Harry Potter 03 - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

decided. There will be no more argument. But quiet … I think I hear Nagini …’
    And the second man’s voice changed. He started making noises such as Frank had never heard before; he was hissing and spitting without drawing breath. Frank thought he must be having some sort of fit or seizure.
    And then Frank heard movement behind him in the dark passageway. He turned to look behind him, and found himself paralysed with fright.
    Something was slithering towards him along the dark corridor floor, and as it drew nearer to the sliver of firelight, he realised with a thrill of terror that it was a gigantic snake, at least twelve feet long. Horrified, transfixed, Frank stared at it as its undulating body cut a wide, curving track through the thick dust on the floor, coming closer and closer – what was he to do? The only means of escape was into the room where two men sat plotting murder, yet if he stayed where he was the snake would surely kill him –
    But before he had made his decision, the snake was level with him, and then, incredibly, miraculously, it was passing; it was following the spitting, hissing noises made by the cold voice beyond the door, and in seconds, the tip of its diamond-patterned tail had vanished through the gap.
    There was sweat on Frank’s forehead now, and the hand on the walking stick was trembling. Inside the room, the cold voice was continuing to hiss, and Frank was visited by a strange idea, an impossible idea … This man could talk to snakes.
    Frank didn’t understand what was going on. He wanted more than anything to be back in his bed with his hot-water bottle. The problem was that his legs didn’t seem to want to move. As he stood there shaking, and trying to master himself, the cold voice switched abruptly to English again.
    ‘Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail,’ it said.
    ‘In-indeed, my Lord?’ said Wormtail.
    ‘Indeed, yes,’ said the voice. ‘According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say.’
    Frank didn’t have a chance to hide himself. There were footsteps, and then the door of the room was flung wide open.
    A short, balding man with greying hair, a pointed nose and small, watery eyes stood before Frank, a mixture of fear and alarm on his face.
    ‘Invite him inside, Wormtail. Where are your manners?’
    The cold voice was coming from the ancient armchair before the fire, but Frank couldn’t see the speaker. The snake, on the other hand, was curled up on the rotting hearth-rug, like some horrible travesty of a pet dog.
    Wormtail beckoned Frank into the room. Though still deeply shaken, Frank took a firmer grip upon his walking stick, and limped over the threshold.
    The fire was the only source of light in the room; it was casting long, spidery shadows upon the walls. Frank stared at the back of the armchair; the man inside it seemed to be even smaller than his servant, for Frank couldn’t even see the back of his head.
    ‘You heard everything, Muggle?’ said the cold voice.
    ‘What’s that you’re calling me?’ said Frank defiantly, for now that he was inside the room, now that the time had come for some sort of action, he felt braver; it had always been so in the war.
    ‘I am calling you a Muggle,’ said the voice coolly. ‘It means that you are not a wizard.’
    ‘I don’t know what you mean by wizard,’ said Frank, his voice growing steadier. ‘All I know is I’ve heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have. You’ve done murder and you’re planning more! And I’ll tell you this, too,’ he added, on a sudden inspiration, ‘my wife knows I’m up here, and if I don’t come back –’
    ‘You have no wife,’ said the cold voice, very quietly. ‘Nobody knows you are here. You told nobody that you were coming. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows … he always knows …’
    ‘Is that right?’ said Frank roughly. ‘Lord, is it? Well, I don’t think much of your manners, my Lord. Turn round and face me like a man, why don’t you?’
    ‘But I am not a man, Muggle,’ said the cold voice, barely audible now over the crackling of the flames. ‘I am much, much more than a man. However … why not? I will face you … Wormtail, come turn my chair around.’
    The servant gave a whimper.
    ‘You heard me, Wormtail.’
    Slowly, with his face screwed up, as though he would rather have done anything than approach his master and the hearth-rug where the snake