CHAPTER FIVE
THE
DEMENTOR
Tom woke Harry the next morning with his usual toothless grin
and a cup of tea. Harry got dressed and was just persuading a disgruntled Hedwig
to get back into her cage when Ron banged his way into the room, pulling a
sweatshirt over his head and looking irritable.
“The sooner we get on the
train, the better,” he said. “At least I can get away from Percy at Hogwarts.
Now he's accusing me of dripping tea on his photo of Penelope Clearwater. You
know,” Ron grimaced, “his girlfriend. She's hidden her face under the frame
because her nose has gone all blotchy...”
“I've got something to tell you,”
Harry began, but they were interrupted by Fred and George, who had looked in to
congratulate Ron on infuriating Percy again.
They headed down to breakfast,
where Mr. Weasley was reading the front page of the Daily Prophet with a
furrowed brow and Mrs. Weasley was telling Hermione and Ginny about a love
potion she'd made as a young girl. All three of them were rather
giggly.
“What were you saying?” Ron asked Harry as they sat down.
“Later,”
Harry muttered as Percy stormed in.
Harry had no chance to speak to Ron or
Hermione in the chaos of leaving; they were too busy heaving all their trunks
down the Leaky Cauldron's narrow staircase and piling them up near the door,
with Hedwig and Hermes, Percy's screech owl, perched on top in their cages. A
small wickerwork basket stood beside the heap of trunks, spitting
loudly.
“It's all right, Crookshanks,” Hermione cooed through the wickerwork.
“I'll let you out on the train.”
“You won't,” snapped Ron. “What about poor
Scabbers, eh?”
He pointed at his chest, where a large lump indicated that
Scabbers was curled up in his pocket.
Mr. Weasley, who had been outside
waiting for the Ministry cars, stuck his head inside.
“They're here, he said.
“Harry, come on.”
Mr. Weasley marched Harry across the short stretch of
pavement toward the first of two oldfashioned dark green cars, each of which was
driven by a furtive-looking wizard wearing a suit of emerald velvet.
“In you
get, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley, glancing up and down the crowded street.
Harry
got into the back of the car and was shortly joined by Hermione, Ron, and, to
Ron's disgust, Percy.
The journey to King's Cross was very uneventful
compared with Harry's trip on the Knight Bus. The Ministry of Magic cars seemed
almost ordinary. though Harry noticed that they could slide through gaps that
Uncle Vernon's new company car certainly couldn't have managed. They reached
King's Cross with twenty minutes to spare; the Ministry drivers found them
trolleys, unloaded their trunks, touched their hats in salute to Mr. Weasley,
and drove away, somehow managing to jump to the head of an unmoving line at the
traffic lights.
Mr. Weasley kept close to Harry's elbow all the way into the
station.
“Right then,” he said, glancing around them. “Let's do this in
pairs, as there are so many of us. I'll go through first with Harry.”
Mr.
Weasley strolled toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten, pushing
Harry's trolley and apparently very interested in the InterCity 125 that had
just arrived at platform nine. With a meaningful look at Harry, he leaned
casually against the barrier. Harry imitated him.
In a moment, they had
fallen sideways through the solid metal onto platform nine and threequarters and
looked up to see the Hogwarts Express, a scarlet steam engine, puffing smoke
over a platform packed with witches and wizards seeing their children onto the
train.
Percy and Ginny suddenly appeared behind Harry. They were panting and
had apparently taken the barrier at a run.
“Ah, there's Penelope!” said
Percy, smoothing his hair and going Pink again. Ginny caught Harry's eye, and
they both turned away to hide their laughter as Percy strode over to a girl with
long, curly hair, walking with his chest thrown out so that she couldn't miss
his shiny badge. stood back to let him on. They leaned out of the window and
waved at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley until the train turned a corner and blocked them
from view.
“I need to talk to you in private,” Harry muttered to Ron and
Hermione as the train picked up speed.
“Go away, Ginny,” said Ron.
“Oh,
that's nice,” said Ginny huffily, and she stalked off.
Harry, Ron, and
Hermione set off down the corridor, looking for an empty compartment, but all
were full except for the one at the very end of the train.
This had only one
occupant, a man sitting fast asleep next to the window. Harry, Ron, and Hermione
checked on the threshold. The Hogwarts Express was usually reserved for students
and they had never seen an adult there before, except for the witch who pushed
the food cart.
The stranger was wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard's
robes that had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted.
Though quite young, his light brown hair was flecked with gray.
“Who d'you
reckon he is?” Ron hissed as they sat down and slid the door shut, taking the
seats farthest away from the window.
“Professor R. J. Lupin,” whispered
Hermione at once.
“How d'you know that?”
“It's on his case,” she replied,
pointing at the luggage rack over the man's head, where there was a small,
battered case held together with a large quantity of neatly knotted string. The
name Professor R. J. Lupin was stamped across one corner in peeling
letters.
“Wonder what he teaches?” said Ron, frowning at Professor Lupin's
pallid profile.
“That's obvious,” whispered Hermione. “There's only one
vacancy, isn't there? Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
Harry, Ron, and
Hermione had already had two Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, both of
whom had lasted only one year. There were rumors that the job was
jinxed.
“well, I hope he's up to it,” said Ron doubtfully. “He looks like on,
good hex would finish him off, doesn't he? Anyway...” He turned to Harry. “What
were you going to tell us?”
Harry explained all about Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's
argument and the warning Mr. Weasley had just given him. \When he'd finished,
Ron looked thunderstruck, and Hermione had her hands over her mouth. She finally
lowered them to say, “Sirius Black escaped to come after you? Oh, Harry...
you'll have to be really, really careful. don't go looking for trouble, Harry
—”
“I Don't go looking for trouble,” said Harry, nettled. “Trouble usually
finds me.”
“How thick would Harry have to be, to go looking for a nutter who
wants to kill him?” said Ron shakily.
They were taking the news worse than
Harry had expected. Both Ron and Hermione seemed to be much more frightened of
Black than he was.
“No one knows how he got out of Azkaban,” said Ron
uncomfortably. “No one's ever done it before. And he was a top-security prisoner
too.”
“But they'll catch him, won't they?” said Hermione earnestly. “I Mean,
they've got all the Muggles looking out for him too...” “What's that noise?”
said Ron suddenly.
A faint, tinny sort of whistle was coming from somewhere.
The, looked all around the compartment.
“It's coming from your trunk, Harry,”
said Ron, standing UP and reaching into the luggage rack. A moment later he had
pulled the Pocket Sneakoscope out from between Harry's robes. It was spinning
very fast in the palm of Ron's hand and glowing brilliantly.
“Is that a
Sneakoscope?” said Hermione interestedly, standing up for a better
look.
“Yeah... mind you, it's a very cheap one,” Ron said. “It went haywire
just as I was tying it to Errol's leg to send it to Harry.”
“Were you doing
anything untrustworthy at the time?” said Hermione shrewdly.
“No! Well... I
wasn't supposed to be using Errol. You know he's not really up to long
journeys... but how else was I supposed to get Harry's present to
him?”
“Stick it back in the trunk,” Harry advised as the Sneakoscope whistled
piercingly, “or it'll wake him up.”
He nodded toward Professor Lupin. Ron
stuffed the Sneakoscope into a particularly horrible pair of Uncle Vernon's old
socks, which deadened the sound, then closed the lid of the trunk on it.
“We
could get it checked in Hogsmeade,” said Ron, sitting back down. “They sell that
sort of thing in Dervish and Banges, magical instruments and stuff. Fred and
George told me.”
“Do you know much about Hogsmeade?” asked Hermione keenly.
“I've read it's the only entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain —”
“Yeah,
I think it is,” said Ron in an offhand sort of way.
“But that's not Why I
want to go. I just want to get inside Honey Dukes.”
“What's that?” said
Hermione.
“It's this sweetshop,” said Ron, a dreamy look coming over his
face, “where they've got everything... Pepper Imps—they make you smoke at the
mouth—and great fat Chocoballs full of strawberry mousse and clotted cream, and
really excellent sugar quills, which you can suck in class and just look like
you're thinking what to write next —”
“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 Shades supposed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain
—”
“— and massive sherbert balls that make you levitate a few inches off the
ground while you're sucking them,” said Ron, who was plainly not listening to a
word Hermione was saying.
Hermione looked around at Harry.
“Won't it be
nice to get out of school for a bit and explore Hogsmeade?”
“'Spect it will,”
said Harry heavily. “You'll have to tell me when You've found out.”
“What
d'you mean?” said Ron.
“I can't go. The Dursleys didn't sign my permission
form, and Fudge wouldn't either.”
Ron looked horrified.
“"You're not
allowed to come? But—no way—McGonagall or someone will give you permission—”
musclely; Crabbe was taller, with a pudding-bowl haircut and a very thick neck;
Goyle had short, bristly hair and long, gorilla-ish arms.
“Well, look who it
is,” said Malfoy in his usual lazy drawl, pulling open the compartment door.
“Potty and the Weasel.”
Crabbe and Goyle chuckled trollishly.
“I heard
your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley,” said
Malfoy. “Did your mother die of shock?”
Ron stood up so quickly he knocked
Crookshanks's basket to the floor. Professor Lupin gave a snort.
“Who's
that?” said Malfoy, taking an automatic step backward as he spotted
Lupin.
“New teacher,” said Harry, who got to his feet, too, in case he needed
to hold Ron back. “What were you saying, Malfoy?”
Malfoy's pale eyes
narrowed; he wasn't fool enough to pick a fight right under a teacher's
nose.
“C'mon,” he muttered resentfully to Crabbe and Goyle, and they
disappeared.
Harry and Ron sat down again, Ron massaging his
knuckles.
“I'm not going to take any crap from Malfoy this year,” he said
angrily. “I mean it. If he makes one more crack about my family, I'm going to
get hold of his head and —”
Ron made a violent gesture in midair.
“Ron,”
hissed Hermione, pointing at Professor Lupin, “be careful...”
But Professor
Lupin was still fast asleep.
The rain thickened as the train sped yet farther
north; the windows were now a solid, shimmering gray, which graduily darkened
until lanterns flickered into life all along the corridors and over the luggage
racks. The train rattled, the rain hammered, the ind roared, but still,
Professor Lupin slept.
“We must be nearly there,” said Ron, leaning forward
to look past Professor Lupin at the now completely black window.
The words
had hardly left him when the train started to slow down.
“Great,” said Ron,
getting up and walking carefully past Professor Lupin to try and see outside.
“I'm starving. I want to get to the feast...
“We can't be there yet,” said
Hermione, checking her watch.
“So why're we stopping?”
The train was
getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and
rain sounded louder than ever against the windows.
Harry, who was nearest the
door, got up to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, heads were
sticking curiously out of their compartments.
The train came to a stop with a
jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the
racks. Then, without warning, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into
total darkness.
“'What's going on?” said Ron's voice from behind
Harry.
“Ouch!” gasped Hermione. “Ron, that was my foot!”
Harry felt his
way back to his seat.
“D'you think we've broken down?”
“Dunno...”
There
was a squeaking sound, and Harry saw the dim black outline of Ron, wiping a
patch clean on the window and peering out.
“There's something moving out
there,” Ron said. “I think people are coming aboard...”
The compartment door
suddenly opened and someone fell painfully over Harry's legs.
“Sorry—d'you
know what's going on?—Ouch—sorry
“Hullo, Neville,” said Harry, feeling around
in the dark and pulling Neville up by his cloak.
“Harry? Is that you? What's
happening?”
“No idea—sit down —”
There was a loud hissing and a yelp of
pain; Neville had tried to sit on Crookshanks.
“I'm going to go and ask the
driver what's going on,” came Hermione's voice. Harry felt her pass him, heard
the door slide open again, and then a thud and two loud squeals of
pain.
“Who's that?”
“Who's that?”
“Ginny?”
“Hermione?”
“What are
you doing?”
“I was looking for Ron —” “Come in and sit down —”
“Not here!”
said Harry hurriedly. “I'm here!”
“Ouch!” said Neville.
“Quiet!” said a
hoarse voice suddenly.
Professor Lupin appeared to have woken up at last.
Harry could hear movements in his corner.
None of them spoke.
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,
gray face, but his eyes looked alert and wary.
“Stay where you are,” he said
in the same hoarse voice, and he got slowly to his feet with his handful of fire
held out in front of him.
But the door slid slowly open before Lupin could
reach it.
Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in
Lupin's hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was
completely hidden beneath its hood. Harry's eyes darted downward, and what he
saw made his stomach contract. There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it
was glistening, grayish, slimy-looking, and scabbed, like something dead that
had decayed in water...
But it was visible only for a split second. As though
the creature beneath the cloak sensed Harry's gaze, the hand was suddenly
withdrawn into the folds of its black cloak.
And then the thing beneath the
hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were
trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings.
An intense cold
swept over them all. Harry felt his own breath catch in his chest. The cold went
deeper than his skin. It was inside his chest, it was inside his very
heart...
Harry's eyes rolled up into his head. He couldn't see. He was
drowning in cold. There was a rushing in his ears as though of water. He was
being dragged downward, the roaring growing louder..
And then, from far away,
he heard screaming, terrible, terrified, pleading screams. He wanted to help
whoever it was, he tried to move his arms, but couldn't... a thick white fog was
swirling around him, inside him —
“Harry! Harry! Are you all
right?”
Someone was slapping his face.
“W—what?”
Harry opened his eyes;
there were lanterns above him, and the floor was shaking—the Hogwarts Express
was moving again and the lights had come back on. He seemed to have slid out of
his seat onto the floor. Ron and Hermione were kneeling next to him, and above
them he could see Neville and Professor Lupin watching. Harry felt very sick;
when he put up his hand to push his glasses back on, he felt cold sweat on his
face.
Ron and Hermione heaved him back onto his seat.
“Are you okay?” Ron
asked nervously.
“Yeah,” said Harry, looking quickly toward the door. The
hooded creature had vanished. “What happened? Where's that—that thing? Who
screamed?”
“No one screamed,” said Ron, more nervously still.
Harry looked
around the bright compartment. Ginny and Neville looked back at him, both very
pale.
“But I heard screaming —”
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.”
Harry
took the chocolate but didn't eat it.
“What was that thing?” he asked
Lupin.
“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...
He strolled past Harry and disappeared into the
corridor.
“Are you sure you're okay, Harry?” said Hermione, watching Harry
anxiously.
“I Don't get it... What happened?” said Harry, wiping more sweat
off his face.
“Well—that thing—the dementor—stood there and looked around (I
mean, I think it did, I couldn't see its face)—and you—you
“I thought you
were having a fit or something,” said Ron, who still looked scared. “You went
sort of rigid and fell out of your seat and started twitching—11
“And
Professor Lupin stepped over you, and walked toward the dementor, and pulled out
his wand,” said Hermione, “and he said, 'None of us is hiding Sirius Black under
our cloaks. Go. ' But the dementor didn't move, so Lupin muttered something, and
a silvery thing shot out of his wand at it, and it turned around and sort of
glided away... “
“It was horrible,” said Neville, in a higher voice than
usual. “Did YOU feel how cold it got when it came in?”
I felt weird,” said
Ron, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably. “Like I'd never be cheerful
again...”
Ginny, who was huddled in her corner looking nearly as bad as Harry
felt, gave a small sob; Hermione went over and put a comforting arm around
her.
“But didn't any of you—fall off your seats?” said Harry
awkwardly.
“No,” said Ron, looking anxiously at Harry again. “Ginny was
shaking like mad, though...”
Harry didn't understand. He felt weak and
shivery, as though he were recovering from a bad bout of flu; he also felt the
beginnings of shame. Why had he gone to pieces like that, when no one else
had?
Professor Lupin had come back. He paused as he entered, looked around,
and said, with a small smile, “I haven't poisoned that chocolate, you
know...”
Harry took a bite and to his great surprise felt warmth spread
suddenly to the tips of his fingers and toes.
“We'll be at Hogwarts in ten
minutes,” said Professor Lupin. “Are you all right, Harry?”
Harry didn't ask
how Professor Lupin knew his name.
“Fine,” he muttered, embarrassed.
They
didn't talk much during the remainder of the journey. At long last, the train
stopped at Hogsmeade station, and there was a great scramble to get outside;
owls hooted, cats meowed, and Neville's pet toad croaked loudly from under his
hat. It was freezing on the tiny platform; rain was driving down in icy
sheets.
“Firs' years this way!” called a familiar voice. Harry, Ron, and
Hermione turned and saw the gigantic outline of Hagrid at the other end of the
platform, beckoning the terrified-looking new students forward for their
traditional journey across the lake.
“All right, you three?” Hagrid yelled
over the heads of the crowd. They waved at him, but had no chance to speak to
him because the mass of people around them was shunting them away along the
platform. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed the rest of the school along the
platform and out onto a rough mud track, where at least a hundred stagecoaches
awaited the remaining students, each pulled, Harry could only assume, by an
invisible horse, because when they climbed inside and shut the door, the coach
set off all by itself, bumping and swaying in procession.
The coach smelled
faintly of mold and straw. Harry felt better since the chocolate, but still
weak. Ron and Hermione kept looking at him sideways, as though frightened he
might collapse again.
As the carriage trundled toward a pair of magnificent
wrought iron gates, flanked with stone columns topped with winged
boars,
Harry saw two more towering, hooded dementors, standing guard on
either side. A wave of cold sickness threatened to engulf him again; he leaned
back into the lumpy seat and closed his eyes until they had passed the gates.
The carriage picked up speed on the long, sloping drive up to the castle;
Hermione was leaning out of the tiny window, watching the many turrets and
towers draw nearer. At last, the carriage swayed to a halt, and Hermione and Ron
got out.
As Harry stepped down, a drawling, delighted voice sounded in his
ear.
“You fainted, Potter? Is Longbottorn telling the truth? You actualy
fainted?”
Malfoy elbowed past Hermione to block Harry's way up the stone
steps to the castle, his face gleeful and his pale eyes glinting maliciously.
“Shove off, Malfoy,” said Ron, whose jaw was clenched.
“Did you faint as
well, Weasley?” said Malfoy loudly. “Did the scary old dementor frighten you
too, Weasley?”
“Is there a problem?” said a mild voice. Professor Lupin had
just gotten out of the next carriage.
Malfoy gave Professor Lupin an insolent
stare, which took in the patches on his robes and the delapidated suitcase. With
a tiny hint of sarcasm in his voice, he said, “Oh, no—er—Professor,” then he
smirked at Crabbe and Goyle and led them up the steps into the
castle.
Hermione prodded Ron in the back to make him hurry, and the three of
them joined the crowd swarming up the steps, through the giant oak front doors,
into the cavernous entrance hall, which was lit with flaming torches, and housed
a magnificent marble staircase that led to the upper floors.
The door into
the Great Hall stood open at the right; Harry followed the crowd toward it, but
had barely glimpsed the enchanted ceiling, which was black and cloudy tonight,
when a voice called, “Potter! Granger! I want to see you both!”
Harry and
Hermione turned around, surprised. Professor McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher
and head of Gryffindor House, was calling over the heads of the crowd. She was a
sternlooking witch who wore her hair in a tight bun; her sharp eyes were framed
with square spectacles. Harry fought his way over to her with a feeling of
foreboding: Professor McGonagall had a way of making him feel he must have done
something wrong.
“There's no need to look so worried—I just want a word in MY
office,” she told them. “Move along there, Weasley.”
Ron stared as Professor
McGonagall ushered Harry and Hermione away from the chattering crowd; they
accompanied her across the entrance hall, up the marble staircase, and along a
corridor.
Once they were in her office, a small room with a large, welcoming
fire, Professor McGonagall motioned Harry and Hermione to sit down. She settled
herself behind her desk and said abruptly, “Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to
say that you were taken ill on the train, Potter.”
Before Harry could reply,
there was a soft knock on the door and Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, came bustling
in.
Harry felt himself going red in the face. It was bad enough that he'd
passed out, or whatever he had done, without everyone making all this
fuss.
“I'm fine,” he said, “I don't need anything
“Oh, it's you, is it?”
said Madam Pomfrey, ignoring this and bending down to stare closely at him. “I
suppose you've been doing something dangerous again?”
“It was a dementor,
Poppy,” said Professor McGonagall.
They exchanged a dark look, and Madam
Pomfrey clucked disapprovingly.
“Setting dementors around a school, she
muttered, pushing back Harry's hair and feeling his forehead. “He won't be the
last one who collapses. Yes, he's all clammy. Terrible things, they are, and the
effect they have on people who are already delicate
“I'm not delicate!” said
Harry crossly.
“Of course you're not,” said Madam Pomfrey absentmindedly, now
taking his pulse.
“What does he need?” said Professor McGonagall crisply.
“Bed rest? Should he perhaps spend tonight in the hospital wing?”
“I'm fine!”
said Harry, jumping up. The thought of what Draco Malfoy would say if he had to
go to the hospital wing was torture.
“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 Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who knows his
remedies?”
“Are you sure you feel all right, Potter?” Professor McGonagall
said sharply.
“Yes, “said Harry.
“Very well. Kindly wait outside while I
have a quick word with Miss Granger about her course schedule, then we can go
down to the feast together.”
Harry went back into the corridor with Madam
Pomfrey, who left for the hospital wing, muttering to herself He had to wait
only a few minutes; then Hermione emerged looking very happy about something,
followed by Professor McGonagall, and the three of them made their way back down
the marble staircase to the Great Hall.
It was a sea of pointed black hats;
each of the long House tables was lined with students, their faces glimmering by
the light of thousands of candles, which were floating over the tables in
midair. Professor Flitwick, who was a tiny little wizard with a shock of white
hair, was carrying an ancient hat and a three-legged stool out of the
hall.
“Oh,” said Hermione softly, “we've missed the Sorting!”
New students
at Hogwarts were sorted into Houses by trying on the sorting Hat, which shouted
out the House they were best suited to (Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or
Slytherin). Professor McGonagall strode off toward her empty seat at the staff
table, and Harry and Hermione set off in the other direction, as quietly as
possible, toward the Gryffindor table. People looked around at them as they
passed along the back of the hall, and a few of them pointed at Harry. Had the
story of his collapsing in front of the dementor traveled that fast?
He and
Hermione sat down on either side of Ron, who had saved them seats.
“What was
all that about?” he muttered to Harry.
Harry started to explain in a whisper,
but at that moment the headmaster stood up to speak, and he broke
off.
Professor Dumbledore, though very old, always gave an impression of
great energy. He had several feet of long silver hair and beard, half-moon
spectacles, and an extremely crooked nose. He was often described as the
greatest wizard of the age, but that wasn't why Harry respected him. You
couldn't help trusting Albus Dumbledore, and as Harry watched him beaming around
at the students, he felt really calm for the first time since the dementor had
entered the train compartment.
“Welcome!” said Dumbledore, the candlelight
shimmering on his beard. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few
things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to
get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent
feast...”
Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, “As you will all be
aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently
playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of
Magic business.”
He paused, and Harry remembered what Mr. Weasley had said
about Dumbledore not being happy with the dementors guarding the
school.
“They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds,” Dumbledore
continued, “and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to
leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or
disguises—or even Invisibility Cloaks,” he added blandly, and Harry and Ron
glanced at each other. “It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand
pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no
reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to
make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors,” he said.
Percy, who
was sitting a few seats down from Harry, puffed out his chest again and stared
around impressively. Dumbledore paused again; he looked very seriously around
the hall, and nobody moved or made a sound.
“On a happier note,” he
continued, I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this
year.
“First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of
Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”
There was some scattered, rather
unenthusiastic applause. Only those who had been in the compartment on the train
with Professor Lupin clapped hard, Harry among them. Professor Lupin looked
particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes.
“Look
at Snape!” Ron hissed in Harry's ear.
Professor Snape, the Potions master,
was staring along the staff table at Professor Lupin. It was common knowledge
that Snape,anted the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, but even Harry, who
hated Snape, was startled at the expression twisting his thin, sallow face. it
was beyond anger: it was loathing. Harry knew that expression only too well; it
was the look Snape wore every time he set eyes on Harry.
“As to our second
new appointment,” Dumbledore continued as the lukewarm applause for Professor
Lupin died away. “Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our
Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to
enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that
his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to
take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties.”
Harry, Ron,
and Hermione stared at one another, stunned. Then they joined in with the
applause, which was tumultuous at the Gryffindor table in particular. Harry
leaned forward to see Hagrid, who was ruby-red in the face and staring down at
his enormous hands, his wide grin hidden in the tangle of his black
beard.
“We should've known!” Ron roared, pounding the table. “Who else would
have assigned us a biting book?”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the last to
stop clapping, and as Professor Dumbledore started speaking again, they saw that
Hagrid was wiping his eyes on the tablecloth.
“Well, I think that's
everything of importance,” said Dumbledore. “Let the feast begin!”
The golden
plates and goblets before them filled suddenly with food and drink. Harry,
suddenly ravenous, helped himself to everything he could reach and began to
eat.
It was a delicious feast; the hall echoed with talk, laughter, and the
clatter of knives and forks. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, were eager for
it to finish so that they could talk to Hagrid. They knew how much being made a
teacher would mean to him. Hagrid wasn't a fully qualified wizard; he had been
expelled from Hogwarts in his third year for a crime he had not committed. It
had been Harry, Ron, and Hermione who had cleared Hagrid's name last year.
At
long last, when the last morsels of pumpkin tart had melted from the golden
platters, Dumbledore gave the word that it was time for them all to go to bed,
and they got their chance.
“Congratulations, Hagrid!” Hermione squealed as
they reached the teachers' table.
“All down ter you three,” said Hagrid,
wiping his shining face on his napkin as he looked up at them., “Can' believe
it... great man, Dumbledore... came straight down to me hut after Professor
Kettleburn said he'd had enough... It's what I always wanted. —”
Overcome
with emotion, he buried his face in his napkin, and Professor McGonagall shooed
them away.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined the Gryffindors streaming up the
marble staircase and, very tired now, along more corridors, UP more and more
stairs, to the hidden entrance to Gryffindor Tower's large portrait of a fat
lady in a pink dress asked them, “Password?”
“Coming through, coming
through!” Percy called from behind the crowd. “The new password's 'Fortuna
Major'!”
“Oh no,” said Neville Longbottom sadly. He always had trouble
remembering the passwords.
Through the portrait hole and across the common
room, the girls and boys divided toward their separate staircases. Harry climbed
the spiral stair with no thought in his head except how glad he was to be back.
They reached their familiar, circular dormitory with its five four-poster beds,
and Harry, looking around, felt he was home at last.
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