The Harry Potter Collection

Harry Potter
and
the Sorcerer's Stone
J.K. Rowling
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 beadyeyed
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- ALBUSDUMBLEDOREIN- 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, HeWho-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 boogerflavored 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-gardium
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
J. K. Rowling
CHAPTER ONE
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.
"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 eightfifteen -"
"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.
CHAPTER
TWO
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 orblike eyes aglow. "Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over He-WhoMust-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 catflap 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 frecklefaced, red-haired, long-nosed someone.
Ron Weasley was outside Harry's window.
CHAPTER THREE
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.
"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 YouKnow-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
Harry.
said
"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 goodIOI)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. .
CHAPTER FOUR
AT F L 0 V R I S 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.
"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
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.
"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.
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
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.
"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.
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
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."
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 fleabitten, 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.
"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.
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?"
"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.
"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.
"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
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
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
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."
"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 -"
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
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 A P T E RR
FIVE
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.
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.
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
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?"
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
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
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
...
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
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
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
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 "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
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 -"
"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.
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?"
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.
C H A P T E R SIX
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
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.
"THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURSTEALING 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.
"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
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, umbrellasized 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.
"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.
"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.
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"
(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
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.
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?"
"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
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
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 MostCharming-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?"
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 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.
"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 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 -"
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
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 dewdrenched 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 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 "
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.
"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!"
"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.
"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.
"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.
"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 oneroomed 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
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 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 -"
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
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."
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-schoolrules 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 bestseller 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.
"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."
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..
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?"
"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 -"
"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 rulebreaker.
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 . . ."
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.
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.
"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..
"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!".
"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.
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.
"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 MimsyPorpington
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.
"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."
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.
"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).
"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.
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!"
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.
CHAPTER NINE
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.
"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 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.
"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.
"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 lightblue 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
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."
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 redeyed 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
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.
"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
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
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
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
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
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 ......
"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.
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.
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
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."
"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
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 . . . ."
CHAPTER TEN
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
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?"
"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.
"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-oforder 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 sincerely 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 storecupboard, 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 ='
"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 Muggleborns 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
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.
"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 ='
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.
"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 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
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 an
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
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 retreated, 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 . .....
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
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
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.
"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.
"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.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
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.
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."
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 pureblood, 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
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
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.
"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
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
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
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 -"
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 ....
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
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.
"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."
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
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.
"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 YouKnow-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.
"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.
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 .....
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 -"
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.
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.
CHAPTER TWELVE
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.
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.
"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.
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
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?"
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
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?"
"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 forehead 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, shinyfaced 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.
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,
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
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
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?"
"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.
"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
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."
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 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
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
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.
"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?"
"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
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.
"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 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 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."
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 laterunning 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
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 looking 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.
"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 obviously 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.
`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
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.
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.
"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 -"
"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.
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-yearyounger 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
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."
"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, threeheaded 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 just one thing from his father: a long and silvery
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
"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
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
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
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 thinlipped 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
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 -"
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.
"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 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.
"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.
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
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.
"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
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.
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
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
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
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 end
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
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.
"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 . . . ."
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 pureblood. 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
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.
"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
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."
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.
"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
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.
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 ='
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.
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.
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.
"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.
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 elevenyear-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
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 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 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
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
"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 -"
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
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.
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 . . . ."
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
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 ddiddt 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 rremember 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
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.
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.
"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.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
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."
Relief -- warm, sweeping, glorious relief -- swept over Harry. "Wwhat'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 ='
"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.
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
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 handpicked 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
"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."
"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
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
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.
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?"
"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.
THE END
Harry Potter
and
the Prisoner of
Azkaban
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 wasWeak. 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 STREAMLINED, 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 ofte