Harry Potter 03 - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

pulled off the Cloak, tucked it under his arm, and ran, flat out, along the passage … Malfoy would get back first … how long would it take him to find a teacher? Panting, a sharp pain in his side, Harry didn’t slow down until he reached the stone slide. He would have to leave the Cloak where it was, it was too much of a giveaway if Malfoy had tipped off a teacher. He hid it in a shadowy corner, then started to climb, fast as he could, his sweaty hands slipping on the sides of the chute. He reached the inside of the witch’s hump, tapped it with his wand, stuck his head through and hoisted himself out; the hump closed, and just as Harry jumped out from behind the statue, he heard quick footsteps approaching.
    It was Snape. He approached Harry at a swift walk, his black robes swishing, then stopped in front of him.
    ‘So,’ he said.
    There was a look of suppressed triumph about him. Harry tried to look innocent, all too aware of his sweaty face and his muddy hands, which he quickly hid in his pockets.
    ‘Come with me, Potter,’ said Snape.
    Harry followed him downstairs, trying to wipe his hands clean on the inside of his robes without Snape noticing. They walked down the stairs to the dungeons and then into Snape’s office.
    Harry had only been in here once before, and he had been in very serious trouble then, too. Snape had acquired a few more horrible slimy things in jars since last time, all standing on shelves behind his desk, glinting in the firelight and adding to the threatening atmosphere.
    ‘Sit,’ said Snape.
    Harry sat. Snape, however, remained standing.
    ‘Mr Malfoy has just been to see me with a strange story, Potter,’ said Snape.
    Harry didn’t say anything.
    ‘He tells me that he was up by the Shrieking Shack when he ran into Weasley – apparently alone.’
    Still, Harry didn’t speak.
    ‘Mr Malfoy states that he was standing talking to Weasley, when a large amount of mud hit him on the back of the head. How do you think that could have happened?’
    Harry tried to look mildly surprised.
    ‘I don’t know, Professor.’
    Snape’s eyes were boring into Harry’s. It was exactly like trying to stare out a Hippogriff. Harry tried hard not to blink.
    ‘Mr Malfoy then saw an extraordinary apparition. Can you imagine what it might have been, Potter?’
    ‘No,’ said Harry, now trying to sound innocently curious.
    ‘It was your head, Potter. Floating in mid-air.’
    There was a long silence.
    ‘Maybe he’d better go to Madam Pomfrey,’ said Harry. ‘If he’s seeing things like –’
    ‘What would your head have been doing in Hogsmeade, Potter?’ said Snape softly. ‘Your head is not allowed in Hogsmeade. No part of your body has permission to be in Hogsmeade.’
    ‘I know that,’ said Harry, striving to keep his face free of guilt or fear. ‘It sounds like Malfoy’s having hallucin–’
    ‘Malfoy is not having hallucinations,’ snarled Snape, and he bent down, a hand on each arm of Harry’s chair, so that their faces were a foot apart. ‘If your head was in Hogsmeade, so was the rest of you.’
    ‘I’ve been up in Gryffindor Tower,’ said Harry. ‘Like you told –’
    ‘Can anyone confirm that?’
    Harry didn’t say anything. Snape’s thin mouth curled into a horrible smile.
    ‘So,’ he said, straightening up again. ‘Everyone from the Minister for Magic downwards has been trying to keep famous Harry Potter safe from Sirius Black. But famous Harry Potter is a law unto himself. Let the ordinary people worry about his safety! Famous Harry Potter goes where he wants to, with no thought for the consequences.’
    Harry stayed silent. Snape was trying to provoke him into telling the truth. He wasn’t going to do it. Snape had no proof – yet.
    ‘How extraordinarily like your father you are, Potter,’ Snape said suddenly, his eyes glinting. ‘He, too, was exceedingly arrogant. A small amount of talent on the Quidditch pitch made him think he was a cut above the rest of us, too. Strutting around the place with his friends and admirers … the resemblance between you is uncanny.’
    ‘My dad didn’t strut ,’ said Harry, before he could stop himself. ‘And nor do I.’
    ‘Your father didn’t set much store by rules, either,’ Snape went on, pressing his advantage, his thin face full of malice. ‘Rules were for lesser mortals, not Quidditch Cup-winners. His head was so swollen –’
    ‘SHUT UP!’
    Harry was suddenly on his feet. Rage such as he had