face. "The Sorting Hat could see Slytherin's power in
me, and it --"

"Put you in Gryffindor," said Dumbledore calmly. "Listen to me, Harry.
You happen to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-
picked students. His own very rare gift, Parseltongue -
resourcefulness - determination -- a certain disregard for rules," he
added, his mustache quivering again. "Yet the Sorting Hat placed you
in Gryffindor. You know why that was. Think."

"It only put me in Gryffindor," said Harry in a defeated voice, "because
I asked not to go in Slytherin . . . ."

`Exactly, "said Dumbledore, beaming once more. "Which makes you
very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what
we truly are, far more than our abilities." Harry sat motionless in his
chair, stunned. "If you want proof, Harry, that you belong in
Gryffindor, I suggest you look more closely at this."

Dumbledore reached across to Professor McGonagall's desk, picked
up the blood-stained silver sword, and handed it to Harry. Dully, Harry
turned it over, the rubies blazing in the firelight. And then he saw the
name engraved just below the hilt.

Godric Gryffindor

*333*

"Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat, Harry,"
said Dumbledore simply.

For a minute, neither of them spoke. Then Dumbledore pulled open
one of the drawers in Professor McGonagall's desk and took out a quill
and a bottle of ink.

What you need, Harry, is some food and sleep. I suggest you go down
to the feast, while I write to Azkaban -- we need our gamekeeper
back. And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too," he
added thoughtfully. "We'll be needing a new Defense Against the
Dark Arts teacher... Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don't
we?"

Harry got up and crossed to the door. He had just reached for the
handle, however, when the door burst open so violently that it bounced
back off the wall.

Lucius Malfoy stood there, fury in his face. And cowering behind his
legs, heavily wrapped in bandages, was Dobby.

"Good evening, Lucius," said Dumbledore pleasantly.

Mr. Malfoy almost knocked Harry over as he swept into the room.
Dobby went scurrying in after him, crouching at the hem of his cloak,
a look of abject terror on his face.

The elf was carrying a stained rag with which he was attempting to
finish cleaning Mr. Malfoys shoes. Apparently Mr. Malfoy had set out
in a great hurry, for not only were his shoes half-polished, but his
usually sleek hair was disheveled. Ignoring the elf bobbing
apologetically around his ankles, he fixed his cold eyes upon
Dumbledore.

"So!" he said "You've come back. The governors suspended you, but
you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts."

*%$4*

"Well, you see, Lucius," said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, "the
other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something like
being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They'd heard that
Arthur Weasleys daughter had been killed and wanted me back here
at once. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after
all. Very strange tales they told me, too .... Several of them seemed
to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn't
agree to suspend me in the first place."

Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of
fury.

"So -- have you stopped the attacks yet?" he sneered. "Have you
caught the culprit?"

"We have," said Dumbledore, with a smile.

"Well?"said Mr. Malfoy sharply. "Who is it?"

"The same person as last time, Lucius," said Dumbledore. "But this
time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means
of this diary."

He held up the small black book with the large hole through the
center, watching Mr. Malfoy closely. Harry, however, was watching
Dobby.

The elf was doing something very odd. His great eyes fixed
meaningfully on Harry, he kept pointing at the diary, then at Mr.
Malfoy, and then hitting himself hard on the head with his fist.

"I see. . . " said Mr. Malfoy slowly to Dumbledore.

"A clever plan," said Dumbledore in a level voice, still staring Mr.
Malfoy straight in the eye. "Because if Harry here" --Mr. Malfoy shot
Harry a swift, sharp look -- "and his friend Ron hadn't discovered
this book, why -- Ginny Weasley might have taken all

*335*

the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she hadn't
acted of her own free will ......

Mr. Malfoy said nothing. His face was suddenly masklike.

"And imagine," Dumbledore went on, "what might have happened
then .... The Weasleys are one of our most prominent pure-blood
families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his Muggle
Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and -
killing Muggle-borns .... Very fortunate the diary was discovered,
and Riddle's memories wiped from it. "Who knows what the
consequences might have been otherwise ......

Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak.

"Very fortunate," he said stiffly.

And still, behind his back, Dobby was pointing, first to the diary,
then to Lucius Malfoy, then punching himself in the head.

And Harry suddenly understood. He nodded at Dobby, and Dobby
backed into a corner, now twisting his ears in punishment.

"Don't you want to know how Ginny got hold of that diary, Mr.
Malfoy?" said Harry.

Lucius Malfoy rounded on him.

"How should I know how the stupid little girl got hold of it?" he said.

"Because you gave it to her," said Harry. "In Flourish and Blotts.
You picked up her old Transfiguration book and slipped the diary
inside it, didn't you?"

He saw Mr. Malfoy's white hands clench and unclench.

"Prove it," he hissed.

"Oh, no one will be able to do that," said Dumbledore, smiling at
Harry. "Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On

*336*

the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any
more of Lord Voldemort's old school things. If any more of them find
their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will
make sure they are traced back to you ......

Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Harry distinctly saw his right
hand twitch as though he was longing to reach for his wand. Instead,
he turned to his house-elf

"We're going, Dobby!"

He wrenched open the door and as the elf came hurrying up to him,
he kicked him right through it. They could hear Dobby squealing with
pain all the way along the corridor. Harry stood for a moment,
thinking hard. Then it came to him -

"Professor Dumbledore," he said hurriedly. "Can I give that diary
back to Mr. Malfoy, please?"

"Certainly, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly. "But hurry. The feast,
remember ......

Harry grabbed the diary and dashed out of the office. He could hear
Dobby's squeals of pain receding around the corner. Quickly,
wondering if this plan could possibly work, Harry took off one of his
shoes, pulled off his slimy, filthy sock, and stuffed the diary into it.
Then he ran down the dark corridor.

He caught up with them at the top of the stairs.

"Mr. Malfoy," he gasped, skidding to a halt, "I've got something for
you --"

And he forced the smelly sock into Lucius Malfoy's hand.

")What the --?"

Mr. Malfoy ripped the sock off the diary, threw it aside, then looked
furiously from the ruined book to Harry.

*',531*

You'll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days,
Harry Potter," he said softly. "They were meddlesome fools, too.

He turned to go.

"Come, Dobby. I said, come."

But Dobby didn't move. He was holding up Harry's disgusting, slimy
sock, and looking at it as though it were a priceless treasure.

"Master has given a sock," said the elf in wonderment. "Master gave
it to Dobby."

"What's that?" spat Mr. Malfoy. "What did you say?"

"Got a sock," said Dobby in disbelief. "Master threw it, and Dobby
caught it, and Dobby -- Dobby is free. "

Lucius Malfoy stood frozen, staring at the elf Then he lunged at
Harry.

"You've lost me my servant, boy!"

But Dobby shouted, "You shall not harm Harry Potter!"

There was a loud bang, and Mr. Malfoy was thrown backward. He
crashed down the stairs, three at a time, landing in a crumpled heap
on the landing below. He got up, his face livid, and pulled out his
wand, but Dobby raised a long, threatening finger.

"You shall go now," he said fiercely, pointing down at Mr. Malfoy.
"You shall not touch Harry Potter. You shall go now."

Lucius Malfoy had no choice. With a last, incensed stare at the pair
of them, he swung his cloak around him and hurried out of sight.

"Harry Potter freed Dobby!" said the elf shrilly, gazing up at Harry,
moonlight from the nearest window reflected in his orb-like eyes.
"Harry Potter set Dobby free!"

"Least I could do, Dobby," said Harry, grinning. "Just promise never
to try and save my life again."

The elf's ugly brown face split suddenly into a wide, toothy smile.

"I've just got one question, Dobby," said Harry as Dobby pulled on
Harry's sock with shaking hands. "You told me all this had nothing to
do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, remember? Well --"

"It was a clue, sir," said Dobby, his eyes widening, as though this was
obvious. "Was giving you a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed
his name, could be freely named, you see?"

"Right," said Harry weakly. "Well, Id better go. There's a feast, and
my friend Hermione should be awake by now .....

Dobby threw his arms around Harry's middle and hugged him.

"Harry Potter is greater by far than Dobby knew!" he sobbed.
"Farewell, Harry Potter!"

And with a final loud crack, Dobby disappeared.

Harry had been to several Hogwarts feasts, but never one quite like
this. Everybody was in their pajamas, and the celebration lasted all
night. Harry didn't know whether the best bit was Hermione running
toward him, screaming "You solved it! You solved it!" or Justin
hurrying over from the Hufflepuff table to wring. his hand and
apologize endlessly for suspecting him, or Hagrid turning up at half
past three, cuffing Harry and Ron so hard on the shoulders that they
were knocked into their plates of trifle, or his and Ron's four hundred
points for Gryffindor securing the House Cup for the second year
running, or Professor McGonagall standing up to

*339*

tell them all that the exams had been canceled as a school treat ("Oh,
no!" said Hermione), or Dumbledore announcing that, unfortunately,
Professor Lockhart would be unable to return next year, owing to the
fact that he needed to go away and get his memory back. Quite a few
of the teachers joined in the cheering that greeted this news.

"Shame," said Ron, helping himself to a jam doughnut. "He was
starting to grow on me."

The rest of the final term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine.
Hogwarts was back to normal with only a few, small differences -
Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were canceled ("but we've
had plenty of practice at that anyway," Ron told a disgruntled
Hermione) and Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor.
Draco was no longer strutting around the school as though he owned
the place. On the contrary, he looked resentful and sulky. On the other
hand, Ginny Weasley was perfectly happy again.

Too soon, it was time for the journey home on the Hogwarts Express.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny got a compartment to
themselves. They made the most of the last few hours in which they
were allowed to do magic before the holidays. They played Exploding
Snap, set off the very last of Fred and George's Filibuster fireworks,
and practiced disarming each other by magic. Harry was getting very
good at it.

They were almost at King's Cross when Harry remembered
something.

"Ginny - what did you see Percy doing, that he didn't want you to tell
anyone?"

*340*

"Oh, that," said Ginny, giggling. "Well - Percy's got a girlfriend." Fred
dropped a stack of books on George's head.

"What?"

"It's that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater," said Ginny.
"That's who he was writing to all last summer. He's been meeting her
all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing in an empty
classroom one day. He was so upset when she was -- you know -
attacked. You won't tease him, will you?" she added anxiously.

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Fred, who was looking like his birthday
had come early.

"Definitely not," said George, sniggering.

The Hogwarts Express slowed and finally stopped.

Harry pulled out his quill and a bit of parchment and turned to Ron
and Hermione.

"This is called a telephone number," he told Ron, scribbling it twice,
tearing the parchment in two, and handing it to them. "I told your dad
how to use a telephone last summer - he'll know. Call me at the
Dursleys', okay? I can't stand another two months with only Dudley
to talk to ......

"Your aunt and uncle will be proud, though, won't they?" said
Hermione as they got off the train and joined the crowd thronging
toward the enchanted barrier. "When they hear what you did this
year?"

"Proud?" said Harry. "Are you crazy? All those times I could've
died, and I didn't manage it? They'll be furious ......

And together they walked back through the gateway to the Muggle
world. '

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

