Harry Potter 03 - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

supposed to be in three classes at once?’
    ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Hermione shortly. ‘Of course I won’t be in three classes at once.’
    ‘Well, then –’
    ‘Pass the marmalade,’ said Hermione.
    ‘But –’
    ‘Oh, Ron, what’s it to you if my timetable’s a bit full?’ Hermione snapped. ‘I told you, I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.’
    Just then, Hagrid entered the Great Hall. He was wearing his long moleskin overcoat and was absent-mindedly swinging a dead polecat from one enormous hand.
    ‘All righ’?’ he said eagerly, pausing on the way to the staff table. ‘Yer in my firs’ ever lesson! Right after lunch! Bin up since five gettin’ everythin’ ready … hope it’s OK … me, a teacher … hones’ly …’
    He grinned broadly at them and headed off to the staff table, still swinging the polecat.
    ‘Wonder what he’s been getting ready?’ said Ron, a note of anxiety in his voice.
    The Hall was starting to empty as people headed off towards their first lesson. Ron checked his timetable.
    ‘We’d better go, look, Divination’s at the top of North Tower. It’ll take us ten minutes to get there …’
    They finished their breakfast hastily, said goodbye to Fred and George and walked back through the Hall. As they passed the Slytherin table, Malfoy did yet another impression of a fainting fit. The shouts of laughter followed Harry into the Entrance Hall.
    The journey through the castle to North Tower was a long one. Two years at Hogwarts hadn’t taught them everything about the castle, and they had never been inside North Tower before.
    ‘There’s – got – to – be – a – short – cut,’ Ron panted, as they climbed their seventh long staircase and emerged on an unfamiliar landing, where there was nothing but a large painting of a bare stretch of grass hanging on the stone wall.
    ‘I think it’s this way,’ said Hermione, peering down the empty passage to the right.
    ‘Can’t be,’ said Ron. ‘That’s south. Look, you can see a bit of the lake out of the window …’
    Harry was watching the painting. A fat, dapple-grey pony had just ambled onto the grass and was grazing nonchalantly. Harry was used to the subjects of Hogwarts paintings moving around and leaving their frames to visit each other, but he always enjoyed watching them. A moment later, a short, squat knight in a suit of armour had clanked into the picture after his pony. By the look of the grass stains on his metal knees, he had just fallen off.
    ‘Aha!’ he yelled, seeing Harry, Ron and Hermione. ‘What villains are these that trespass upon my private lands? Come to scorn at my fall, perchance? Draw, you knaves, you dogs!’
    They watched in astonishment as the little knight tugged his sword out of its scabbard and began brandishing it violently, hopping up and down in rage. But the sword was too long for him; a particularly wild swing made him overbalance, and he landed face down in the grass.
    ‘Are you all right?’ said Harry, moving closer to the picture.
    ‘Get back, you scurvy braggart! Back, you rogue!’
    The knight seized his sword again and used it to push himself back up, but the blade sank deeply into the grass and, though he pulled with all his might, he couldn’t get it out again. Finally he had to flop back down onto the grass and push up his visor to mop his sweating face.
    ‘Listen,’ said Harry, taking advantage of the knight’s exhaustion, ‘we’re looking for the North Tower. You don’t know the way, do you?’
    ‘A quest!’ The knight’s rage seemed to vanish instantly. He clanked to his feet and shouted, ‘Come follow me, dear friends, and we shall find our goal, or else shall perish bravely in the charge!’
    He gave the sword another fruitless tug, tried and failed to mount the fat pony, and cried, ‘On foot then, good sirs and gentle lady! On! On!’
    And he ran, clanking loudly, into the left-hand side of the frame and out of sight.
    They hurried after him along the corridor, following the sound of his armour. Every now and then they spotted him running through a picture ahead.
    ‘Be of stout heart, the worst is yet to come!’ yelled the knight, and they saw him reappear in front of an alarmed group of women in crinolines, whose picture hung on the wall of a narrow spiral staircase.
    Puffing loudly, Harry, Ron and Hermione climbed the tightly spiralling steps, getting dizzier and dizzier, until at last they heard the murmur of voices