HP 3 - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban Read online

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Hagrid,” said Fudge sharply. “Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I — I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him…a heap of bloodstained robes and a few — a few fragments —”

  Fudge’s voice stopped abruptly. There was the sound of five noses being blown.

  “Well, there you have it, Rosmerta,” said Fudge thickly. “Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Black’s been in Azkaban ever since.”

  Madam Rosmerta let out a long sigh.

  “Is it true he’s mad, Minister?”

  “I wish I could say that he was,” said Fudge slowly. “I certainly believe his master’s defeat unhinged him for a while. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and desperate man — cruel… pointless. Yet I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark; there’s no sense in them…but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. It was unnerving. You’d have thought he was merely bored — asked if I’d finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the Dementors seemed to be having on him — and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door day and night.”

  “But what do you think he’s broken out to do?” said Madam Rosmerta. “Good gracious, Minister, he isn’t trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?”

  “I daresay that is his — er — eventual plan,” said Fudge evasively. “But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing…but give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he’ll rise again…”

  There was a small chink of glass on wood. Someone had set down their glass.

  “You know, Cornelius, if you’re dining with the headmaster, we’d better head back up to the castle,” said Professor McGonagall.

  One by one, the pairs of feet in front of Harry took the weight of their owners once more; hems of cloaks swung into sight, and Madam Rosmerta’s glittering heels disappeared behind the bar. The door of the Three Broomsticks opened again, there was another flurry of snow, and the teachers had disappeared.

  “Harry?”

  Ron’s and Hermione’s faces appeared under the table. They were both staring at him, lost for words.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE FIREBOLT

  Harry didn’t have a very clear idea of how he had managed to get back into the Honeydukes cellar, through the tunnel, and into the castle once more. All he knew was that the return trip seemed to take no time at all, and that he hardly noticed what he was doing, because his head was still pounding with the conversation he had just heard.

  Why had nobody ever told him? Dumbledore, Hagrid, Mr. Weasley, Cornelius Fudge…why hadn’t anyone ever mentioned the fact that Harry’s parents had died because their best friend had betrayed them?

  Ron and Hermione watched Harry nervously all through dinner, not daring to talk about what they’d overheard, because Percy was sitting close by them. When they went upstairs to the crowded common room, it was to find Fred and George had set off half a dozen Dungbombs in a fit of end-of-term high spirits. Harry, who didn’t want Fred and George asking him whether he’d reached Hogsmeade or not, sneaked quietly up to the empty dormitory and headed straight for his bedside cabinet. He pushed his books aside and quickly found what he was looking for — the leather-bound photo album Hagrid had given him two years ago, which was full of wizard pictures of his mother and father. He sat down on his bed, drew the hangings around him, and started turning the pages, searching, until …

  He stopped on a picture of his parents’ wedding day. There was his father waving up at him, beaming, the untidy black hair Harry had inherited standing up in all directions. There was his mother, alight with happiness, arm in arm with his dad. And there…that must be him. Their best man…Harry had never given him a thought before.

  If he hadn’t known it was the same person, he would never have guessed it was Black in this old photograph. His face wasn’t sunken and waxy, but handsome, full of laughter. Had he already been working for Voldemort when this picture had been taken? Was he already planning the deaths of the two people next to him? Did he realize he was facing twelve years in Azkaban, twelve years that would make him unrecognizable?

  But the Dementors don’t affect him, Harry thought, staring into the handsome, laughing face. He doesn’t have to hear my Mum screaming if they get too close —

  Harry slammed the album shut, reached over and stuffed it back into his cabinet, took off his robe and glasses and got into bed, making sure the hangings were hiding him from view.

  The dormitory door opened.

  “Harry?” said Ron’s voice uncertainly.

  But Harry lay still, pretending to be asleep. He heard Ron leave again, and rolled over on his back, his eyes wide open.

  A hatred such as he had never known before was coursing through Harry like poison. He could see Black laughing at him through the darkness, as though somebody had pasted the picture from the album over his eyes. He watched, as though somebody was playing him a piece of film, Sirius Black blasting Peter Pettigrew (who resembled Neville Longbottom) into a thousand pieces. He could hear (though having no idea what Black’s voice might sound like) a low, excited mutter. “It has happened, My Lord…the Potters have made me their Secret-Keeper” and then came another voice, laughing shrilly, the same laugh that Harry heard inside his head whenever the Dementors drew near….

  “Harry, you — you look terrible.”

  Harry hadn’t gotten to sleep until daybreak. He had awoken to find the dormitory deserted, dressed, and gone down the spiral staircase to a common room that was completely empty except for Ron, who was eating a Peppermint Toad and massaging his stomach, and Hermione, who had spread her homework over three tables.

  “Where is everyone?” said Harry.

  “Gone! It’s the first day of the holidays, remember?” said Ron, watching Harry closely. “It’s nearly lunchtime; I was going to come and wake you up in a minute.”

  Harry slumped into a chair next to the fire. Snow was still falling outside the windows. Crookshanks was spread out in front of the fire like a large, ginger rug.

  “You really don’t look well, you know,” Hermione said, peering anxiously into his face.

  “I’m fine,” said Harry.

  “Harry, listen,” said Hermione, exchanging a look with Ron, “you must be really upset about what we heard yesterday. But the thing is, you mustn’t go doing anything stupid.”

  “Like what?” said Harry.

  “Like trying to go after Black,” said Ron sharply.

  Harry could tell they had rehearsed this conversation while he had been asleep. He didn’t say anything.

  “You won’t, will you, Harry?” said Hermione.

  “Because Black’s not worth dying for,” said Ron.

  Harry looked at them. They didn’t seem to understand at all.

  “D’you know what I see and hear every time a Dementor gets too near me?” Ron and Hermione shook their heads, looking apprehensive. “I can hear my mum screaming and pleading with Voldemort. And if you’d heard your mum screaming like that, just about to be killed, you wouldn’t forget it in a hurry. And if you found out someone who was supposed to be a friend of hers betrayed her and sent Volde
mort after her —”

  “There’s nothing you can do!” said Hermione, looking stricken. “The Dementors will catch Black and he’ll go back to Azkaban and — and serve him right!”

  “You heard what Fudge said. Black isn’t affected by Azkaban like normal people are. It’s not a punishment for him like it is for the others.”

  “So what are you saying?” said Ron, looking very tense. “You want to — to kill Black or something?”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Hermione in a panicky voice. “Harry doesn’t want to kill anyone, do you, Harry?”

  Again, Harry didn’t answer. He didn’t know what he wanted to do. All he knew was that the idea of doing nothing, while Black was at liberty, was almost more than he could stand.

  “Malfoy knows,” he said abruptly. “Remember what he said to me in Potions? ‘If it was me, I’d hunt him down myself…I’d want revenge.’”

  “You’re going to take Malfoy’s advice instead of ours?” said Ron furiously. “Listen…you know what Pettigrew’s mother got back after Black had finished with him? Dad told me — the Order of Merlin, First Class, and Pettigrew’s finger in a box. That was the biggest bit of him they could find. Black’s a madman, Harry, and he’s dangerous —”

  “Malfoy’s dad must have told him,” said Harry, ignoring Ron. “He was right in Voldemort’s inner circle —”

  “Say You-Know-Who, will you?” interjected Ron angrily.

  “— so obviously, the Malfoys knew Black was working for Voldemort —”

  “— and Malfoy’d love to see you blown into about a million pieces, like Pettigrew! Get a grip. Malfoy’s just hoping you’ll get yourself killed before he has to play you at Quidditch.”

  “Harry, please,” said Hermione, her eyes now shining with tears, “Please be sensible. Black did a terrible, terrible thing, but d-don’t put yourself in danger, it’s what Black wants…Oh, Harry, you’d be playing right into Black’s hands if you went looking for him. Your mum and dad wouldn’t want you to get hurt, would they? They’d never want you to go looking for Black!”

  “I’ll never know what they’d have wanted, because thanks to Black, I’ve never spoken to them,” said Harry shortly.

  There was a silence in which Crookshanks stretched luxuriously flexing his claws. Ron’s pocket quivered.

  “Look,” said Ron, obviously casting around for a change of subject, “it’s the holidays! It’s nearly Christmas! Let’s — let’s go down and see Hagrid. We haven’t visited him for ages!”

  “No!” said Hermione quickly. “Harry isn’t supposed to leave the castle, Ron —”

  “Yeah, let’s go,” said Harry, sitting up, “and I can ask him how come he never mentioned Black when he told me all about my parents!”

  Further discussion of Sirius Black plainly wasn’t what Ron had had in mind.

  “Or we could have a game of chess,” he said hastily, “or Gobstones. Percy left a set —”

  “No, let’s visit Hagrid,” said Harry firmly.

  So they got their cloaks from their dormitories and set off through the portrait hole (“Stand and fight, you yellow-bellied mongrels!”), down through the empty castle and out through the oak front doors.

  They made their way slowly down the lawn, making a shallow trench in the glittering, powdery snow, their socks and the hems of their cloaks soaked and freezing. The Forbidden Forest looked as though it had been enchanted, each tree smattered with silver, and Hagrid’s cabin looked like an iced cake.

  Ron knocked, but there was no answer.

  “He’s not out, is he?” said Hermione, who was shivering under her cloak.

  Ron had his ear to the door.

  “There’s a weird noise,” he said. “Listen — is that Fang?”

  Harry and Hermione put their ears to the door too. From inside the cabin came a series of low, throbbing moans.

  “Think we’d better go and get someone?” said Ron nervously.

  “Hagrid!” called Harry, thumping the door. “Hagrid, are you in there?”

  There was a sound of heavy footsteps, then the door creaked open. Hagrid stood there with his eyes red and swollen, tears splashing down the front of his leather vest.

  “You’ve heard?” he bellowed, and he flung himself onto Harry’s neck.

  Hagrid being at least twice the size of a normal man, this was no laughing matter. Harry, about to collapse under Hagrid’s weight, was rescued by Ron and Hermione, who each seized Hagrid under an arm and heaved him back into the cabin. Hagrid allowed himself to be steered into a chair and slumped over the table, sobbing uncontrollably, his face glazed with tears that dripped down into his tangled beard.

  “Hagrid, what is it?” said Hermione, aghast.

  Harry spotted an official-looking letter lying open on the table.

  “What’s this, Hagrid?”

  Hagrid’s sobs redoubled, but he shoved the letter toward Harry, who picked it up and read aloud:

  Dear Mr. Hagrid,

  Further to our inquiry into the attack by a Hippogriff on a student in your class, we have accepted the assurances of Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility for the regrettable incident.

  “Well, that’s okay then, Hagrid!” said Ron, clapping Hagrid on the shoulder. But Hagrid continued to sob, and waved one of his gigantic hands, inviting Harry to read on.

  However, we must register our concern about the Hippogriff in question. We have decided to uphold the official complaint of Mr. Lucius Malfoy, and this matter will therefore be taken to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. The hearing will take place on April 20th, and we ask you to present yourself and your Hippogriff at the Committee’s offices in London on that date. In the meantime, the Hippogriff should be kept tethered and isolated.

  Yours in fellowship …

  There followed a list of the school governors.

  “Oh,” said Ron. “But you said Buckbeak isn’t a bad Hippogriff, Hagrid. I bet he’ll get off.”

  “Yeh don’ know them gargoyles at the Committee fer the Disposal o’ Dangerous Creatures!” choked Hagrid, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “They’ve got it in fer interestin’ creatures!”

  A sudden sound from the corner of Hagrid’s cabin made Harry, Ron, and Hermione whip around. Buckbeak the Hippogriff was lying in the corner, chomping on something that was oozing blood all over the floor.

  “I couldn’ leave him tied up out there in the snow!” choked Hagrid. “All on his own! At Christmas.”

  Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another. They had never seen eye to eye with Hagrid about what he called ‘interesting creatures’ and other people called ‘terrifying monsters.’ On the other hand, there didn’t seem to be any particular harm in Buckbeak. In fact, by Hagrid’s usual standards, he was positively cute.

  “You’ll have to put up a good strong defense, Hagrid,” said Hermione, sitting down and laying a hand on Hagrid’s massive forearm. “I’m sure you can prove Buckbeak is safe.”

  “Won’ make no diff’rence!” sobbed Hagrid. “Them Disposal devils, they’re all in Lucius Malfoy’s pocket! Scared o’ him! Ad if I lose the case, Buckbeak —”

  Hagrid drew his finger swiftly across his throat, then gave a great wail and lurched forward, his face in his arms.

  “What about Dumbledore, Hagrid?” said Harry.

  “He’s done more’n enough fer me already,” groaned Hagrid. “Got enough on his plate what with keepin’ them Dementors outta the castle, an’ Sirius Black lurkin’ around.”

  Ron and Hermione looked quickly at Harry, as though expecting him to start berating Hagrid for not telling him the truth about Black. But Harry couldn’t bring himself to do it, not now that he saw Hagrid so miserable and scared.

  “Listen, Hagrid,” he said, “you can’t give up. Hermione’s right, You just need a good defense. You can call us as witnesses —”

  “I’m sure I’ve read about a case of Hippogriff-baiting,” said Hermione thoughtfully, “where th
e Hippogriff got off. I’ll look it up for you, Hagrid, and see exactly what happened.”

  Hagrid howled still more loudly. Harry and Hermione looked at Ron to help them.

  “Er — shall I make a cup of tea?” said Ron.

  Harry stared at him.

  “It’s what my mum does whenever someone’s upset,” Ron muttered, shrugging.

  At last, after many more assurances of help, with a steaming mug of tea in front of him, Hagrid blew his nose on a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth and said, “Yer right. I can’ afford to go ter pieces. Gotta pull meself together…”

  Fang the boarhound came timidly out from under the table and laid his head on Hagrid’s knee.

  “I’ve not bin meself lately,” said Hagrid, stroking Fang with one hand and mopping his face with the other. “Worried abou’ Buckbeak, an’ no one likin’ me classes —”

  “We do like them!” lied Hermione at once.

  “Yeah, they’re great!” said Ron, crossing his fingers under the table. “Er — how are the flobberworms?”

  “Dead,” said Hagrid gloomily. “Too much lettuce.”

  “Oh no!” said Ron, his lip twitching.

  “An’ them Dementors make me feel ruddy terrible an’ all,” said Hagrid, with a sudden shudder. “Gotta walk past ‘em ev’ry time I want a drink in the Three Broomsticks. ‘S like bein’ back in Azkaban —”

  He fell silent, gulping his tea. Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched him breathlessly. They had never heard Hagrid talk about his brief spell in Azkaban before. After a pause, Hermione said timidly, “Is it awful in there, Hagrid?”

  “Yeh’ve no idea,” said Hagrid quietly. “Never bin anywhere like it. Thought I was goin’ mad. Kep’ goin’ over horrible stuff in me mind…the day I got expelled from Hogwarts…day me dad died…day I had ter let Norbert go …”

  His eyes filled with tears. Norbert was the baby dragon Hagrid had once won in a game of cards.

  “Yeh can’ really remember who yeh are after a while. An’ yeh can’ really see the point o’ livin’ at all. I used ter hope I’d jus’ die in me sleep. When they let me out, it was like bein’ born again, ev’rythin’ came floodin’ back, it was the bes’ feelin’ in the world. Mind, the Dementors weren’t keen on lettin’ me go.”