Harry Potter 03 - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

back here before dark each night. Sure you’ll understand. Tom will be keeping an eye on you for me.’
    ‘OK,’ said Harry slowly, ‘but why –?’
    ‘Don’t want to lose you again, do we?’ said Fudge with a hearty laugh. ‘No, no … best we know where you are … I mean …’
    Fudge cleared his throat loudly and picked up his pinstriped cloak.
    ‘Well, I’ll be off, plenty to do, you know.’
    ‘Have you had any luck with Black yet?’ Harry asked.
    Fudge’s fingers slipped on the silver fastenings of his cloak.
    ‘What’s that? Oh, you’ve heard – well, no, not yet, but it’s only a matter of time. The Azkaban guards have never yet failed … and they are angrier than I’ve ever seen them.’
    Fudge shuddered slightly.
    ‘So, I’ll say goodbye.’
    He held out his hand and Harry, shaking it, had a sudden idea.
    ‘Er – Minister? Can I ask you something?’
    ‘Certainly,’ smiled Fudge.
    ‘Well, third-years at Hogwarts are allowed to visit Hogsmeade, but my aunt and uncle didn’t sign the permission form. D’you think you could?’
    Fudge was looking uncomfortable.
    ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘No. No, I’m very sorry, Harry, but as I’m not your parent or guardian –’
    ‘But you’re the Minister for Magic,’ said Harry eagerly. ‘If you gave me permission –’
    ‘No, I’m sorry, Harry, but rules are rules,’ said Fudge flatly. ‘Perhaps you’ll be able to visit Hogsmeade next year. In fact, I think it best if you don’t … yes … well, I’ll be off. Enjoy your stay, Harry.’
    And with a last smile and shake of Harry’s hand, Fudge left the room. Tom now moved forward, beaming at Harry.
    ‘If you’ll follow me, Mr Potter,’ he said. ‘I’ve already taken your things up …’
    Harry followed Tom up a handsome wooden staircase to a door with a brass number eleven on it, which Tom unlocked and opened for him.
    Inside was a very comfortable-looking bed, some highly polished oak furniture, a cheerfully crackling fire and, perched on top of the wardrobe –
    ‘Hedwig!’ Harry gasped.
    The snowy owl clicked her beak and fluttered down onto Harry’s arm.
    ‘Very smart owl you’ve got there,’ chuckled Tom. ‘Arrived about five minutes after you did. If there’s anything you need, Mr Potter, don’t hesitate to ask.’
    He gave another bow and left.
    Harry sat on his bed for a long time, absent-mindedly stroking Hedwig. The sky outside the window was changing rapidly from deep, velvety blue to cold, steely grey and then, slowly, to pink shot with gold. Harry could hardly believe that he’d only left Privet Drive a few hours ago, that he wasn’t expelled, and that he was now facing three completely Dursley-free weeks.
    ‘It’s been a very weird night, Hedwig,’ he yawned.
    And without even removing his glasses, he slumped back onto his pillows and fell asleep.

 
     
– 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 liked, 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 back yard, take out his wand, tap the third brick from the left above the dustbin, 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 coloured umbrellas outside cafés, where his fellow diners were showing each other their purchases (‘it’s a lunascope, old boy – no more messing around with moon charts, see?’) or else discussing the case of Sirius Black (‘personally, 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 torchlight any more; now he could sit in the bright sunshine outside Florean Fortescue’s