I couldn’t help hearing,” Harry added quickly. “Sorry —”
“That’s not the way I’d have chosen for you to find out,” said Mr. Weasley looking anxious..
“No — honestly it’s OK. This way, you haven’t broken your word to Fudge and I know what’s going on.”
“Harry, you must be scared — “
“I’m not,” said Harry sincerely. “ Really,” he added, because Mr. Weasley was looking disbelieving. “I’m not trying to be a hero, but seriously, Sirius Black can’t be worse than Lord Voldemort, can he?”
Mr. Weasley flinched at the sound of the name, but overlooked it.
“Harry, I knew you were, well, made of stronger stuff than Fudge seems to think, and I’m obviously pleased that you’re not scared, but —”
“Arthur!” called Mrs. Weasley, who was now shepherding the rest onto the train. “Arthur, what are you doing? It’s about to go!”
“He’s coming Molly!” said Mr. Weasley, but he turned back to Harry and kept talking in a lower and more hurried voice, “Listen, I want you to give me your word —”
“ — that I’ll be a good boy and stay in the castle?” said Harry gloomily.
“Not entirely,” said Mr. Weasley, who looked more serious than Harry had ever seen him. “Harry, swear to me you won’t golookingfor Black.”
Harry stared, “What!”
There was a loud whistle. Guards were walking along the train, slamming all the doors shut.
“Promise me, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley, talking more quickly still, “that whatever happens —”
“Why would I go looking for someone I know wants to kill me?” said Harry blankly.
“Swear to me that whatever you might hear —”
“Arthur, quickly!” cried Mrs. Weasley.
Steam was billowing from the train it had started to move. Harry ran to the compartment door and Ron threw it open and stood back to let him on. They leaned out of the window and waved at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley until the train turned a corner and blocked them from view.
“I need to talk to you in private,” Harry muttered to Ron and Hermione as the train picked up speed.
“Go away, Ginny,” said Ron.
“Oh, that’s nice,” said Ginny huffily, and she stalked off.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off down the corridor, looking for an empty compartment, but all were full except for the one at the very end of the train.
This had only one occupant, a man sitting fast asleep next to the window. Harry, Ron, and Hermione checked on the threshold. The Hogwarts Express was usually reserved for students and they had never seen an adult there before, except for the witch who pushed the food cart.
The stranger was wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard’s robes that had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted. Though quite young, his light brown hair was flecked with gray.
“Who d’you reckon he is?” Ron hissed as they sat down and slid the door shut, taking the seats farthest away from the window.
“Professor R. J. Lupin.” whispered Hermione at once.
“How’d you know that?”
“It’s on his case,” she replied, pointing at the luggage rack over the man’s head, where there was a small, battered case held together with a large quantity of neatly knotted string. The name Professor R. J. Lupin was stamped across one corner in peeling letters.
“Wonder what he teaches?” said Ron, frowning at Professor Lupin’s pallid profile.
“That’s obvious,” whispered Hermione. “There’s only one vacancy, isn’t there? Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had already had two Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, both of whom had lasted only one year. There were rumors that the job was jinxed.
“Well, I hope he’s up to it,” said Ron doubtfully. “He looks like on, good hex would finish him off, doesn’t he? Anyway…” he turned to Harry, “what were you going to tell us?”
Harry explained all about Mr. and Mrs. Wesley’s argument and the warning Mr. Weasley had just given him. When he’d finished, Ron looked thunderstruck, and Hermione had her hands over her mouth. She finally lowered them to say, “Sirius Black escaped to come afteryou? Oh, Harry…you’ll have to be really, really careful. don’t go looking for trouble, Harry…”
“I don’t go looking for trouble,” said Harry, nettled. “Trouble usually findsme.”
“How thick would Harry have to be, to go looking for a nutter who wants to kill him?” said Ron shakily.
They were taking the news worse than Harry had expected. Both Ron and Hermione seemed to be much more frightened of Black than he was.
“No one knows how he got out of Azkaban,” said Ron uncomfortably. “No one’s ever done it before. And he was a top-security prisoner too.”
“But they’ll catch him, won’t they?” said Hermione earnestly. “I mean, they’ve got all the Muggles looking out for him too….”
“What’s that noise?” said Ron suddenly.
A faint, tinny sort of whistle was coming from somewhere. They looked all around the compartment.
“It’s coming from your trunk, Harry,” said Ron, standing up and reaching into the luggage rack. A moment later he had pulled the Pocket Sneakoscope out from between Harry’s robes. It was spinning very fast in the palm of Ron’s hand and glowing brilliantly.
“Is that aSneakoscope?” said Hermione interestedly, standing up for a better look.
“Yeah…mind you, it’s a very cheap one,” Ron said. “It went haywire just as I was tying it to Errol’s leg to send it to Harry.”
“Were you doing anything untrustworthy at the time?” said Hermione shrewdly.
“No! Well…I wasn’t supposed to be using Errol. You know he’s not really up to long journeys…but how else was I supposed to get Harry’s present to him?”
“Stick it back in the trunk,” Harry advised as the Sneakoscope whistled piercingly, “or it’ll wake him up.”
He nodded toward Professor Lupin. Ron stuffed the Sneakoscope into a particularly horrible pair of Uncle Vernon’s old socks, which deadened the sound, then closed the lid of the trunk on it.
“We could get it checked in Hogsmeade,” said Ron, sitting back down. “They sell that sort of thing in Dervish and Banges, magical instruments and stuff. Fred and George told me.”
“Do you know much about Hogsmeade?” asked Hermione keenly. “I’ve read it’s the only entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain —”
“Yeah, I think it is,” said Ron in an offhand sort of way. “but that’s not why I want to go. I just want to get inside Honeydukes!”
“What’s that?” said Hermione.
“It’s this sweetshop,” said Ron, a dreamy look coming over his face, “where they’ve goteverything …Pepper Imps — they make you smoke at the mouth — and great fat Chocoballs full of strawberry mousse and clotted cream, and really excellent sugar quills, which you can suck in class and just look like you’re thinking what to write next—”
“But Hogsmeade’s a very interesting place, isn’t it?” Hermione pressed on eagerly. “InSites of Historical Sorceryit says the inn was the headquarters for the 1612 goblin rebellion, and the Shrieking Shack’s supposed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain —”
“— and massive sherbet balls that make you levitate a few inches off the ground while you’re sucking them,” said Ron, who was plainly not listening to a word Hermione was saying.
Hermione looked around at Harry.
“Won’t it be nice to get out of school for a bit and explore Hogsmeade?”
“‘Spect it will,” said Harry heavily. “You’ll have to tell me when you’ve found out.”
“What d’you mean?” said Ron.
“I can’t go. The Dursleys didn’t sign my permission form, and Fudge wouldn’t either.”
Ron looked horrified.
“ You’re not allowed to come? But — no way — McGonagall or someone will give you permission —”
Harry gave a hollow laugh. Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor house, was very strict.
“— or we can ask Fred and George, they know every secret passage out of the castle —”
“Ron!” said Hermione sharply. “I don’t think Harry should be sneaking out of the school with Black on the loose —”
“Yeah, I expect that’s what McGonagall will say when I ask of permission,” said Harry bitterly.
“But ifwe’rewith him,” said Ron spiritedly to Hermione. “Black wouldn’t dare —”
“Oh, Ron, don’t talk rubbish,” snapped Hermione. “Black’s already murdered a whole bunch of people in the middle of a crowded street, do you really think he’s going to worry about attacking Harry just becausewe’rethere?”
She was fumbling with the straps of Crookshanks’s basket as she spoke.
“Don’t let that thing out!” Ron said, but too late; Crookshanks leapt lightly from the basket, stretched, yawned, and sprang onto Ron’s knees; the lump in Ron’s pocket trembled and he shoved Crookshanks angrily away.
“Get out of it!”
“Ron, don’t!” said Hermione angrily.
Ron was about to answer back when Professor Lupin stirred. They watched him apprehensively, but he simply turned his head the other way, mouth slightly open, and slept on.
The Hogwarts Express moved steadily north and the scenery outside the window became wilder and darker while the clouds overhead thickened overhead. People were chasing backwards and forwards past the door of their compartment. Crookshanks had now settled in an empty seat, his squashed face turned towards Ron, his yellow eyes on Ron’s top pocket.
At one o’clock the plump witch with the food cart arrived at the compartment door.
D’you think we should wake him up?” Ron asked awkwardly, nodding towards Professor Lupin. “He looks like he could do with some food.”
Hermione approached Professor Lupin cautiously.
“Er — Professor?” she said. “Excuse me — Professor?”
He didn’t move.
“Don’t worry, dear,” said the witch, as she handed a large stack of cauldron cakes. “If he’s hungry when he wakes, I’ll be up front with the driver.”
“I suppose heisasleep?” said Ron quietly, as the witch slid the compartment door closed. “I mean — he hasn’t died, has he?”
“No, no, he’s breathing,” whispered Hermione, taking the cauldron cake Harry passed her.
He might not be very good company, but Professor Lupin’s presence in their compartment had its uses. Mid-afternoon, just as it had started to rain, blurring the rolling hills outside the window, they heard footsteps outside in the corridor again, and their three least favorite people appeared at the door: Draco Malfoy, flanked by his cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.
Draco Malfoy and Harry had been enemies ever since they had met on their very first journey to Hogwarts. Malfoy, who had a pale, pointed, sneering face, was in Slytherin house; he played Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team, the same position that Harry played on the Gryffindor team. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to exist to do Malfoy’s bidding. They were both wide and muscly; Crabbe was taller, with a pudding-bowl haircut and a very thick neck; Goyle had short, bristly hair and long, gorilla arms.
“Well, look who it is,” said Malfoy in his usual lazy drawl, pulling open the compartment door. “Potty and the Weasel.”
Crabbe and Goyle chuckled trollishly.
“I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley,” said Malfoy. “Did your mother die of shock?”
Ron stood up so quickly he knocked Crookshanks’s basket to the floor. Professor Lupin gave a snort.
“Who’s that?” said Malfoy, taking an automatic step backward as he spotted Lupin.
“New teacher,” said Harry, who got to his feet, too, in case he needed to hold Ron back. “What were you saying, Malfoy?”
Malfoy’s pale eyes narrowed; he wasn’t fool enough to pick a fight right under a teacher’s nose.
“C’mon,” he muttered resentfully to Crabbe and Goyle, and they disappeared.
Harry and Ron sat down again, Ron massaging his knuckles.
“I’m not going to take any crap from Malfoy this year,” he said angrily. “I mean it. If he makes one more crack about my family, I’m going to get hold of his head and —”
Ron made a violent gesture in midair.
“Ron,” hissed Hermione, pointing at Professor Lupin, “becareful …”
But Professor Lupin was still fast asleep.
The rain thickened as the train sped yet farther north; the windows were now a solid, shimmering gray, which gradually darkened until lanterns flickered into life all along the corridors and over the luggage racks. The train rattled, the rain hammered, the wind roared, but still, Professor Lupin slept.
“We must be nearly there,” said Ron, leaning forward to look past Professor Lupin at the now completely black window.
The words had hardly left him when the train started to slow down.
“Great,” said Ron, getting up and walking carefully past Professor Lupin to try and see outside. “I’m starving. I want to get to the feast…”
“We can’t be there yet,” said Hermione, checking her watch.
“So why’re we stopping?”
The train was getting slower and slower.