The Marauder's Map
Madam Pomfrey insisted Harry stay in the hospital wing for the rest of the weekend; He didn't complain, but he wouldn't let her throw away the bag of his shattered Nimbus Two-thousand. He knew it was stupid-- he kept it beside his bed, and didn't even look at it unless it caught his attention suddenly, but he couldn't bring himself to want it gone.
Fortunately, Draco had stayed and in for the weekend-- though even he knew that he should've been out much earlier-- had been the center of Harry's attention when one of them wasn't asleep whenever the stream of visitors that constantly came to see them weren’t present. Hagrid sent earwiggy flowers that looked like yellow cabbages, and Ginny turned up with a get-well card for Harry, and almost went red when he asked about it, and Luna had to lead her out, giggling. Lyra turned up early, whining about how Draco ought to have their father try to get rid of the dementors early, and gave Harry what he supposed was a pity hug on her way out. The Ravenclaw team returned Sunday morning, luckily, just when Etta had woken up.
"My hair," she sobbed, rubbing her eyes hopelessly. "My hair..."
Penelope had been by her side the whole time, very silent and rubbing her back.
Harry, although somewhat despaired, hadn't been as bad as Etta. His friends only left the hospital wing at night or when Madam Pomfrey made then leave, but not they, or even Draco, knew half of what had truly been troubling him.
He hadn't told anyone about the dog he saw in the stands, and there was even more that was troubling him. For starters, however, he couldn't not think about the coincidences that followed after seeing Black dogs; Both near-fatal accidents-- the first time, he was almost ran over by the Knight Bus-- the second, falling about fifty feet from his broomstick. It couldn't have been a Grim, he told himself once more, but he truthfully didn't know if he believed that anymore.
And then there were the dementors. It left Harry feeling sicker than he ever had to be near one, and even thinking of them had him feeling miserable and like he'd throw up. Everyone around him said the dementors were horrible, but nobody else collapsed like he did every time they went near one. Nobody else heard echoes in their head of the worst thing they've ever gone through; And better yet, nobody but he and Quinn got long-lasting headaches from the dementors just being there.
Harry could've placed the voices he was hearing, if not accurately. He'd heard them over and over whenever it had gotten so late that he just couldn't get to sleep; When the dementors got close to him, he heard his mother, begging for Lord Voldemort to spare him and Hermione, and to take her own life instead, and the dark wizard laughing as he tortured her with a curse that he was sure was terrible if he was using it... Harry's growing lack of sleep came from not wanting to listen to any of it, but he couldn't help the countless naps he took during the day.
It was a relief to be back in the main school on Monday, even though he still had an abundance of homework that he didn't want to do.
"Where d'you think the clouds go when the skies are clear?" Luna wondered, looking up at the enchanted ceiling during lunch.
"Oh, I don't want to have to think very hard before our Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson," Padma groaned, waving at Luna. "You're lucky you've got your rem classes today-- I bet you we've got Snape again, and you know he likes to make our brains feel nice and empty, especially when they're not."
"Oh, no, Mister Lupin is back in his classroom,” Luna said, smiling. “I had his class earlier today. My schedule's been changed, remember?"
"Thank god, if Snape was teaching again, I think I'd just hit myself with a jinx or something so I wouldn't have to go," said Lisa gratefully. "He gave us two rolls of parchment to do on a subject we weren't supposed to be covering! What kind of teacher does that?"
It was even more relieving to see Professor Lupin in person; Though, it certainly looked like he had been ill, like when he was on the train. His robes were more loose than before, and he had dark shadows under his eyes. Nevertheless, he smiled at the class like normal as they took their seats. Immediately, half the class burst into an explosion of complaints about Snape's behaviour while Lupin had been gone.
"Why'd he give us homework when he's not even the Defence teacher?"
"We don't know a thing about werewolves, and he expected two rolls of parchment!"
"Did you tell Professor Snape we haven't covered them yet?" Professor Lupin asked with a slight frown.
The class grew louder.
"Yes, we said we weren't supposed to be doing them--"
"He wouldn't listen, that--"
"--two rolls of parchment! Two!"
Professor Lupin smiled at the look of indignation on every face.
"Don't worry, I'll speak to Professor Snape. You don't have to do the essay."
"Oh," sighed Hermione, disappointed. "I've already done the essay. The homework I could've been doing instead..."
The lesson overall was very enjoyable-- Professor Lupin brought a glass box containing a hinkypunk, a one-legged creature that looked to be made of wisps of smoke, and quite frail and fragile looking.
"Lures travellers into bogs," Professor Lupin said as they took notes. "Notice the lantern dangling from his hand. Hops ahead-- people follow the light- then--"
The hinkypunk made a horrible noise against the glass, presumably at the perfect moment.
When the bell eventually rang, everyone gathered up their things and headed for the door, Harry looking for Hermione among them, but--
"Just a moment, Harry," Professor Lupin called. "I'd like a word."
When the entire class was gone, Hermione stood at the door while she and Harry watched Professor Lupin cover the hinkypunk's box with a cloth.
"Oh, Hermione. Lovely to see you." Lupin said when he noticed her still there. "I heard about the match," he then said, beginning to pile books into his briefcase. "I'm sorry about your broomstick. Is there any chance of fixing it?"
"No," Harry said, thinking back. "Not even Reparo worked. The tree broke it into too many pieces to be fixed, I guess."
Lupin sighed.
"They planted the Whomping Willow the same year I arrived at Hogwarts. People used to play a game, trying to get near enough to touch the trunk. In the end, a boy almost lost an eye, and the students were forbidden from going near it. I'm sorry about your broom."
"And the dementors? Did you hear about them too?" Hermione asked.
Lupin looked up.
"I did. I was well enough to be at the match... I don't think any of us have ever seen Professor Dumbledore that angry. They have been growing restless for some time- furious at his refusal to let them in the grounds... I suppose they're the reason you fell, Harry?"
Harry nodded. He asked the question he had before he could think it over and stop himself. "Why do they-- why do they affect me the way they do? More than anyone else? Am I just--?"
"It hasn't got a thing to do with weakness," Professor Lupin denied so quickly as if he knew what Harry was implying. "They bother Quinn differently, too-- even more differently than they bother you. The dementors affect you both worse than others because there are many more horrors you've experienced that others haven't. Quinn’s been to too many doctors and healers in his life, and he’s seen terrible things... and I've heard you’ve spent a lot of your time at Hogwarts protecting it from horrors people couldn’t even fathom."
A ray of wintery sunlight fell across the classroom.
"Dementors are among the foulest creatures to walk the earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in the decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. Even Muggles can feel their presence, but they can't see them. Getting too close a dementor can cause every good feeling, every happy memory-- gone, as if it had never been. If it can, the dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself... soulless and evil. You'll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life. The worst that has happened to you, I'd assume, Harry, would be enough to remind a person of their worst trauma entirely-- because they'll have nothing else to think of, of course."
"So they came to the match because they couldn't resist the crowd. All the people in one place. Pretty much just a feast waiting to be eaten." Hermione said lowly. Lupin nodded.
"Azkaban must be... horrible." Harry muttered. Lupin nodded again, snapping the briefcase shut.
"The fortress is set on a tiny island, way out to sea, but they don't need walls and water to keep the prisoners in... not when they're all trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheery thought. Most of them go mad within weeks."
"And Sirius escaped..." Harry said slowly. "He got away.."
Lupin's briefcase slipped from the desk-- he had to stoop quickly to catch it.
"Yes," he said, straightening up. "He... must've found a way to fight them... I wouldn't have believed it possible... Dementors are supposed to drain a wizard of his magic if he is left with them for too long...."
"He was our uncle, right?" asked Hermione. "He’d said... no, er, nevermind, it’s... oh! The spell you used on the train-- a- Patronus-- could that be used as a protection spell from a person in the way it does dementors? A- are there more ways to scare off a dementor?"
Lupin hummed, looking to be thinking deeply on her question. "I'm afraid not, for both of your questions. Humans do not fear pure joy in the way dementors do, and as for.... There are certain... defences, one can use against dementors... sadly, the best working one, a Patronus, works only on dementors." He said. "But there was only one on the train. The more there are, the more difficult it is to fight them off..."
"Could you teach us?" Harry asked at once. "How to summon a Patronus?"
"I... don't pretend to be an expert at fighting dementors, quite the contrary..."
"But, sir," Hermione pleaded. "if dementors go after Harry and he can't protect himself--"
"Or if they come to another Quidditch match, someone has to be able to stop them if they're too high up for a teacher to see--" Harry added.
Lupin looked at their faces, both of which, full of determination. He hesitated, before saying, "Well... alright. I'll try and teach you two. I'm afraid I have a lot to do before the holidays, however. I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill... I'll have to figure out how we'd go about getting a dementor in a classroom..."
"A boggart,” Hermione said immediately. “Dementors, they’re- horrifying-- I can’t imagine anyone whose greatest fear wouldn’t have changed during the match, after seeing them swoop down towards us out of nowhere...”
"Brilliant," said Lupin, nodded. "I'll... see what I can do."
With the promise of anti-dementor lessons from Lupin, and being late to Care for Magical Creatures lesson(although Hagrid hadn't really noticed, still very moody and focused on Flobberworms), the thought of never having to listen to his mother's screams again, and the fact that Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker reserve, agreed to play in his place for the next big match-- Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff-- and caught the Snitch, Harry's mood took a definite upturn. It was rather fortunate they had a reserve to begin with, considering how that turned out for Wood; Ron had caught the worse end of this in many circumstances-- it was as though Percy was searching for problems to find.
Whenever Harry caught himself looking outside the windows during class, not feeling like listening to the teacher, he never saw any hint of a dementor within the grounds. It seemed Dumbledore's anger kept them where they were supposed to be.
Two weeks before the end of term, the sky was much brighter than normal, and the muddy grounds were suddenly covered in the glittering frost that was snow. Within the castle, there was the excited buzz of the Christmas holidays, ever present as always when December rolled around. Professor Flitwick's classroom had already been decorated with shimmering lights that turned out to be real, fluttering fairies. Many were happily discussing their plans for the holidays between classes, and even during.
Ron declared he'd be staying at Hogwarts, saying he couldn't stand two weeks with Percy; Padma and Lisa agreed that they wouldn't be anywhere else-- although Padma had been much more pleased to explain, muttering about how Parvati would just be talking about Lavender Brown all break. Draco said his parents would be out of the country on business that he didn't care for. Hermione insisted that as much as she missed Mr and Mrs Granger, she'd needed time to think about things. Luna said she’d be leaving-- her father had another creature he wanted to search for.
To everyone's delight but Harry's, there was another Hogsmeade trip on the last weekend of term.
"I think it's quite lovely timing," Hermione said. "We can get all our Christmas shopping done in person."
"Yeah, if we can find anything that isn't already sold out," sighed Lisa.
Harry, already having accepted that he'd be staying behind again, decided to read up on his spellbook; and suddenly, he would only be making it seem as though he'd be staying behind.
On the Saturday morning, he bid goodbye to his friends, who'd all been wrapped in cloaks and scarves, and turned back to the marble staircase, trying to think of the best way to put his idea into motion. The castle was still and quiet, snow falling blissfully outside, and yet somehow, he'd still been constantly losing his train of thought at each step he took.
"Psst-- Harry!"
He turned, halfway through the third-floor corridor, to see Fred and George peering from behind a statue of an odd-looking, one-eyed witch.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked. "Why are you two still here? I thought you would be the first to that prank shop out there,"
"Yeah, we've gone tons of times already," nodded Fred. "But we've come to give you a bit of a festive cheer before we go." said George. "Come in here..."
They both nodded to an empty classroom(although all classrooms probably were) to the left of the statue. Harry, though severely confused, followed them inside. George quietly shut the door behind them, and then turned, beaming, to look at Harry.
"Early Christmas present for you, Harry," George said; Fred pulled something from inside his cloak with a flourish and laid it on a nearby desk. It was a large piece of parchment that looked quite worn, and, not to mention, quite blank. Harry looked at the twins suspiciously, suspecting it to be a prank of theirs. “Didn’t think Ronnie-kins would know how to really appreciate it-- but you’ve got gall.”
"What's it meant to be? It's got nothing on it."
"It's meant to be, Harry, the secret of our success," said George fondly, patting the parchment appreciatively.
"It's a wrench, giving it to you," said Fred in a mock-solemn voice, "but we decided, your need's greater than ours."
"We know it by heart anyway," admitted George. "We bequeath it to you. We don't really need it anymore."
"Thanks, but-- what am I going to do with a bit of really old parchment?" Harry asked, eyes narrowed.
"A bit of parchment!" shouted Fred with a grimace, as if morally insulted. "Maybe we made a bad choice. Explain, George."
"Well... when we were in our first year, Harry-- young, carefree, and innocent--"
"Innocent?" Harry snorted. He didn't know if it was really possible for Fred and George to have ever been innocent.
"Well, more innocent than we are now-- we got into a spot of bother with Filch."
"We let off a dungbomb in the corridor and it upset him for some reason--"
"So he hauled us off to his office and started threatening us with the usual, y'know--"
"Detention--"
"Good ol' disembowelment--"
"--and we couldn't help but notice a drawer in one of his filing cabinets marked 'Confiscated and Highly Dangerous.'"
"Wait, don't tell me, you--" Harry had to cut himself off to take a moment-- his grin had grown so large that his mouth begun to hurt. "You stole from one of Filch's filing cabinets?"
"Well, what would you've done?" asked Fred. "We had the chance of a lifetime, knew we had to take it! George caused a diversion by dropping another dungbomb, I whipped the drawer open, and grabbed-- this."
"It's not as bad as it sounds, you know," George insisted. "We don't reckon Flich ever found out how to work it. He probably suspected what it was, though, or he wouldn't have confiscated it."
"And you know?"
"Oh yes," Fred said with a smirk. "This little beauty's taught us more than all the teachers in this school."
"You're kidding," Harry said, looking at the ragged parchment. "Filch would stuff one of us in that filing cabinet if he could. As if he'd keep something like this in there."
"Sure he would, but, oh, are we kidding?" George asked.
He took out his wand, tapping the parchment lightly, before saying, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
At once, thin ink lines spread like a silky spider's web from the point George's wand had been. The lines merged with eachother, crossed over one another, and fanned themselves into corners; Great, loopy, green words begun to blossom across the top, proclaiming:
Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present
THE MARAUDER'S MAP
It was now obvious-- it was a map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But what was truly remarkable was the tiny ink-dots moving around, each labelled with a name in miniscule writing. Amazed, Harry picked it up and put it right up to his face. A dot in the top left corner, Dumbledore, had been pacing his study; Mrs Norris- Filch's cat- was currently prowling the second floor; Peeves the Ever-annoying Poltergeist was bouncing around the trophy room. As Harry's eyes scanned the parchment, wandering up and down the familiar corridors, he noticed quite quickly.
The map included a number of secret passages that'd astounded him to no end, making him wonder if Filch even knew about them all. And not to mention, many of them lead--
"Right into Hogsmeade," said Fred, tracing one with his finger. "Seven in all. Filch knows about these four--" He pointed them out helpfully, "--but we're the only ones who know about the rest. Don't bother with the mirror on the fourth floor though-- we used it 'til last winter, but it's caved in completely. Don't reckon anyone's ever dared to use this one, since the Whomping Willow's planted right over it. But this one here-- right into the cellar of Honeydukes. We've used it loads of times-- tons, even. And, as you might've noticed, the entrance is right outside this room, through that one-eyed old crone's hump."
"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs," George sighed dreamily, patting the head of the map. "We owe them our entire school careers."
"Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of rulebreakers," said Fred in a similar tone. "The map shows everyone-- where they are and what they're doing. Every minute of every day." He then waggled his eyebrows, implying they knew something-- and they probably did, Harry reminded himself, looking back at the map. Every minute, every person... they must’ve known a lot. He got an odd, uneasy feeling in his stomach.
"Right then," said George briskly, back to normal.
"Don't forget to clear it after you've used it or anyone can read it." Fred advised.
"Just tap it again and say, 'Mischief Managed!' And it'll go blank."
"So, young Harry," Fred beamed, speaking in an uncanny impersonation of Percy. "mind you behave yourself."
"See you in Honeydukes," encouraged George with a wink. "And tell Ronnie-kins we said hi."
They both left the room with satisfied smirks.
Harry had still been absorbed in the map, just barely catching all they were saying. The map was absolutely miraculous, however, it really couldn't be helped; He watched the tiny Mrs Norris turn left and take a pause at a corner to sniff at something on the floor. If Filch didn't know... and he didn't have to pass the dementors.... He needn't even concerned himself with all the planning he did beforehand.
Certainly, the map could be considered dangerous... anyone could see your location, as long as it was within Hogwarts... but Fred and George had been using it for years, and the worries of whether or not a map could somehow curse him and only him just because it was him didn't even linger within Harry's mind for a moment longer.
He looked at the secret passage to Honeydukes over and over, before tracing it with his finger. He'd made up his mind.
He rolled up the map and stuffed it in his robes, hurrying to the door of the classroom. He opened it the slightest he could. Nobody was outside. He’d already had his winter robes on... he’d just still get to wear them. Very carefully, he edged out the room and behind the statue of the one-eyed witch.
He didn't know how he'd get the passageway open. He took out the map again and, to his surprise, a new ink figure had appeared, labelled Harley Potter. The figure was exactly where Harry was, halfway down the third floor corridor. He ignored the name, watching what the little ink version of him was doing; They were tapping the witch with a tiny ink-wand.
Harry took out his real wand and did the same, but nothing happened. He looked back down at the map. The tiniest speech bubble appeared next to his figure. The word inside was, 'Dissendium.'
"Dissendium," Harry whispered, tapping the statue again.
At once, the statue's hump opened wide enough to admit a fairly thin person. Harry took one final glance down the corridor. "MischiefManaged," he muttered, and tapped the map with his wand. It was blank in seconds time. He hoisted himself into the hole, and pushed himself forward uncertainly.
He slid a considerable way down what felt like a stone slide, then landed on cold, damp ground. He got to his feet, not even being able to look around; It was pitch black.
"Lumos!" He said quickly, holding up his wand. The area around him was suddenly much more visible, allowing him to see that he was in a low, narrow passageway. His heart was beating out of his chest, unsure if he was more excited or apprehensive, but set off.
The passage twisted and turned, beginning to feel more like a giant rabbit's burrow than whatever it'd felt like before. Harry didn't like it-- it was uncomfortable, to begin with. He went along as quickly as he could, stumbling every now and then on the uneven floor, and bumping his head on the earth above him, his only light source being the Lumos he casted.
It took longer than he'd ever have expected, trying to think of anything and everything to distract himself. He was normally good at it; His teachers in Muggle Primary school always told him off for it, but it seemed teachers at Hogwarts hadn't noticed. He didn't know if he appreciated it or not, but he decided that he did.
After what felt like an hour, and a long conversation with himself inside his own head(which he was starting to realise was probably not good), the passage began to rise. Harry moved faster, nearly dropping his wand. But really, he didn't think he'd take this passageway the next time he'd need to go to Hogsmeade undiscovered.
Not too long later, he came to the foot of worn stone steps. It rose out of sight. Sighing, he began to climb.
A hundred steps, two hundred steps-- what was that noise?-- three hundred-- or was it four? Truthfully, he'd lost count long ago, counting back up to two or three hundred only to lose it again. Then, when he'd gotten to maybe his fourth one-hundred sixty-two, his head hit something hard.
It was a trapdoor. He stood there quietly, massaging his head as he listened out for any sound. He didn't hear anything. Very slowly, and very carefully, he pushed up the trapdoor and peered out the opening. He was in a cellar, full of wooden crates and boxes. The cellar of Honeydukes, he hoped, but what else could it have been? He climbed out the trapdoor and shut it right back-- it blended right in with the dusty floor that it was nearly impossible to tell it was even there. He could now clearly hear voices, the tinkle of a bell, and a door constantly opening and shutting.
Harry, thinking quickly, pointed his wand at his head. He couldn't conjure up a mirror, so he'd have to get lucky. "Crinus Muto," he breathed, shutting his eyes as there was a white flash. He reached his hand into his hair, which was no longer unruly and wild and dark, but now dark red, controlled kind of curly, and remarkably short-- and at the same time, just long enough to cover his scar. He'd never been so thankful he wasn't horrible at Transfiguration.
He took a heavy breath, suddenly doubting himself, before facing his eyes at his wand. "Novus Oculus--"
He was flashed, only able to see yellow. He couldn't help the groan that escaped him as one of his eyes ached in pain. This was definitely a horrible idea. He knew that, so why'd he try it? He wasn't stupid. Fortunately, it was only the one, so he could atleast see.
"And get another box of Jelly Slugs, dear, they've nearly cleaned us out--" He heard.
Someone was coming down the staircase. Harry quickly cast a disillusionment charm, ducking behind the nearest crate. The charm made him seem like a trick of the light-- but not invisible. He heard someone moving boxes against the opposite wall. He took his chance-- quickly and quietly, he peeked over his crate, before shuffling along the wall, climbing the stairs a moment later. He took a look back to make sure he wasn't seen-- he saw an enormous backside and a bald head buried in a box. Harry reached for the door at the top of the stairs, which was, fortunately, open wide enough for him to slip right through, and found himself behind the counter of Honeydukes.
He ducked out of sight, inching along, before he got to a point where he'd be alright to stand. He dropped the disillusionment charm. The store was so crowded with students that no one even spared him a second glance. It was then that he realised the eye he spelled wasn't quite able to see out his glasses; That was fine, he supposed, he could deal with it being a bit blurry. Nonetheless, he looked around, probably looking clueless at all the candy. But how couldn't he be?
There were shelves upon shelves filled with delicious-looking sweets he'd ever seen. Creamy chunks of nougat, shimmering pink squares of coconut ice, fat honey-coloured toffees; Over a hundred kinds of chocolate in neat rows; There was a large barrel of Every Flavour Beans, And another of Fizzing Whizzbees, the levitating sherbert balls that Ron mentioned; Along yet another wall where "Special Effects" sweets: Droobles Best Blowing Gum filling the room with coloured bubbles that refused to pop, strange, splintery Toothflossing Stringmints, tiny black Pepper Imps, Ice Mice, peppermint creams shaped like toads, fragile sugar-spun quills, and exploding bonbons...
Harry squeezed through a crowd of sixth years and noticed a sign hanging in the furthest corner of the shop that said 'Unusual Tastes.' Hermione, Ron, and Padma had been standing underneath it, examining a tray of blood-flavoured lollies.
"No, Ron, Harry wouldn't want one of these. They're for vampires, I expect," Hermione was saying as Harry got nearer. Padma tasted one, and scrunched up her nose, tossing it aside. "I don't think anyone who isn't a vampire 'll want one. These are disgusting."
"How about these? We know he ate more than just chocolate, what's the chance he'll try 'em?" Ron wondered, holding up a jar of Cockroach Clusters.
"No, I wouldn't try them," Harry blurted.
Ron nearly dropped the jar.
"Ginny? When did you get glasses? Wait, you cut your hair? Oh, you're not Ginny!"
"No, of course I'm not! I'm Harry-- I did a Transfiguration charm so I can walk around without having to hide."
"Ooooh-- I can see how he thought you were Ginny," Padma said. "You really do look like her. Er, kind of. How'd you get both your eyes brown?"
"Harry!" Hermione gasped, finally realising he was being serious. "How'd you get here?"
"I'm lucky the eye charm worked, but it'll wear off in a few hours.. and- er--" Harry lowered his voice to tell them about the Marauder's Map.
"How come Fred and George never gave it to me!" Ron roared, outraged. "I'm their brother!"
"Well, Harry's not going to keep it," said Hermione strictly. "You're going to turn it in, aren't you?"
"Of course I am," He lied easily, nodding. As if he’d turn it in.
"Are you two mad? Handing in something like that?" Padma gasped, gawking at them. “Imagine the things we could do!”
"I'll tell Professor McGonagall I found it in the Library or something. As far as she'll know, it's a blank paper." Harry shrugged.
"Ohh," Padma said, "you're joking!"
Hermione frowned, and Harry smirked at her. "What was the first clue?"
"How great, he really has infected you now," she muttered, rolling her eyes.
"What if Black knows one of the passages?" Ron asked. "And that's how he got in the castle?"
"He couldn't." Harry denied. "There are seven tunnels on the map-- Fred and George reckon Filch knows about four, and I bet you he's rigged it for anyone who tries any of them to be in big trouble the minute they try. One of the other three is caved in, so no one's getting through. One's got the Whomping Willow planted over it, so no one's getting in or out of it. And the one I just came through practically disappeared when I closed it back. You'd have to know exactly where it was..."
He paused. What if Sirius did know?
Padma cleared her throat, pointing to a notice pasted on the inside of the sweetshop's door.
BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC
Customers are reminded that, until further notice, dementors will be patrolling the streets of Hogsmeade every night after sundown. This measure has been put in place for the safety of Hogsmeade residents and will be lifted upon the recapture of Sirius Black. It is therefore advisable that you complete your shopping well before nightfall.
Merry Christmas!
"We know Black's mad, but is he mad enough to break into Honeydukes with dementors swarming the village? Liz had a point-- if he’s smart enough to get out of Azkaban, he’s smart enough to stay away from exactly where’ll put him back." She said almost triumphantly. "And the owners would be the first to know of a break-in. They live right over the shop. No reason you shouldn't keep the map then, right?"
Hermione sighed, looking at Harry. They were the only two who seemed to know how connected Black was to them. "And if he comes today? What if he knows the charms Harry did and can make himself look like just any other shop-goer?"
"He'd have a job to spot Harry when he looks like Ginny," Ron admitted. "And it is almost Christmas. Harry can't do all his shopping by owl-order. He could tell someone if Black got in the castle too, couldn't he?"
Hermione bit her lip. Somehow, Ron's question had turned into him and Padma trying to convince her that Harry should keep the map.
"Oh-- I wasn't even--"
"Have you seen the Fizzing Whizzbees, Harry?" Ron asked, cutting her off, grabbing Harry and leading him over to a barrel. "And the Jelly Slugs? And the Acid Pops? I got one when I was seven-- burnt a hole right through my tongue. See--" He showed off his tongue, where Harry saw a very dark spot that was surrounding what was unmistakably a small hole. "-- never healed all the way. Mum was walloping Fred with her broomstick since he's the one that gave it to me."
"The sugar quills are amazing, you've got to get some-- the teachers can't tell the difference!" Padma said, taking Harry to another barrel while Ron stared disdainfully at the Acid Pop box.
"Where's Draco and Luna and Lisa?" Harry asked, grabbing himself a handful.
"Extra Christmas shopping for Lisa, I think,” said Padma, already looking at something else. “she disappeared the moment we got here and was muttering something about gifts. Draco and Luna went to Puddifoot’s-- teashop. You can go see if they’re still there," she then added, in a murmur, "bet Malfoy’d love that."
"What was that last bit?"
"Nothing, nothing."
When they all paid for their sweets, they left Honeydukes into the blizzardous weather outside.
Hogsmeade reminded Harry of a vivid Christmas card he'd seen years ago; The little cottages and shops were coated in a layer of thick snow-- there were holly wreaths on doors and strings held up enchanted candles by the trees.
Harry, although already regretting his decision, was wishing he'd left his hair the same. No matter how thick his cloak was, he was still cold, and his neck was positively freezing. They walked up the street, almost having to fight the wind.
"That's the post office there--" Padma shouted, pushing her own hair out her face.
"And that’s Zonko's--" shouted Ron, pointing to a nearby shop.
“I think I’ll head to the teashop!” Harry yelled. He supposed he'd already spotted it-- a stone building with a pink doors and pink windows, a light sign over head; But it was too snowy to read. However, through foggy windows, he could see towering tea cups and kettles.
"Right! Tell you what," said Ron, pulling his cloak closer around him. "Meet us at the Three Broomsticks!"
The wind was chilling and they were all shivering to the core-- so while they crossed the road and went down the street, out of sight, Harry went to the teashop.
When he opened the door, a bell rung out a small tune. It was cramped and warmer than he would’ve thought, and all the tables had very little space between them. Almost everything in sight had a frilly pink bow on it. It was the last place he’d ever expect Draco to willingly be-- it was incredibly tacky. Luna, maybe, but Draco, he wouldn’t’ve supposed.
After a long moment of glancing around at the filled tables, he spotted Draco and Luna against a wall. Their drinks were still steaming. Once he’d squeezed his way inbetween the tables to theirs, he noticed Draco was staring down at a letter. “I don’t know what to do, really,” he was saying, but he paused when he noticed Harry. “What?”
“Can I have a seat?” Harry asked, and for a moment, he could’ve sworn Luna’s eyes were staring at him with acute calculation-- but when he looked back at her, he couldn’t even tell.
“Harry!” She smiled immensely. “How’d you get here? Oh-- there’s a free chair right there.”
“How’d you know it was me?” Harry asked, dragging the chair over. It was a bit difficult, getting comfortable with how much space there was around the tiny table.
“Your voice,” said Draco before she could. He’d returned to looking at the letter. “There’s hardly anyone else in our year who even remotely sounds like you.”
“Well, I recognised your face,” said Luna. Her voice didn’t sound nearly as dreamy as usual-- Harry found it very easy to remember that she and Draco were related as she, to his surprise, smirked. “I don’t think I ever listened to voices that much.”
Draco went very pink in the face and scoffed, changing the topic shortly. “How’d you get here, Floppy? I thought you weren’t allowed.”
“I’m not. That’s why I look different,” Harry said, and he looked at a red curl that he could’ve sworn was getting longer by the second.
“You look like you could be a Weasley,” Luna took a long sip from her teacup. “Maybe if your hair was a bit lighter-- really, you remind me of Ginny-- oh- I forgot to get her candy from Honeydukes! Have you been, Harry? How many, er- I mean, um--”
“Luna, don’t stutter,” Draco said, folding the letter up and stuffing it into the pocket of his robe. “It’s improper.”
“Improper?” she repeated, and she smirked again. “Oh, yes, very improper- my mistake. Now, er- I can’t remember what I was, um, saying. Ooh, I just got an idea-- oh, no, wait, it just left me- I- I think it’s got something to do with you- what’s the word? R-right- cutting me off, cousin.”
“Alright, I get it, you can stop pretending to stutter.” Draco said, and she smiled at him again.
“Hey, Snowflake,” said Harry- he’d suddenly just remembered something. “Where’s that place you got those chocolates from? La, er, Maison...”
“La Maison Du Chocolat?” Luna gasped, and she was suddenly very giggly. “You got him chocolates from there?”
She was looking between them both and smiling largely. "Draco, you--"
“How about we leave,” Draco suggested, and he drained his coffee in one go. “It’s too... I don’t like it here.”
“Oh, you're funny,” smiled Luna, sipping from her teacup again. “I think you and Harry could really do with a moment.” She snorted, and buried her face in her hand, hiding her laughter.
It was still cold and snowy and windy when they went outside.
“So,” Harry almost shouted, “are you going to tell me or am I gonna have get Luna to tell me?”
“Don't,” he barely heard, “There's not a place in Hogsmeade‐- not this one. I got the chocolates by owl-order from France.”
“You're kidding!” Harry couldn't help the disappointment. “They were amazing. How does owl-order work?”
“I’ll tell you later,” said Draco, as they neared a tiny inn.
It was extremely crowed, noisy, warm, and smoky, all at once. A curvy sort of woman with a pretty face was serving a bunch of rowdy warlock up at the bar. Harry didn’t even have to look around, to see where the others were, because Lisa was waving them down from the back of the room, where it looked to be a bit more quiet. She and Padma, Ron, and Hermione were gathered at a small table between the window and a large Christmas tree standing next to the fireplace. They all had a foaming tankard sitting infront of them, but it looked as though Lisa had more than they-- if the two already-empty tankards infront of her were anything to go by.
Harry and Draco got their own tankards-- it was a pleasant surprise, as even holding it had warmed his hands.
“Hey, Harry, Malfoy,” said Ron, and for once, he looked surprisingly delighted to see Draco. He raised his tankard and said, “Merry Christmas.”
“It’s not Christmas yet, Weasley,” Draco scoffed, and Ron rolled his eyes-- but Harry spotted it, from both of them. It had become so normal for them to be mean to eachother that it was nice.
“Well, for when it is,” said Padma, raising her own tankard, “Merry Christmas.”
It only took a single sip for Harry to know he liked butterbeer even more. It was good already, but he understood why Lisa had so many-- it gave him an intense, warm feeling that heated him up from the inside out.
A sudden breeze ruffled his hair. The door of the Three Broomsticks opened again. Harry looked over his shoulder and nearly choked.
Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had just entered the pub with a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was deep in conversation with a portly man in an ugly-coloured green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak. None other than Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic.
Harry immediately hopped under the table.
"What's wrong?" asked Padma, looking over. "Ooh-- yeah, you'd better stay down," she said shortly, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head.
"Mobiliarbus," Hermione whispered, and the Christmas tree beside their table rose a few inches off the ground, drifted sideways, and landed with a barely-audible thump right infront of their table, hiding them from view. Pushing away the lower branches of the tree, Harry watched the teachers and the minister take seats at the table next to theirs.
Another person wearing sparkly turquoise high heels walked into view, and Harry heard a woman's voice, who Harry supposed must've been the barmaid-- "A small gillywater--"
"Mine," said Professor McGonagall.
"Four pints of mulled mead--"
"Ta, Rosmerta," said Hagrid.
"A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella--"
"Mmm!" hummed Professor Flitwick, smacking his lips loud enough for Harry to hear almost clearly.
"So you'll be the red currant rum, Minister."
"Thank you, Rosmerta, m'dear," said Fudge in a grateful tone. "Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have a drink yourself, won't you? Come and join us..."
"Oh, well thank you very much, Minister."
Harry watched the sparkling heels march away and back again. He pushed himself forward against someone's leg to keep listening.
"So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?" asked Madam Rosmerta. Harry saw Fudge twist in his chair as though checking for eavesdroppers. Then, he said in the quietest voice Harry just barely heard-- "What else, m'dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Halloween?"
"A rumour or two," admitted Madam Rosmerta. "Or, fact, I imagine."
"Did you tell the entire pub, Hagrid?" Professor McGonagall said exasperatedly.
"No, actually, this one group of sixth-years," Madam Rosmerta tapped her heels on the ground, and then clicked them together as she crossed her feet. "Come in every Wednesday if they can-- and don't get me started on weekends. Hear 'em mutterin' all the time, thinkin' they're quiet." she then fell to a whisper, leaning surprisingly close to Fudge's chair, "But do you think Black's still in the area-- Minister?"
"I'm sure of it," said Fudge shortly.
"And you know the dementors have searched the whole village twice?" asked Madam Rosmerta, with a slight edge to her voice. The tone she had before with him, sweet, was now sharp. "Scaring away all my customers. It's bad for business, Cornelius, and I assure you, the Inn hasn't got a single entrance into the school, and he wouldn't be allowed in no way-- I know people, and I ain't never forgot his face in particular--"
"Rosmerta, dear, please. I don't like the dementors any more than you do," sighed Fudge uncomfortably, and Madam Rosmerta's chair scraped the floor, moving back to its place. "Necessary precaution... unfortunate, but there you are... I've just met some of them. They're in a fury against Dumbledore-- he won't let them inside the castle grounds."
"Certainly not, Minister," said Professor McGonagall sharply. "How are we supposed to teach with those horrors floating around? When we've had a student faint from just their presence? They’re causing headaches across the school, nausea-- we won’t have any of it. Like we'd let them in."
"Hear, hear!" Professor Flitwick squeaked in agreement, whose feet dangled a feet above the ground.
"All the same, I assure you," demurred Fudge, "they are here to protect you all from something much worse... we all know what Black's capable of... what's fainting and nausea to death?"
"Do you know, I still have trouble believing it," said Madam Rosmerta thoughtfully. "Of all the people to go dark, Sirius Black was the last I'd have ever thought... I mean... I remember him when he was a mere boy at Hogwarts. If you told me then what he'd become, I'd have said you'd have had too much mead. Too much of... anything. You'd have to be mad."
"You don't know the half of it, Rosmerta," said Fudge gruffly. "The worst he did isn't widely known."
"The worst?" asked Madam Rosmerta, her voice piqued with curiosity. "Worse than murdering all those poor people? You think there's worse?"
"I certainly do," nodded Fudge.
"I don't believe it, if you'll forgive me. What could possibly be worse?"
"You say you remember him as a young boy in Hogwarts, Rosmerta," murmured Professor McGonagall. "Do you remember who his best friend was?"
"Naturally," Madam Rosmerta gave a small laugh. "Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had the pair of them in here-- ooh, they used to make me laugh! Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!"
Harry tensed, and the leg beside him did the same, presumably Hermione's. They already knew this though, didn't they, however indirectly it were? That he was their uncle? He must’ve known their dad, atleast a bit...
"Precisely," said Professor McGonagall. "Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both quite bright boys, of course-- exceptionally, in fact-- but I don't think we've ever had such a pair of troublemakers--"
"I dunno," chuckled Hagrid. "Fred and George Weasley might give 'em a run for their money."
"You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers!" chimed in Professor Flitwick. "Inseparable!"
"Of course they were," agreed Fudge, "Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Not a thing changed when they left school. Black was best man both times James married. They became brothers in all but blood! He was named Godfather to Harley and his twin-- shame, truly. He hasn't the slightest idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him."
"Did you ever find her?" asked Professor McGonagall silently.
"No, sadly. Oh, the boy... Quinn, was it? How’s he?"
“Just... fine. He's getting along well in his classes, making friends...”
"Black was in league with You-Know-Who," whispered Madam Rosmerta, in a tone that made it sound she still didn't believe it.
"Even worse than that, m'dear..." Fudge dropped his voice and continued in a mumble. "Not many people are aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. That's why they hid their kids from all of us. Dumbledore, who was of course working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted the Potters at once. Advised them to go into hiding immediately. And, of course, You-Know-Who wasn't an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that their best chance was the Fidelius charm."
"How does that work?" asked Madam Rosmerta, breathless with interest. Professor Flitwick cleared his throat.
"An immensely complex spell," he said squeakily, "involving Magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find. Unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where the Potters were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting room window."
"So Black was the Potters' Secret-Keeper?" Madam Rosmerta whispered.
"Naturally," said Professor McGonagall solemnly. "James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would rather die than tell where they were-- that Black was going into hiding himself... and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. He even offered to be their Secret-Keeper himself."
"He suspected Black?" Madam Rosmerta gasped.
"Not Black exactly. He was certain somebody close to the Potters had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements, moving from village to village, letting him keep up with them," said Professor McGonagall in the same tone as before. "Dumbledore suspected for longer than even he'd like to admit that someone on our side had turned-traitor and was passing information with You-Know-Who."
"And James Potter still insisted on using Black?"
"He did." said Fudge heavily. "Then, barely a week after the Fidelius charm had been performed--"
"Black betrayed them?" Madam Rosmerta breathed, almost sounding as if to be wheezing.
"Indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, once he'd been given the chance-– he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned for this moment of the Potters' death. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his match-- his downfall-- in little Harley. Powers gone. Horribly weakened. Nothing he could do but flee. And this left Black in a terribly nasty position indeed. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colours as a traitor. He had no choice but to flee aswell--"
"Filthy, stinkin' turncoat!" shouted Hagrid so loudly that half the bar went quiet.
"Shh!" Professor McGonagall gasped.
"I met him!" Hagrid growled. "I musta been the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It was me that rescued Harry from the Potters' house after they was killed! Jus' got him outta the ruins, poor little thing, with the greatest slash on his face I've ever seen, an' his entire family dead... an' Sirius Black turns up, on that flyin' moterbike he used to ride. Never occurred ter me what he was doin' there- didn' know he'd been Lily and James' Secret-'eeper. Thought he'd jus' heard the news o' You-Know-Who's attack an' come ter see what he could do. White an' shakin', he was. An' yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN' TRAITOR!"
"Hagrid, please!" said Professor McGonagall briskly. "Keep your voice down!"
"How was I ter know he wasn' upset 'bout Lily an' James? It was You-Know-Who he cared abou'! An' then he says, 'Give Harley ter me, Hagrid, I'm ‘er Godfather an' ‘er uncl', I'll look after ‘er--' Ha! But I'd had me orders from Dumbledore, an' I told Black no, Dumbledore said Harry was ter go ter his aunt an' uncle's. Black argued, but in the end, he gave in. Told me ter take his motorbike ter get Harry there. 'I won't need it anymore,' he says.
"I shoulda known there was somethin' fishy goin' on then. He loved that motorbike, what was he givin' it ter me for? Why wouldn't he need it anymore? Fact was, it was too easy ter trace. Dumbledore knew he'd bin the Potters' Secret-Keeper. Black knew he was gonna have ter run for it that night, knew it was a matter o' hours before the Ministry was after him.
"But what if I'd given Harry to him, eh? I bet he'd 've pitched him off the bike halfway out ter sea. His own nephew! But when a wizard goes over to the dark side, there's nothin' an' no one that matters to em anymore..."
A long silence followed Hagrid's story. Harry found it was suddenly hard to breathe, and his headache, though he was sure it wouldn’t bother him as long as he was in Hogsmeade, was growing stronger by the second.
"But he didn't manage to disappear, did he?" said Madam Rosmerta quietly, as the pub slowly returned to a buzzing chatter. "The Ministry of Magic caught up with him the next day."
"Alas, if only we had," said Fudge bitterly. "It was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew-- another of the Potters' friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, knowing that Black had been the Potters' Secret-Keeper. He went after Black himself."
"Pettigrew... that little fat boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?" asked Madam Rosmerta. "I mean, knew they were friends, but Pettigrew? Mmh... never woulda thought he had the courage to... go after Black, even knowing what he'd done."
"Would anyone?" questioned Professor McGonagall. "With the way he hero-worshipped Black and Potter... but he was never quite in their league, talent-wise or... in bravery, really. I was often... rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I regret it now..."
"There now, Minerva," said Fudge kindly. "Pettigrew died a hero's death. Eyewitnesses-- muggles, of course-- we wiped their memories later-- told us how Pettigrew cornered Black. Said he was sobbing. 'Lily and James, Sirius! And Regulus, too, didn’t you! How could you?' And then went for his wand. Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens...."
Professor McGonagall blew her nose and said thickly, "Stupid boy... foolish boy... he was always hopeless at duelling... should've left it for the Ministry..."
"I tell yeh, if I'd got ter Black before little Pettigrew did... I wouldn't 've messed around with wands-- I'd 've ripped him limb from limb," Hagrid growled.
"You don't know what you're talking about, Hagrid," Fudge said sharply. "Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would've stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I- I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there, laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him... a heap of bloodstained robes and a few-- a few fragments... just in the blood, I suppose... they’re all no good, the Blacks. Not a single one of them, ever, proved that wrong, I suppose..."
Fudge trailed off, breathing a heavy breath. There was the sound of noses being blown.
"Well, there you have it, Rosmerta," Fudge said thickly. "Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Black's been in Azkaban since. Well... that is, until he escaped."
Madam Rosmerta let out a long sigh. Harry’s headache only got worse-- for some reason he couldn’t place, there was a growing anger he couldn’t explain, because, for that same reason, it wasn’t at Sirius. No... he shouldn’t call him Sirius anymore... it wasn’t...
"Is it true he's mad, Minister?" Madam Rosmerta asked lowly. "Insane?"
"I wish I could say he was," Fudge sighed. "I certainly believe his... master's defeat unhinged him for a while. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a desperate and cornered man... cruel... pointless... yet I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark, no sense in them... but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite... rationally to me. If I was a fool, I'd have thought he was any normal wizard who wasn't meant to be there. Almost seemed bored, truly-- asked if I'd finished with my newspaper, cool as you please... said he missed doing the crossword. I was astounded at how little effect the dementors seemed to be having on him-- and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door, all day and night. And no bother to him, if they ever were... they were simply just there."
"What do you think he's broken out to do?" Madam Rosmerta asked. "Goodness gracious, Minister, he isn't trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?"
"I daresay that is his-- er-- eventual plan," said Fudge evasively. "But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who being alone and friendless is one thing... but give him back his most devoted servant, and I... shudder at the very thought alone of how quickly he'll rise once more..."
There was the clink of glass on wood.
"You know, Cornelius, if you're dining with the headmaster, we'd better head back up to the castle." Professor McGonagall said.
One by one, the teachers got up and left the table; Hems of cloaks swung into sight, and Madam Rosmerta's heels disappeared behind the bar, the sparkling shimmer even seemed dimmer than before. The door of the Three Broomsticks opened again and again; There was flurry after flurry of snow, and suddenly, all the teachers were gone.
Harry suddenly found that, even after the door had shut, he felt remarkably cold as he climbed out from underneath the table.