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
STREAM-LINED, SUPERFINE HANDLE OF ASH, TREATED WITH A DIAMOND-HARD POLISH AND
HANDNUMBERED 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
goldembossed 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,
blackbound 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 Muggleborn! 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
YouKnow-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.
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