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 game
s 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 PS . . .”
I thought your friend 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 and 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.
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Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban hp-3 Page 36