Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban hp-3

by J. K. Rowling

  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.

  “You 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 Black’s 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 power. 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 I, 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.

  5. 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 oldfashioned 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.

  Once the remaining Weasley and Hermione had joined them, Harry and Ron led the way to the end of the train, past packed compartments, to a carriage that looked quite empty. They loaded the trucks onto it, stowed Hedwig and Crookshanks in the luggage rack, then went back outside to say good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

  Mrs. Weasley kissed all her children, then Hermione, and finally, Harry. He was embarrassed, but really quite pleased, when she gave him an extra hug.

  “Do take care, won’t you, Harry?” she said as she straightened up, her eyes oddly bright. Then she opened her enormous handbag and said, “I’ve made you all sandwiches . . . Here you are, Ron . . . no, they’re not corned beef . . . Fred? Where’s Fred? Here you are, dear . . .”

  “Harry,” said Mr. Weasley quietly, “come over here a moment.”

  He jerked his head toward a pillar, and Harry followed him behind it, leaving the others crowded around Mrs. Weasley.

  “There’s something I’ve got to tell you before you leave—” said Mr. Weasley, in a tense voice.

  “It’s all right, Mr. Weasley,” said Harry. “I already know.”

  “You know? How could you know?”

  “I—er—I heard you and Mrs. Weasley talking last night. I couldn’t help hearing,” Harry added quickly. “Sorry—”

  “That’s not the way
I’d have chosen for you to find out,” said Mr. Weasley, looking anxious.

  “No—honestly, it’s okay. This way, you haven’t broken your word to Fudge and I know what’s going on.”

  “Harry, you must be very scared—”

  “I’m not,” said Harry sincerely. “Really,” he added, because Mr. Weasley was looking disbelieving. “I’m not trying to be a hero, but seriously, Sirius Black can’t be worse the Voldemort, can he?”

  Mr. Weasley flinched at the sound of the name but overlooked it.

  “Harry, I knew you were, well, made of stronger stuff than Fudge seems to think, and I’m obviously pleased that you’re not scared, but—”

  “Arthur!” called Mrs. Weasley, who was now shepherding the rest onto the train. “Arthur, what are you doing? It’s about to go!”

  “He’s coming, Molly!” said Mr. Weasley, but he turned back to Harry kept talking in a lower and more hurried voice. “Listen, I want you to give me your word—”

  “—that I’ll be a good boy and stay in the castle?” said Harry gloomily.

  “Not entirely,” said Mr. Weasley, who looked more serious than Harry had even seen him. “Harry, swear to me you won’t go looking for Black.”

  Harry stared.

  “What?”

  There was a loud whistle. Guards were talking along the train, slamming all the doors shut.

  “Promise me, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley, talking more quickly still, “that whatever happens—”

  “Why would I go looking for someone I know wants to kill me?” said Harry blankly.

  “Swear to me that whatever you might hear—”

  “Arthur, quickly!” cried Mrs. Weasley.

  Steam was billowing from the train; it had started to move. Harry ran to the compartment door and Ron threw it open and 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.