Harry Potter 03 - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Lupin, holding Scabbers tightly in one hand and his wand in the other. ‘On the count of three. One – two – THREE!’
    A flash of blue-white light erupted from both wands; for a moment, Scabbers was frozen in mid-air, his small black form twisting madly – Ron yelled – the rat fell and hit the floor. There was another blinding flash of light and then –
    It was like watching a speeded-up film of a growing tree. A head was shooting upwards from the ground; limbs were sprouting; next moment, a man was standing where Scabbers had been, cringing and wringing his hands. Crookshanks was spitting and snarling on the bed, the hair on his back standing up.
    He was a very short man, hardly taller than Harry and Hermione. His thin, colourless hair was unkempt and there was a large bald patch on top. He had the shrunken appearance of a plump man who had lost a lot of weight in a short time. His skin looked grubby, almost like Scabbers’s fur, and something of the rat lingered around his pointed nose, his very small, watery eyes. He looked around at them all, his breathing fast and shallow. Harry saw his eyes dart to the door and back again.
    ‘Well, hello, Peter,’ said Lupin pleasantly, as though rats frequently erupted into old schoolfriends around him. ‘Long time, no see.’
    ‘S-Sirius … R-Remus …’ Even Pettigrew’s voice was squeaky. Again, his eyes darted towards the door. ‘My friends … my old friends …’
    Black’s wand arm rose, but Lupin seized him around the wrist, gave him a warning look, then turned again to Pettigrew, his voice light and casual.
    ‘We’ve been having a little chat, Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. You might have missed the finer points while you were squeaking around down there on the bed –’
    ‘Remus,’ gasped Pettigrew, and Harry could see beads of sweat breaking out over his pasty face, ‘you don’t believe him, do you … He tried to kill me, Remus …’
    ‘So we’ve heard,’ said Lupin, more coldly. ‘I’d like to clear up one or two little matters with you, Peter, if you’d be so –’
    ‘He’s come to try and kill me again!’ Pettigrew shrieked suddenly, pointing at Black, and Harry saw that he used his middle finger, because his index was missing. ‘He killed Lily and James and now he’s going to kill me, too … you’ve got to help me, Remus …’
    Black’s face looked more skull-like than ever as he stared at Pettigrew with his fathomless eyes.
    ‘No one’s going to try and kill you until we’ve sorted a few things out,’ said Lupin.
    ‘Sorted things out?’ squealed Pettigrew, looking wildly about him once more, eyes taking in the boarded windows and, again, the only door. ‘I knew he’d come after me! I knew he’d be back for me! I’ve been waiting for this for twelve years!’
    ‘You knew Sirius was going to break out of Azkaban?’ said Lupin, his brow furrowed. ‘When nobody has ever done it before?’
    ‘He’s got Dark powers the rest of us can only dream of!’ Pettigrew shouted shrilly. ‘How else did he get out of there? I suppose He Who Must Not Be Named taught him a few tricks!’
    Black started to laugh, a horrible, mirthless laugh that filled the whole room.
    ‘Voldemort, teach me tricks?’ he said.
    Pettigrew flinched as though Black had brandished a whip at him.
    ‘What, scared to hear your old master’s name?’ said Black. ‘I don’t blame you, Peter. His lot aren’t very happy with you, are they?’
    ‘Don’t know – what you mean, Sirius –’ muttered Pettigrew, his breathing faster than ever. His whole face was shining with sweat now.
    ‘You haven’t been hiding from me for twelve years,’ said Black. ‘You’ve been hiding from Voldemort’s old supporters. I heard things in Azkaban, Peter … they all think you’re dead, or you’d have to answer to them … I’ve heard them screaming all sorts of things in their sleep. Sounds like they think the double-crosser double-crossed them. Voldemort went to the Potters’ on your information … and Voldemort met his downfall there. And not all Voldemort’s supporters ended up in Azkaban, did they? There are still plenty out here, biding their time, pretending they’ve seen the error of their ways … If they ever got wind that you were still alive, Peter –’
    ‘Don’t know … what you’re talking about …’ said Pettigrew again, more shrilly than ever. He wiped his face on his sleeve and looked up at