Chapter 19 The Servant of Lord Voldemort
Hermione screamed. Black leapt to his feet. Harry felt as though he'd received a huge electric shock.
'I found this at the base of the Whomping Willow,' said Snape, throwing the cloak aside, careful to keep this wand pointing directly at Lupin's chest. 'Very useful, Potter, I thank you. . . . '
Snape was slightly breathless, but his face was full of suppressed triumph. 'You're wondering, perhaps, how I knew you were here?' he said, his eyes glittering. 'I've just been to your office, Lupin. You forgot to take your potion tonight, so I took a gobletful along. And very lucky I did. . . lucky for me, I mean. Lying on your desk was a certain map. One glance at it told me all I needed to know. I saw you running along this passageway and out of sight. '
'Severus --' Lupin began, but Snape overrode him.
'I've told the headmaster again and again that you're helping your old friend Black into the castle, Lupin, and here's the proof. Not even I dreamed you would have the nerve to use this old place as your hideout --'
'Severus, you're making a mistake,' said Lupin urgently. 'You haven't heard everything -- I can explain -- Sirius is not here to kill Harry --'
'Two more for Azkaban tonight,' said Snape, his eyes now gleaming fanatically. 'I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this. . . He was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin. . . a tame werewolf --'
'You fool,' said Lupin softly. 'Is a schoolboy grudge worth putting an innocent man back inside Azkaban?'
BANG! Thin, snakelike cords burst from the end of Snape's wand and twisted themselves around Lupin's mouth, wrists, and ankles; he overbalanced and fell to the floor, unable to move. With a roar of rage, Black started toward Snape, but Snape pointed his wand straight between Black's eyes.
'Give me a reason,' he whispered. 'Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will. '
Black stopped dead. It would have been impossible to say which face showed more hatred.
Harry stood there, paralyzed, not knowing what to do or whom to believe. He glanced around at Ron and Hermione. Ron looked just as confused as he did, still fighting to keep hold on the struggling Scabbers. Hermione, however, took an uncertain step toward Snape and said, in a very breathless voice, 'Professor Snape -- it wouldn't hurt to hear what they've got to say, w-would it?'
'Miss Granger, you are already facing suspension from this school,' Snape spat. 'You, Potter, and Weasley are out-of-bounds, in the company of a convicted murderer and a werewolf. For once in your life, hold your tongue. '
'But if -- if there was a mistake --'
'KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!' Snape shouted, looking suddenly quite deranged. 'DON'T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!' A few sparks shot out of the end of his wand, which was still pointed at Black's face. Hermione fell silent.
'Vengeance is very sweet,' Snape breathed at Black. 'How I hoped I would be the one to catch you. . . . '
'The joke's on you again, Severus,' Black snarled. 'As long as this boy brings his rat up to the castle' -- he jerked his head at Ron -- 'I'll come quietly. . . . '
'Up to the castle?' said Snape silkily. 'I don't think we need to go that far. All I have to do is call the Dementors once we get out of the Willow. They'll be very pleased to see you, Black. . . pleased enough to give you a little kiss, I daresay. . . I --'
What little color there was in Black's face left it.
'You -you've got to hear me out,' he croaked. 'The rat -- look at the rat --'
But there was a mad glint in Snape's eyes that Harry had never seen before. He seemed beyond reason.
'Come on, all of you,' he said. He clicked his fingers, and the ends of the cords that bound Lupin flew to his hands. 'I'll drag the werewolf. Perhaps the Dementors will have a kiss for him too --'
Before he knew what he was doing, Harry had crossed the room in three strides and blocked the door.
'Get out of the way, Potter, you're in enough trouble already,' snarled Snape. 'If I hadn't been here to save your skin --'
'Professor Lupin could have killed me about a hundred times this year,' Harry said. 'I've been alone with him loads of times, having defense lessons against the Dementors. If he was helping Black, why didn't he just finish me off then?'
'Don't ask me to fathom the way a werewolf's mind works,' hissed Snape. 'Get out of the way, Potter. '
'YOU'RE PATHETIC!' Harry yelled. 'JUST BECAUSE THEY MADE A FOOL OF YOU AT SCHOOL YOU WON'T EVEN LISTEN --'
'SILENCE! I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO LIKE THAT!' Snape shrieked, looking madder than ever. 'Like father, like son, Potter! I have just saved your neck; you should be thanking me on bended knee! You would have been well served if he'd killed you! You'd have died like your father, too arrogant to believe you might be mistaken in Black -- now get out of the way, or I will make you. GET OUT OF THE WAY, POTTER!'
Harry made up his mind in a split second. Before Snape could take even one step toward him, he had raised his wand.
'Expelliarmus!' he yelled -- except that his wasn't the only voice that shouted. There was a blast that made the door rattle on its hinges; Snape was lifted off his feet and slammed into the wall, then slid down it to the floor, a trickle of blood oozing from under his hair. He had been knocked out.
Harry looked around. Both Ron and Hermione had tried to disarm Snape at exactly the same moment. Snape's wand soared in a high arc and landed on the bed next to Crookshanks.
'You shouldn't have done that,' said Black, looking at Harry.
'You should have left him to me. . . . '
Harry avoided Black's eyes. He wasn't sure, even now, that he'd done the right thing.
'We attacked a teacher. . . We attacked a teacher. . . ' Hermione whimpered, staring at the lifeless Snape with frightened eyes. 'Oh, we're going to be in so much trouble --'
Lupin was struggling against his bonds. Black bent down quickly and untied him. Lupin straightened up, rubbing his arms where the ropes had cut into them.
'Thank you, Harry,' he said.
'I'm still not saying I believe you,' he told Lupin.
'Then it's time we offered you some proof,' said Lupin. 'You, boy -- give me Peter, please. Now. '
Ron clutched Scabbers closer to his chest.
'Come off it,' he said weakly. 'Are you trying to say he broke out of Azkaban just to get his hands on Scabbers? I mean. . . ' He looked up at Harry and Hermione for support, 'Okay, say Pettigrew could turn into a rat -- there are millions of rats -- how's he supposed to know which one he is after if he was locked up in Azkaban?'
'You know, Sirius, that's a fair question,' said Lupin, turning to Black and frowning slightly. 'How did you find out where he was?'
Black put one of his claw-like hands inside his robes and took out a crumpled piece of paper, which he smoothed flat and held out to show the others.
It was the photograph of Ron and his family that had appeared in the Daily Prophet the previous summer, and there, on Ron's shoulder, was Scabbers.
'How did you get this?' Lupin asked Black, thunderstruck.
'Fudge,' said Black. 'When he came to inspect Azkaban last year, he gave me his paper. And there was Peter, on the front page on this boy's shoulder. . . I knew him at once. . . how many times had I seen him transform? And the caption said the boy would be going back to Hogwarts. . . to where Harry was. . . '
'My God,' said Lupin softly, staring from Scabbers to the picture in the paper and back again. 'His front paw. . . '
'What about it?' said Ron defiantly.
'He's got a toe missing,' said Black.
'Of course,' Lupin breathed. 'So simple. . . so brilliant. . . he cut it off himself?'
'Just before he transformed,' said Black. 'When I cornered him, he yelled for the whole street to hear that I'd betrayed Lily and James. Then, before I could curse him, he blew apart the street with the wand behind his back, killed everyone within twenty feet of himself -- and sped down into the sewer with the other rats. . . . '
'Didn't you ever hear, Ron?' said Lupin. 'The biggest bit of Peter they found was his finger. '
'Look, Scabbers probably had a fight with another rat or something! He's been in my family for ages, right --'
'Twelve years, in fact,' said Lupin. 'Didn't you ever wonder why he was living so long?'
'We -- we've been taking good care of him!' said Ron.
'Not looking too good at the moment, though, is he?' said Lupin. 'I'd guess he's been losing weight ever since he heard Sirius was on the loose again. . . . '
'He's been scared of that mad cat!' said Ron, nodding toward Crookshanks, who was still purring on the bed.
But that wasn't right, Harry thought suddenly. . . Scabbers had been looking ill before he met Crookshanks. . . ever since Ron's return from Egypt. . . since the time when Black had escaped. . . .
'This cat isn't mad,' said Black hoarsely. He reached out a bony hand and stroked Crookshanks's fluffy head. 'He's the most intelligent of his kind I've ever met. He recognized Peter for what he was right away. And when he met me, he knew I was no dog. It was a while before he trusted me. . . Finally, I managed to communicate to him what I was after, and he's been helping me. . . '
'What do you mean?' breathed Hermione.
'He tried to bring Peter to me, but couldn't. . . so he stole the passwords into Gryffindor Tower for me. . . As I understand it, he took them from a boy's bedside table. . . '
Harry's brain seemed to be sagging under the weight of what he was hearing. It was absurd. . . and yet. . .
'But Peter got wind of what was going on and ran for it. ' croaked Black. 'This cat -- Crookshanks, did you call him? -- told me Peter had left blood on the sheets. . . I supposed he bit himself. . . Well, faking his own death had worked once. '
These words jolted Harry to his senses.
'And why did he fake his death?' he said furiously. 'Because he knew you were about to kill him like you killed my parents!'
'No,' said Lupin, 'Harry--'
'And now you've come to finish him off!'
'Yes, I have,' said Black, with an evil look at Scabbers.
'Then I should've let Snape take you!' Harry shouted.
'Harry,' said Lupin hurriedly, 'don't you see? All this time we've thought Sirius betrayed your parents, and Peter tracked him down -- but it was the other way around, don't you see? Peter betrayed your mother and father -- Sirius tracked Peter down --'
'THAT'S NOT TRUE!' Harry yelled. 'HE WAS THEIR SECRET-KEEPER! HE SAID SO BEFORE YOU TURNED UP. HE SAID HE KILLED THEM!'
He was pointing at Black, who shook his head slowly; the sunken eyes were suddenly over bright.
'Harry. . . I as good as killed them,' he croaked. 'I persuaded Lily and James to change to Peter at the last moment, persuaded them to use him as Secret-Keeper instead of me. . . I'm to blame, I know it. . . The night they died, I'd arranged to check on Peter, make sure he was still safe, but when I arrived at his hiding place, he'd gone. Yet there was no sign of a struggle. It didn't feel right. I was scared. I set out for your parents' house straight away. And when I saw their house, destroyed, and their bodies. . . I realized what Peter must've done. . . what I'd done. . . . '
His voice broke. He turned away.
'Enough of this,' said Lupin, and there was a steely note in his voice Harry had never heard before. 'There's one certain way to prove what really happened. Ron, give me that rat. '
'What are you going to do with him if I give him to you?' Ron asked Lupin tensely.
'Force him to show himself,' said Lupin. 'If he really is a rat, it won't hurt him. '
Ron hesitated. Then at long last, he held out Scabbers and Lupin took him. Scabbers began to squeak without stopping, twisting and turning, his tiny black eyes bulging in his head. 'Ready, Sirius?' said Lupin.
Black had already retrieved Snape's wand from the bed. He approached Lupin and the struggling rat, and his wet eyes suddenly seemed to be burning in his face.
'Together?' he said quietly.
'I think so', said Lupin, holding Scabbers tightly in one hand and his wand in the other. 'On the count of three. One -- two -- THREE!'
A flash of blue-white light erupted from both wands; for a moment, Scabbers was frozen in midair, his small gray form twisting madly -- Ron yelled -- the rat fell and hit the floor. There was another blinding flash of light and then --
It was like watching a speeded-up film of a growing tree. A head was shooting upward from the ground; limbs were sprouting; a moment later, a man was standing where Scabbers had been, cringing and wringing his hands. Crookshanks was spitting and snarling on the bed; the hair on his back was standing up.
He was a very short man, hardly taller than Harry and Hermione. His thin, colorless hair was unkempt and there was a large bald patch on top. He had the shrunken appearance of a plump man who has lost a lot of weight in a short time. His skin looked grubby, almost like Scabbers's fur, and something of the rat lingered around his pointed nose and his very small, watery eyes. He looked around at them all, his breathing fast and shallow. Harry saw his eyes dart to the door and back again.
'Well, hello, Peter,' said Lupin pleasantly, as though rats frequently erupted into old school friends around him. 'Long time, no see. '
'S--Sirius. . . R--Remus. . . ' Even Pettigrew's voice was squeaky. Again, his eyes darted toward the door. 'My friends. . . my old friends. . . '
Black's wand arm rose, but Lupin seized him around the wrist, gave him a warning took, then turned again to Pettigrew, his voice light and casual.
'We've been having a little chat, Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. You might have missed the finer points while you were squeaking around down there on the bed --'
'Remus,' gasped Pettigrew, and Harry could see beads of sweat breaking out over his pasty face, 'you don't believe him, do you. . . ? He tried to kill me, Remus. . . . '
'So we've heard,' said Lupin, more coldly. 'I'd like to clear up one or two little matters with you, Peter, if you'll be so --'
'He's come to try and kill me again!' Pettigrew squeaked suddenly, pointing at Black, and Harry saw that he used his middle finger, because his index was missing. 'He killed Lily and James and now he's going to kill me too. . . You've got to help me, Remus. . . . '
Black's face looked more skull-like than ever as he stared at Pettigrew with his fathomless eyes.
'No one's going to try and kill you until we've sorted a few things out,' said Lupin.
'Sorted things out?' squealed Pettigrew, looking wildly about him once more, eyes taking in the boarded windows and, again, the only door. 'I knew he'd come after me! I knew he'd be back for me! I've been waiting for this for twelve years!'
'You knew Sirius was going to break out of Azkaban?' said Lupin, his brow furrowed. 'When nobody has ever done it before?'
'He's got dark powers the rest of us can only dream of!' Pettigrew shouted shrilly. 'How else did he get out of there? I suppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named taught him a few tricks!'
Black started to laugh, a horrible, mirthless laugh that filled the whole room.
'Voldemort, teach me tricks?' he said.
Pettigrew flinched as though Black had brandished a whip at him.
'What, scared to hear your old master's name?' said Black. 'I don't blame you, Peter. His lot aren't very happy with you, are they?'
'Don't know what you mean, Sirius --' muttered Pettigrew, his breathing faster than ever. His whole face was shining with sweat now.
'You haven't been hiding from me for twelve years,' said Black. 'You've been hiding from Voldemort's old supporters. I heard things in Azkaban, Peter. . . They all think you're dead, or you'd have to answer to them. . . I've heard them screaming all sorts of things in their sleep. Sounds like they think the double-crosser double-crossed them. Voldemort went to the Potters' on your information. . . and Voldemort met his downfall there. And not all Voldemort's supporters ended up in Azkaban, did they? There are still plenty out here, biding their time, pretending they've seen the error of their ways. If they ever got wind that you were still alive, Peter --'
'Don't know. . . what you're talking about. . . ' said Pettigrew again, more shrilly than ever. He wiped his face on his sleeve and looked up at Lupin. 'You don't believe this -- this madness, Remus --'
'I must admit, Peter, I have difficulty in understanding why an innocent man would want to spend twelve years as a rat,' said Lupin evenly.
'Innocent, but scared!' squealed Pettigrew. 'If Voldemort's supporters were after me, it was because I put one of their best men in Azkaban -- the spy, Sirius Black!'
Black's face contorted.
'How dare you,' he growled, sounding suddenly like the bearsized dog he had been. 'I, a spy for Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than myself? But you, Peter -- I'll never understand why I didn't see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who'd look after you, didn't you? It used to be us. . . me and Remus. . . and James. . . '
Pettigrew wiped his face again; he was almost panting for breath.
'Me, a spy. . . must be out of your mind. . . never. . . don't know how you can say such a --'
'Lily and James only made you Secret-Keeper because I suggested it,' Black hissed, so venomously that Pettigrew took a step backward. 'I thought it was the perfect plan. . . a bluff. . . Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they'd use a weak, talentless thing like you. . . It must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters. '
Pettigrew was muttering distractedly; Harry caught words like 'far-fetched' and 'lunacy,' but he couldn't help paying more attention to the ashen color of Pettigrew's face and the way his eyes continued to dart toward the windows and door.
'Professor Lupin?' said Hermione timidly. 'Can -- can I say something?'
'Certainly, Hermione,' said Lupin courteously.
'Well -- Scabbers -- I mean, this -- this man -- he's been sleeping in Harry's dormitory for three years. If he's working for You-Know-Who, how come he never tried to hurt Harry before now?'
'There!' said Pettigrew shrilly, pointing at Ron with his maimed hand. 'Thank you! You see, Remus? I have never hurt a hair of Harry's head! Why should I?'
'I'll tell you why,' said Black. 'Because you never did anything for anyone unless you could see what was in it for you. Voldemort's been in hiding for fifteen years, they say he's half dead. You weren't about to commit murder right under Albus Dumbledore's nose, for a wreck of a wizard who'd lost all of his power, were you? You'd want to be quite sure he was the biggest bully in the playground before you went back to him, wouldn't you? Why else did you find a wizard family to take you in? Keeping an ear out for news, weren't you, Peter? Just in case your old protector regained strength, and it was safe to rejoin him. . . . '
Pettigrew opened his mouth and closed it several times. He seemed to have lost the ability to talk.
'Er -- Mr. Black -- Sirius?' said Hermione.
Black jumped at being addressed like this and stared at Hermione as though he had never seen anything quite like her.
'If you don't mind me asking, how -- how did you get out of Azkaban, if you didn't use Dark Magic?'
'Thank you!' gasped Pettigrew, nodding frantically at her. 'Exactly! Precisely what I --'
But Lupin silenced him with a look. Black was frowning slightly at Hermione, but not as though he were annoyed with her. He seemed to be pondering his answer.
'I don't know how I did it,' he said slowly. 'I think the only reason I never lost my mind is that I knew I was innocent. That wasn't a happy thought, so the Dementors couldn't suck it out of me. . . but it kept me sane and knowing who I am. . . helped me keep my powers. . . so when it all became. . . too much. . . I could transform in my cell. . . become a dog. Dementors can't see, you know. . . ' He swallowed. 'They feel their way toward people by feeding off their emotions. . . They could tell that my feelings were less -- less human, less complex when I was a dog. . . but they thought, of course, that I was losing my mind like everyone else in there, so it didn't trouble them. But I was weak, very weak, and I had no hope of driving them away from me without a wand. . . . '
'But then I saw Peter in that picture. . . I realized he was at Hogwarts with Harry. . . perfectly positioned to act, if one hint reached his ears that the Dark Side was gathering strength again. . . '
Pettigrew was shaking his head, mouthing noiselessly, but staring all the while at Black as though hypnotized.
'. . . ready to strike at the moment he could be sure of allies. . . and to deliver the last Potter to them. if he gave them Harry, who'd dare say he'd betrayed Lord Voldemort? He'd be welcomed back with honors. . . . '
'So you see, I had to do something. I was the only one who knew Peter was still alive. . . '
Harry remembered what Mr. Weasley had told Mrs. Wealsey. 'The guards say he's been talking in his sleep. . . always the same words. . . 'He's at Hogwarts. '
'It was as if someone had lit a fire In my head, and the Dementors couldn't destroy it. . . It wasn't a happy feeling. . . it was an obsession. . . but it gave me strength, it cleared my mind. So, one night when they opened my door to bring food, I slipped past them as a dog. . . It's so much harder for them to sense animal emotions that they were confused. . . I was thin, very thin. . . thin enough to slip through the bars. . . I swam as a dog back to the mainland . . . I journeyed north and slipped into the Hogwarts grounds as a dog. I've been living in the forest ever since, except when I came to watch the Quidditch, of course. You fly as well as your father did, Harry. . . . '
He looked at Harry, who did not look away.
'Believe me,' croaked Black. 'Believe me, Harry. I never betrayed James and Lily. I would have died before I betrayed them. '
And at long last, Harry believed him. Throat too tight to speak, he nodded.
'No!'
Pettigrew had fallen to his knees as though Harry's nod had been his own death sentence. He shuffled forward on his knees, groveling, his hands clasped in front of him as though praying.
'Sirius -- it's me. . . it's Peter. . . your friend. . . you wouldn't --'
Black kicked out and Pettigrew recoiled.
'There's enough filth on my robes without you touching them,' said Black.
'Remus!' Pettigrew squeaked, turning to Lupin instead, writhing imploringly in front of him. 'You don't believe this -- wouldn't Sirius have told you they'd changed the plan?'
'Not if he thought I was the spy, Peter,' said Lupin. 'I assume that's why you didn't tell me, Sirius?' he said casually over Pettigrew's head.
'Forgive me, Remus,' said Black.
'Not at all, Padfoot, old friend,' said Lupin, who was now rolling up his sleeves. 'And will you, in turn, forgive me for believing you were the spy?'
'Of course,' said Black, and the ghost of a grin flitted across his gaunt face. He, too, began rolling up his sleeves. 'Shall we kill him together?'
'Yes, I think so,' said Lupin grimly.
'You wouldn't. . . you won't. . . ' gasped Pettigrew. And he scrambled around to Ron.
'Ron. . . haven't I been a good friend. . . a good pet? You won't let them kill me, Ron, will you. . . you're on my side, aren't you?'
But Ron was staring at Pettigrew with the utmost revulsion.
'I let you sleep in my bed!' he said.
'Kind boy. . . kind master. . . ' Pettigrew crawled toward Ron 'You won't let them do it. . . I was your rat. . . I was a good pet. . . . '
'If you made a better rat than a human, it's not much to boast about, Peter,' said Black harshly. Ron, going still paler with pain, wrenched his broken leg out of Pettigrew's reach. Pettigrew turned on his knees, staggered forward, and seized the hem of Hermione's robes.
'Sweet girl. . . clever girl. . . you -- you won't let them. . . Help me. . . . '
Hermione pulled her robes out of Pettigrew's clutching hands and backed away against the wall, looking horrified.
Pettigrew knelt, trembling uncontrollably, and turned his head slowly toward Harry.
'Harry. . . Harry. . . you look just like your father. . . just like him. . . '
'HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY?' roared Black. 'HOW DARE YOU FACE HIM? HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT JAMES IN FRONT OF HIM?'
'Harry,' whispered Pettigrew, shuffling toward him, hands outstretched. 'Harry, James wouldn't have wanted me killed. . . James would have understood, Harry. . . he would have shown me mercy. . . '
Both Black and Lupin strode forward, seized Pettigrew's shoulders, and threw him backward onto the floor. He sat there, twitching with terror, staring up at them.
'You sold Lily and James to Voldemort,' said Black, who was shaking too. 'Do you deny it?'
Pettigrew burst into tears. It was horrible to watch, like an oversized, balding baby, cowering on the floor.
'Sirius, Sirius, what could I have done? The Dark Lord. . . you have no idea. . . he has weapons you can't imagine . . . I was scared, Sirius, I was never brave like you and Remus and James. I never meant it to happen. . . He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced me --'
'DON'T LIE!' bellowed Black. 'YOU'D BEEN PASSING INFORMATION TO HIM FOR A YEAR BEFORE LILY AND JAMES DIED! YOU WERE HIS SPY!'
'He -- he was taking over everywhere!' gasped Pettigrew. 'Wh-what was there to be gained by refusing him?'
'What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who has ever existed?' said Black, with a terrible fury in his face. 'Only innocent lives, Peter!'
'You don't understand!' whined Pettigrew. 'He would have killed me, Sirius!'
'THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!' roared Black. 'DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!'
Black and Lupin stood shoulder to shoulder, wands raised.
'You should have realized,' said Lupin quietly, 'if Voldemort didn't kill you, we would. Good-bye, Peter. '
Hermione covered her face with her hands and turned to the wall.
'NO!' Harry yelled. He ran forward, placing himself in front Pettigrew, facing the wands. 'You can't kill him,' he said breathlessly. 'You can't. '
Black and Lupin both looked staggered.
'Harry, this piece of vermin is the reason you have no parents,' Black snarled. 'This cringing bit of filth would have seen you die too, without turning a hair. You heard him. His own stinking skin meant more to him than your whole family. '
'I know,' Harry panted. 'We'll take him up to the castle. We'll hand him over to the Dementors. . . He can go to Azkaban. . . but don't kill him. '
'Harry!' gasped Pettigrew, and he flung his arms around Harry's knees. 'You -- thank you -- it's more than I deserve -- thank you --'
'Get off me,' Harry spat, throwing Pettigrew's hands off him in disgust. 'I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it because -- I don't reckon my dad would've wanted them to become killers -- just for you. '
No one moved or made a sound except Pettigrew, whose breath was coming in wheezes as he clutched his chest. Black and Lupin were looking at each other. Then, with one movement, they lowered their wands.
'You're the only person who has the right to decide, Harry,' said Black. 'But think. . . think what he did. . . . '
'He can go to Azkaban,' Harry repeated. 'If anyone deserves that place, he does. . . . '
Pettigrew was still wheezing behind him.
'Very well,' said Lupin. 'Stand aside, Harry. '
Harry hesitated.
'I'm going to tie him up,' said Lupin. 'That's all, I swear. '
Harry stepped out of the way. Thin cords shot from Lupin's wand this time, and next moment, Pettigrew was wriggling on the floor, bound and gagged.
'But if you transform, Peter,' growled Black, his own wand pointing at Pettigrew too, 'we will kill you. You agree, Harry?'
Harry looked down at the pitiful figure on the floor and nodded so that Pettigrew could see him.
'Right,' said Lupin, suddenly businesslike. 'Ron, I can't mend bones nearly as well as Madam Pomfrey, so I think it's best if we just strap your leg up until we can get you to the hospital wing. '
He hurried over to Ron, bent down, tapped Ron's leg with his wand, and muttered, 'Ferula. ' Bandages spun up Ron's leg, strapping it tightly to a splint. Lupin helped him to his feet; Ron put his weight gingerly on the leg and didn't wince.
'That's better,' he said. 'Thanks. '
'What about Professor Snape?' said Hermione in a small voice, looking down at Snape's prone figure.
'There's nothing seriously wrong with him,' said Lupin, bending over Snape and checking his pulse. 'You were just a little -- overenthusiastic. Still out cold. Er -- perhaps it will be best if we don't revive him until we're safety back in the castle. We can take him like this. . . . '
He muttered, 'Mobilicorpus. ' As though invisible strings were tied to Snape's wrists, neck, and knees, he was pulled into a standing position, head still lolling unpleasantly, like a grotesque puppet. He hung a few inches above the ground, his limp feet dangling. Lupin picked up the Invisibility Cloak and tucked it safely into his pocket.
'And two of us should be chained to this,' said Black, nudging Pettigrew with his toe. 'Just to make sure. '
'I'll do it,' said Lupin.
'And me,' said Ron savagely, limping forward.
Black conjured heavy manacles from thin air; soon Pettigrew was upright again, left arm chained to Lupin's right, right arm to Ron's left. Ron's face was set. He seemed to have taken Scabbers's true identity as a personal insult. Crookshanks leapt lightly off the bed and led the way out of the room, his bottlebrush tail held jauntily high.

Chapter 1 Owl Post
Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. For one thing, he hated the summer holidays more than any other time of year. For another, he really wanted to do his homework but was forced to do it in secret, in the dead of night. And he also happened to be a wizard.
It was nearly midnight, and he was lying on his stomach in bed, the blankets drawn right over his head like a tent, a flashlight in one hand and a large leather-bound book (A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot) propped open against the pillow. Harry moved the tip of his eagle-feather quill down the page, frowning as he looked for something that would help him write his essay, 'Witch Burning in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless -- discuss. '
The quill paused at the top of a likely looking paragraph. Harry pushed his round glasses up the bridge of his nose, moved his flashlight closer to the book, and read:
Non-magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognizing it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame-Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burned so much that she allowed herself to be caught no less than forty-seven times in various disguises.
Harry put his quill between his teeth and reached underneath his pillow for his inkbottle and a roll of parchment. Slowly and very carefully he unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped his quill into it, and began to write, pausing every now and then to listen, because if any of the Dursleys heard the scratching of his quill on their way to the bathroom, he'd probably find himself locked in the cupboard under the stairs for the rest of the summer.
The Dursley family of Number Four, Privet Drive, was the reason that Harry never enjoyed his summer holidays. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and their son, Dudley, were Harry's only living relatives. They were Muggles, and they had a very medieval attitude toward magic. Harry's dead parents, who had been a witch and wizard themselves, were never mentioned under the Dursleys' roof. For years, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had hoped that if they kept Harry as downtrodden as possible, they would be able to squash the magic out of him. To their fury, they had not been unsuccessful. These days they lived in terror of anyone finding out that Harry had spent most of the last two years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The most they could do, however, was to lock away Harry's spell books, wand, cauldron, and broomstick at the start of the summer break, and forbid him to talk to the neighbors.
This separation from his spell books had been a real problem for Harry, because his teachers at Hogwarts had given him a lot of holiday work. One of the essays, a particularly nasty one about shrinking potions, was for Harry's least favorite teacher, Professor Snape, who would be delighted to have an excuse to give Harry detention for a month. Harry had therefore seized his chance in the first week of the holidays. While Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley had gone out into the front garden to admire Uncle Vernon's new company car (in very loud voices, so that the rest of the street would notice it too), Harry had crept downstairs, picked the lock on the cupboard under the stairs, grabbed some of his books, and hidden them in his bedroom. As long as he didn't leave spots of ink on the sheets, the Dursleys need never know that he was studying magic by night.
Harry was particularly keen to avoid trouble with his aunt and uncle at the moment, as they were already in an especially bad mood with him, all because he'd received a telephone call from a fellow wizard 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 lot of things Harry didn't, but had never used a telephone before. Most unluckily, 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 he heard 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 the receiver a foot away from his ear, staring at it with an expression of mingled fury and alarm.
'WHO IS THIS?' he roared in the direction of the mouthpiece. 'WHO ARE YOU?'
'RON -- WEASLEY!' Ron bellowed back, as though he and Uncle Vernon 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 was rooted to the spot.
'THERE IS NO HARRY POTTER HERE!' he roared, now holding the receiver at arm's length, as though frightened it might explode. 'I DON'T KNOW WHAT SCHOOL YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT! NEVER CONTACT ME AGAIN! DON'T YOU COME NEAR MY FAMILY!'
And he threw the receiver back onto the telephone as if dropping a poisonous spider.
The fight that had followed had been one of the worst ever.
'HOW DARE YOU GIVE THIS NUMBER TO PEOPLE LIKE -- PEOPLE LIKE YOU!' 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 from Hogwarts, Hermione Granger, hadn't been in touch either. Harry suspected that Ron had warned Hermione not to call, which was a pity, because Hermione, the cleverest witch in Harry's year, had Muggle parents, knew perfectly well how to use a telephone, and would probably have had enough sense not to say that she went to Hogwarts.
So Harry had had no word from any of his wizarding friends for five long weeks, and this summer was turning out to be almost as bad 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 at night. Uncle Vernon had given in because of the racket Hedwig made if she was locked in her cage all the time.
Harry finished writing about Wendelin the Weird and paused to listen again. The silence in the dark house was broken only by the distant, grunting snores of his enormous cousin, Dudley. It must be very late, Harry thought. His eyes were itching with tiredness. Perhaps he'd finish this essay tomorrow night. . .
He replaced the top of the ink bottle; pulled an old pillowcase from under his bed; put the flashlight, A History of Magic, his essay, quill, and ink inside it; got out of bed; and hid the lot under a loose floorboard under his bed. Then he stood up, stretched, and checked the time on the luminous alarm clock on his bedside table.
It was one o'clock in the morning. Harry's stomach gave a funny jolt. He had been thirteen years old, without realizing it, for a whole hour.
Yet another unusual thing about Harry was how little he looked forward to his birthdays. He had never received a birthday card in his 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, empty cage, to the open window. He leaned on the sill, the cool night air pleasant on his face after a long time under the blankets. Hedwig had 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 flinch at the sight of him.
Harry, though still rather small and skinny for his age, had grown a few inches over the last year. His jet-black hair, however, was just as it always had been -- stubbornly untidy, whatever he did to it. The eyes behind his glasses were bright green, and on his 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 most extraordinary of all. It was not, as the Dursleys had pretended for ten years, a souvenir of the car crash that had killed Harry's parents, because Lily and James Potter had not died in a car crash. They had been murdered, murdered by the most feared Dark wizard for a hundred years, Lord Voldemort. Harry had escaped from the same attack with nothing more than a scar on his forehead, where Voldemort's curse, instead of killing him, had rebounded upon its originator. Barely alive, Voldemort had fled. . .
But Harry had come face-to-face with him at Hogwarts. Remembering their last meeting as he stood at the dark window, Harry had to admit 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, expecting praise. Gazing absently over the rooftops, it was a few seconds before Harry realized what he was seeing.
Silhouetted against the golden moon, and growing larger every moment, was a large, strangely lopsided creature, and it was flapping in Harry's direction. He stood quite still, watching it sink lower and lower. For a split second he hesitated, his hand on the window latch, wondering whether to slam it shut. But then the bizarre creature 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 up the third, which appeared to be unconscious. They landed with a soft flump on Harry's bed, and the middle owl, which was large and gray, keeled right over and lay motionless. There was a large package tied to its legs.
Harry recognized the unconscious owl at once -- his name was Errol, and he belonged to the Weasley family. Harry dashed to the bed, untied the cords around Errol's legs, took off the parcel, and then 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, the large snowy female, was his own Hedwig. She, too, was carrying a parcel and looked extremely pleased with herself. She gave Harry an affectionate nip with her beak as he removed her burden, then flew 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 addition to a third package, it was carrying a letter bearing the Hogwarts crest. When Harry relieved this owl of its burden, it ruffled its feathers importantly, stretched its wings, and took off through the window into the night.
Harry sat down on his bed and grabbed Errol's package, ripped off the brown paper, and discovered a present wrapped in gold and his first ever birthday card. Fingers trembling slightly, he opened the envelope. Two pieces of paper fell out -- a letter and a newspaper clipping.
The clipping had clearly come out of the wizarding newspaper, the Daily Prophet, because the people in the black-and-white picture were moving. Harry picked up the clipping, smoothed it out, and read:
MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE
Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, has won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw.
A delighted Mr. Weasley told the Daily Prophet, 'We will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our eldest son, Bill, works as a curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank. '
The Weasley family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children currently attend.
Harry scanned the moving photograph, and a grin spread across his face as he saw all nine of the Weasleys waving furiously at him, standing in front of a large pyramid. Plump little Mrs. Weasley; tall, balding Mr. Weasley; six sons; and one daughter, all (though the black-and-white picture didn't show it) with flaming-red hair. Right in the middle of the picture was Ron, tall and gangling, with his pet rat, Scabbers, on his shoulder and his arm around his little sister, Ginny.
Harry couldn't think of anyone who deserved to win a large pile of gold more than the Weasleys, who were very nice and extremely poor. He picked up Ron's letter and unfolded it.
Dear Harry,
Happy birthday!
Look, I'm really sorry about that telephone call. I hope the Muggles didn't give you a hard time. I asked Dad, and he reckons I shouldn't have shouted.
It's amazing here in Egypt. Bill's taken us around all the tombs and you wouldn't believe the curses those old Egyptian wizards put on them. Mum wouldn't let Ginny come in the last one. There were all these mutant skeletons in there, of Muggles who'd broken in and grown extra heads and stuff.
I couldn't believe it when Dad won the Daily Prophet Draw. Seven hundred galleons! Most of it's gone on this trip, but they're going to buy me a new wand for next year.
Harry remembered only too well the occasion when Ron's old wand had snapped. It had happened when the car the two of them had been flying to Hogwarts had crashed into a tree on the school grounds.
We'll be back about a week before term starts and we'll be going up to London to get my wand and our new books. Any chance of meeting you there?
Don't let the Muggles get you down!
Try and come to London,
Ron
P. S. Percy's Head Boy. He got the letter last week.
Harry glanced back at the photograph. Percy, who was in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts, was looking particularly smug. He had pinned his Head Boy badge to the fez perched jauntily on top of his neat hair, his horn-rimmed glasses flashing in the Egyptian sun.
Harry now turned to his present and unwrapped it. Inside was what looked like a miniature glass spinning top. There was another note from Ron beneath it.
Harry -- this is a Pocket Sneakoscope. If there's someone untrustworthy around, it's supposed to light up and spin. Bill says it's rubbish sold for wizard tourists and isn't reliable, because it kept lighting up at dinner last night. But he didn't realize Fred and George had put beetles in his soup.
Bye -- Ron
Harry put the Pocket Sneakoscope on his bedside table, where it stood quite still, balanced on its point, reflecting the luminous hands 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 a letter, this time from Hermione.
Dear Harry,
Ron wrote to me and told me about his phone call to your Uncle Vernon. I do hope you're all right.
I'm on holiday in France at the moment and I didn't know how I was going to send this to you -- what if they'd opened it at customs? -- but then Hedwig turned up! I think she wanted to make sure you got something for your birthday for a change. I bought your present 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's going on in the wizarding world), Did you see that picture of Ron and his family a week ago? I bet he's learning loads. I'm really jealous -- 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 include some 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 the holidays. Can you make it? Will your aunt and uncle let you come? I really hope you can. If not, I'll see you on the Hogwarts Express on September first!
Love from
Hermione
P. S. Ron says Percy's Head Boy. I'll bet Percy's really pleased. Ron doesn't seem too happy about it.
Harry laughed as he put Hermione's letter aside and picked up her present. It was very heavy. Knowing Hermione, he was sure it would be a large book full of very difficult spells -- but it wasn't. His heart gave a huge bound as he ripped back the paper and saw a sleek black leather case, with silver words stamped across it, reading Broomstick Servicing Kit.
'Wow, Hermione!' Harry whispered, unzipping the case to look inside.
There was a large jar of Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish, a pair of gleaming silver Tail-Twig Clippers, a tiny brass compass to clip on your broom for long journeys, and a Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare.
Apart from his friends, the thing that Harry missed most about Hogwarts was Quidditch, the most popular sport in the magical world -- highly dangerous, very exciting, and played on broomsticks. Harry happened to be a very good Quidditch player; he had been the youngest person in a century to be picked for one of the Hogwarts House teams. One of Harry's most prized possessions was his Nimbus Two Thousand racing broom.
Harry put the leather case aside and picked up his last parcel. He recognized the untidy scrawl on the brown paper at once: this was from Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper. He tore off the top layer of paper and glimpsed something green and leathery, but before 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 anything dangerous on purpose, but then, Hagrid didn't have a normal person's view of what was dangerous. Hagrid had been known to befriend giant 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. Harry reached for the lamp on his bedside table, gripped it firmly in one hand, and raised it over his head, ready to strike. Then he seized the rest of the wrapping paper in his other hand and pulled.
And out fell -- a book. Harry just had time to register its handsome green cover, emblazoned with the golden title The Monster Book of Monsters, before it flipped onto its edge and scuttled sideways along the bed like some weird crab.
'Uh-oh,' Harry muttered.
The book toppled off the bed with a loud clunk and shuffled rapidly across the room. Harry followed it stealthily. The book was hiding in the dark space under his desk. Praying that the Dursleys were still fast asleep, Harry got down on his hands and knees and reached toward it.
'Ouch!'
The book snapped shut on his hand and then flapped past him, still scuttling on its covers. Harry scrambled around, threw himself forward, 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 the struggling book tightly in his arms, hurried to his chest of drawers, and pulled out a belt, which he buckled tightly around it. The Monster Book shuddered angrily, but could no longer flap and snap, so Harry threw it down on the bed and reached for Hagrid's card.
Dear Harry,
Happy Birthday!
Think you might find this useful for next year. Won't say no more here. Tell you when I see you.
Hope the Muggles are treating you right.
All the best,
Hagrid
It struck Harry as ominous that Hagrid thought a biting book would come in useful, but he put Hagrid's card up next to Ron's and Hermione's, grinning more broadly than ever. Now there was only the letter from Hogwarts left.
Noticing that it was rather thicker than usual, Harry slit open the envelope, pulled out the first page of parchment within, and read:
Dear Mr. Potter,
Please note that the new school year will begin on September the first. The Hogwarts Express will leave from King's Cross station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o'clock.
Third years are permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade on certain weekends. Please give the enclosed permission form to your parent or guardian to sign.
A list of books for next year is enclosed.
Yours sincerely,
Professor M. McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry pulled out the Hogsmeade permission form and looked at it, no longer grinning. It would be wonderful to visit Hogsmeade on weekends; he knew it was an entirely wizarding village, and he had never set foot there. But how on earth was he going to persuade Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia to sign the form?
He looked over at the alarm clock. It was now two o'clock in the morning.
Deciding that he'd worry about the Hogsmeade form when he woke up, Harry got back into bed and reached up to cross off another day on the chart he'd made for himself, counting down the days left until his return to Hogwarts. Then he took off his glasses and lay down; eyes open, facing his three birthday cards.
Extremely unusual though he was, at that moment Harry Potter felt just like everyone else -- glad, for the first time in his life, that it was his birthday.