Harry Potter 03 - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

fingers under the table. ‘Er – how are the Flobberworms?’
    ‘Dead,’ said Hagrid gloomily. ‘Too much lettuce.’
    ‘Oh, no!’ said Ron, his lip twitching.
    ‘An’ them Dementors make me feel ruddy terrible an’ all,’ said Hagrid, with a sudden shudder. ‘Gotta walk past ’em ev’ry time I want a drink in the Three Broomsticks. ’S like bein’ back in Azkaban –’
    He fell silent, gulping his tea. Harry, Ron and Hermione watched him breathlessly. They had never heard Hagrid talk about his brief spell in Azkaban before. After a brief pause, Hermione said timidly, ‘Is it awful in there, Hagrid?’
    ‘Yeh’ve no idea,’ said Hagrid quietly. ‘Never bin anywhere like it. Thought I was goin’ mad. Kep’ goin’ over horrible stuff in me mind … the day I got expelled from Hogwarts … day me Dad died … day I had ter let Norbert go …’
    His eyes filled with tears. Norbert was the baby dragon Hagrid had once won in a game of cards.
    ‘Yeh can’ really remember who yeh are after a while. An’ yeh can’ see the point o’ livin’ at all. I used ter hope I’d jus’ die in me sleep … when they let me out, it was like bein’ born again, ev’rythin’ came floodin’ back, it was the bes’ feelin’ in the world. Mind, the Dementors weren’t keen on lettin’ me go.’
    ‘But you were innocent!’ said Hermione.
    Hagrid snorted.
    ‘Think that matters to them? They don’ care. Long as they’ve got a couple o’ hundred humans stuck there with ’em, so they can leech all the happiness out of ’em, they don’ give a damn who’s guilty an’ who’s not.’
    Hagrid went quiet for a moment, staring into his tea. Then he said quietly, ‘Thought o’ jus’ letting Buckbeak go … tryin’ ter make him fly away … but how d’yeh explain ter a Hippogriff it’s gotta go inter hidin’? An’ – an’ I’m scared o’ breakin’ the law …’ He looked up at them, tears leaking down his face again. ‘I don’ ever want ter go back ter Azkaban.’
    *
    The trip to Hagrid’s, though far from fun, had nevertheless had the effect Ron and Hermione had hoped. Though Harry had by no means forgotten about Black, he couldn’t brood constantly on revenge if he wanted to help Hagrid win his case against the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. He, Ron and Hermione went to the library next day, and returned to the empty common room laden with books which might help prepare a defence for Buckbeak. The three of them sat in front of the roaring fire, slowly turning the pages of dusty volumes about famous cases of marauding beasts, speaking occasionally when they ran across something relevant.
    ‘Here’s something … there was a case in 1722 … but the Hippogriff was convicted – urgh, look what they did to it, that’s disgusting –’
    ‘This might help, look – a Manticore savaged someone in 1296, and they let the Manticore off – oh – no, that was only because everyone was too scared to go near it …’
    Meanwhile, in the rest of the castle, the usual magnificent Christmas decorations had been put up, despite the fact that hardly any of the students remained to enjoy them. Thick streamers of holly and mistletoe were strung along the corridors, mysterious lights shone from inside every suit of armour and the Great Hall was filled with its usual twelve Christmas trees, glittering with golden stars. A powerful and delicious smell of cooking pervaded the corridors, and by Christmas Eve, it had grown so strong that even Scabbers poked his nose out of the shelter of Ron’s pocket to sniff hopefully at the air.
    On Christmas morning, Harry was woken by Ron throwing his pillow at him.
    ‘Oy! Presents!’
    Harry reached for his glasses and put them on, squinting through the semi-darkness to the foot of his bed, where a small heap of parcels had appeared. Ron was already ripping the paper off his own presents.
    ‘Another jumper from Mum … maroon again … see if you’ve got one.’
    Harry had. Mrs Weasley had sent him a scarlet jumper with the Gryffindor lion knitted on the front, also a dozen home-baked mince pies, some Christmas cake and a box of nut brittle. As he moved all these things aside, he saw a long, thin package lying underneath.
    ‘What’s that?’ said Ron, looking over, a freshly unwrapped pair of maroon socks in his hand.
    ‘Dunno …’
    Harry ripped the parcel open and gasped as a magnificent, gleaming broomstick rolled out onto his bedspread.