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, labelled ‘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 forwards.
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 towards 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 wall opposite. 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 a 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 amongst 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-coloured toffees; hundreds of different kinds of chocolate in neat rows; there was a large barrel of Every Flavour Beans, and another of Fizzing Whizzbees, the levitating sherbet balls that Ron had mentioned; along yet another wall were ‘Special Effects’ sweets: Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum (which filled a room with bluebell-coloured 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 furthest corner of the shop (‘Unusual Tastes’). Ron and Hermione were standing underneath it, examining a tray of blood-flavoured lollipops. Harry sneaked up behind them.
‘Urgh, 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 Cluster 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 learnt 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 was 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 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 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 hesitated. 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 –’ Hermione 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 Whizzbees, 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 warlocks 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, where 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.
‘Happy 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 in 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 for 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 towards the bar, pause, then turn and walk right towards 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 of 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 redcurrant 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, too? 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 was 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 Hallowe’en?’
‘I did hear a rumour,’ admitted Madam Rosmerta.
‘Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?’ said Professor McGonagall exasperatedly.
‘Do you think Black’s still in the area, Minister?’ whispered Madam Rosmerta.
‘I’m sure of it,’ said Fudge shortly.
‘You know that the Dementors have searched my pub twice?’ said Madam Rosmerta, a slight edge to her voice. ‘Scared all my customers away … it’s very bad for business, Minister.’
‘Rosmerta, m’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 can’t believe that. What could possibly be worse?’
‘You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta,’ murmured 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, m’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 colours 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.
The Prisoner of Azkaban Page 17