Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (Harry Potter, #3)

by J.K. Rowling

‘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 Shack’s supposed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain –’

‘Oh, Ron, don’t talk rubbish,’ snapped Hermione. ‘Black’s already murdered a whole bunch of people in the middle of a crowded street. Do you really think he’s going to worry about attacking Harry just because we’re there?’

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 grey face, but his eyes looked alert and wary.

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.’

‘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 …’

‘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 Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who knows his remedies.’

‘On a happier note,’ he continued, ‘I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. ‘Firstly, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.’

Hermione was examining her new timetable. ‘Ooh, good, we’re starting some new subjects today,’ she said happily. ‘Hermione,’ said Ron, frowning as he looked over her shoulder, ‘they’ve messed up your timetable. Look – they’ve got you down for about ten subjects a day. There isn’t enough time.’ ‘I’ll manage. I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.’ ‘But look,’ said Ron, laughing, ‘see this morning? Nine o’clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o’clock, Muggle Studies. And –’ Ron leant closer to the timetable, disbelieving, ‘look – underneath that, Arithmancy, nine o’clock. I mean, I know you’re good, Hermione, but no one’s that good. How’re you supposed to be in three classes at once?’

‘Really, what has got into you all today?’ said Professor McGonagall, turning back into herself with a faint pop, and staring around at them all. ‘Not that it matters, but that’s the first time my transformation’s not got applause from a class.’ Everybody’s heads turned towards Harry again, but nobody spoke. Then Hermione raised her hand. ‘Please, Professor, we’ve just had our first Divination class, and we were reading the tea leaves, and –’ ‘Ah, of course,’ said Professor McGonagall, suddenly frowning. ‘There is no need to say any more, Miss Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?’ Everyone stared at her. ‘Me,’ said Harry, finally. ‘I see,’ said Professor McGonagall, fixing Harry with her beady eyes. ‘Then you should know, Potter, that Sybill Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. None of them has died yet. Seeing death omens is her favourite way of greeting a new class.

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about!’ said Ron, starting to get angry. ‘Grims scare the living daylights out of most wizards!’ ‘There you are, then,’ said Hermione in a superior tone. ‘They see the Grim and die of fright. The Grim’s not an omen, it’s the cause of death! And Harry’s still with us because he’s not stupid enough to see one and think, right, well, I’d better pop my clogs then!’

‘He’s faking it,’ said Harry at once. ‘Madam Pomfrey can mend anything. She regrew half my bones last year. Trust Malfoy to milk it for all it’s worth.’

‘Nothing to worry about,’ said Professor Lupin calmly, as a few people jumped backwards in alarm. ‘There’s a Boggart in there.’

‘So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a Boggart?’ Hermione put up her hand. ‘It’s a shape-shifter,’ she said. ‘It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most.’ ‘Couldn’t have put it better myself,’ said Professor Lupin, and Hermione glowed. ‘So the Boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a Boggart looks like when

he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears. ‘This means,’ said Professor Lupin, choosing to ignore Neville’s small splutter of terror, ‘that we have a huge advantage over the Boggart before we begin.

But no one else cared that Professor Lupin’s robes were patched and frayed. His next few lessons were just as interesting as the first. After Boggarts, they studied Red Caps, nasty little goblin-like creatures that lurked wherever there had been bloodshed, in the dungeons of castles and the potholes of deserted battlefields, waiting to bludgeon those who had got lost. From Red Caps they moved on to Kappas, creepy water-dwellers that looked like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds.

At the start of October, however, Harry had something else to occupy him, something so enjoyable it made up for his unsatisfactory classes. The Quidditch season was approaching, and Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor team, called a meeting one Thursday evening to discuss tactics for the new season. There were seven people on a Quidditch team: three Chasers, whose job it was to score goals by putting the Quaffle (a red, football-sized ball) through one of the fifty-foot-high hoops at each end of the pitch; two Beaters, who were equipped with heavy bats to repel the Bludgers (two heavy black balls which zoomed around trying to attack

the players); a Keeper, who defended the goalposts, and the Seeker, who had the hardest job of all, that of catching the Golden Snitch, a tiny, winged, walnut-sized ball, whose capture ended the game and earned the Seeker’s team an extra one hundred and fifty points.

Something of Harry’s thoughts seemed to have shown on his face, because Lupin said, ‘Anything worrying you, Harry?’

‘Yes,’ he said suddenly, putting his tea down on Lupin’s desk. ‘You know that day we fought the Boggart?’ ‘Yes,’ said Lupin slowly. ‘Why didn’t you let me fight it?’ said Harry abruptly. Lupin raised his eyebrows. ‘I would have thought that was obvious, Harry,’ he said, sounding surprised. Harry, who had expected Lupin to deny that he’d done any such thing, was taken aback. ‘Why?’ he said again. ‘Well,’ said Lupin, frowning slightly, ‘I assumed that if the Boggart faced you, it would assume the shape of Lord Voldemort.’

‘I did think of Voldemort first,’ said Harry honestly. ‘But then I – I remembered those Dementors.’ ‘I see,’ said Lupin thoughtfully. ‘Well, well … I’m impressed.’ He smiled slightly at the look of surprise on Harry’s face. ‘That suggests that what you fear most of all is – fear. Very wise, Harry.’

Harry looked curiously at the goblet. Lupin smiled. ‘Professor Snape has very kindly concocted a potion for me,’ he said. ‘I have never been much of a potion-brewer and this one is particularly complex.’ He picked up the goblet and sniffed it. ‘Pity sugar makes it useless,’ he added, taking a sip and shuddering.

‘But I’m afraid no Dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am Headmaster.’

‘He’s the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we’ve ever had,’ said Dean Thomas boldly,

And I am telling you all to turn to page three hundred and ninety-four.’

‘Why’s he got it in for Lupin? D’you think this is all because of the Boggart?’ ‘I don’t know,’ said Hermione pensively. ‘But I really hope Professor Lupin gets better soon …’

‘Why couldn’t Black have hidden in Snape’s office, eh? He could have finished him off for us!’

‘Stand and fight, you mangy cur!’ yelled Sir Cadogan. ‘Oh, shut up,’ Harry yawned.

At that very moment, Hermione appeared at his shoulder; she was holding her cloak over her head and was, inexplicably, beaming. ‘I’ve had an idea, Harry! Give me your glasses, quick!’ He handed them to her and, as the team watched in amazement, Hermione tapped them with her wand and said, ‘Impervius!’ ‘There!’ she said, handing them back to Harry. ‘They’ll repel water!’ Wood looked as though he could have kissed her. ‘Brilliant!’ he called hoarsely after her, as she disappeared into the crowd. ‘OK, team, let’s go for it!’

He hadn’t told anyone about the Grim, not even Ron and Hermione, because he knew Ron would panic and Hermione would scoff. The fact remained, however, that it had now appeared twice, and both appearances had been followed by near-fatal accidents; the first time, he had nearly been run over by the Knight Bus; the second, fallen fifty feet from his broomstick. Was the Grim going to haunt him until he actually died? Was he going to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder for the beast?

Everyone said the Dementors were horrible, but no one else collapsed every time they went near one … no one else heard echoes in their head of their dying parents.

Malfoy spent much of their next Potions class doing Dementor imitations across the dungeon; Ron finally cracked, flinging a large, slippery crocodile heart at Malfoy, which hit him in the face and caused Snape to take fifty points from Gryffindor.

Hermione peered around the classroom door. ‘It’s OK!’ Professor Lupin was back at work. It certainly looked as though he had been ill. His old robes were hanging more loosely on him and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes; nevertheless, he smiled at the class as they took their seats, and they burst at once into an explosion of complaints about Snape’s behaviour while Lupin had been ill.

They had a very enjoyable lesson. Professor Lupin had brought along a glass box containing a Hinkypunk, a little one-legged creature who seemed as though he was made of wisps of smoke, rather frail and harmless-looking. ‘Lures travellers into bogs,’ said Professor Lupin, as they took notes. ‘You notice the lantern dangling from his hand? Hops ahead – people follow the light – then

‘I heard about the match,’ said Lupin, turning back to his desk and starting to pile books into his briefcase, ‘and I’m sorry about your broomstick. Is there any chance of fixing it?’

‘No,’ said Harry. ‘The tree smashed it to bits.’ Lupin sighed. ‘They planted the Whomping Willow the same year that I arrived at Hogwarts. People used to play a game, trying to get near enough to touch the trunk. In the end, a boy called Davey Gudgeon nearly lost an eye, and we were forbidden to go near it. No broomstick would have a chance.’ ‘Did you hear about the Dementors, too?’ said Harry with difficulty.

‘Yes, I did. I don’t think any of us have seen Professor Dumbledore that angry. They have been growing restless for some time … furious at his refusal to let them inside the grounds … I suppose they were the reason you fell?’ ‘Yes,’ said Harry. He hesitated, and then the question he had to ask burst from him before he could stop himself. ‘Why? Why do they affect me like that? Am I just –?’ ‘It has nothing to do with weakness,’ said Professor Lupin sharply, as though he had read Har...

A ray of wintry sunlight fell across the classroom, illuminating Lupin’s grey hairs and the lines on his young face. ‘Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope and happiness out of the air around them. Even Muggles feel their presence, though they can’t see them. Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory, will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself – soulless and evil. You’ll be left with nothing but the w...

‘They’re getting hungry,’ said Lupin coolly, shutting his briefcase with a snap. ‘Dumbledore won’t let them into the school, so their supply of human prey has dried up … I don’t think they could resist the large crowd around the Quidditch pitch. All that excitement … emotions running high … it was their idea of a feast.’ ‘Azkaban must be terrible,’ Harry muttered. Lupin nodded grimly. ‘The fortress is set on a tiny island, way out to sea, but they don’t need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they’re all trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheerful thought. Most of them go mad within weeks.’

‘There are – certain defences one can use,’ said Lupin. ‘But there was only one Dementor on the train. The more there are, the more difficult it becomes to resist.’

Two weeks before the end of term, the sky lightened suddenly to a dazzling, opaline white and the muddy grounds were revealed one morning covered in glittering frost. Inside the castle, there was a buzz of Christmas in the air. Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, had already decorated his classroom with shimmering lights that turned out to be real, fluttering fairies. The students were all happily discussing their plans for the holidays. Both Ron and Hermione had decided to remain at Hogwarts, and though Ron said it was because he couldn’t stand two weeks with Percy, and Hermione insisted she needed to use the library, Harry wasn’t fooled; they were doing it to keep him company, and he was very grateful.

He took out his wand, touched the parchment lightly and said, ‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.’

Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present THE MARAUDER’S MAP

‘Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs,’ sighed George, patting the heading of the map. ‘We owe them so much.’ ‘Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of law-breakers,’ said Fred solemnly.

BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC Customers are reminded that until further notice, Dementors will be patrolling the streets of Hogsmeade every night after sundown. This measure has been put in place for the safety of Hogsmeade residents and will be lifted upon the recapture of Sirius Black. It is therefore advisable that you complete your shopping well before nightfall. Merry Christmas!

Hogsmeade looked like a Christmas card; the little thatched cottages and shops were all covered in a layer of crisp snow; there were holly wreaths on the doors and strings of enchanted candles hanging in the trees.

‘You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta,’ murmured Professor McGonagall. ‘Do you remember who his best friend was?’ ‘Naturally,’ said Madam Rosmerta, with a small laugh. ‘Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here – ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!’

‘You’d have thought Black and Potter were brothers!’ chimed in Professor Flitwick. ‘Inseparable!’ ‘Of course they were,’ said Fudge. ‘Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him.’

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 Hermione, who had spread her homework over three tables.