Harry Potter 3 - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

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 be hard work, pre­tend­ing to Aunt Marge I go to that St What­sits …’

‘St Bru­tus’s Se­cure Cen­tre for In­cur­ably Crim­inal Boys!’ bel­lowed Un­cle Ver­non, and Har­ry was pleased to hear a def­inite note of pan­ic in Un­cle Ver­non’s voice.

‘Ex­act­ly,’ said Har­ry, look­ing calm­ly up in­to Un­cle Ver­non’s large, pur­ple face. ‘It’s a lot to re­mem­ber. I’ll have to make it sound con­vinc­ing, won’t I? What if I ac­ci­den­tal­ly let some­thing slip?’

‘You’ll get the stuff­ing knocked out of you, won’t you?’ roared Un­cle Ver­non, ad­vanc­ing on Har­ry with his fist raised. But Har­ry stood his ground.

‘Knock­ing the stuff­ing out of me won’t make Aunt Marge for­get what I could tell her,’ he said grim­ly.

Un­cle Ver­non stopped, his fist still raised, his face an ug­ly 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’ll act like a Mug – like I’m nor­mal and ev­ery­thing.’

Har­ry could tell that Un­cle Ver­non was think­ing it over, even if his teeth were bared and a vein was throb­bing in his tem­ple

“Hang on,” blurted Harry. “What about my punishment?”

Fudge blinked.

“Punishment?”

“I broke the law!” Harry said. “The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry!”

“Oh, my dear boy, we’re not going to punish you for a little thing like that!” cried Fudge, waving his crumpet impatiently. “It was an accident! We don’t send people to Azkaban just for blowing up their aunts!”

White fog obscured his senses . . . big, blurred shapes were moving around him . . . then came a new voice, a man’s voice, shouting, panicking —

“Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off —”

The sounds of someone stumbling from a room — a door bursting open — a cackle of high-pitched laughter —

Harry was falling again through thick white fog, and his mother’s voice was louder than ever, echoing inside his head — “Not Harry! Not Harry! Please — I’ll do anything —”

“Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!”

“Harry!”

A hatred such as he had never known before was coursing through Harry like poison.

Both Ron and Hermione had decided to remain at Hogwarts, and though Ron said it was because he couldn’t stand two weeks with Percy, and Hermione insisted she needed to use the library, Harry wasn’t fooled; they were doing it to keep him company, and he was very grateful

“Yes,” said Harry. He hesitated, and then the question he had to ask burst from him before he could stop himself. “Why? Why do they affect me like that? Am I just — ?”

“It has nothing to do with weakness,” said Professor Lupin sharply, as though he had read Harry’s mind. “The dementors affect you worse than the others because there are horrors in your past that the others don’t have

Malfoy spent much of their next Potions class doing dementor imitations across the dungeon; Ron finally cracked and flung a large, slippery crocodile heart at Malfoy, which hit him in the face and caused Snape to take fifty points from Gryffindor

“That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger,” said Snape coolly. “Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all.”

Hermione went very red, put down her hand, and stared at the floor with her eyes full of tears. It was a mark of how much the class loathed Snape that they were all glaring at him, because every one of them had called Hermione a know-it-all at least once, and Ron, who told Hermione she was a know-it-all at least twice a week, said loudly, “You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don’t want to be told?”

“That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger,” said Snape coolly. “Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all.”

Hermione went very red, put down her hand, and stared at the floor with her eyes full of tears. It was a mark of how much the class loathed Snape that they were all glaring at him, because every one of them had called Hermione a know-it-all at least once, and Ron, who told Hermione she was a know-it-all at least twice a week, said loudly, “You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don’t want to be told?”