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

by J.K. Rowling

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.

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.

February by a nasty bout of flu. I myself will lose my voice. And around Easter, one of our number will leave us forever.”

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

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.”

“Don’t bring him in here!” said Ron, hurriedly snatching Scabbers from the depths of his bed and stowing him in his pajama pocket. But Hermione wasn’t listening. She dropped Crookshanks onto Seamus’s empty bed and stared, open-mouthed, at the Firebolt.

Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!”

“You think the dead we have loved ever truly leave us? You think that we don’t recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble? Your father is alive in you, Harry, and shows himself most plainly when you have need of him. How else could you produce that particular Patronus? Prongs rode again last night.”