Chapter 14 Percy And Padfoot

Harry was first to wake up in his dormitory next morning. He lay for a moment watching dust swirl in the ray of sunlight coming through the gap in his four-poster's hangings, and savoured the thought that it was Saturday. The first week of term seemed to have dragged on for ever, like one gigantic History of Magic lesson.

Judging by the sleepy silence and the freshly minted look of that beam of sunlight, it was just after daybreak. He pulled open the curtains around his bed, got up and started to dress. The only sound apart from the distant twittering of birds was the slow, deep breathing of his fellow Gryffindors. He opened his schoolbag carefully, pulled out parchment and quill and headed out of the dormitory for the common room.

Making straight for his favourite squashy old armchair beside the now extinct fire, Harry settled himself down comfortably and unrolled his parchment while looking around the room. The detritus of crumpled-up bits of parchment, old Gobstones, empty ingredient jars and sweet wrappers that usually covered the common room at the end of each day was gone, as were all Hermione's elf hats. Wondering vaguely how many elves had now been set free whether they wanted to be or not, Harry uncorked his ink bottle, dipped his quill into it, then held it suspended an inch above the smooth yellowish surface of his parchment, thinking hard ... but after a minute or so he found himself staring into the empty grate, at a complete loss for what to say.

He could now appreciate how hard it had been for Ron and Hermione to write him letters over the summer. How was he supposed to tell Sirius everything that had happened over the past week and pose all the questions he was burning to ask without giving potential letter-thieves a lot of information he did not want them to have?

He sat quite motionless for a while, gazing into the fireplace, then, finally coming to a decision, he dipped his quill into the ink bottle once more and set it resolutely on the parchment.

Dear Snuffles,

Hope you're OK, the first week back here's been terrible, I'm really glad it's the weekend.

We've got a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Umbridge. She's nearly as nice as your mum. I'm writing because that thing I wrote to you about last summer happened again last night when I was doing a detention with Umbridge.

We're all missing our biggest friend, we hope he'll be back soon.

Please write back quickly.

Best,

Harry

Harry reread the letter several times, trying to see it from the point of view of an outsider. He could not see how they would know what he was talking about—or who he was talking to—just from reading this letter. He did hope Sirius would pick up the hint about Hagrid and tell them when he might be back. Harry did not want to ask directly in case it drew too much attention to what Hagrid might be up to while he was not at Hogwarts.

Considering it was a very short letter, it had taken a long time to write; sunlight had crept halfway across the room while he had been working on it and he could now hear distant sounds of movement from the dormitories above. Sealing the parchment carefully, he climbed through the portrait hole and headed off for the Owlery.

‘I would not go that way if I were you,’ said Nearly Headless Nick, drifting disconcertingly through a wall just ahead of Harry as he walked down the passage. ‘Peeves is planning an amusing joke on the next person to pass the bust of Paracelsus halfway down the corridor.’

‘Does it involve Paracelsus falling on top of the person's head?’ asked Harry.

‘Funnily enough, it does,’ said Nearly Headless Nick in a bored voice. ‘Subtlety has never been Peeves's strong point. I'm off to try and find the Bloody Baron ... he might be able to put a stop to it ... see you, Harry ...’

‘Yeah, bye,’ said Harry and instead of turning right, he turned left, taking a longer but safer route up to the Owlery. His spirits rose as he walked past window after window showing brilliantly blue sky; he had training later, he would be back on the Quidditch pitch at last.

Something brushed his ankles. He looked down and saw the caretaker's skeletal grey cat, Mrs Norris, slinking past him. She turned lamplike yellow eyes on him for a moment before disappearing behind a statue of Wilfred the Wistful.

‘I'm not doing anything wrong,’ Harry called after her. She had the unmistakeable air of a cat that was off to report to her boss, yet Harry could not see why; he was perfectly entitled to walk up to the Owlery on a Saturday morning.

The sun was high in the sky now and when Harry entered the Owlery the glassless windows dazzled his eyes; thick silvery beams of sunlight crisscrossed the circular room in which hundreds of owls nestled on rafters, a little restless in the early-morning light, some clearly just returned from hunting. The straw-covered floor crunched a little as he stepped across tiny animal bones, craning his neck for a sight of Hedwig.

‘There you are,’ he said, spotting her somewhere near the very top of the vaulted ceiling. ‘Get down here, I've got a letter for you.’

With a low hoot she stretched her great white wings and soared down on to his shoulder.

‘Right, I know this says Snuffles on the outside,’ he told her, giving her the letter to clasp in her beak and, without knowing exactly why, whispering, ‘but it's for Sirius, OK?’

She blinked her amber eyes once and he took that to mean that she understood.

‘Safe flight, then,’ said Harry and he carried her to one of the windows; with a moments pressure on his arm, Hedwig took off into the blindingly bright sky. He watched her until she became a tiny black speck and vanished, then switched his gaze to Hagrid's hut, clearly visible from this window, and just as clearly uninhabited, the chimney smokeless, the curtains drawn.

The treetops of the Forbidden Forest swayed in a light breeze. Harry watched them, savouring the fresh air on his face, thinking about Quidditch later ... then he saw it. A great, reptilian winged hcrse, just like the ones pulling the Hogwarts carriages, with leahery black wings spread wide like a pterodactyl's, rose up out of the trees like a grotesque, giant bird. It soared in a great circle, then plunged back into the trees. The whole thing had happened so quickly, Harry could hardly believe what he had seen, except that his heart was hammering madly.

The Owlery door opened behind him. He leapt in shock and, turning quickly, saw Cho Chang holding a letter and a parcel in his hands.

‘Hi,’ said Harry automatically.

‘Oh ... hi,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I didn't think anyone would be up here this early ... I only remembered five minutes ago, it's my mum's birthday’

She held up the parcel.

‘Right,’ said Harry. His brain seemed to have jammed. He wanted to say something funny and interesting, but the memory of that terrible winged horse was fresh in his mind.

‘Nice day,’ he said, gesturing to the windows. His insides seemed to shrivel with embarrassment. The weather. He was talking about the weather ...

‘Yeah,’ said Cho, looking around for a suitable owl. ‘Good Quidditch conditions. I haven't been out all week, have you?’

‘No,’ said Harry.

Cho had selected one of the school barn owls. She coaxed it down on to her arm where it held out an obliging leg so that she could attach the parcel.

‘Hey has Gryffindor got a new Keeper yet?’ she asked.

‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘It's my friend Ron Weasley, d'you know him?’

‘The Tornados-hater?’ said Cho rather coolly. ‘Is he any good?’

‘Yeah,’ said Harry, ‘I think so. I didn't see his tryout, though, I was in detention.’

Cho looked up, the parcel only half-attached to the owl's legs.

‘That Umbridge woman's foul,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Putting you in detention just because you told the truth about how—how—how he died. Everyone heard about it, it was all over the school. You were really brave standing up to her like that.’

Harry's insides re-inflated so rapidly he felt as though he might actually float a few inches off the dropping-strewn floor. Who cared about a stupid flying horse; Cho thought he had been really brave. For a moment, he considered accidentally-on-purpose showing her his cut hand as he helped her tie her parcel on to her owl ... but the very instant this thrilling thought occurred, the Owlery door opened again.

Filch the caretaker came wheezing into the room. There were purple patches on his sunken, veined cheeks, his jowls were aquiver and his thin grey hair dishevelled; he had obviously run here. Mrs. Norris came trotting at his heels, gazing up at the owls overhead and mewing hungrily. There was a restless shifting of wings from above and a large brown owl snapped his beak in a menacing fashion.

‘Aha!’ said Filch, taking a flat-footed step towards Harry, his pouchy cheeks trembling with anger. ‘I've had a tip-off that you are intending to place a massive order for Dungbombs!’

Harry folded his arms and stared at the caretaker.

‘Who told you I was ordering Dungbombs?’

Cho was looking from Harry to Filch, also frowning; the barn owl on her arm, tired of standing on one leg, gave an admonitory hoot but she ignored it.

‘I have my sources.’ said Filch in a self-satisfied hiss. ‘Now hand over whatever it is you're sending.’

Feeling immensely thankful that he had not dawdled in posting off the letter, Harry said, ‘I can't, it's gone.’

‘Gone?’ said Filch, his face contorting with rage.

‘Gone,’ said Harry calmly.

Filch opened his mouth furiously, mouthed for a few seconds, then raked Harry's robes with his eyes.

‘How do I know you haven't got it in your pocket?’

‘Because—’

‘I saw him send it,’ said Cho angrily.

Filch rounded on her.

‘You saw him—?’

‘That's right, I saw him,’ she said fiercely.

There was a moment's pause in which Filch glared at Cho and Cho glared right back, then the caretaker turned on his heel and shuffled back towards the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle and looked back at Harry.

‘If I get so much as a whiff of a Dungbomb ...’

He stumped off down the stairs. Mrs. Norris cast a last longing look at the owls and followed him.

Harry and Cho looked at each other.

‘Thanks,’ Harry said.

‘No problem,’ said Cho, finally fixing the parcel to the barn owl's other leg, her face slightly pink. ‘You weren't ordering Dungbombs, were you?’

‘No,’ said Harry.

‘I wonder why he thought you were, then?’ she said as she carried the owl to the window.

Harry shrugged. He was quite as mystified by that as she was, though oddly it was not bothering him very much at the moment.

They left the Owlery together. At the entrance of a corridor that led towards the west wing of the castle, Cho said, ‘I'm going this way.Well, I'll ... I'll see you around, Harry.’

‘Yeah ... see you.’

She smiled at him and departed. Harry walked on, feeling quietly elated. He had managed to have an entire conversation with her and not embarrassed himself once ... you were really brave standing up to her like that ...Cho had called him brave ... she did not hate him for being alive ...

Of course, she had preferred Cedric, he knew that ... though if he'd only asked her to the Ball before Cedric had, things might have turned out differently ... she had seemed sincerely sorry that she'd had to refuse when Harry asked her ...

‘Morning,’ Harry said brightly to Ron and Hermione as he joined them at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

‘What are you looking so pleased about?’ said Ron, eyeing Harry in surprise.

‘Erm ... Quidditch later,’ said Harry happily, pulling a large platter of bacon and eggs towards him.

‘Oh ... yeah ...’ said Ron. He put down the piece of toast he was eating and took a large swig of pumpkin juice. Then he said, ‘Listen ... you don't fancy going out a bit earlier with me, do you? Just to—er—give me some practice before training? So I can, you know, get my eye in a bit.’

‘Yeah, OK,’ said Harry.

‘Look, I don't think you should,’ said Hermione seriously. ‘You're both really behind on homework as it—’

But she broke off; the morning post was arriving and, as usual, the Daily Prophet was soaring towards her in the beak of a screech owl, which landed perilously close to the sugar bowl and held out a leg. Hermione pushed a Knut into its leather pouch, took the newspaper, and scanned the front page critically as the owl took off.

‘Anything interesting?’ said Ron. Harry grinned, knowing Ron was keen to keep her off the subject of homework.

‘No,’ she sighed, ‘just some guff about the bass player in the Weird Sisters getting married.’

Hermione opened the paper and disappeared behind it. Harry devoted himself to another helping of eggs and bacon. Ron was staring up at the high windows, looking slightly preoccupied.

‘Wait a moment,’ said Hermione suddenly. ‘Oh no ... Sirius!’

‘What's happened?’ said Harry, snatching at the paper so violently it ripped down the middle, with him and Hermione each holding one half.

’ “The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer ... blah blah blah ...is currently hiding in London!”‘Hermione read from her half in an anguished whisper.

‘Lucius Malfoy, I'll bet anything,’ said Harry in a low, furious voice. ‘He did recognise Sirius on the platform ...’

‘What?’ said Ron, looking alarmed. ‘You didn't say—’

‘Shh!’ said the other two.

‘... “Ministry warns wizarding community that Black is very dangerous ... killed thirteen people ... broke out of Azkaban ...” the usual rubbish,’ Hermione concluded, laying down her half of the paper and looking fearfully at Harry and Ron. ‘Well, he just won't be able to leave the house again, that's all,’ she whispered. ‘Dumbledore did warn him not to.’

Harry looked down glumly at the bit of the Prophet he had torn off. Most of the page was devoted to an advertisement for Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, which was apparently having a sale.

‘Hey!’ he said, flattening it down so Hermione and Ron could see it. ‘Look at this!’

‘I've got all the robes I want,’ said Ron.

‘No,’ said Harry. ‘Look ... this little piece here ...’

Ron and Hermione bent closer to read it; the item was barely an inch long and placed right at the bottom of a column. It was headlined:

TRESPASS AT MINISTRY

 

Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizcngamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31st August. Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watchwizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak, in his own defence, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban.

 

‘Sturgis Podmore?’ said Ron slowly. ‘He's that bloke who looks like his head's been thatched, isn't he? He's one of the Ord—

‘Ron, shh!’ said Hermione, casting a terrified look around them.

‘Six months in Azkaban!’ whispered Harry, shocked. ‘Just for trying to get through a door!’

‘Don't be silly, it wasn't just for trying to get through a door. What on earth was he doing at the Ministry of Magic at one o'clock in the morning?’ breathed Hermione.

D'you reckon he was doing something for the Order?’ Ron muttered.

‘Wait a moment ...’ said Harry slowly. ‘Sturgis was supposed to come and see us off, remember?’

The other two looked at him.

‘Yeah, he was supposed to be part of our guard going to King's Cross, remember? And Moody was all annoyed because he didn't turn up; so he couldn't have been on a job for them, could he?’

‘Well, maybe they didn't expect him to get caught,’ said Hermione.

‘It could be a frame-up!’ Ron exclaimed excitedly. ‘No—listen!’ he went on, dropping his voice dramatically at the threatening look on Hermione's face. ‘The Ministry suspects he's one of Dumbledore's lot so—I dunno—they lured him to the Ministry, and he wasn't trying to get through a door at all! Maybe they've just made something up to get him!’

There was a pause while Harry and Hermione considered this. Harry thought it seemed far-fetched. Hermione, on the other hand, looked rather impressed.

‘Do you know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if that were true.’

She folded up her half of the newspaper thoughtfully. As Harry laid down his knife and fork, she seemed to come out of a reverie.

‘Right, well, I think we should tackle that essay for Sprout on self-fertilising shrubs first and if we're lucky we'll be able to start McGonagall's Inanimatus Conjurus Spell before lunch ...’

Harry felt a small twinge of guilt at the thought of the pile of homework awaiting him upstairs, but the sky was a clear, exhilarating blue, and he had not been on his Firebolt for a week ...

‘I mean, we can do it tonight,’ said Ron, as he and Harry walked down the sloping lawns towards the Quidditch pitch, their broomsticks over their shoulders, and with Hermione's dire warnings that they would fail all their OWLs still ringing in their ears. ‘And we've got tomorrow. She gets too worked up about work, that's her trouble ...’ There was a pause and he added, in a slightly more anxious tone, ‘D'you think she meant it when she said we weren't copying from her?’

‘Yeah, I do,’ said Harry. ‘Still, this is important, too, we've got to practise if we want to stay on the Quidditch team ...’

‘Yeah, that's right,’ said Ron, in a heartened tone. ‘And we have got plenty of time to do it all ...’

As they approached the Quidditch pitch, Harry glanced over to his right to where the trees of the Forbidden Forest were swaying darkly. Nothing flew out of them; the sky was empty but for a few distant owls fluttering around the Owlery tower. He had enough to worry about; the flying horse wasn't doing him any harm; he pushed it out of his mind.

They collected balls from the cupboard in the changing room and set to work, Ron guarding the three tall goalposts, Harry playing Chaser and trying to get the Quaffle past Ron. Harry thought Ron was pretty good; he blocked three-quarters of the goals Harry attempted to put past him and played better the longer they practised. After a couple of hours they returned to the castle for lunch—during which Hermione made it quite clear she thought they were irresponsible—then returned to the Quidditch pitch for the real training session. All their teammates but Angelina were already in the changing room when they entered.

‘All right, Ron?’ said George, winking at him.

‘Yeah,’ said Ron, who had become quieter and quieter all the way down to the pitch.

‘Ready to show us all up, Ickle Prefect?’ said Fred, emerging tousle-haired from the neck of his Quidditch robes, a slightly malicious grin on his face.

‘Shut up,’ said Ron, stony-faced, pulling on his own team robes for the first time. They fitted him well considering they had been Oliver Wood's, who was rather broader in the shoulder.

‘OK, everyone,’ said Angelina, entering from the Captain's office, already changed. ‘Let's get to it; Alicia and Fred, if you can just bring out the ball crate for us. Oh, and there are a couple of people out there watching but I want you to just ignore them, all right?’

Something in her would-be casual voice made Harry think he might know who the uninvited spectators were, and sure enough, when they left the changing room for the bright sunlight of the pitch it was to a storm of catcalls and jeers from the Slytherin Quidditch team and assorted hangers-on, who were grouped halfway up the empty stands and whose voices echoed loudly around the stadium.

‘What's that Weasley's riding?’ Malfoy called in his sneering drawl. ‘Why would anyone put a flying charm on a mouldy old log like that?’

Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy Parkinson guffawed and shrieked with laughter. Ron mounted his broom and kicked off from the ground and Harry followed him, watching his ears turn red from behind.

‘Ignore them,’ he said, accelerating to catch up with Ron, ‘we'll see who's laughing after we play them ...’

‘Exactly the attitude I want, Harry,’ said Angelina approvingly soaring around them with the Quaffle under her arm and slowing to hover on the spot in front of her airborne team. ‘OK, everyone, we're going to start with some passes just to warm up, the whole team please—’

‘Hey, Johnson, what's with that hairstyle, anyway?’ shrieked Pansy Parkinson from below. ‘Why would anyone want to look like they've got worms coming out of their head?’

Angelina swept her long braided hair out of her face and continued calmly, ‘Spread out, then, and let's see what we can do ...’

Harry reversed away from the others to the far side of the pitch. Ron fell back towards the opposite goal. Angelina raised the Quaffle with one hand and threw it hard to Fred, who passed to George, who passed to Harry, who passed to Ron, who dropped it.

The Slytherins, led by Malfoy, roared and screamed with laughter. Ron, who had pelted towards the ground to catch the Quaffle before it landed, pulled out of the dive untidily, so that he slipped sideways on his broom, and returned to playing height, blushing. Harry saw Fred and George exchange looks, but uncharacteristically neither of them said anything, for which he was grateful.

‘Pass it on, Ron,’ called Angelina, as though nothing had happened.

Ron threw the Quaffle to Alicia, who passed back to Harry, who passed to George ...

‘Hey, Potter, how's your scar feeling?’ called Malfoy. ‘Sure you don't need a lie down? It must be, what, a whole week since you were in the hospital wing, that's a record for you, isn't it?’

George passed to Angelina; she reverse-passed to Harry, who had not been expecting it, but caught it in the very tips of his fingers and passed it quickly to Ron, who lunged for it and missed by inches.

‘Come on now, Ron,’ said Angelina crossly, as he dived for the ground again, chasing the Quaffle. ‘Pay attention.’

It would have been hard to say whether Ron's face or the Quaffle was a deeper scarlet when he again returned to playing height. Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team were howling with laughter.

On his third attempt, Ron caught the Quaffle; perhaps out of relief he passed it on so enthusiastically that it soared straight though Katie's outstretched hands and hit her hard in the face.

‘Sorry!’ Ron groaned, zooming forwards to see whether he had done any damage.

‘Get back in position, she's fine!’ barked Angelina. ‘But as you're passing to a teammate, do try not to knock her off her broom, won't you? We've got Bludgers for that!’

Katie's nose was bleeding. Down below, the Slytherins were stamping their feet and jeering. Fred and George converged on Katie.

‘Here, take this,’ Fred told her, handing her something small anc purple from out of his pocket, ‘it'll clear it up in no time.’

‘All right,’ called Angelina, ‘Fred, George, go and get your bats and a Bludger. Ron, get up to the goalposts. Harry, release the Snitch when I say so. We're going to aim for Ron's goal, obviously.’

Harry zoomed off after the twins to fetch the Snitch.

‘Ron's making a right pig's ear of things, isn't he?’ muttered George, as the three of them landed at the crate containing the balls and opened it to extract one of the Bludgers and the Snitch.

‘He's just nervous,’ said Harry, ‘he was fine when I was practising with him this morning.’

‘Yeah, well, I hope he hasn't peaked too soon,’ said Fred gloomily.

They returned to the air. When Angelina blew her whistle, Harry released the Snitch and Fred and George let fly the Bludger. From that moment on, Harry was barely aware of what the others were doing. It was his job to recapture the tiny fluttering golden ball that was worth a hundred and fifty points to the Seeker's team and doing so required enormous speed and skill. He accelerated, rolling and swerving in and out of the Chasers, the warm autumn air whipping his face, and the distant yells of the Slytherins so much meaningless roaring in his ears ... but too soon, the whistle brought him to a halt again.

‘Stop—stop— STOP!’ screamed Angelina. ‘Ron—you're not covering your middle post!’

Harry looked round at Ron, who was hovering in front of the left-hand hoop, leaving the other two completely unprotected.

‘Oh ... sorry ...’

‘You keep shifting around while you're watching the Chasers!’ said Angelina. ‘Either stay in centre position until you have to move to defend a hoop, or else circle the hoops, but don't drift vaguely off to one side, that's how you let in the last three goals!’

‘Sorry ...’ Ron repeated, his red face shining like a beacon against the bright blue sky.

‘And Katie, can't you do something about that nosebleed?’

‘It's just getting worse!’ said Katie thickly, attempting to stem the flow with her sleeve.

Harry glanced round at Fred, who was looking anxious and checking his pockets. He saw Fred pull out something purple, examine it for a second and then look round at Katie, evidently horror-struck.

‘Well, let's try again,’ said Angelina. She was ignoring the Slytherins, who had now set up a chant of ‘Gryffindor are losers, Gryffindor are losers,’ but there was a certain rigidity about her seat on the broom nevertheless.

This time they had been flying for barely three minutes when Angelinas whistle sounded. Harry, who had just sighted the Snitch circling the opposite goalpost, pulled up feeling distinctly aggrieved.

‘What now?’ he said impatiently to Alicia, who was nearest.

‘Katie,’ she said shortly.

Harry turned and saw Angelina, Fred and George all flying as fast as they could towards Katie. Harry and Alicia sped towards her, too. It was plain that Angelina had stopped training just in time; Katie was now chalk white and covered in blood.

‘She needs the hospital wing,’ said Angelina.

‘We'll take her,’ said Fred. ‘She—er—might have swallowed a Blood Blisterpod by mistake—’

‘Well, there's no point continuing with no Beaters and a Chaser gone,’ said Angelina glumly as Fred and George zoomed off towards the castle supporting Katie between them. ‘Come on, let's go and get changed.’

The Slytherins continued to chant as they trailed back into the changing rooms.

‘How was practice?’ asked Hermione rather coolly half an hour later, as Harry and Ron climbed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room.

‘It was—’ Harry began.

‘Completely lousy,’ said Ron in a hollow voice, sinking into a chair beside Hermione. She looked up at Ron and her frost mess seemed to melt.

‘Well, it was only your first one,’ she said consolingly, ‘it's bound to take time to—’

‘Who said it was me who made it lousy?’ snapped Ron.

‘No one,’ said Hermione, looking taken aback, ‘I thought—’

‘You thought I was bound to be rubbish?’

‘No, of course I didn't! Look, you said it was lousy so I just—’

‘I'm going to get started on some homework,’ said Ron angrily and stomped off to the staircase to the boys’ dormitories and vanished from sight. Hermione turned to Harry.

‘Was he lousy?’

‘No,’ said Harry loyally.

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

‘Well, I suppose he could've played better,’ Harry muttered, ‘but it was only the first training session, like you said ...’

Neither Harry nor Ron seemed to make much headway with their homework that night. Harry knew Ron was too preoccupied with how badly he had performed at Quidditch practice and he himself was having difficulty in getting the ‘Gryffindor are losers’ chant out of his head.

They spent the whole of Sunday in the common room, buried in ! heir books while the room around them filled up, then emptied. It was another clear, fine day and most of their fellow Gryffindors spent the day out in the grounds, enjoying what might well be some of the last sunshine that year. By the evening, Harry felt as though somebody had been beating his brain against the inside of his skull.

‘You know, we probably should try and get more homework done during the week,’ Harry muttered to Ron, as they finally laid aside Professor McGonagall's long essay on the Inanimatus Conjurus Spell and turned miserably to Professor Sinistra's equally long and difficult essay about Jupiter's many moons.

‘Yeah,’ said Ron, rubbing slightly bloodshot eyes and throwing his fifth spoiled bit of parchment into the fire beside them. ‘Listen ... shall we just ask Hermione if we can have a look at what she's done?’

Harry glanced over at her; she was sitting with Crookshanks on her lap and chatting merrily to Ginny as a pair of knitting needles flashed in midair in front of her, now knitting a pair of shapeless elf socks.

‘No,’ he said heavily, ‘you know she won't let us.’

And so they worked on while the sky outside the windows became steadily darker. Slowly, the crowd in the common room began to thin again. At half past eleven, Hermione wandered over to them, yawning.

‘Nearly done?’

‘No,’ said Ron shortly.

‘Jupiter's biggest moon is Ganymede, not Callisto,’ she said, pointing over Ron's shoulder at a line in his Astronomy essay, ‘and it's Io that's got the volcanoes.’

‘Thanks,’ snarled Ron, scratching out the offending sentences.

‘Sorry, I only— ’

‘Yeah, well, if you've just come over here to criticise—’

‘Ron—’

‘I haven't got time to listen to a sermon, all right, Hermione, I'm up to my neck in it here— ’

‘No—look!’

Hermione was pointing to the nearest window. Harry and Ron both looked over. A handsome screech owl was standing on the windowsill, gazing into the room at Ron.

‘Isn't that Hermes?’ said Hermione, sounding amazed.

‘Blimey, it is!’ said Ron quietly, throwing down his quill and getting to his feet. ‘What's Percy writing to me for?’

He crossed to the window and opened it; Hermes flew inside, landed on Ron's essay and held out a leg to which a letter was attached. Ron took the letter off it and the owl departed at once, leaving inky footprints across Ron's drawing of the moon Io.

‘That's definitely Percy's handwriting,’ said Ron, sinking back into his chair and staring at the words on the outside of the scroll: Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts. He looked up at the other two. ‘What d'you reckon?’

‘Open it!’ said Hermione eagerly, and Harry nodded.

Ron unrolled the scroll and began to read. The further clown the parchment his eyes travelled, the more pronounced became his scowl. When he had finished reading, he looked disgusted. He thrust the letter at Harry and Hermione, who leaned towards each other to read it together:

Dear Ron,

I have only just heard (from no less a person than the Minister for Magic himself, who has it from your new teacher, Professor Umbridge) that you have become a Hogwarts prefect.

I was most pleasantly surprised when f heard this news and must firstly offer my congratulations. I must admit that I have always been afraid that you would take what we might call the ‘Fred and George’ route, rather than following in my footsteps, so you can imagine my feelings on hearing you have stopped flouting authority and have decided to shoulder some real responsibility.

But I want to give you more than congratulations, Ron, I want to give you some advice, which is why I am sending this at night rather than by the usual morning post. Hopefully, you will be able to read this away from prying eyes and avoid awkward questions.

From something the Minister let slip when telling me you are now a prefect, I gather that you are still seeing a lot of Harry Potter. I must tell you, Ron, that nothing could put you in danger of losing your badge more than continued fraternisation with that boy. Yes, I am sure you are surprised to hear this— no doubt you will say that Potter has always been Dumbledore's favourite—but I feel bound to tell you that Dumbledore may not be in charge at Hogwarts much longer and the people who count have a very different—and probably more accurate—view of Potter's behaviour. I shall say no more here, but if you look at the Daily Prophet tomorrow you will get a good idea of the way the wind is blowing—and see if you can spot yours truly!

Seriously, Ron, you do not want to be tarred with the same brush as Potter, it could be very damaging to your future prospects, and I am talking here about life after school, too. As you must be aware, given that our father escorted him to court, Potter had a disciplinary hearing this summer in front of the whole Wizengamot and he did not come out of it looking too good. He got off on a mere technicality, if you ask me, and many of the people I've spoken to remain convinced of his guilt.

It may be that you are afraid to sever ties with Potter—I know that he can be unbalanced and, for all I know, violent—but if you have any worries about this, or have spotted anything else in Potter's behaviour that is troubling you, I urge you to speak to Dolores Umbridge, a truly delightful woman who I know will be only too happy to advise you.

This leads me to my other bit of advice. As I have hinted above, Dumbledore's regime at Hogwarts may soon be over. Your loyalty, Ron, should be not to him, but to the school and the Ministry. I am very sorry to hear that, so far, Professor Umbridge is encountering very little co-operation from staff as she strives to make those necessary changes within Hogwarts that the Ministry so ardently desires (although she should find this easier from next week— again, see the Daily Prophet tomorrow!). I shall say only this—a student who shows himself willing to help Professor Umbridge now may be very well-placed for Head Boyship in a couple of years!

I am sorry that I was unable to see more of you over the summer. It pains me to criticise our parents, but I am afraid I can no longer live under their roof while they remain mixed up with the dangerous crowd around Dumbledore. (If you are writing to Mother at any point, you might tell her that a certain Sturgis Podmore, who is a great friend of Dumbledore's, has recently been sent to Azkaban for trespass at the Ministry. Perhaps that will open their eyes to the kind of petty criminals with whom they are currently rubbing shoulders.) I count myself very lucky to have escaped the stigma of association with such people—the Minister really could not be more gracious to me—and I do hope, Ron, that you will not allow family ties to blind you to the misguided nature of our parents’ beliefs and actions, either. I sincerely hope that, in time, they will realise how mistaken they were and I shall, of course, be ready to accept a full apology when that day comes.

Please think over what I have said most carefully, particularly the bit about Harry Potter, and congratulations again on becoming prefect.

Your brother,

Percy

Harry looked up at Ron.

‘Well,’ he said, trying to sound as though he found the whole thing a joke, ‘if you want to—er —what is it?'—he checked Percy's letter—'Oh yeah—"sever ties” with me, I swear I won't get violent.’

‘Give it back,’ said Ron, holding out his hand. ‘He is—’ Ron said jerkily, tearing Percy's letter in half ‘the world's—’ he tore it into quarters ‘biggest—’ he tore it into eighths ‘git.’ He threw the pieces into the fire.

‘Come on, we've got to get this finished sometime before dawn,’ he said briskly to Harry, pulling Professor Sinistra's essay back towards him.

Hermione was looking at Ron with an odd expression on her face.

‘Oh, give them here,’ she said abruptly.

‘What?’ said Ron.

‘Give them to me, I'll look through them and correct them,’ she said.

‘Are you serious? Ah, Hermione, you're a life-saver,’ said Ron, ‘what can I—?’

‘What you can say is, “We promise we'll never leave our homework this late again,” ’ she said, holding out both hands for their essays, but she looked slightly amused all the same.

‘Thanks a million, Hermione,’ said Harry weakly, passing over his essay and sinking back into his armchair, rubbing his eyes.

It was now past midnight and the common room was deserted but for the three of them and Crookshanks. The only sound was that of Hermione's quill scratching out sentences here and there on their essays and the ruffle of pages as she checked various facts in the reference books strewn across the table. Harry was exhausted. He also felt an odd, sick, empty feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with tiredness and everything to do with the letter now curling blackly in the heart of the fire.

He knew that half the people inside Hogwarts thought him strange, even mad; he knew that the Daily Prophet had been making snide allusions to him for months, but there was something about seeing it written down like that in Percy's writing, about knowing that Percy was advising Ron to drop him and even to tell tales about him to Umbridge, that made his situation real to him as nothing else had. He had known Percy for four years, had stayed in his house during the summer holidays, shared a tent with him during the Quidditch World Cup, had even been awarded full marks by him in the second task of the Triwizard Tournament last year, yet now, Percy thought him unbalanced and possibly violent.

And with a surge of sympathy for his godfather, Harry thought Sirius was probably the only person he knew who could really understand how he felt at the moment, because Sirius was in the same situation. Nearly everyone in the wizarding world thought Sirius a dangerous murderer and a great Voldemort supporter and he had had to live with that knowledge for fourteen years ...

Harry blinked. He had just seen something in the fire that could not have been there. It had flashed into sight and vanished immediately. No ... it could not have been ... he had imagined it because he had been thinking about Sirius ...

‘OK, write that down,’ Hermione said to Ron, pushing his essay and a sheet covered in her own writing back to Ron, ‘then add this conclusion I've written for you.’

‘Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met,’ said Ron weakly, ‘and if I'm ever rude to you again—’

‘—I'll know you're back to normal,’ said Hermione. ‘Harry, yours is OK except for this bit at the end, I think you must have misheard Professor Sinistra, Europa's covered in ice, not mice—Harry?’

Harry had slid off his chair on to his knees and was now crouching on the singed and threadbare hearthrug, gazing into the flames.

‘Er—Harry?’ said Ron uncertainly. ‘Why are you down there?’

‘Because I've just seen Sirius's head in the fire,’ said Harry.

He spoke quite calmly; after all, he had seen Sirius's head in this very fire the previous year and talked to it, too; nevertheless, he could not be sure that he had really seen it this time ... it had vanished so quickly ...

‘Sirius's head?’ Hermione repeated. ‘You mean like when he wanted to talk to you during the Triwizard Tournament? But he wouldn't do that now, it would be too—Sirius!’

She gasped, gazing at the fire; Ron dropped his quill. There in the middle of the dancing flames sat Sirius's head, long dark hair failing around his grinning face.

‘I was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else had disappeared,’ he said. ‘I've been checking every hour.’

‘You've been popping into the fire every hour?’ Harry said, half-laughing.

‘Just for a few seconds to check if the coast was clear.’

‘But what if you'd been seen?’ said Hermione anxiously.

‘Well, I think a girl—first-year, by the look of her—might've get a glimpse of me earlier, but don't worry,’ Sirius said hastily, as Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth, ‘I was gone the moment she looked back at me and I'll bet she just thought I was an oddly-shaped log or something.’

‘But, Sirius, this is taking an awful risk—’ Hermione began.

‘You sound like Molly,’ said Sirius. ‘This was the only way I could come up with of answering Harry's letter without resorting to a code—and codes are breakable.’

At the mention of Harry's letter, Hermione and Ron both turned to stare at him.

‘You didn't say you'd written to Sirius! said Hermione accusingly.

‘I forgot,’ said Harry, which was perfectly true; his meeting with Cho in the Owlery had driven everything before it out of his mind. ‘Don't look at me like that, Hermione, there was no way anyone would have got secret information out of it, was there, Sirius?’

‘No, it was very good,’ said Sirius, smiling. ‘Anyway, we'd better be quick, just in case we're disturbed—your scar.’

‘What about—?’ Ron began, but Hermione interrupted him.

‘We'll tell you afterwards. Go on, Sirius.’

‘Well, I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but we don't think its anything to really worry about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?’

‘Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happened whenever Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion,’ said Harry, ignoring, as usual, Ron and Hermione's winces. ‘So maybe he was just, I dunno, really angry or something the night I had that detention.’

‘Well, now he's back it's bound to hurt more often,’ said Sirius.

‘So you don't think it had anything to do with Umbridge touching me when I was in detention with her?’ Harry asked.

‘I doubt it,’ said Sirius. ‘I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater—’

‘She's foul enough to be one,’ said Harry darkly, and Ron and Hermione nodded vigorously in agreement.

‘Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters,’ said Sirius with a wry smile. ‘I know she's a nasty piece of work, though—you should hear Remus talk about her.’

‘Does Lupin know her?’ asked Harry quickly, remembering Umbridge's comments about dangerous half-breeds during her first lesson.

‘No,’ said Sirius, ‘but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years ago that makes it almost impossible for him to get a job.’

Harry remembered how much shabbier Lupin looked these days and his dislike of Umbridge deepened even further.

‘What's she got against werewolves?’ said Hermione angrily.

‘Scared of them, I expect,’ said Sirius, smiling at her indignation. ‘Apparently, she loathes part-humans; she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year, too. Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose.’

Ron laughed but Hermione looked upset.

‘Sirius!’ she said reproachfully. ‘Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher, I'm sure he'd respond. After all, you are the only member of his family he's got left, and Professor Dumbledore said—’

‘So, what are Umbridge's lessons like?’ Sirius interrupted. ‘Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?’

‘No,’ said Harry, ignoring Hermione's affronted look at being cut off in her defence of Kreacher. ‘She's not letting us use magic at all!’

‘All we do is read the stupid textbook,’ said Ron.

‘Ah, well, that figures,’ said Sirius. ‘Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat.’

‘Trained in combat!’ repeated Harry incredulously. ‘What does he think we're doing here, forming some sort of wizard army?’

‘That's exactly what he thinks you're doing,’ said Sirius, ‘or, rather, that's exactly what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing—forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic.’

There was a pause at this, then Ron said, That's the most stupid thing I've ever heard, including all the stuff that Luna Lovegood comes out with.’

‘So we're being prevented from learning Defence Against the Dark Arts because Fudge is scared we'll use spells against the Ministry?’ said Hermione, looking furious.

‘Yep,’ said Sirius. ‘Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge.’

This reminded Harry of Percy's letter.

‘D'you know if there's going to be anything about Dumbledore in the Daily Prophet tomorrow? Ron's brother Percy reckons there will be—’

‘I don't know,’ said Sirius, ‘I haven't seen anyone from the Order all weekend, they're all busy. It's just been Kreacher and me here.’

There was a definite note of bitterness in Sirius's voice.

‘So you haven't had any news about Hagrid, either?’

‘Ah ...’ said Sirius, ‘well, he was supposed to be back by now, no one's sure what's happened to him.’ Then, seeing their stricken faces, he added quickly, ‘But Dumbledore's not worried, so don't you three get yourselves in a state; I'm sure Hagrid's fine.’

‘But if he was supposed to be back by now ...’ said Hermione in a small, anxious voice.

‘Madame Maxime was with him, we've been in touch with her and she says they got separated on the journey home—but there's nothing to suggest he's hurt or—well, nothing to suggest he's not perfectly OK.’

Unconvinced, Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks.

‘Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid,’ said Sirius hastily, ‘it'll just draw even more attention to the fact that he's not back and I know Dumbledore doesn't want that. Hagrid's tough, he'll be OK.’ And when they did not appear cheered by this, Sirius added, ‘When's your next Hogsmeade weekend, anyway? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn't we? I thought I could—’

‘NO!’ said Harry and Hermione together, very loudly.

‘Sirius, didn't you see the Daily Prophet?’ said Hermione anxiously.

‘Oh, that,’ said Sirius, grinning, ‘they're always guessing where I am, they haven't really got a clue—’

‘Yeah, but we think this time they have,’ said Harry. ‘Something Malfoy said on the train made us think he knew it was you, and his father was on the platform, Sirius— you know, Lucius Malfoy—so don't come up here, whatever you do. If Malfoy recognises you again—’

‘All right, all right, I've got the point,’ said Sirius. He looked most displeased. ‘Just an idea, thought you might like to get together.’

‘I would, I just don't want you chucked back in Azkaban!’ said Harry.

There was a pause in which Sirius looked out of the fire at Harry, a crease between his sunken eyes.

‘You're less like your father than I thought,’ he said finally, a definite coolness in his voice. ‘The risk would've been what made it fun for James.’

‘Look—’

‘Well, I'd better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs,’ said Sirius, but Harry was sure he was lying. ‘I'll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?’

There was a tiny pop, and the place where Sirius's head had been was flickering flame once more.

第二天早晨，哈利第一个从他的宿舍中醒来。他躺在床书看着从四柱大床床幔的缝隙中漏过阳光和在打着旋的灰尘，并且品味着它。今天是星期六。这个学期的第一周看起来已经拖延了，像巨人的魔法历史。

　　由睡觉的寂静和清新的薄荷味，以及光线的照入，可以看出现在刚好是黎明之后。他拉开了他床旁的窗帘，然后起床穿衣。细微的声音除了远处的鸟鸣，还有他同伴慢而深沉的呼吸。他细心的打开了他的书包，取出了羊皮纸和羽毛笔，走出宿舍来到公共休息室。

　　他将他最喜欢的旧软椅直放在已经熄灭的火炉旁，他安乐将自己安顿在椅上，看着房间的周围解开羊皮纸。这张有点褶皱的羊皮纸上，旧的Gobstones，空的罐子和糖果纸常常在一天之后隐藏在公共休息室中，像是所有荷米恩的小精灵的帽子。令人奇怪的是现在有多少小精灵获得自由，并且它们是否想要这样。哈利取开墨水瓶的瓶塞，把羽毛沾了些墨水，在羊皮纸上约一英寸高的光滑地方停住了，努力地思考着。但是一会之后，他发现他在注视着空的壁炉，茫然若失。

　　他现在可以感受到暑假中罗恩和荷米恩给他写信是多么的难，他想应该怎样告诉天狼星前一周所发生的事情和他急切想知道而不能被信贼得知的问题？

　　他坐了许久，凝视着壁炉。最终，他做了决定，他再次把羽毛笔沾上了墨水，坚定地在羊皮纸上写下了：

　　亲爱的伤风:

　　希望你一切都好，回来的第一周是十分可怕的，真的。

　　令人庆幸的是现在是周末。

　　我们已经讲到黑魔法防御科的新老师，昂布瑞吉教授。她几乎像你妈妈一样美好，上个暑假所发生的事在昨晚我和昂布瑞吉教授关禁闭时再次发生了。

　　我们想念我们的大朋友，我们希望他很快会回来。

　　请尽快回信。

　　最好的朋友

　　哈利

　　哈利将这封信读了好几遍，试图以局外人的观点来读它。他不知道他们会怎样理解他正在说的——或者他同谁说话——仅仅读这封信。他十分希望天狼星找到哈格力的线索，并且告诉他们他和时将要回来。哈利并不希望直接问以防对哈格力不在霍格瓦彻时吸引了太多的注意力。

　　考虑到那是一封很短的信，但他已经花了许久时间去写他。在他忙于心中的时候，阳光已经穿过了房间爬了进来。他可以听见远处宿舍的声音。小心地合上了羊皮纸，他爬过了肖像洞，来到了猫头鹰屋。

　　“如果我是你的话我一定不愿意走那条路。”几乎没头的尼克说到，令人不安地当哈利沿着通道向下走的时候在哈利面前飘动着穿过了一堵墙。“皮皮鬼计划对下一个在半路上向走廊走去而穿过帕拉塞尔苏斯半身像的人开一个笑。”

　　“它包括帕拉塞尔苏斯掉在了人的头上吗？”哈利问。

　　“这样做够好笑了。”几乎没头的尼克用一种无聊的声音说道。“精明并非皮皮鬼地优点。我正试着离开去找血人巴罗，他可能会阻止他。再见了，哈利。”

　　“好的，再见，”哈利说道并且改道向左走来代替向左走，换了一条更长的但是更安全的路来到了猫头鹰屋。他穿过一个个窗户时看到的明亮的天空，使他的精神好转。一会后，他有了训练。他最终要回到魁地奇训练场。

　　有什么东西刷到了他的踝部，他向下看，看到了管理员的灰猫，洛丽斯太太从他身边溜过。在“渴望的威尔弗来德”雕像后消失之前,她用她的黄眼睛看了他一会。

　　“我并没做错任何事。”哈利在他后面叫道。

　　她有一只猫不易弄错的嗅觉，那是ofi来报告她的主人，哈利还没有看清怎么了，但他用那种具有充足资格的脚步在周六早晨走进了猫头鹰屋。

　　当哈利走进猫头鹰屋时，太阳正高高地挂在了天上，耀眼的阳光经过玻璃的反射，炫耀了哈利的双眼；粗厚的光柱交叉地映在了圆形的房间里，成百只猫头鹰舒适的停在房椽上，一点不平静的东西夹在晨光中，很明显，他们中有一些刚刚捕食回来。

　　但他踏过小动物的骨头的时候，地上平整的稻草发出了一点咯吱咯吱的响声，海维看到了哈利，伸出了它的脖子。

　　“原来你在这儿！”他说，发现它在高处拱形的天花板上，“下来，我要给你一封信。”

　　随着一声低叫，她伸出了她的美丽的白翼，飞下来落到了他的肩膀上。

　　“好的，我知道这里说伤风在外面，”他告诉她，把这封信扣在了她的嘴上，并且，并不知道正确的原因，低声说，“但它是送给天狼星的，知道吗？”

　　她眨了眨她琥珀色的眼睛，哈利知道这表示她听懂了。

　　“飞的时候注意安全！”哈利说道。他带她到一个窗子前。在她压了一下哈利的手臂之后，海维飞到了那令人眼盲的明亮的天空。他一着看着她直道她变成了一个黑色的斑点，并且消失。然后转向看哈格力的小屋，透过他的窗户可以很清楚地看到，里面没有任何人居住，无烟的烟囱，寂寞的门帘。

　　禁林中的树梢在微风中轻轻地摇摆，哈利看着他们，享受着他脸前的新鲜空气，想着有关魁地奇的事。然后他就看见了它，长着翅膀的像爬虫一样的马，就像霍格瓦彻的拉马车，长着皮革一般的黑翼像翼龙一般宽阔的展开，奇异地像巨鸟一般向树外飞。他在天空中绕着一个巨大的圆盘旋，然后飞回了树丛中。整件事发生得如此之快，以至于哈利无法相信他所看到的东西，除了他的心在疯狂地跳。

　　猫头鹰屋大门在他身后打开了，他吓了一跳，转过身来。他看见张秋的手里握着一封信和一个包裹。

　　“好呀，”哈利机械的说了一声。

　　“哦，你好，”她气喘吁吁的说道，“我没想到竟然有人这么早就来到这里。我只记得在五分钟之前，那是我妈妈的生日。”

　　她拿起了包裹。

　　“好的，”哈利说道。他的大脑已经混乱不堪了。他想说一些有趣的事，但是那匹长着翅膀的黑马总是令他记忆犹新。

　　“好日子，”他说道，手指着窗户。但他的内心已经因为可怕的困难而束手无策。天气，他正在谈论天气。

　　“是的，”张秋说到，同时为找一只适当的猫头鹰而四处观望。“关于魁地奇的好消息，我并不需要一整个星期都呆在外头，你呢？”

　　“不，”哈利说道。

　　秋选择了一支学校农仓里的猫头鹰，她耐心而亲切地使她飞下来到她的手臂上，她一边系上这个包裹。

　　“嗨，格兰芬多找到了一个新的守门员了吗？”她问到。

　　“是的，他是我的朋友罗恩·威斯莱。你认识他吗？”

　　“那个对龙卷风队严重憎恶的人吗？”秋冷淡地说，“他有什么好的地方吗？”

　　“是的。”哈利说道，“我也这么认为。虽然我不能看见他的训练，我被关禁闭了。”

　　秋向上看，它的包裹仅仅只有一半绑在猫头鹰的脚上。

　　“你因为昂布瑞吉女士而犯规了，”她低声说，“把你关禁闭只是因为你说出了事实——如何——如何——他如何死。所有人都知道这件事，他已经在全学校传遍了。那次你真是勇敢地站在了她的面前。”

　　哈利的心膨胀得那么快，他觉得自己似乎从地板上撒满的鸟粪上飘动了几英寸。谁还会去在乎那个愚蠢的飞马呢，既然秋都认为他真的很勇敢。当他帮她把包裹系到猫头鹰上的时候，那一刻，他考虑要不要把手上的伤给她看，但就在他产生这个令人发抖的想法的那一瞬间，猫头鹰屋的门又被推开了。

　　费奇，学院的管理者，喘息着走了进来。深陷的脸颊上有着紫色的斑点，颚骨上充满了兴奋。稀疏的灰发散乱着，显然，他是跑到这里的。洛丽斯夫人在他的脚后跟那里走来走去，凝视着高架上的猫头鹰，饥饿地叫着。鸟儿们狡猾的翅膀发出了一点声响，一只灰大的猫头鹰突然用一种险恶的方式咬住了他的鸟嘴。

　　“啊哈！”费奇说道，拖着脚步向哈利走了一步，他紫迹斑斑的脸颊因愤怒而发抖了。“我知道，你正在弄了一大批的订单去购买粪蛋。”

　　哈利曲起了他的双臂，盯着费奇看。

　　“谁告诉你购买粪蛋？”

　　秋看看哈利，又看看费奇，同时也皱了皱眉头；她手臂上的农仓里的猫头鹰疲劳地单脚站着，劝告似地叫了一声，但是她忽略了它。

　　“我有我消息来源，”费奇自得地嘘了一声，“不论你送的是什么，交过来。”

　　感到幸运的是他并没有在寄信的时候贪玩，哈利说道，“我不能，信已经送走了。”

　　“送走了？”费奇说道，他的脸因愤怒而扭曲。

　　“是的，送走了。”哈利平静地说。

　　费奇气愤地张开了嘴，持续了好几秒，然后扫视着哈利的长袍。

　　“我怎么知道你没有把它塞进口袋里？”

　　“因为——”

　　“我看到他把这封信送走了，”秋生气地说。

　　费奇在她身旁绕了一圈。

　　“你看到他——？”

　　“是的，我看到他，”她激烈地说。

　　之后有好长一段时间说话暂停了，因为费奇对秋怒目而视，并且秋也同样回敬费奇，然后管理员转过身，慢吞吞的向门走去。在他手握着门柄时，他停下并且转过身看着哈利。

　　“如果我抓到一些粪蛋——”

　　无语，他下了楼。

　　洛丽斯夫人最后看了一眼猫头鹰，然后跟他走了。

　　哈利和秋互相看着。

　　“谢谢，”哈利说。

　　“没问题，”秋说，最终，她在猫头鹰的另一只脚上固定了包裹，她的脸有一些粉红。

　　“你并不是在购买粪蛋，是吗？”

　　“不，我没有。”哈利说道。

　　“我真搞不懂为什么他认为你是？”她把猫头鹰送出窗外时说。

　　哈利耸了耸肩。他因为秋刚才的表现十分奇怪，虽然并未惊动费奇而被他的知道也是一件奇怪的事。

　　他们一起离开了猫头鹰屋。在走廊的入口引他们到了城堡的西边，秋说，“我要走这条路。嗯, 我将，我将目送你离开，哈利。” “好的，再见。”

　　她微笑的看着他，然后离开了。哈利继续走着，感觉平静而高兴。他已经没法完整而使自己不困窘地同秋谈话。“那次你真是勇敢地站在了她的面前。”秋说他勇敢。秋变活泼后并没有讨厌他。

　　最早，她喜欢塞德里克，他了解那些，虽然他仅仅是在塞德里克之前邀请她，而事情是会发生改变的。她看起来对她拒绝哈利的邀请已经感到真诚的愧疚。

　　“早上好，”但他在大厅中的格兰芬多桌加入他们后，哈利大声地对罗恩和荷米恩说。

　　“什么值得你这么高兴？”罗恩说道，惊奇地看着哈利。

　　“嗯，魁地奇训练一会便开始了，”哈利高兴的说着，把一大盘咸肉和鸡蛋拖到了他的面前。

　　“哦，是这样。”罗恩说道。他放下了他正在吃的烤面包，喝了一大口南瓜汁。然后他说，“听，你不想和我早一点出去，是吗？仅仅是去——嗯——在训练之前给我一点练习？这样我能，你知道，用好我的眼睛。”

　　“行，好呀。”哈利说道。

　　“看，我不认为你应在这样做，”荷米恩严肃地说，“你们都应该在作业完成后来做——”

　　但是她停住了，早信到了，像平常一样，预言家日报应该从长耳猫头鹰的嘴里飞向她，掉在糖碗的附近，并且弄到一只腿上。

　　荷米恩向他的皮袋里放了一个Knut，拿着报纸，当猫头鹰离开时带着批评的目光浏览了第一版。

　　“有有趣的东西吗？”罗恩问道。哈利露齿笑笑，知道罗恩渴望避开她来做家庭作业。

　　“没有，”她叹息道，“仅仅是一些有关于怪异姐妹中的低音演唱者要结婚的胡言乱语。”

　　荷米恩打开了报纸，并且消失在他后面。哈利又吃了些蛋和咸肉。罗恩凝视着高处的窗户，全神贯注的看着。

　　“等等，”荷米恩突然说道，“哦，不，天狼星！”

　　“发生了什么？”哈利说道，把报纸抢到了中间，他和荷米恩一人抓着一半。

　　“魔法部已经收到了一条来源可靠的消息，天狼星·布莱克，声名狼藉的疯狂凶手，废话，废话，嗯，正藏在伦敦！”荷米恩从他的一半那读到了这些消息，对哈利痛苦的耳语。

　　“卢修斯·马尔夫赌任何东西，”哈利用一种低沉，愤怒的声音说道，“他确实在月台上承认他是天狼星。”

　　“什么？”罗恩说道，看起来十分惊慌，“你不是说——”

　　“嘘！”另外两人说道。

　　“魔法部警告说布莱克是个十分危险的人物，杀了十三个人，从阿兹卡班逃了出来。”

　　“平平的垃圾。”荷米恩带有推断性的说道，放下他那一半的报纸，担心地看着哈利和罗恩。“嗯，他不能再离开房子了，就这样，”她低声说道，“丹伯多已经警告过他不能这样做了。”

　　哈利忧郁地看着他已经撕掉的预言家日报，许多版面都专注的为适合于所有场合的摩金夫人的长袍做广告,显然那正在举行一场拍卖活动。

　　“嗨！”他说道，把报纸在桌上放平，让罗恩和荷米恩能够阅读到，“看这里！”

　　“我已经有了所有我想要的长袍，”罗恩说道。

　　“不，”哈利说道，“看着一小块。”

　　罗恩和荷米恩弯着身子阅读着，这一块在一栏的底部，仅仅不到一英寸长，上面写着标题：

　　魔法部被侵入

　　在8月31日，克拉彭金链花园2区38号的Sturgis Podmore，在Wizengamot前发生了一起肆意侵入并且尝试在魔法部偷窃的案件。Podmore被魔法部的警卫埃里克·曼趋（Eric