Harry Potter 03 - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

very low tunnel. Crookshanks was a little way along, his eyes flashing in the light from Harry’s wand. Seconds later, Hermione slithered down beside him.
    ‘Where’s Ron?’ she whispered in a terrified voice.
    ‘This way,’ said Harry, setting off, bent-backed, after Crookshanks.
    ‘Where does this tunnel come out?’ Hermione asked breathlessly from behind him.
    ‘I don’t know … it’s marked on the Marauder’s Map but Fred and George said no one’s ever got into it. It goes off the edge of the map, but it looked like it ends up in Hogsmeade …’
    They moved as fast as they could, bent almost double; ahead of them, Crookshanks’s tail bobbed in and out of view. On and on went the passage; it felt at least as long as the one to Honeydukes. All Harry could think of was Ron, and what the enormous dog might be doing to him … he was drawing breath in sharp, painful gasps, running at a crouch …
    And then the tunnel began to rise; moments later it twisted, and Crookshanks had gone. Instead, Harry could see a patch of dim light through a small opening.
    He and Hermione paused, gasping for breath, edging forwards. Both raised their wands to see what lay beyond.
    It was a room, a very disordered, dusty room. Paper was peeling from the walls; there were stains all over the floor; every piece of furniture was broken as though somebody had smashed it. The windows were all boarded-up.
    Harry glanced at Hermione, who looked very frightened, but nodded.
    Harry pulled himself out of the hole, staring around. The room was deserted, but a door to their right stood open, leading to a shadowy hallway. Hermione suddenly grabbed Harry’s arm again. Her wide eyes were travelling around the boarded windows.
    ‘Harry,’ she whispered. ‘I think we’re in the Shrieking Shack.’
    Harry looked around. His eyes fell on a wooden chair near them. Large chunks had been torn out of it; one of the legs had been ripped off entirely.
    ‘Ghosts didn’t do that,’ he said slowly.
    At that moment, there was a creak overhead. Something had moved upstairs. Both of them looked up at the ceiling. Hermione’s grip on Harry’s arm was so tight he was losing feeling in his fingers. He raised his eyebrows at her; she nodded again and let go.
    Quietly as they could, they crept out into the hall and up the crumbling staircase. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust except the floor, where a wide, shiny stripe had been made by something being dragged upstairs.
    They reached the dark landing.
    ‘Nox,’ they whispered together, and the lights at the end of their wands went out. Only one door was open. As they crept towards it, they heard movement from behind it; a low moan, and then a deep, loud purring. They exchanged a last look, a last nod.
    Wand held tightly before him, Harry kicked the door wide open.
    On a magnificent four-poster bed with dusty hangings, lay Crookshanks, purring loudly at the sight of them. On the floor beside him, clutching his leg, which stuck out at a strange angle, was Ron.
    Harry and Hermione dashed across to him.
    ‘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 …’
    Ron was staring over Harry’s shoulder. Harry wheeled around. With a snap, the man in the shadows closed the door behind them.
    A mass of filthy, matted hair hung to his elbows. If eyes hadn’t been shining out of the deep, dark sockets, he might have been a corpse. The waxy skin was stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull. His yellow teeth were bared in a grin. It was Sirius Black.
    ‘Expelliarmus!’ he croaked, pointing Ron’s wand at them.
    Harry’s and Hermione’s wands shot out of their hands, high in the air, and Black caught them. Then he took a step closer. His eyes were fixed on Harry.
    ‘I thought you’d come and help your friend,’ he said hoarsely. His voice sounded as though he had long ago lost the habit of using it. ‘Your father would have done the same for me. Brave of you, not to run for a teacher. I’m grateful … it will make everything much easier …’
    The taunt about his father rang in Harry’s ears as though Black had bellowed it. A boiling hate erupted in Harry’s chest, leaving no place for fear. For the first time in his life, he wanted his wand back in his hand, not to defend himself, but to attack …