Harry Potter 03 - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

room in the search for his badge.
    ‘We’ve got it,’ Fred whispered to Harry. ‘We’ve been improving it.’
    The badge now read Bighead Boy.
    Harry forced a laugh, went to give Ron the rat tonic, then shut himself in his room and lay down on his bed.
    So Sirius Black was after him. That explained everything. Fudge had been lenient with him because he was so relieved to find him alive. He’d made Harry promise to stay in Diagon Alley, where there were plenty of wizards to keep an eye on him. And he was sending two Ministry cars to take them all to the station tomorrow, so that the Weasleys could look after Harry until he was on the train.
    Harry lay listening to the muffled shouting next door and wondered why he didn’t feel more scared. Sirius Black had murdered thirteen people with one curse; Mr and Mrs Weasley obviously thought Harry would be panic-stricken if he knew the truth. But Harry happened to agree whole-heartedly with Mrs Weasley that the safest place on earth was wherever Albus Dumbledore happened to be. Didn’t people always say that Dumbledore was the only person Lord Voldemort had ever been afraid of? Surely Black, as Voldemort’s right-hand man, would be just as frightened of him?
    And then there were these Azkaban guards everyone kept talking about. They seemed to scare most people senseless, and if they were stationed all around the school, Black’s chances of getting inside seemed very remote.
    No, all in all, the thing that bothered Harry most was the fact that his chances of visiting Hogsmeade now looked like zero. Nobody would want Harry to leave the safety of the castle until Black was caught; in fact, Harry suspected his every move would be carefully watched until the danger had passed.
    He scowled at the dark ceiling. Did they think he couldn’t look after himself? He’d escaped Lord Voldemort three times, he wasn’t completely useless …
    Unbidden, the image of the beast in the shadows of Magnolia Crescent crossed his mind. What to do when you know the worst is coming …
    ‘I’m not going to be murdered,’ Harry said out loud.
    ‘That’s the spirit, dear,’ said his mirror sleepily.

 
     
– CHAPTER FIVE –
     
The Dementor
    Tom woke Harry 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 towards the first of two old-fashioned 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,