Professor Snape, who would be delighted to have an excuse to giveHarry detention for a month. Harry had therefore seized his chance inthe first week of the holidays. While Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia,and Dudley had gone out into the front garden to admire UncleVernon's new company car (in very loud voices, so that the restof the street would notice it too), Harry had crept downstairs,picked the lock on the cupboard under the stairs, grabbed some ofhis books, and hidden them in his bedroom. As long as he didn'tleave spots of ink on the sheets, the Dursleys need never know thathe was studying magic by night. Harry was particularly keen to avoid trouble with his aunt anduncle at the moment, as they were already in an especially bad moodwith him, all because he'd received a telephone call from a fellowwizard one week into the school vacation. Ron Weasley, who was one of Harry's best friends at Hogwarts,came from a whole family of wizards. This meant that he knew a lotof things Harry didn't, but had never used a telephone before. Mostunluckily, it had been Uncle Vernon who had answered the call. "Vernon Dursley speaking." Harry, who happened to be in the room at the time, froze as heheard Ron's voice answer. "HELLO? HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME? I -- WANT -- TO -- TALK --TO -- HARRY -- POTTER!" Ron was yelling so loudly that Uncle Vernon jumped and held thereceiver a foot away from his ear, staring at it with an expressionof mingled fury and alarm. "WHO IS THIS?" he roared in the direction of the mouthpiece. "WHOARE YOU?" "RON -- WEASLEY!" Ron bellowed back, as though he and UncleVernon were speaking from opposite ends of a football field. "I'M --A -- FRIEND -- OF -- HARRY'S -- FROM -- SCHOOL --" Uncle Vernon's small eyes swiveled around to Harry, who wasrooted to the spot. "THERE IS NO HARRY POTTER HERE!" he roared, now holding thereceiver at arm's length, as though frightened it might explode. "IDON'T KNOW WHAT SCHOOL YOURE TALKING ABOUT! NEVER CONTACT MEAGAIN! DON'T YOU COME NEAR MY FAMILY!" And he threw the receiver back onto the telephone as if droppinga poisonous spider. The fight that had followed had been one of the worst ever. "HOW DARE YOU GIVE THIS NUMBER TO PEOPLE LIKE -- PEOPLE LIKEYOU!" Uncle Vernon had roared, spraying Harry with spit. Ron obviously realized that he'd gotten Harry into trouble,because he hadn't called again. Harry's other best friend fromHogwarts, Hermione Granger, hadn't been in touch either. Harrysuspected that Ron had warned Hermione not to call, which was a pity,because Hermione, the cleverest witch in Harry's year, had Muggleparents, knew perfectly well how to use a telephone, and wouldprobably have had enough sense not to say that she went to Hogwarts. So Harry had had no word from any of his wizarding friends forfive long weeks, and this summer was turning out to be almost asbad as the last one. There was just one very small improvement --after swearing that he wouldn't use her to send letters to any of

his friends, Harry had been allowed to let his owl, Hedwig, out atnight. Uncle Vernon had given in because of the racket Hedwig madeif she was locked in her cage all the time. Harry finished writing about Wendelin the Weird and paused tolisten again. The silence in the dark house was broken only bythe distant, grunting snores of his enormous cousin, Dudley. Itmust be very late, Harry thought. His eyes were itching withtiredness. Perhaps he'd finish this essay tomorrow night.... He replaced the top of the ink bottle; pulled an old pillowcasefrom under his bed; put the flashlight, A History of Magic, hisessay, quill, and ink inside it; got out of bed; and hid thelot under a loose floorboard under his bed. Then he stood up,stretched, and checked the time on the luminous alarm clock on hisbedside table. It was one o'clock in the morning. Harry's stomach gave a funnyjolt. He had been thirteen years old, without realizing it, for awhole hour. Yet another unusual thing about Harry was how little he lookedforward to his birthdays. He had never received a birthday card inhis life. The Dursleys had completely ignored his last two birthdays,and he had no reason to suppose they would remember this one. Harry walked across the dark room, past Hedwig's large, emptycage, to the open window. He leaned on the sill, the cool night airpleasant on his face after a long time under the blankets. Hedwighad been absent for two nights now. Harry wasn't worried about her:she'd been gone this long before. But he hoped she'd be back soon --she was the only living creature in this house who didn't flinchat the sight of him. Harry, though still rather small and skinny for his age, hadgrown a few inches over the last year. His jet-black hair, however,was just as it always had been -- stubbornly untidy, whatever hedid to it. The eyes behind his glasses were bright green, and onhis forehead, clearly visible through his hair, was a thin scar,shaped like a bolt of lightning. Of all the unusual things about Harry, this scar was the mostextraordinary of all. It was not, as the Dursleys had pretendedfor ten years, a souvenir of the car crash that had killedHarry's parents, because Lily and James Potter had not died ina car crash. They had been murdered, murdered by the most fearedDark wizard for a hundred years, Lord Voldemort. Harry had escapedfrom the same attack with nothing more than a scar on his forehead,where Voldemort's curse, instead of killing him, had rebounded uponits originator. Barely alive, Voldemort had fled.... But Harry had come face-to-face with him at Hogwarts. Rememberingtheir last meeting as he stood at the dark window, Harry had toadmit he was lucky even to have reached his thirteenth birthday. He scanned the starry sky for a sign of Hedwig, perhaps soaring back to him with a dead mouse dangling from her beak, expectingpraise. Gazing absently over the rooftops, it was a few secondsbefore Harry realized what he was seeing. Silhouetted against the golden moon, and growing larger everymoment, was a large, strangely lopsided creature, and it was flappingin Harry's direction. He stood quite still, watching it sink lowerand lower. For a split second he hesitated, his hand on the windowlatch, wondering whether to slam it shut. But then the bizarrecreature soared over one of the street lamps of Privet Drive,and Harry, realizing what it was, leapt aside. Through the window soared three owls, two of them holding upthe third, which appeared to be unconscious. They landed with a softflump on Harry's bed, and the middle owl, which was large and gray,keeled right over and lay motionless. There was a large packagetied to its legs. Harry recognized the unconscious owl at once -- his name wasErrol, and he belonged to the Weasley family. Harry dashed to thebed, untied the cords around Errol's legs, took off the parcel, andthen carried Errol to Hedwig's cage. Errol opened one bleary eye,gave a feeble hoot of thanks, and began to gulp some water. Harry turned back to the remaining owls. One of them, thelarge snowy female, was his own Hedwig. She, too, was carrying aparcel and looked extremely pleased with herself. She gave Harryan affectionate nip with her beak as he removed her burden, thenflew across the room to join Errol. Harry didn't recognize the third owl, a handsome tawny one,but he knew at once where it had come from, because in additionto a third package, it was carrying a letter bearing the Hogwartscrest. When Harry relieved this owl of its burden, it ruffled itsfeathers importantly, stretched its wings, and took off throughthe window into the night.

his neat hair, his horn-rimmed glasses flashing in the Egyptian sun. Harry now turned to his present and unwrapped it. Inside waswhat looked like a miniature glass spinning top. There was anothernote from Ron beneath it. Harry -- this is a Pocket Sneakoscope. If there's someoneuntrustworthy around, it's supposed to light up and spin. Billsays it's rubbish sold for wizard tourists and isn't reliable,because it kept lighting up at dinner last night. But he didn'trealize Fred and George had put beetles in his soup. Bye -- Ron Harry put the Pocket Sneakoscope on his bedside table, where itstood quite still, balanced on its point, reflecting the luminoushands of his clock. He looked at it happily for a few seconds,then picked up the parcel Hedwig had brought. Inside this, too, there was a wrapped present, a card, and aletter, this time from Hermione. Dear Harry, Ron wrote to me and told me about his phone call to your UncleVernon. I do hope you're all right. I'm on holiday in France at the moment and I didn't know howI was going to send this to you -- what if they'd opened it atcustoms? -- but then Hedwig turned up! I think she wanted to makesure you got something for your birthday for a change. I bought yourpresent by owl-order; there was an advertisement in the Daily Prophet(I've been getting it delivered; it's so good to keep up with what'sgoing on in the wizarding world), Did you see that picture of Ronand his family a week ago? I bet he's learning loads. I'm reallyjealous -- the ancient Egyptian wizards were fascinating. There's some interesting local history of witchcraft here,too. I've rewritten my whole History of Magic essay to includesome of the things I've found out, I hope it's not too long --it's two rolls of parchment more than Professor Binns asked for. Ron says he's going to be in London in the last week of theholidays. Can you make it? Will your aunt and uncle let you come? Ireally hope you can. If not, I'll see you on the Hogwarts Expresson September first! Love from Hermione P.S. Ron says Percy's Head Boy. I'll bet Percy's really pleasedRon doesn't seem too happy about it

Harry laughed as he put Herrmone's letter aside and pickedup her present. It was very heavy. Knowing Hermione, he was sureit would be a large book full of very difficult spells -- but itwasn't. His heart gave a huge bound as he ripped back the paper andsaw a sleek black leather case, with silver words stamped across it,reading Broomstick Servicing Kit. "Wow, Hermione!" Harry whispered, unzipping the case to lookinside. There was a large jar of Fleetwood's High-Finish HandlePolish, a pair of gleaming silver Tall-Twig Clippers, a tiny brasscompass to clip on your broom for long journeys, and a Handbook ofDo-It-Yourself Broomcare. Apart from his friends, the thing that Harry missed mostabout Hogwarts was Quidditch, the most popular sport in themagical world -- highly dangerous, very exciting, and played onbroomsticks. Harry happened to be a very good Quidditch player;he had been the youngest person in a century to be picked for oneof the Hogwarts House teams. One of Harry's most prized possessionswas his Nimbus Two Thousand racing broom. Harry put the leather case aside and picked up his lastparcel. He recognized the untidy scrawl on the brown paper at once:this was from Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper. He tore off thetop layer of paper and glimpsed something green and leathery, butbefore he could unwrap it properly, the parcel gave a strange quiver,and whatever was inside it snapped loudly -- as though it had jaws. Harry froze. He knew that Hagrid would never send him anythingdangerous on purpose, but then, Hagrid didn't have a normal person'sview of what was dangerous. Hagrid had been known to befriendgiant spiders, buy vicious, three-headed dogs from men in pubs,and sneak illegal dragon eggs into his cabin. Harry poked the parcel nervously. It snapped loudly again. Harryreached for the lamp on his bedside table, gripped it firmly in onehand, and raised it over his head, ready to strike. Then he seizedthe rest of the wrapping paper in his other hand and pulled. And out fell -- a book. Harry just had time to register itshandsome green cover, emblazoned with the golden title The MonsterBook of Monsters, before it flipped onto its edge and scuttledsideways along the bed like some weird crab. "Uh-oh," Harry muttered. The book toppled off the bed with a loud clunk and shuffledrapidly across the room. Harry followed it stealthily. The book washiding in the dark space under his desk. Praying that the Dursleyswere still fast asleep, Harry got down on his hands and knees andreached toward it. "Ouch!" The book snapped shut on his hand and then flapped past him,still scuttling on its covers. Harry scrambled around, threw himselfforward, and managed to flatten it. Uncle Vernon gave a loud,sleepy grunt in the room next door. Hedwig and Errol watched interestedly as Harry clamped thestruggling book tightly in his arms, hurried to his chest of drawers,and pulled out a belt, which he buckled tightly around it. The

The reporter had reappeared. "The Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries will announcetoday --" "Hang on!" barked Uncle Vernon, staring furiously at thereporter. "You didn't tell us where that maniac's escaped from! \Whatuse is that? Lunatic could be coming up the street right now!" Aunt Petunia, who was bony and horse-faced, whipped around andpeered intently out of the kitchen window. Harry knew Aunt Petuniawould simply love to be the one to call the hot line number. Shewas the nosiest woman in the world and spent most of her life spyingon the boring, law-abiding neighbors. "When will they learn," said Uncle Vernon, pounding the tablewith his large purple fist, "that hanging's the only way to dealwith these people?" "Very true," said Aunt Petunia, who was still squinting intonext door's runner beans. Uncle Vernon drained his teacup, glanced at his watch, and added,"I'd better be off in a minute, Petunia. Marge's train gets inat ten." Harry, whose thoughts had been upstairs with the BroomstickServicing Kit, was brought back to earth with an unpleasant bump. "Aunt Marge?" he blurted out. "Sh -- she's not coming here,is she?" Aunt Marge was Uncle Vernon's sister. Even though she was nota blood relative of Harry's (whose mother had been Aunt Petunia'ssister), he had been forced to call her "Aunt" all his life. AuntMarge lived in the country, in a house with a large garden, whereshe bred bulldogs. She didn't often stay at Privet Drive, becauseshe couldn't bear to leave her precious dogs, but each of her visitsstood out horribly vividly in Harry's mind. At Dudley's fifth birthday party, Aunt Margo had whacked Harryaround the shins with her walking stick to stop him from beatingDudley at musical statues. A few years later, she had turned upat Christmas with a computerized robot for Dudley and a box ofdog biscuits for Harry. On her last visit, the year before Harrystarted at Hogwarts, Harry had accidentally trodden on the tailof her favorite dog. Ripper had chased Harry out into the gardenand up a tree, and Aunt Marge had refused to call him off untilpast midnight. The memory of this incident still brought tears oflaughter to Dudley's eyes. "Marge'll be here for a week," Uncle Vernon snarled, 11 andwhile we're on the subject" -- he pointed a fat finger threateninglyat Harry -- "we need to get a few things straight before I go andcollect her." Dudley smirked and withdrew his gaze from thetelevision. Watching Harry being bullied by Uncle Vernon was Dudley'sfavorite form of entertainment. "Firstly," growled Uncle Vernon, "you'll keep a civil tonguein your head when you're talking to Marge." "All right," said Harry bitterly, "if she does when she'stalking to me. "Secondly," said Uncle Vernon, acting as though he had notheard Harry's reply, "as Marge doesn't know anything about yourabnormality, I don't want any -- any funny stuff while she's here. You behave yourself, got me?" "I will if she does," said Harry through gritted teeth. "And thirdly," said Uncle Vernon, his mean little eyes now slitsin his great purple face, "we've told Marge you attend St. Brutus'sSecure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys." "What?" Harry yelled. "And you'll be sticking to that story, boy, or there'll betrouble, spat Uncle Vernon. Harry sat there, white-faced and furious, staring at UncleVernon, hardly able to believe it. Aunt Marge coming for a weeklongvisit -- it was the worst birthday present the Dursleys had evergiven him, including that pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks. "Well, Petunia," said Uncle Vernon, getting heavily to his feet,"I'll be off to the station, then. Want to come along for the ride,Dudders?" "No," said Dudley, whose attention had returned to the televisionnow that Uncle Vernon had finished threatening Harry. "Duddy's got to make himself smart for his auntie," said AuntPetunia, smoothing Dudley's thick blond hair. "Mummy's bought hima lovely new bow tie." Uncle Vernon clapped Dudley on his porky shoulder. "See you ina bit, then," he said, and he left the kitchen. Harry, who had been sitting in a kind of horrified trance,had a sudden idea. Abandoning his toast, he got quickly to his feetand followed Uncle Vernon to the front door.

Uncle Vernon was pulling on his car coat. "I'm not taking you," he snarled as he turned to see Harrywatching him. "Like I wanted to come," said Harry coldly. "I want to askyou something." Uncle Vernon eyed him suspiciously. "Third years at Hog -- at my school are allowed to visit thevillage sometimes," said Harry. "So?" snapped Uncle Vernon, taking his car keys from a hooknext to the door. "I need you to sign the permission form," said Harry in a rush. "And why should I do that?" sneered Uncle Vernon. "Well," said Harry, choosing his words carefully, "it'll behard work, pretending to Aunt Marge I go to that St. Whatsits --" "St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably CriminalBoys!" bellowed Uncle Vernon, and Harry was pleased to hear adefinite note of panic in Uncle Vernon's voice. "Exactly," said Harry, looking calmly up into Uncle Vernon'slarge, purple face. "It's a lot to remember. I'll have to make itsound convincing, won't I? What if I accidentally let somethingslip?" "You'll get the stuffing knocked out of you, won't you?" roaredUncle Vernon, advancing on Harry with his fist raised. But Harrystood his ground. "Knocking the stuffing out of me won't make Aunt Marge forgetwhat I could tell her," he said grimly. Uncle Vernon stopped, his fist still raised, his face anugly puce. "But if you sign my permission form," Harry went on quickly,"I swear I'll remember where I'm supposed to go to school, and I'llact like a Mug -- like I'm normal and everything." Harry could tell that Uncle Vernon was thinking it over, evenif his teeth were bared and a vein was throbbing in his temple. "Right," he snapped finally. "I shall monitor your behaviorcarefully during Marge's visit. If, at the end of it, you've toedthe line and kept to the story, I'll sign your ruddy form." He wheeled around, pulled open the front door, and slammed itso hard that one of the little panes of glass at the top fell out. Harry didn't return to the kitchen. He went back upstairsto his bedroom. If he was going to act like a real Muggle, he'dbetter start now. Slowly and sadly he gathered up all his presentsand his birthday cards and hid them under the loose floorboardwith his homework. Then he went to Hedwig's cage. Errol seemed tohave recovered; he and Hedwig were both asleep, heads under theirwings. Harry sighed, then poked them both awake. "Hedwig," he said gloomily, "you're going to have to clear offfor a week. Go with Errol. Ron'll look after you. I'll write hima note, explaining. And don't look at me like that" -- Hedwig'slarge amber eyes were reproachful -- "it's not my fault. It's theonly way I'll be allowed to visit Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione." Ten minutes later, Errol and Hedwig (who had a note to Ronbound to her leg) soared out of the window and out of sight. Harry,now feeling thoroughly miserable, put the empty cage away insidethe wardrobe. But Harry didn't have long to brood. In next to no time, Aunt

Petunia was shrieking up the stairs for Harry to come down and getready to welcome their guest. "Do something about your hair!" Aunt Petunia snapped as hereached the hall. Harry couldn't see the point of trying to make his hair lieflat. Aunt Marge loved criticizing him, so the untidier he looked,the happier she would be. All too soon, there was a crunch of gravel outside as UncleVernon's car pulled back into the driveway, then the clunk of thecar doors and footsteps on the garden path. "Get the door!" Aunt Petunia hissed at Harry. A feeling of great gloom in his stomach, Harry pulled thedoor open. On the threshold stood Aunt Marge. She was very like UncleVernon: large, beefy, and purple- faced, she even had a mustache,though not as bushy as his. In one hand she held an enormoussuitcase, and tucked under the other was an old and evil-temperedbulldog. "Where's my Dudders?" roared Aunt Marge. "Where's my neffy-poo?" Dudley came waddling down the hall, his blond hair plastered flatto his fat head, a bow tie just visible under his many chins. AuntMarge thrust the suitcase into Harry's stomach, knocking the windout of him, seized Dudley in a tight one-armed hug, and planted alarge kiss on his cheek. Harry knew perfectly well that Dudley only put up with AuntMarge's hugs because he was well paid for it, and sure enough, whenthey broke apart, Dudley had a crisp twenty-pound note clutched inhis fat fist. "Petunia!" shouted Aunt Marge, striding past Harry as though hewas a hat stand. Aunt Marge and Aunt Petunia kissed, or rather, AuntMarge bumped her large jaw against Aunt Petunia's bony cheekbone. Uncle Vernon now came in, smiling jovially as he shut the door. "Tea, Marge?" he said. "And what will Ripper take?" "Ripper can have some tea out of my saucer," said Aunt Margeas they all proceeded into the kitchen, leaving Harry alone in thehall with the suitcase. But Harry wasn't complaining; any excusenot to be with Aunt Marge was fine by him, so he began to heavethe case upstairs into the spare bedroom, taking as long as he could. By the time he got back to the kitchen, Aunt Marge had beensupplied with tea and fruitcake, and Ripper was lapping noisily inthe corner. Harry saw Aunt Petunia wince slightly as specks of teaand drool flecked her clean floor. Aunt Petunia hated animals. "Who's looking after the other dogs, Marge?" Uncle Vernon asked. "Oh, I've got Colonel Fubster managing them," boomed AuntMarge. "He's retired now, good for him to have something to do. ButI couldn't leave poor old Ripper. He pines if he's away from me." Ripper began to growl again as Harry sat down. This directedAunt Marge's attention to Harry for the first time. "So!" she barked. "Still here, are you?" "Yes," said Harry. "Don't you say yes' in that ungrateful tone," Aunt Margegrowled. "It's damn good of Vernon and Petunia to keep you. Wouldn'thave done it myself. You'd have gone straight to an orphanage ifyou'd been dumped on my doorstep."

to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!" screamedAunt Marge, swelling with fury. "You are an insolent, ungratefullittle --" But Aunt Marge suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment, itlooked as though words had failed her. She seemed to be swellingwith inexpressible anger -- but the swelling didn't stop. Her greatred face started to expand, her tiny eyes bulged, and her mouthstretched too tightly for speech -- next second, several buttonshad just burst from her tweed jacket and pinged off the walls -- shewas inflating like a monstrous balloon, her stomach bursting free ofher tweed waistband, each of her fingers blowing up like a salami -- "MARGE!" yelled Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia together asAunt Marge's whole body began to rise off her chair toward theceiling. She was entirely round, now, like a vast life buoy withpiggy eyes, and her hands and feet stuck out weirdly as she driftedup into the air, making apoplectic popping noises. Ripper cameskidding into the room, barking madly. "NOOOOOOO!" Uncle Vernon seized one of Marge's feet and tried to pullher down again, but was almost lifted from the floor himself. Asecond later, Ripper leapt forward and sank his teeth into UncleVernon's leg. Harry tore from the dining room before anyone could stop him,heading for the cupboard under the stairs. The cupboard door burstmagically open as he reached it. In seconds, he had heaved histrunk to the front door. He sprinted upstairs and threw himselfunder the bed, wrenching up the loose floorboard, and grabbed thepillowcase full of his books and birthday presents. He wriggled out,seized Hedwig's empty cage, and dashed back downstairs to his trunk,just as Uncle Vernon burst out of the dining room, his trouser legin bloody tatters. "COME BACK IN HERE!" he bellowed. "COME BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!" But a reckless rage had come over Harry. He kicked his trunkopen, pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Uncle Vernon. "She deserved it," Harry said, breathing very fast. "She deservedwhat she got. You keep away from me." He fumbled behind him for the latch on the door. "I'm going," Harry said. "I've had enough." And in the next moment, he was out in the dark, quiet street,heaving his heavy trunk behind him, Hedwig's cage under his arm. CHAPTER THREE THE KNIGHT BUS Harry was several streets away before he collapsed onto a lowwall in Magnolia Crescent, panting from the effort of dragginghis trunk. He sat quite still, anger still surging through him,listening to the frantic thumping of his heart. But after ten minutes alone in the dark street, a new emotionovertook him: panic. Whichever way he looked at it, he had neverbeen in a worse fix. He was stranded, quite alone, in the darkMuggle world, with absolutely nowhere to go. And the worst of itwas, he had just done serious magic, which meant that he was almostcertainly expelled from Hogwarts. He had broken the Decree for theRestriction of Underage Wizardry so badly, he was surprised Ministry

cans jumped out of its way as it approached and back into positiononce it had passed. Stan came back downstairs, followed by a faintly green witchwrapped in a traveling cloak. "'Ere you go, Madam Marsh," said Stan happily as Ern stamped onthe brake and the beds slid a foot or so toward the front of thebus. Madam Marsh clamped a handkerchief to her mouth and tottereddown the steps. Stan threw her bag out after her and rammed thedoors shut; there was another loud BANG, and they were thunderingdown a narrow country lane, trees leaping out of the way. Harry wouldn't have been able to sleep even if he had beentraveling on a bus that didn't keep banging loudly and jumping ahundred miles at a time. His stomach churned as he fell back towondering what was going to happen to him, and whether the Dursleyshad managed to get Aunt Marge off the ceiling yet. Stan had unfurled a copy of the Daily Prophet and was nowreading with his tongue between his teeth. A large photograph ofa sunken-faced man with long, matted hair blinked slowly at Harryfrom the front page. He looked strangely familiar. "That man!" Harry said, forgetting his troubles for a moment. "Hewas on the Muggle news!" Stanley turned to the front page and chuckled. "Sirius Black," he said, nodding. "'Course 'e was on the Mugglenews, Neville, where you been?" He gave a superior sort of chuckle at the blank look on Harry'sface, removed the front page, and handed it to Harry. "You oughta read the papers more, Neville." Harry held the paper up to the candlelight and read: BLACK STILL AT LARGE Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to beheld in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministryof Magic confirmed today. "We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said the Ministerof Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we beg the magicalcommunity to remain calm." Fudge has been criticized by some members of the InternationalFederation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister ofthe crisis. "Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an irritableFudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magicor Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will notbreathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's faceit-who'd believe him if he did?" While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun(a kind of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), themagical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelveyears ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse. Harry looked into the shadowed eyes of Sirius Black, the onlypart of the sunken face that seemed alive. Harry had never met avampire, but he had seen pictures of them in his Defense Againstthe Dark Arts classes, and Black, with his waxy white skin, lookedjust like one. "Scary-lookin' fing, inee?" said Stan, who had been watchingHarry read. "He murdered thirteen people?" said Harry, handing the page

back to Stan, "with one curse?" "Yep," said Stan, "in front of witnesses an' all. Broaddaylight. Big trouble it caused, dinnit, Ern?" "Ar," said Ern darkly. Stan swiveled in his armchair, his hands on the back, the betterto look at Harry. "Black woz a big supporter of You-Know-'Oo," he said. "What, Voldemort?" said Harry, without thinking. Even Stan's pimples went white; Ern jerked the steering wheelso hard that a whole farmhouse had to jump aside to avoid the bus. "You outta your tree?" yelped Stan. "'Choo say 'is name for?" "Sorry," said Harry hastily. "Sorry, I -- I forgot --" "Forgot!" said Stan weakly. "Blimey, my 'eart's goin' thatfast ..." "So -- so Black was a supporter of You-Know-Who?" Harry promptedapologetically. "Yeah," said Stan, still rubbing his chest. "Yeah, that'sright. Very close to You-Know-'Oo, they say. Anyway, when little'Arry Potter got the better of You-Know-'Oo --" Harry nervously flattened his bangs down again. "-- all You-Know-'Oo's supporters was tracked down, wasn't they,Ern? Most of 'em knew it was all over, wiv You-Know-'Oo gone,and they came quiet. But not Sirius Black. I 'eard he thought'e'd be second-in-command once You-Know-'Oo 'ad taken over. "Anyway, they cornered Black in the middle of a street full ofMuggles an' Black took out 'is wand and 'e blasted 'alf the streetapart, an' a wizard got it, an' so did a dozen Muggles what gotin the way. 'Orrible, eh? An' you know what Black did then?" Stancontinued in a dramatic whisper. "What?" said Harry. "Laughed," said Stan. "Jus' stood there an' laughed. An' whenreinforcements from the Ministry of Magic got there, I 'e went wivem quiet as anyfink, still laughing 'is 'ead off. 'Cos 'e's mad,inee, Ern? Inee mad?" "If he weren't when he went to Azkaban, he will be now," saidErn in his slow voice. "I'd blow meself up before I set foot inthat place. Serves him right, mind you ... after what he did...." "They 'ad a job coverin' it up, din' they, Ern?" Stan said. "'Olestreet blown up an' all them Muggles dead. What was it they said ad'appened, Ern?" "Gas explosion," grunted Ernie. "An' now 'e's out," said Stan, examining the newspaper picture ofBlack's gaunt face again. "Never been a breakout from Azkaban before,'as there, Ern? Beats me 'ow 'e did it. Frightenin', eh? Mind,I don't fancy 'is chances against them Azkaban guards, eh, Ern?" Ernie suddenly shivered. "Talk about summat else, Stan, there's a good lad. Them Azkabanguards give me the collywobbles." Stan put the paper away reluctantly, and Harry leaned againstthe window of the Knight Bus, feeling worse than ever. He couldn'thelp imagining what Stan might be telling his passengers in a fewnights' time. "'Ear about that 'Arry Potter? Blew up 'is aunt! We 'ad 'im 'ereon the Knight Bus, di'n't we, Ern? 'E was tryin' I to run for it...." He, Harry, had broken wizard law just like Sirius Black. Wasinflating Aunt Marge bad enough to land him in Azkaban? Harrydidn't know anything about the wizard prison, though everyone he'dever heard speak of it did so in the same fearful tone. Hagrid,the Hogwarts gamekeeper, had spent two months there only lastyear. Harry wouldn't soon forget the look of terror on Hagrid'sface when he had been told where he was going, and Hagrid was oneof the bravest people Harry knew. The Knight Bus rolled through the darkness, scattering bushesand wastebaskets, telephone booths and trees, and Harry lay,restless and miserable, on his feather bed. After a while, Stanremembered that Harry had paid for hot chocolate, but poured itall over Harry's pillow when the bus moved abruptly from Angleseato Aberdeen. One by one, wizards and witches in dressing gowns andslippers descended from the upper floors to leave the bus. Theyall looked very pleased to go. Finally, Harry was the only passenger left. "Right then, Neville," said Stan, clapping his hands, whereabouts in London?" "Diagon Alley," said Harry. "Righto," said Stan. "'Old tight, then." BANG. They were thundering along Charing Cross Road. Harry sat upand watched buildings and benches squeezing themselves out of theKnight Bus's way. The sky was getting a little lighter. He would lielow for a couple of hours, go to Gringotts the. moment it opened,then set off -- where, he didn't know. Ern slammed on the brakes and the Knight Bus skidded to a haltin front of a small and shabby- looking pub, the Leaky Cauldron,behind which lay the magical entrance to Diagon Alley. "Thanks," Harry said to Ern.

He jumped down the steps and helped Stan lower his trunk andHedwig's cage onto the pavement. "Well," said Harry. "'Bye then!" But Stan wasn't paying attention. Still standing in the doorwayto the bus) he was goggling at the shadowy entrance to the LeakyCauldron. "There you are, Harry," said a voice. Before Harry could turn, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Atthe same time, Stan shouted, "Blimey! Ern, come 'ere! Come 'ere I" Harry looked up at the owner of the hand on his shoulder andfelt a bucketful of ice cascade into his stomach -- he had walkedright into Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself. Stan leapt onto the pavement beside them. "What didja call Neville, Minister?" he said excitedly. Fudge, a portly little man in a long, pinstriped cloak, lookedcold and exhausted. "Neville?" he repeated, frowning. "This is Harry Potter." "I knew it!" Stan shouted gleefully. "Ern! Ern! Guess 'ooNeville is, Ern! 'E's 'Arry Potter! I can see 'is scar!" "Yes," said Fudge testily, "well, I'm very glad the KnightBus picked Harry up, but he and I need to step inside the LeakyCauldron now..." Fudge increased the pressure on Harry's shoulder, and Harry foundhimself being steered inside the pub. A stooping figure bearinga lantern appeared through the door behind the bar. It was Tom,the wizened, toothless landlord. "You've got him, Minister!" said Tom. "Will you be wantinganything? Beer? Brandy?" "Perhaps a pot of tea," said Fudge, who still hadn't let goof Harry. There was a loud scraping and puffing from behind them, andStan and Ern appeared, carrying Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cageand looking around excitedly. "'Ow come you di'n't tell us 'oo you are, eh, Neville?" saidStan, beaming at Harry, while Ernie's owlish face peered interestedlyover Stan's shoulder. "And a private parlor, please, Tom," said Fudge pointedly. `Bye," Harry said miserably to Stan and Ern as Tom beckonedFudge toward the passage that led from the bar. "'Bye, Neville!" called Stan. Fudge marched Harry along the narrow passage after Tom's lantern,and then into a small parlor. Tom clicked his fingers, a fire burstinto life in the grate, and he bowed himself out of the room. "Sit down, Harry," said Fudge, indicating a chair by the fire. Harry sat down, feeling goose bumps rising up his arms despitethe glow of the fire. Fudge took off his pinstriped cloak andtossed it aside, then hitched up the trousers of his bottle-greensuit and sat down opposite Harry. "I am Cornelius Fudge, Harry. The Minister of Magic." Harry already knew this, of course; he had seen Fudge oncebefore, but as he had been wearing his father's Invisibility Cloakat the time, Fudge wasn't to know that. Tom the innkeeper reappeared, wearing an apron over hisnightshirt and bearing a tray of tea and crumpets. He placedthe tray on a table between Fudge and Harry and left the parlor,closing the door behind him. "Well, Harry," said Fudge, pouring out tea, "you've had us

all in a right flap, I don't mind telling you. Running away fromyour aunt and uncle's house like that! I'd started to think... butyou're safe, and that's what matters." Fudge buttered himself a crumpet and pushed the plate towardHarry. "Eat, Harry, you look dead on your feet. Now then... You will bepleased to hear that we have dealt with the unfortunate blowing-up ofMiss Marjorie Dursley. Two members of the Accidental Magic ReversalDepartment were dispatched to Privet Drive a few hours ago. MissDursley has been punctured and her memory has been modified. Shehas no recollection of the incident at all. So that's that, and noharm done." Fudge smiled at Harry over the rim of his teacup, rather like anuncle surveying a favorite nephew. Harry, who couldn't believe hisears, opened his mouth to speak, couldn't think of anything to say,and closed it again. "Ah, you're worrying about the reaction of your aunt anduncle?" said Fudge. "Well, I won't deny that they are extremelyangry, Harry, but they are prepared to take you back next summer aslong as you stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays." Harry unstuck his throat. "I always stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easterholidays," he said, "and I don't ever want to go back to PrivetDrive." "Now, now, I'm sure you'll feel differently once you'vecalmed down," said Fudge in a worried tone. "They are your family,after all, and I'm sure you are fond of each other -- er -- verydeep down." It didn't occur to Harry to put Fudge right. He was stillwaiting to hear what was going to happen to him now. "So all that remains," said Fudge, now buttering himself asecond crumpet, "is to decide where you're going to spend the lasttwo weeks of your vacation. I suggest you take a room here at theLeaky Cauldron and "Hang on," blurted Harry. "What about my punishment?" Fudge blinked. "Punishment?" "I broke the law!" Harry said. "The Decree for the Restrictionof Underage Wizardry!" "Oh, my dear boy, we're not going to punish you for a littlething like that!" cried Fudge, waving his crumpet impatiently. "Itwas an accident! We don't send people to Azkaban just for blowingup their aunts!" But this didn't tally at all with Harry's past dealings withthe Ministry of Magic. "Last year, I got an official warning just because a house-elfsmashed a pudding in my uncle's house!" he told Fudge, frowning. "TheMinistry of Magic said I'd be expelled from Hogwarts if there wasany more magic there!" Unless Harry's eyes were deceiving him, Fudge was suddenlylooking awkward. "Circumstances change, Harry... We have to take intoaccount... in the present climate... Surely you don't want tobe expelled?" "Of course I don't," said Harry. "Well then, what's A the fuss about?" laughed Fudge. "Now, havea crumpet, Harry, while I go and see if Tom's got a room for you." Fudge strode out of the parlor and Harry stared after him. Therewas something extremely odd going on. Why had Fudge been waiting

for him at the Leaky Cauldron, if not to punish him for what he'ddone? And now Harry came to think of it, surely it wasn't usualfor the Minister of Magic himself to get involved in matters ofunderage magic? Fudge came back, accompanied by Tom the innkeeper. "Room eleven's free, Harry," said Fudge. "I think you'll be verycomfortable. just one thing, and I'm sure you'll understand... Idon't want you wandering off into Muggle London, all right? Keep toDiagon Alley. And you're to be back here before dark each night. Sureyou'll understand. Tom will be keeping an eye on you for me." "Okay," said Harry slowly, "but why?" "Don't want to lose you again, do we?" said Fudge with a heartylaugh. "No, no... best we know where you are.... I mean..." Fudge cleared his throat loudly and picked up his pinstripedcloak. "Well, I'll be off, plenty to do, you know... "Have you had any luck with Black yet?" Harry asked. Fudge's finger slipped on the silver fastenings of his cloak. "What's that? Oh, you've heard -- well, no, not yet, butit's only a matter of time. The Azkaban guards have never yetfailed... and they are angrier than I've ever seen them." Fudge shuddered slightly. "So, I'll say good-bye." He held out his hand and Harry, shaking it, had a sudden idea. "Er -- Minister? Can I ask you something?" "Certainly," said Fudge with a smile. "Well, third years at Hogwarts are allowed to visit Hogsmeade,but my aunt and uncle didn't sign the permission form. D'you thinkyou could --?" Fudge was looking uncomfortable. "Ah," he said. "No, no, I'm very sorry, Harry, but as I'm notyour parent or guardian --" "But you I re the Minister of Magic," said Harry eagerly. "Ifyou gave me permission "No, I'm sorry, Harry, but rules are rules," said Fudge flatly. 'Perhaps You'll be able to visit Hogsmeade next year. In fact,I think it's best if you don't... yes... well, I'll be off Enjoyyour stay, Harry." And with a last smile and shake of Harry's hand, Fudge leftthe room. Tom now moved forward, beaming at Harry. "If you'll follow me, Mr. Potter," he said, "I've already takenyour things up..." Harry followed Tom up a handsome wooden staircase to a door witha brass number eleven on it, which Tom unlocked and opened for him. Inside was a very comfortable-looking bed, some highly polishedoak furniture, a cheerfully crackling fire and, perched on top ofthe wardrobe - "Hedwig!" Harry gasped. The snowy owl clicked her beak and fluttered down onto Harry'sarm. "Very smart owl you've got there, chuckled Tom. "Arrived aboutfive minutes after you did. If there's anything you need, Mr. Potter,don't hesitate to ask." He gave another bow and left. Harry sat on his bed for a long time, absentmindedly strokingHedwig. The sky outside the window was changing rapidly from deep,velvety blue to cold, steely gray and then, slowly, to pink shotwith gold. Harry could hardly believe that he'd left Privet Drive

and wizards until he glimpsed a newly erected podium, on which wasmounted the most magnificent broom he had ever seen in his life. "Just come out -- prototype --" a square-jawed wizard wastelling his companion. "It's the fastest broom in the world, isn't it, Dad?" squeakeda boy younger than Harry, who was swinging off his father's arm. "Irish International Side's Just put in an order for seven ofthese beauties!" the proprietor of the shop told the crowd. "Andthey're favorites for the World Cup!" A large witch in front of Harry moved, and he was able to readthe sign next to the broom: ** THE FIREBOLT ** THIS STATE-OF-THE-ART PACING BROOM SPORTS A STREAM-LINED,SUPERFINE HANDLE OF ASH, TREATED WITH A DIAMOND-HARD POLISH AND HAND-NUMBERED WITH ITS OWN REGISTRATION NUMBER. EACH INDIVIDUALLY SELECTEDBIRCH TWIG IN THE BROOMTAIL HAS BEEN HONED TO AERODYNAMIC PERFECTION,GIVING THE FIREBOLT UNSURPASSABLE BALANCE AND PINPOINT PRECISION. THEFIREBOLT HAS AN ACCELERATION OF 150 MILES AN HOUR IN TEN SECONDSAND INCORPORATES AN UNBREAKABLE BRAKING CHARM. PRICE ON REQUEST. Price on request... Harry didn't like to think how much goldthe Firebolt would cost. He had never wanted anything as muchin his whole life -- but he had never lost a Quidditch match onhis Nim bus Two Thousand, and what was the point in emptying hisGringotts vault for the Firebolt, when he had a very good broomalready? Harry didn't ask for the price, but he returned, almostevery day after that, just to look at the Firebolt. There were, however, things that Harry needed to buy. He wentto the Apothecary to replenish his store of potions ingredients,and as his school robes were now several inches too short in thearm and leg, he visited Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasionsand bought new ones. Most important of all, he had to buy his newschoolbooks, which would include those for his two new subjects,Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. Harry got a surprise as he looked in at the bookshopwindow. Instead of the usual display of gold- embossed spellbooksthe size of paving slabs, there was a large iron cage behind theglass that held about a hundred copies of The Monster Book ofMonsters. Torn pages were flying everywhere as the books grappledwith each other, locked together in furious wrestling matches andsnapping aggressively. Harry pulled his booklist out of his pocket and consulted itfor the first time. The Monster Book of Monsters was listed as therequired book for Care of Magical Creatures. Now Harry understoodwhy Hagrid had said it would come in useful. He felt relieved; hehad been wondering whether Hagrid wanted help with some terrifyingnew pet. As Harry entered Flourish and Blotts, the manager came hurryingtoward him. "Hogwarts?" he said abruptly. "Come to get your new books?" "Yes," said Harry, "I need --" "Get out of the way," said the manager impatiently, brushingHarry aside. He drew on a pair of very thick gloves, picked up alarge, knobbly walking stick, and proceeded toward the door of theMonster Books' cage. "Hang on," said Harry quickly, "I've already got one of those." "Have you?" A look of enormous relief spread over the manager'sface. "Thank heavens for that. I've been bitten five times alreadythis morning --" A loud ripping noise rent the air; two of the Monster Bookshad seized a third and were pulling it apart.

"Stop it! Stop it!" cried the manager, poking the walkingstick through the bars and knocking the books apart. "I'm neverstocking them again, never! It's been bedlam! I thought we'd seenthe worst when we bought two hundred copies of the Invisible Book ofInvisibility -cost a fortune, and we never found them.... Well... isthere anything else I can help you with?" "Yes," said Harry, looking down his booklist, "I need Unfoggingthe Future by Cassandra Vablatsky." "Ah, starting Divination, are you?" said the manager, strippingoff his gloves and leading Harry into the back of the shop, wherethere was a corner devoted to fortune-telling. A small table wasstacked with volumes such as Predicting the Unpredictable: InsulateYourself Against Shocks and Broken Balls: When Fortunes Turn Foul. "Here you are,,' said the manager, who had climbed a set of stepsto take down a thick, black- bound book. "Unfogging the Future. Verygood guide to all your basic fortune-telling methods - palmistry,crystal balls, bird entrails. But Harry wasn't listening. His eyes had fallen on anotherbook, which was among a display on a small table: Death Omens.-What to Do When You Know the Worst Is Coming. "Oh, I wouldn't read that if I were you," said the managerlightly, looking to see what Harry was staring at. "You'll startseeing death omens everywhere. It's enough to frighten anyone todeath. " But Harry continued to stare at the front cover of the book;it showed a black dog large as a bear, with gleaming eyes. It lookedoddly familiar... The manager pressed Unfogging the Future into Harry's hands. "Anything else?" he said. "Yes," said Harry, tearing his eyes away from the dog'sand dazedly consulting his booklist. "Er -- I need IntermediateTransfiguration and The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three." Harry emerged from Flourish and Blotts ten minutes later with hisnew books under his arms and made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron,hardly noticing where he was going and bumping into several people. He tramped up the stairs to his room, went inside, and tippedhis books onto his bed. Somebody had been in to tidy; the windowswere open and sun was pouring inside. Harry could hear the busesrolling by in the unseen Muggle street behind him and the soundof the invisible crowd below in Diagon Alley. He caught sight ofhimself in the mirror over the basin. "It can't have been a death omen," he told his reflectiondefiantly. "I was panicking when I saw that thing in MagnoliaCrescent.... It was probably just a stray dog...." He raised his hand automatically and tried to make his hairlie flat "You're fighting a losing battle there, dear," said his mirrorin a vvheezy voice. As the days slipped by, Harry started looking wherever he wentfor a sign of Ron or Hermione. Plenty of Hogwarts students werearriving in Diagon Alley now, with the start of term so near. Harrymet Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, his fellow Gryffindors, inQuality Quidditch Supplies, where they too were ogling the Firebolt;

There wasn't much room inside. Every inch of wall was hidden bycages. It was smelly and very noisy because the occupants Of thesecages were all squeaking, squawking, jabbering, or hissing. Thewitch behind the counter was already advising a wizard on thecare of double-ended newts, so Harry, Ron, and Hermione waited,examining the cages. A pair of enormous purple toads sat gulping wetly and feastingon dead blowflies. A gigantic tortoise with a jewel-encrusted shellwas glittering near the window. Poisonous orange snails were oozingslowly up the side of their glass tank, and a fat white rabbit keptchanging into a silk top hat and back again with a loud poppingnoise. Then there were cats of every color, a noisy cage of ravens,a basket of funny custard-colored furballs that were humming loudly,and on the counter, a vast cage of sleek black rats that wereplaying some sort of skipping game using their long, bald tails. The double-ended newt wizard left, and Ron approached thecounter. "It's my rat," he told the witch. "He been a bit off-color eversince I brought him back from Egypt." "Bang him on the counter," said the witch, pulling a pair ofheavy black spectacles out of her pocket. Ron lifted Scabbers out of his inside pocket and placed himnext to the cage of his fellow rats, who stopped their skippingtricks and scuffled to the wire for a better took. Like nearly everything Ron owned, Scabbers the rat wassecondhand (he had once belonged to Ron's brother Percy) and a bitbattered. Next to the glossy rats in the cage, he looked especiallywoebegone. "Hm," said the witch, picking up Scabbers. "How old is this rat?" "Dunno," said Ron. "Quite old. He used to belong to my brother." "What powers does he have?" said the witch, examining Scabbersclosely. "Er --" The truth was that Scabbers had never shown the faintesttrace of interesting powers. The witchs eyes moved from Scabbers'stattered left ear to his front paw, which had a toe missing, andtutted loudly. "He's been through the mill, this one," she said. "He was like that when Percy gave him to me," said Rondefensively. "An ordinary common or garden rat like this can't be expectedto live longer than three years or so," said the witch. "Now, ifyou were looking for something a bit more hard-wearing, you mightlike one of these --" She indicated the black rats, who promptly started skippingagain. Ron muttered, "Show-offs." "Well, if you Don't want a replacement, you can try this rattonic," said the witch, reaching under the counter and bringingout a small red bottle. "Okay," said Ron. "How much -- OUCH!" Ron buckled as something huge and orange came soaring from thetop of the highest cage, landed on his head, and then propelleditself, spitting madly, at Scabbers. "NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!" cried the witch, but Scabbers, shot frombetween her hands like a bar of soap, landed splay-legged on thefloor, and then scampered for the door. "Scabbers!" Ron shouted, racing out of the shop after him;

at him. Percy, however, held out his hand solemnly as though heand Harry had never met and said, "Harry. How nice to see you. "Hello, Percy," said Harry, trying not to laugh. I hope you're well?" said Percy pompously, shaking hands. Itwas rather like being introduced to the mayor. "Very well, thanks --" "Harry!" said Fred, elbowing Percy out of the way and bowingdeeply. "Simply splendid to see you, old boy --" "Marvelous," said George, pushing Fred aside and seizing Harry'shand in turn. "Absolutely spiffing." Percy scowled. "That's enough, now," said Mrs. Weasley. "Mum!" said Fred as though he'd only just spotted her andseizing her hand too. "How really corking to see you --" "I said, that's enough," said Mrs. Weasley, depositing hershopping in an empty chair. "Hello, Harry, dear. I suppose you'veheard our exciting news?" She pointed to the brand-new silverbadge on Percy's chest. "Second Head Boy in the family!" she said,swelling with pride. "And last," Fred muttered under his breath. I don't doubt that," said Mrs. Weasley, frowning suddenly. "Inotice they haven't made you two prefects." "What do we want to be prefects for?" said George, lookingrevolted at the very idea. "It'd take all the fun out of life." Ginny giggled. "Yo u want to set a better example for your sister!" snappedMrs. Weasley. "Ginny's got other brothers to set her an example, Mother,"said Percy loftily. "I'm going up to change for dinner..." He disappeared and George heaved a sigh. "We tried to shut him in a pyramid," he told Harry. "But Mumspotted us." Dinner that night was a very enjoyable affair. Tom the innkeeperput three tables together in the parlor, and the seven Weasleys,Harry, and Hermione ate their way through five delicious courses. "How're we getting to King's Cross tomorrow, Dad?" asked Fredas they dug into a sumptuous chocolate pudding. "The Ministry's providing a couple of cars," said Mr. Weasley. Everyone looked up at him. "Why?" said Percy curiously. "It's because of you, Perce," said George seriously. "Andthere'll be little flags on the hoods, with HB on them" "-- for Humongous Bighead," said Fred. Everyone except Percy and Mrs. Weasley snorted into theirpudding. "Why are the Ministry providing cars, Father?" Percy asked again,in a dignified voice. "Well, as we haven't got one anymore," said Mr. Weasley, "-- and as I work there, they're doing me a favor --" His voice was casual, but Harry couldn't help noticing thatMr. Weasley's ears had gone red, just like Ron's did when he wasunder Pressure. "Good thing, too," said Mrs. Weasley briskly. "Do you realizehow much luggage you've all got between you? A nice sight you'd beon the Muggle Underground.... You are all packed, aren't you?" "Ron hasn't put all his new things in his trunk yet," said Percy,in a long-suffering voice. "He's dumped them on my bed." "You'd better go and pack properly, Ron, because we won't have

much time in the morning," Mrs. Weasley called down the table. Ronscowled at Percy. After dinner everyone felt very full and sleepy. One by onethey made their way upstairs to their rooms to check their thingsfor the next day. Ron and Percy were next door to Harry. He hadjust closed and locked his own trunk when he heard angry voicesthrough the wall, and went to see what was going on. The door of number twelve was ajar and Percy was shouting. "It was here, on the bedside table, I took it off for polishing "I haven't touched it, all right?" Ron roared back. "What's up?" said Harry. "My Head Boy badge is gone," said Percy, rounding on Harry. "So's Scabbers's rat tonic," said Ron, throwing things out ofhis trunk to look. "I think I might've left it in the bar --" "You're not going anywhere till you've found my badge!" yelledPercy. "I'll get Scabbers's stuff, I'm packed," Harry said to Ron,and he went downstairs. Harry was halfway along the passage to the bar, which was nowvery dark, when he heard another pair of angry voices coming fromthe parlor. A second later, he recognized them as Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys'. He hesitated, not wanting them to know he'd heardthem arguing, when the sound of his own name made him stop, thenmove closer to the parlor door. "--makes no sense not to tell him," Mr. Weasley was sayingheatedly. "Harry's got a right to know. I've tried to tell Fudge,but he insists on treating Harry like a child. He's thirteen yearsold and --" "Arthur, the truth would terrify him!" said Mrs. Weasleyshrilly. "Do you really want to send Harry back to school with thathanging over him? For heaven's sake, he's happy not knowing!" "I don't want to make him miserable, I want to put him on hisguard!" retorted Mr. Weasley. "You know what Harry and Ron are like,wandering off by themselves -- they've ended up in the ForbiddenForest twice! But Harry mustn't do that this year! When I think whatcould have happened to him that night he ran away from home! If theKnight Bus hadn't picked him up, I'm prepared to bet he would havebeen dead before the Ministry found him." "But he's not dead, he's fine, so what's the point "Molly, they say Sirius Black's mad, and maybe he is, but hewas clever enough to escape from Azkaban, and that's supposed tobe impossible. It's been three weeks, and no one's seen hide norhair of him, and I don't care what Fudge keeps telling the DailyProphet, we're no nearer catching Black than inventing self-spellingwands. The only thing we know for sure is what Black's after "But Harry will be perfectly safe at Hogwarts." "We thought Azkaban was perfectly safe. If Black can break outof Azkaban, he can break into Hogwarts." "But no one's really sure that Black's after Harry There was a thud on wood, and Harry was sure Mr. Weasley hadbanged his fist on the table. "Molly, how many times do I have to tell you? They didn't reportit in the press because Fudge wanted it kept quiet, but Fudge went

out to Azkaban the night Black escaped. The guards told Fudge thatBlacks been talking in his sleep for a while now. Always the samewords: 'He's at Hogwarts... he's at Hogwarts.' Black is deranged,Molly, and he wants Harry dead. If you ask me, he thinks murderingHarry will bring You-Know-Who back to pow er. Black lost everythingthe night Harry stopped You- Know-Who, and he's had twelve yearsalone in Azkaban to brood on that...." There was a silence. Harry leaned still closer to the door,desperate to hear more. "Well, Arthur, you must do what you think is right. But you'reforgetting Albus Dumbledore. I don't think anything could hurt Harryat Hogwarts while Dumbledore's headmaster. I suppose he knows aboutall this?" "Of course he knows. We had to ask him if he minds the Azkabanguards stationing themselves around the entrances to the schoolgrounds. He wasn't happy about it, but he agreed." "Not happy? Why shouldn't he be happy, if they're there tocatch Black?" "Dumbledore isn't fond of the Azkaban guards," said Mr. Weasleyheavily. "Nor am 1, if it comes to that... but when you're dealingwith a wizard like Black, you sometimes have to join forces withthose you'd rather avoid." "If they save Harry then I will never say another word againstthem, said Mr. Weasley wearily. "It's late, Molly, we'd bettergo up...." Harry heard chairs move. As quietly as he could, he hurried downthe passage to the bar and out of sight. The parlor door opened,and a few seconds later footsteps told him that Mr. and Mrs. Weasleywere climbing the stairs. The bottle of rat tonic was lying under the table they hadsat at earlier. Harry waited until he heard Mr. and Mrs. Weasley'sbedroom door close, then headed back upstairs with the bottle. Fred and George were crouching in the shadows on the landing,heaving with laughter as they listened to Percy dismantling hisand Ron's room in search of his badge. "We've got it," Fred whispered to Harry. "We've been improvingit." The badge now read Bighead Boy. Harry forced a laugh, went to give Ron the rat tonic, then shuthimself in his room and lay down on his bed. So Sirius Black was after him. This explained everything. Fudgehad been lenient with him because he was so relieved to find himalive. He'd made Harry promise to stay in Diagon Alley where therewere plenty of wizards to keep an eye on him. And he was sendingtwo Ministry cars to take them all to the station tomorrow, so thatthe Weasleys could look after Harry until he was on the train. Harry lay listening to the muffled shouting next door andwondered why he didn't feel more scared. Sirius Black had murderedthirteen people with one curse; Mr. and Mrs, Weasley obviouslythought Harry would be panic-stricken if he knew the truth. ButHarry happened to agree wholeheartedly with Mrs. Weasley that thesafest place on earth was wherever Albus Dumbledore happened tobe. Didn't people always say that Dumbledore was the only personLord Voldemort had ever been afraid of? Surely Black, as Voldemort's