Harry Potter 03 - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

surprised. Professor McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher and Head of Gryffindor house, was calling over the heads of the crowd. She was a stern-looking witch who wore her hair in a tight bun; her sharp eyes were framed with square spectacles. Harry fought his way over to her with a feeling of foreboding; Professor McGonagall had a way of making him feel he must have done something wrong.
    ‘There’s no need to look so worried – I just want a word in my office,’ she told them. ‘Move along there, Weasley.’
    Ron stared as Professor McGonagall ushered Harry and Hermione away from the chattering crowd; they accompanied her across the Entrance Hall, up the marble staircase and along a corridor.
    Once they were in her office, a small room with a large, welcoming fire, Professor McGonagall motioned Harry and Hermione to sit down. She settled herself behind her desk and said abruptly, ‘Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to say that you were taken ill on the train, Potter.’
    Before Harry could reply, there was a soft knock on the door and Madam Pomfrey, the matron, came bustling in.
    Harry felt himself going red in the face. It was bad enough that he’d passed out, or whatever he had done, without everyone making all this fuss.
    ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘I don’t need anything –’
    ‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ said Madam Pomfrey, ignoring this and bending down to stare closely at him. ‘I suppose you’ve been doing something dangerous again?’
    ‘It was a Dementor, Poppy,’ said Professor McGonagall.
    They exchanged a dark look and Madam Pomfrey clucked disapprovingly.
    ‘Setting Dementors around a school,’ she muttered, pushing Harry’s hair back and feeling his forehead. ‘He won’t be the first one who collapses. Yes, he’s all clammy. Terrible things, they are, and the effect they have on people who are already delicate –’
    ‘I’m not delicate!’ said Harry crossly.
    ‘Of course you’re not,’ said Madam Pomfrey absent-mindedly, now taking his pulse.
    ‘What does he need?’ said Professor McGonagall crisply. ‘Bed rest? Should he perhaps spend tonight in the hospital wing?’
    ‘I’m fine !’ said Harry, jumping up. The idea of what Draco Malfoy would say if he had to go to the hospital wing was torture.
    ‘Well, he should have some chocolate, at the very least,’ said Madam Pomfrey, who was now trying to peer into Harry’s eyes.
    ‘I’ve already had some,’ said Harry. ‘Professor Lupin gave me some. He gave it to all of us.’
    ‘Did he, now?’ said Madam Pomfrey approvingly. ‘So we’ve finally got a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who knows his remedies.’
    ‘Are you sure you feel all right, Potter?’ said Professor McGonagall sharply.
    ‘Yes,’ said Harry.
    ‘Very well. Kindly wait outside while I have a quick word with Miss Granger about her timetable, then we can go down to the feast together.’
    Harry went back into the corridor with Madam Pomfrey, who left for the hospital wing, muttering to herself. He only had to wait a few minutes; then Hermione emerged looking very happy about something, followed by Professor McGonagall, and the three of them made their way back down the marble staircase to the Great Hall.
    It was a sea of pointed black hats; each of the long house tables was lined with students, their faces glimmering by the light of thousands of candles, which were floating over the tables in mid-air. Professor Flitwick, who was a tiny little wizard with a shock of white hair, was carrying an ancient hat and a three-legged stool out of the Hall.
    ‘Oh,’ said Hermione softly, ‘we’ve missed the Sorting!’
    New students at Hogwarts were sorted into houses by trying on the Sorting Hat, which shouted out the house they were best suited to (Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff or Slytherin). Professor McGonagall strode off towards her empty seat at the staff table, and Harry and Hermione set off in the other direction, as quietly as possible, towards the Gryffindor table. People looked around at them as they passed along the back of the Hall, and a few of them pointed at Harry. Had the story of him collapsing in front of the Dementor travelled that fast?
    He and Hermione sat down on either side of Ron, who had saved them seats.
    ‘What was all that about?’ he muttered to Harry.
    Harry started to explain in a whisper, but at that moment the Headmaster stood up to speak, and he broke off.
    Professor Dumbledore, though very old, always