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

by J.K. Rowling

‘So …’ Professor Lupin had taken out his own wand, and indicated that Harry should do the same. ‘The spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry – well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm.’

‘Well, when it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus,’ said Lupin, ‘which is a kind of Anti-Dementor – a guardian which acts as a shield between you and the Dementor.’

Professor Lupin continued, ‘The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon – hope, happiness, the desire to survive – but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the Dementors can’t hurt it. But I must warn you, Harry, that the Charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it.’ ‘What does a Patronus look like?’ said Harry curiously. ‘Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it.’ ‘And how do you conjure it?’ ‘With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single, very happy memory.’

‘Here –’ Lupin handed him a Chocolate Frog. ‘Eat this before we try again. I didn’t expect you to do it first time. In fact, I would have been astounded if you had.’

‘Excellent!’ Lupin said, striding over to where Harry sat. ‘Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start!’ ‘Can we have another go? Just one more go?’ ‘Not now,’ said Lupin firmly. ‘You’ve had enough for one night. Here –’ He handed Harry a large bar of Honeydukes’ best chocolate. ‘Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood. Same time next week?’

This meant that with Lupin’s Anti-Dementor classes, which in themselves were more draining than six Quidditch practices, Harry had just one night a week to do all his homework. Even so, he wasn’t showing the strain nearly as much as Hermione, whose immense workload finally seemed to be getting to her. Every night, without fail, Hermione was to be seen in a corner of the common room, several tables spread with books, Arithmancy charts, Rune dictionaries, diagrams of Muggles lifting heavy objects, and file upon file of extensive notes; she barely spoke to anybody, and snapped when she was interrupted.

‘Doing what?’ ‘Getting to all her classes!’ Ron said. ‘I heard her talking to Professor Vector, that Arithmancy witch, this morning. They were going on about yesterday’s lesson, but Hermione can’t’ve been there, because she was with us in Care of Magical Creatures! And Ernie McMillan told me she’s never missed a Muggle Studies class, but half of them are at the same time as Divination, and she’s never missed one of them, either!’

‘Bad news, Harry. I’ve just been to see Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt. She – er – got a bit shirty with me. Told me I’d got my priorities wrong. Seemed to think I cared more about winning the Cup than I do about you staying alive. Just because I told her I didn’t care if it threw you off, as long as you caught the Snitch on it first.’

‘You’re expecting too much of yourself,’ said Professor Lupin sternly, in their fourth week of practice. ‘For a thirteen-year-old wizard, even an indistinct Patronus is a huge achievement. You aren’t passing out any more, are you?’

‘The true Patronus does do that,’ said Lupin. ‘But you’ve achieved a great deal in a very short space of time. If the Dementors put in an appearance at your next Quidditch match, you will be able to keep them at bay long enough to get back to the ground.’

‘I have complete confidence in you,’ said Lupin, smiling. ‘Here – you’ve earned a drink. Something from the Three Broomsticks, you won’t have tried it before –’

‘What’s under a Dementor’s hood?’ Professor Lupin lowered his bottle thoughtfully. ‘Hmmm … well, the only people who really know are in no condition to tell us. You see, the Dementor only lowers its hood to use its last and worst weapon.’

‘What’s that?’ ‘They call it the Dementor’s Kiss,’ said Lupin, with a slightly twisted smile. ‘It’s what Dementors do to those they wish to destroy utterly. I suppose there must be some kind of mouth under there, because they clamp their jaws upon the mouth of the victim and – and suck out his soul.’ Harry accidentally spat out a bit of Butterbeer. ‘What – they kill –?’ ‘Oh, no,’ said Lupin. ‘Much worse than that. You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you’ll have no sense of self any more, no memory, no … anything. There’s no chance at all of recovery. You’ll just – exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone for ever … lost.’ Lupin drank a little more Butterbeer, then said, ‘It’s the fate that awaits Sirius Black. It was in the Daily Prophet this morning. The Ministry have given the Dementors permission to perform it if they find him.’

‘I can have it back?’ Harry said weakly. ‘Seriously?’ ‘Seriously,’ said Professor McGonagall, and she was actually smiling. ‘I daresay you’ll need to get the feel of it before Saturday’s match, won’t you? And Potter – do try and win, won’t you? Or we’ll be out of the running for the eighth year in a row, as Professor Snape was kind enough to remind me only last night …’

Harry looked around at the cluttered table, at the long Arithmancy essay on which the ink was still glistening, at the even longer Muggle Studies essay (‘Explain why Muggles Need Electricity’) and at the Rune translation Hermione was now poring over. ‘How are you getting through all this stuff?’ Harry asked her. ‘Oh, well – you know – working hard,’ said Hermione. Close to, Harry saw that she looked almost as tired as Lupin.

‘Why don’t you just drop a couple of subjects?’ Harry asked, watching her lifting books as she searched for her Rune dictionary. ‘I couldn’t do that!’ said Hermione, looking scandalised. ‘Arithmancy looks terrible,’ said Harry, picking up a very complicated-looking number chart. ‘Oh, no, it’s wonderful!’ said Hermione earnestly. ‘It’s my favourite subject! It’s –’

‘Got plenty of special features, hasn’t it?’ said Malfoy, eyes glittering maliciously. ‘Shame it doesn’t come with a parachute – in case you get too near a Dementor.’ Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. ‘Pity you can’t attach an extra arm to yours, Malfoy,’ said Harry. ‘Then it could catch the Snitch for you.’

‘They’re off, and the big excitement this match is the Firebolt which Harry Potter is flying for Gryffindor. According to Which Broomstick, the Firebolt’s going to be the broom of choice for the national teams at this year’s World Championship –’

Three Dementors, three tall, black, hooded Dementors, were looking up at him. He didn’t stop to think. Plunging a hand down the neck of his robes, he whipped out his wand and roared, ‘Expecto patronum!’ Something silver white, something enormous, erupted from the end of his wand. He knew it had shot directly at the Dementors but didn’t pause to watch; his mind still miraculously clear, he looked ahead – he was nearly there. He stretched out the hand still grasping his wand and just managed to close his fingers over the small, struggling Snitch.

‘That was quite some Patronus,’ said a voice in Harry’s ear. Harry turned around to see Professor Lupin, who looked both shaken and pleased.

Fred and George Weasley disappeared for a couple of hours and returned with armfuls of bottles of Butterbeer, pumpkin fizz and several bags full of Honeydukes sweets. ‘How did you do that?’ squealed Angelina Johnson, as George started throwing Peppermint Toads into the crowd. ‘With a little help from Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs,’ Fred muttered in Harry’s ear.

‘Because her cat acted like all cats do,’ Hagrid continued doggedly. ‘She’s cried a fair few times, yeh know. Goin’ through a rough time at the moment. Bitten off more’n she can chew, if yeh ask me, all the work she’s tryin’ ter do. Still found time ter help me with Buckbeak’s case, mind

she’s found some really good stuff fer me … reckon he’ll stand a good chance now …’ ‘Hagrid, we should’ve helped as well – sorry –’ Harry began awkwardly. ‘I’m not blamin’ yeh!’ said Hagrid, waving Harry’s apology aside. ‘Gawd knows yeh’ve had enough ter be gettin’ on with, I’ve seen yeh practisin’ Quidditch ev’ry hour o’ the day an’ night – but I gotta tell yeh, I thought you two’d value yer friend more’n broomsticks or rats. Tha’s all.’ Harry and Ron exchanged uncomfortable looks. ‘Really upset, she was, when Black nearly stabbed yeh, Ron. She’s got her heart in the right place, Hermione has, an’ you two not talkin’ to her –’

‘And did the Headmaster tell you the circumstances in which your father saved my life?’ he whispered.

‘Mr Moony presents his compliments to Professor Snape, and begs him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people’s business.’

‘Mr Prongs agrees with Mr Moony, and would like to add that Professor Snape is an ugly git.’ It would have been very funny if the situation hadn’t been so serious. And there was more … ‘Mr Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that an idiot like that ever became a Professor.’ Harry closed his eyes in horror. When he’d opened them, the map had had its last word. ‘Mr Wormtail bids Professor Snape good day, and advises him to wash his hair, the slimeball.’

‘Well?’ said Snape again. ‘This parchment is plainly full of Dark Magic. This is supposed to be your area of expertise, Lupin. Where do you imagine Potter got such a thing?’ Lupin looked up and, by the merest half glance in Harry’s direction, warned him not to interrupt. ‘Full of Dark Magic?’ he repeated mildly. ‘Do you really think so, Severus? It looks to me as though it is merely a piece of parchment that insults anybody who tries to read it. Childish, but surely not dangerous? I imagine Harry got it from a joke-shop –

Right on cue, Ron came bursting into the office. He was completely out of breath, and stopped just short of Snape’s desk, clutching the stitch in his chest and trying to speak. ‘I – gave – Harry – that – stuff,’ he choked. ‘Bought – it – in Zonko’s – ages – ago …’ ‘Well!’ said Lupin, clapping his hands together and looking around cheerfully. ‘That seems to clear that up! Severus, I’ll take this back, shall I?’ He folded the map and tucked it inside his robes. ‘Harry, Ron, come with me, I need a word about my vampire essay. Excuse us, Severus.’

‘Why did Snape think I’d got it from the manufacturers?’ ‘Because …’ Lupin hesitated, ‘because these mapmakers would have wanted to lure you out of school. They’d think it extremely entertaining.’

‘Don’t expect me to cover up for you again, Harry. I cannot make you take Sirius Black seriously. But I would have thought that what you have heard when the Dementors draw near you would have had more of an effect on you. Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive, Harry. A poor way to repay them – gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks.’

‘You know what, Hermione?’ said Ron, looking down at the enormous Arithmancy book Hermione had been using as a pillow. ‘I reckon you’re cracking up. You’re trying to do too much.’ ‘No, I’m not!’ said Hermione, brushing her hair out of her eyes and staring hopelessly around for her bag. ‘I just made a mistake, that’s all! I’d better go and see Professor Flitwick and say sorry … I’ll see you in Divination!’

The Easter holidays were not exactly relaxing. The third-years had never had so much homework. Neville Longbottom seemed close to a nervous collapse, and he wasn’t the only one.

He pulled out of his dive, his hand in the air, and the stadium exploded. Harry soared above the crowd, an odd ringing in his ears. The tiny golden ball was held tight in his fist, beating its wings hopelessly against his fingers. Then Wood was speeding towards him, half-blinded by tears; he seized Harry around the neck and sobbed unrestrainedly into his shoulder. Harry felt two large thumps as Fred and George hit them; then Angelina, Alicia and Katie’s voices, ‘We’ve won the Cup! We’ve won the Cup!’ Tangled together in a many-armed hug, the Gryffindor team sank, yelling hoarsely, back to earth.

‘Yeh beat ’em, Harry, yeh beat ’em! Wait till I tell Buckbeak!’ There was Percy, jumping up and down like a maniac, all dignity forgotten. Professor McGonagall was sobbing harder even than Wood, wiping her eyes with an enormous Gryffindor flag; and there, fighting their way towards Harry, were Ron and Hermione. Words failed them. They simply beamed, as Harry was borne towards the stands, where Dumbledore stood waiting with the enormous Quidditch Cup.

As a sobbing Wood passed Harry the Cup, as he lifted it into the air, Harry felt he could have produced the world’s best Patronus.

In fact, the only person who seemed more anxious than Percy was Hermione.

They started up the sloping lawn towards the castle. The sun was sinking fast now; the sky had turned to a clear, purple-tinged grey, but to the west there was a ruby-red glow.

‘Ron – are you OK?’ ‘Where’s the dog?’ ‘Not a dog,’ Ron moaned. His teeth were gritted with pain. ‘Harry, it’s a trap –’ ‘What –’ ‘He’s the dog … he’s an Animagus

For the first time in his life, he wanted his wand back in his hand, not to defend himself, but to attack … to kill. Without knowing what he was doing, he started forwards, but there was a sudden movement on either side of him and two pairs of hands grabbed him and held him back. ‘No, Harry!’ Hermione gasped in a petrified whisper; Ron, however, spoke to Black. ‘If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us, too!’ he said fiercely, though the effort of standing up had drained him of still more colour, and he swayed slightly as he spoke.

don’t deny it,’ he said, very quietly. ‘But if you knew the whole story –’ ‘The whole story?’ Harry repeated, a furious pounding in his ears. ‘You sold them to Voldemort, that’s all I need to know!’ ‘You’ve got to listen to me,’ Black said, and there was a note of urgency in his voice now. ‘You’ll regret it if you don’t … you don’t understand …’ ‘I understand a lot better than you think,’ said Harry, and his voice shook more than ever. ‘You never heard her, did you? My mum … trying to stop Voldemort killing me … and you did that … you did it …’

The door of the room burst open in a shower of red sparks and Harry wheeled around as Professor Lupin came hurtling into the room, his face bloodless, his wand raised and ready. His eyes flickered over Ron, lying on the floor, over Hermione, cowering next to the door, to Harry, standing there with his wand covering Black, and then to Black himself, crumpled and bleeding at Harry’s feet. ‘Expelliarmus!’ Lupin shouted. Harry’s wand flew once more out of his hand; so did the two Hermione was holding. Lupin caught them all deftly, then moved into the room, staring at Black, who still had Crookshanks lying protectively across his chest.

Black’s face was quite expressionless. For a few seconds, he didn’t move at all. Then, very slowly, he raised his empty hand, and pointed straight at Ron. Mystified, Harry glanced around at Ron, who looked bewildered. ‘But then …’ Lupin muttered, staring at Black so intently it seemed he was trying to read his mind, ‘… why hasn’t he shown himself before now? Unless –’ Lupin’s eyes suddenly widened, as though he was seeing something beyond Black, something none of the rest could see, ‘– unless he was the one … unless you switched … without telling me?’ Very slowly, his sunken gaze never leaving Lupin’s face, Black nodded.

There was a ringing silence. Everyone’s eyes were now on Lupin, who looked remarkably calm, though rather pale. ‘Not at all up to your usual standard, Hermione,’ he said. ‘Only one out of three, I’m afraid. I have not been helping Sirius get into the castle and I certainly don’t want Harry dead …’ An odd shiver passed over his face. ‘But I won’t deny that I am a werewolf.’ Ron made a valiant effort to get up again, but fell back with a whimper of pain. Lupin made towards him, looking concerned, but Ron gasped, ‘Get away from me, werewolf!’ Lupin stopped dead. Then, with an obvious effort, he turned to Hermione and said, ‘How long have you known?’

‘You’re the cleverest witch of your age I’ve ever met, Hermione.’

‘If you haven’t been helping him,’ he said, with a furious glance at Black, ‘how did you know he was here?’ ‘The map,’ said Lupin. ‘The Marauder’s Map. I was in my office examining it –’ ‘You know how to work it?’ Harry said suspiciously. ‘Of course I know how to work it,’ said Lupin, waving his hand impatiently. ‘I helped write it. I’m Moony – that was my friends’ nickname for me at school.’ ‘You wrote –?’ ‘The important thing is, I was watching it carefully this evening, because I had an idea that you, Ron and Hermione might try and sneak out of the castle to visit Hagrid before his Hippogriff was executed. And I was right, wasn’t I?’

‘You might have been wearing your father’s old Cloak, Harry –’ ‘How d’you know about the Cloak?’

‘The number of times I saw James disappearing under it …’ said Lupin, waving an impatient hand again. ‘The point is, even if you’re wearing an Invisibility Cloak you show up on the Marauder’s Map. I watched you cross the grounds and enter Hagrid’s hut. Twenty minutes later, you left Hagrid, and set off back towards the castle. But you were now accompanied by somebody else.’ ‘What?’ said Harry. ‘No, we weren’t!’ ‘I couldn’t believe my eyes,’ said Lupin, still pacing, and ignoring Harry’s interruption. ‘I thought the map must be malfunctioning. How could he be with you?’

‘Sirius, NO!’ Lupin yelled, launching himself forwards and dragging Black away from Ron again, ‘WAIT! You can’t do it just like that – they need to understand – we’ve got to explain –’ ‘We can explain afterwards!’ snarled Black, trying to throw Lupin off, one hand still clawing the air as it tried to reach Scabbers, who was squealing like a piglet, scratching Ron’s face and neck as he tried to escape. ‘They’ve – got – a – right – to – know – everything!’ Lupin panted, still trying to restrain Black. ‘Ron’s kept him as a pet! There are parts of it even I don’t understand! And Harry – you owe Harry the truth, Sirius!’

‘There were witnesses who saw Pettigrew die,’ he said. ‘A whole street full of them …’ ‘They didn’t see what they thought they saw!’ said Black savagely, still watching Scabbers struggling in Ron’s hands. ‘Everyone thought Sirius killed Peter,’ said Lupin, nodding. ‘I believed it myself – until I saw the map tonight. Because the Marauder’s Map never lies … Peter’s alive. Ron’s holding him, Harry.’

‘But Professor Lupin … Scabbers can’t be Pettigrew … it just can’t be true, you know it can’t …’ ‘Why can’t it be true?’ Lupin said calmly, as though they were in class, and Hermione had simply spotted a problem in an experiment with Grindylows. ‘Because … because people would know if Peter Pettigrew had been an Animagus. We did Animagi in class with Professor McGonagall. And I looked them up when I did my homework – the Ministry keeps tabs on witches and wizards who can become animals; there’s a register showing what animal they become, and their markings and things … and I went and looked Professor McGonagall up on the register, and there have only been seven Animagi this century, and Pettigrew’s name wasn’t on the list