Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban hp-3

by J. K. Rowling

  “We’d better go, look, Divination’s at the top of North Tower. It’ll take us ten minutes to get there—”

  They finished their breakfasts hastily, said good-bye to Fred and George, and walked back through the hall. As they passed the Slytherin table, Malfoy did yet another impression of a fainting fit. The shouts of laughter followed Harry into the entrance hall.

  The journey through the castle to North Tower was a long one. Two years at Hogwarts hadn’t taught them everything about the castle, and they had never been inside North Tower before.

  “There’s—got—to—be—a—shortcut,” Ron panted as they climbed their seventh long staircase and emerged on an unfamiliar landing, where there was nothing but a large painting of a bare stretch of grass hanging on te stone wall.

  “I think it’s the way,” said Hermione, peering down the empty passage to the right.

  “Can’t be,” said Ron. “That’s south, look, you can see a bit of the lake out of the window . . . ”

  Harry was watching the painting. A fat, dabble-gray poney had just ambled onto the grass and was grazing nonchalantly. Harry was used to the subjects of Hogwarts paintings moving around and leaving their frames to visit one another, but he always enjoyed watching it. A moment later, a short, squat knight in a suit of armor clanked into the picture after his pony. By the look of the grass stains on his metal knees, he had just fallen off.

  “Aha!” he yelled, seeing Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “What villains are these, that trespass upon my private lands! Come to 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 least twenty 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 rea
ding 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!”