HP & The Prisoner of Azkaban

Harry

The next day at breakfast, Harry saw James eyeing Sirius slightly suspiciously, who, while wasn't looking his best, didn't really seem ill. Just hurried and stressed. 

The dementors had almost made him pass out on the field that day, too, but after seeing Charles fall, he'd controlled himself and helped, before going into a small trembling seizure which, thankfully, not many noticed. Harry felt sick and humiliated every time he thought of them.

It was a relief to return to the noise and bustle of the main school on Monday, where he was forced to think about other things, like deducting points from Malfoy on a regular basis, who was almost beside himself with glee at Gryffindor's defeat. He had finally taken off his bandages and celebrated having the full use of both arms again by doing spirited imitations of Charles falling off his broom, which irritated the Potters to no end.

Charles told Harry that because Malfoy had been spending much of his next Potions class doing dementor imitations across the dungeon, Ron had finally cracked and flung a large, slippery crocodile heart at Malfoy, which hit him in the face and caused Snape to take fifty points from Gryffindor.

After Harry's defense lesson, during lunch, he decided he needed to have a word with his godfather and made his way to Sirius' office. Outside, however, he stopped short hearing an argument inside. 

"-bloody hell d'you mean by that?!" cried a hoarse voice, as if unused for long. 

"Exactly what I said." came Sirius' voice. "We can't do this alone and you know that."

"We can, actually." the other voice growled. "You can't tell anyone else. Or d'you not remember last time you confronted my secrets to Potter? He blew up and almost destroyed me."

"He... he won't do that again-"

"He would, and you know it. Don't delusion yourself, Sirius. If we're doing this, then this has to remain a secret."

A sigh. "Fine."

Harry chose that moment to knock on the door to announce his presence. There was a pause before Sirius said, "Who is it?"

"It's me, Harry."

Another pause. Then Sirius called, "Come in."

Harry entered and looked around the plush office with alert eyes, but could not spot anyone else there. "Who were you talking to, Padfoot?"

Sirius shrugged. "No one, just myself. What's up?"

Harry decided to leave it for the moment. "I just had a suggestion regarding the Patronus charm." he cautiously said, piquing Sirius' interest. "I wondered, due to the dementors stationed around the class... isn't it quite important for students to know how to protect against them."

"What are you saying, you wanna learn how to create a Patronus?" Sirius frowned.

"Not just me. There are a lot of students in the school who want to learn it for better protection. Of course, the younger ones' cores may not be able to handle it, but it can be taught to fifth years and up, right? If the dementors come to another Quidditch match or Hogsmeade, we need to be able to fight them."

Sirius studied Harry's determined face for a moment before sighing. "While I can create a Patronus, I'm not too skilled at it, Harry. In fact, it's one of the only spells I've always had a problem with," he confessed. "And I'm useless against dementors... But maybe I can gather Prongs and Moony and we can arrange something. You'll have to wait till next term, though, I'm afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays, and Moony I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill..."

Charles

The fact that Ravenclaw flattened Hufflepuff in their Quidditch match at the end of November lifted Charles' mood considerably. Gryffindor was not out of the running after all, although they could not afford to lose another match. Wood became repossessed of his manic energy, and worked his team as hard as ever in the chilly haze of rain that persisted into December. Charles saw no hint of a dementor within the grounds. Dumbledore's anger seemed to be keeping them at their stations at the entrances.

When the end of the term came, the sky lightened suddenly to a dazzling, opaline white, and the muddy grounds were revealed one morning covered in glittering frost. Inside the castle, there was a buzz of Christmas in the air. Professor Flitwick had already decorated his classroom with shimmering lights that turned out to be real, fluttering fairies. Charles was remaining in Hogwarts that year, and Lily would be joining them at the school. Both Ron and Hermione had decided to stay back too, and though Ron said it was because he couldn't stand two weeks with Percy and Hermione insisted she needed to use the library, Charles wasn't fooled; they were doing it to keep him company, and he was very grateful.

On the first day of the holidays, Charles, Ron, and Hermione decided to visit Hagrid. They made their way slowly down the lawn, making a shallow trench in the glittering, powdery snow, their socks and the hems of their cloaks soaked and freezing. The Forbidden Forest looked as though it had been enchanted, each tree smattered with silver, and Hagrid's cabin looked like an iced cake.

Ron knocked, but there was no answer.

"He's not out, is he?" said Hermione, who was shivering under her cloak.

Ron had his ear to the door. "There's a weird noise. Listen, is that Fang?"

Charles and Hermione put their ears to the door too. From inside the cabin came a series of low, throbbing moans.

"Think we'd better go and get someone?" Ron asked nervously.

"Hagrid!" Charles called, thumping the door. "Hagrid, are you in there?"

There was a sound of heavy footsteps, then the door creaked open. Hagrid stood there with his eyes red and swollen, tears splashing down the front of his leather vest.

"Yeh've heard?" he bellowed, and he flung himself onto Charles' neck.

Hagrid being at least twice the size of a normal man, this was no laughing matter. Charles, about to collapse under the man's weight, was rescued by Ron and Hermione, who each seized Hagrid under an arm and heaved him back into the cabin. Hagrid allowed himself to be steered into a chair and slumped over the table, sobbing uncontrollably, his face glazed with tears that dripped down into his tangled beard.

"Hagrid, what is it?" said Hermione, aghast.

Charles spotted an official-looking letter lying open on the table. "What's this, Hagrid?"

Hagrid's sobs redoubled, but he shoved the letter toward Charles, who picked it up and read aloud:

Dear Mr. Hagrid,

Further to our inquiry into the attack by a hippogriff on a student in your class, we have accepted the assurances of Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility for the regrettable incident.

"Well, that's okay then, Hagrid!" Ron clapped Hagrid on the shoulder. But Hagrid continued to sob, and waved one of his gigantic hands, inviting Charles to read on.

However, we must register our concern about the hippogriff in question. We have decided to uphold the official complaint of Mr. Lucius Malfoy, and this matter will therefore be taken to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. The hearing will take place on April 20th, and we ask you to present yourself and your hippogriff at the Committee's offices in London on that date. In the meantime, the hippogriff should be kept tethered and isolated. Yours in fellowship...

There followed a list of the school governors.

"Oh," Ron hesitated. "But you said Buckbeak isn't a bad hippogriff, Hagrid. I bet he'll get off."

"Yeh don' know them gargoyles at the Committee fer the Disposal o' Dangerous Creatures!" choked Hagrid, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "They've got it in fer interestin' creatures!"

A sudden sound from the corner of Hagrid's cabin made the three whip around. Buckbeak the hippogriff was lying in the corner, chomping on something that was oozing blood all over the floor.

"I couldn' leave him tied up out there in the snow!" choked Hagrid. "All on his own! At Christmas!"

Charles, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another. They had never seen eye to eye with Hagrid about what he called "interesting creatures" and other people called "terrifying monsters." On the other hand, there didn't seem to be any particular harm in Buckbeak. In fact, by Hagrid's usual standards, he was positively cute.

"You'll have to put up a good strong defense, Hagrid," Hermione said, sitting down and laying a hand on Hagrid's massive forearm. "I'm sure you can prove Buckbeak is safe."

"Won't make no diff'rence!" sobbed Hagrid. "Them Disposal devils, they're all in Lucius Malfoy's pocket! Scared o' him! Ad if I lose the case, Buckbeak-"

Hagrid drew his finger swiftly across his throat, then gave a great wail and lurched forward, his face in his arms.

"What about Dumbledore, Hagrid?" Charles asked.

"He's done more'n enough fer me already," groaned Hagrid. "Got enough on his plate what with keepin' them dementors outta the castle, an' Regulus Black lurkin' around -"

"Listen, Hagrid," Charles said, "you can't give up. Hermione's right, you just need a good defense. You can call us as witnesses." 

"I'm sure I've read about a case of hippogriff-baiting," Hermione mused thoughtfully, "where the hippogriff got off. I'll look it up for you, Hagrid, and see exactly what happened."

Hagrid howled still more loudly. Charles and Hermione looked at Ron to help them.

"Er - shall I make a cup of tea?" Ron asked awkwardly.

They just stared at him.

Ron shrugged, muttering, "It's what my mum does whenever someone's upset,"

At last, after many more assurances of help, with a steaming mug of tea in front of him, Hagrid blew his nose on a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth and said, "Yer right. I can' afford to go ter pieces. Gotta pull meself together..."

Fang the boarhound came timidly out from under the table and laid his head on Hagrid's knee.

"I've not bin meself lately," said Hagrid, stroking Fang with one hand and mopping his face with the other. "Worried abou' Buckbeak, an' no one likin' me classes -"

"We do like them!" lied Hermione at once.

"Yeah, they're great!" said Ron, crossing his fingers under the table. "Er - how are the flobberworms?"

"Dead," said Hagrid gloomily. "Too much lettuce."

"Oh no!" said Ron, his lip twitching.

"An' them dementors make me feel ruddy terrible an' all," said Hagrid, with a sudden shudder. "Gotta walk past 'em ev'ry time I want a drink in the Three Broomsticks. 'S like bein' back in Azkaban -"

He fell silent, gulping his tea. Charles, Ron, and Hermione watched him breathlessly. They had never heard Hagrid talk about his brief spell in Azkaban before. And while Charles had an idea of the horrors of that place from Sirius and even James, the other two didn't. After a pause, Hermione said timidly, "Is it awful in there, Hagrid?"

"Yeh've no idea," said Hagrid quietly. "Never bin anywhere like it. Thought I was goin' mad. Kep' goin' over horrible stuff in me mind... the day I got expelled from Hogwarts... day me dad died... the day I had ter let Norbert go..."

His eyes filled with tears. Norbert was the baby dragon Hagrid had once won in a game of cards, according to what Harry had told him.

"Yeh can' really remember who yeh are after a while. An' yeh can' really see the point o' livin' at all. I used ter hope I'd jus' die in me sleep. When they let me out, it was like bein' born again, ev'rythin' I came floodin' back, it was the bes' feelin' in the world. Mind, the dementors weren't keen on lettin' me go."

"But you were innocent!" said Hermione.

Hagrid snorted. "Think that matters to them? They don' care. Long as they've got a couple o' hundred humans stuck there with 'em, so they can leech all the happiness out of 'em, they don' give a damn who's guilty an' who's not."

Hagrid went quiet for a moment, staring into his tea. Then he said quietly, "Thought o' jus' letting Buckbeak go... tryin' ter make him fly away... but how d'yeh explain ter a hippogriff it's gotta go inter hidin'? An' -an' I'm scared o' breakin' the law..." He looked up at them, tears leaking down his face again. "I don' ever want ter go back ter Azkaban."

Charles, Ron, and Hermione went to the library the next day and returned to the empty common room laden with books that might help prepare a defense for Buckbeak. The three of them sat in front of the roaring fire, slowly turning the pages of dusty volumes about famous cases of marauding beasts, speaking occasionally when they ran across something relevant.

"Here's something... there was a case in 1772... but the hippogriff was convicted - ugh, look what they did to it, that's disgusting -"

"This might help, look - a manticore savaged someone in 1296, and they let the manticore off - oh - no, that was only because everyone was too scared to go near it."

Harry

Meanwhile, in the rest of the castle, the usual magnificent Christmas decorations had been put up, despite the fact that hardly any of the students remained to enjoy them. Thick streamers of holly and mistletoe were strung along the corridors, mysterious lights shone from inside every suit of armor, and the Great Hall was filled with its usual twelve Christmas trees, glittering with golden stars. A powerful and delicious smell of cooking pervaded the corridors, and by Christmas Eve, it had grown tremendously strong.

On Christmas morning, Harry was woken by the blaring alarm he'd set up the night before.

Harry quickly sat up and squinted through the semi-darkness to the foot of his bed, where a big heap of parcels had appeared. He levitated it all downstairs, where the others (Charles, Ron, and Hermione) were already waiting for him. Them four were the only ones to have remained back in the whole of Gryffindor.

The minute Harry appeared, Ron started ripping the paper off his own presents. "Another sweater from Mum... maroon again... see if any of you have got one."

Harry and Charles had, and from what Jéricho telepathically told him, he had gotten one too. Mrs. Weasley had sent Charles a scarlet sweater with the Gryffindor lion knitted on the front, and Harry a navy blue sweater with his name written in bold on the front, along also a dozen home-baked mince pies, some Christmas cake, and a box of nut brittle for both of them. Harry got quills, muggle clothes, and whatnot from his friends, as well, whom he thanked then and there in his mind. As Charles moved all his gifts aside, they saw a long, thin package lying underneath.

"What's that?" Ron frowned, looking over, a freshly unwrapped pair of maroon socks in his hand.

"Dunno..."

Charles ripped the parcel open and gasped as a magnificent, gleaming broomstick rolled out onto his bedspread. Ron dropped his socks and jumped off the couch for a closer look as they all gapped.

"I don't believe it," Harry said hoarsely.

It was a Firebolt. Its handle glittered as Charles picked it up. Charles let go; it hung in midair, unsupported, at exactly the right height for Charles to mount it. Harry's eyes moved from the golden registration number at the top of the handle, right down to the perfectly smooth, streamlined birch twigs that made up the tail.

"Who sent it to you?" Ron asked in a hushed voice.

"Look and see if there's a card," Hermione agreed.

Harry found a note in the wrappings and quickly read it before passing it to Charles. It was:-

Happy Christmas, Charles!

A gift from your favorite Uncle Sirius. I'm very sorry I couldn't come visit you when you were in the hospital wing after that brutal game, but as you might have found out, I wasn't quite well myself. I heard about your broom; I'm sorry that nothing could be done for it.

So, I decided to get you a new one! Your father has also vested money in this, you see, but it's also a compensation for my lack of presence lately as much it is a Christmas gift. I hope you like it; your mother thought you might not be able to handle it, so don't disappoint me! I was - and am - confident in your skills on a broom.

Oh, and do me a favor and let your brother and father also have an occasional ride on this beauty, will you? They unfortunately have lesser brooms, and may be jealous. 

Charles let out a stunned laugh. "I can't believe this!"

"I can," Harry smirked lowly. "He's the kind to spoil kids rotten. Besides, he's a millionaire with no idea what to do with his wealth."

"Hey, Charles!" Ron gave a great whoop of laughter. "Malfoy! Wait till he sees you on this! He'll be sick as a pig! This is an international standard broom, this is!"

Harry laughed and congratulated Charles with the others, acting his usual self. Still, he couldn't help feeling the familiar old jealousy burn in him. It had been two years since he'd even remotely felt jealous of his younger brother, but before...

Well, when Harry had first came to Hogwarts, people had only associated him with Charles. Not many had been keen to know and befriend the real him; they'd all wanted to know stories about the 'Boy Who Lived'. It had been infuriating, to be honest. Even out of his good friends, only Jéricho, Sera, Adrian, and the twins had been his real friends. 

He'd been so irritated at his brother, and hadn't talked to the boy for a long time till he'd been cornered by Sirius and forced to tell his problem. Since he'd been a little kid, Sirius had always been closest to him, in a way, and he'd always trusted his godfather above all, right there with his parents and Jéricho.

Sirius had told Harry to make his own name, so as to not let Charles' fame get to him. Harry had followed the advice; he'd played pranks, he'd befriended students from every house and every year, he'd increased his speed and skill with a wand, he'd dueled with older students and increased his spell arsenal, he'd joined the Quidditch team and alternated perfectly between two tough positions, being the best player there was, and he'd come first in his year over-all and in almost all the subjects. Till the time Charles had come to Hogwarts, Harry had already become his own person.

So, in all two years, this was the first time he was feeling jealous. And of what? A broomstick. Even though he knew that Charles deserved it, having his broom broken to pieces. Deciding that there was a limit to pettiness, Harry squashed his ridiculous feelings and focused on enjoying the day.  

Lyra

At lunchtime, Lyra and Ginny went down to the Great Hall together - being the only Slytherins to have remained behind - to find that the House tables had been moved against the walls again and that a single long table stood in the middle of the room. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick were there, along with James, Lily, and Sirius. Filch was also present, who had taken off his usual brown coat and was wearing a very old and rather moldy-looking tailcoat. Charles, Harry, Effie, Ron, and Hermione were already there, too.

"Merry Christmas!" said Dumbledore as the two Slytherins approached the table. "As there are so few of us, it seemed foolish to use the House tables... Sit down, sit down!"

Lyra and Ginny sat down side by side at the end of the table.

"Crackers!" said Dumbledore enthusiastically, offering the end of a large silver noisemaker to Snape, who took it reluctantly and tugged. With a bang like a gunshot, the cracker flew apart to reveal a large, pointed witch's hat topped with a stuffed vulture.

Lyra grinned as Snape's mouth thinned and he pushed the hat toward Dumbledore, who swapped it for his wizard's hat at once.

"Dig in!" he advised the table, beaming around.

As Lyra was helping herself to roast potatoes, the doors of the Great Hall opened again. It was Professor Trelawney, gliding toward them as though on wheels. She had put on a green sequined dress in honor of the occasion, making her look more than ever like a glittering, oversized dragonfly.

"Sibyll, this is a pleasant surprise!" Dumbledore exclaimed, standing up.

"I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster," Professor Trelawney said in her mistiest, most faraway voice, "and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness..."

"Certainly, certainly," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "Let me draw you up a chair -"

And he did indeed draw a chair in midair with his wand, which revolved for a few seconds before falling with a thud between Professors Snape and McGonagall. Professor Trelawney, however, did not sit down; her enormous eyes had been roving around the table, and she suddenly uttered a kind of soft scream.

"I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be seventeen! Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when seventeen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!"

"We'll risk it, Sibyll," said Professor McGonagall impatiently. "Do sit down, the turkey's getting stone cold."

Professor Trelawney hesitated, then lowered herself into the empty chair, eyes shut and mouth clenched tight, as though expecting a thunderbolt to hit the table. Professor McGonagall poked a large spoon into the nearest tureen.

"Tripe, Sibyll?"

Professor Trelawney ignored her. Eyes open again, she looked around once more and said, "But where is dear Professor Lupin?"

"I'm afraid the poor fellow is ill again," said Dumbledore, indicating that everybody should start serving themselves. Lyra winced, remembering the full moon. "Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day."

"But surely you already knew that, Sibyll?" said Professor McGonagall, her eyebrows raised.

Professor Trelawney gave Professor McGonagall a very cold look. "Certainly I knew, Minerva," she said quietly. "But one does not parade the fact that one is All-Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous."

"That explains a great deal," said Professor McGonagall tartly. Sirius and James smothered a snort, and the children exchanged amused grins.

Professor Trelawney's voice suddenly became a good deal less misty. "If you must know, Minerva, I have seen that poor Professor Lupin will not be with us for very long. He seems aware, himself, that his time is short. He positively fled when I offered to crystal gaze for him -"

"Imagine that," said Professor McGonagall dryly, and this time it was Lyra who had to hold in a snort.

"I doubt," said Dumbledore, in a cheerful but slightly raised voice, which put an end to McGonagall and Trelawney's conversation, "that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus, you've made the potion for him again?"

"Yes, Headmaster," said Snape.

After the feast was over, all the children went out for a snowball fight. It lasted about ten minutes for Lyra though, because she suddenly spotted a cat and ran towards it to check it out, abandoning the game. 

It was a sleek black cat with shiny yet a bit dirty fur, and stangely familiar grey eyes. She crouched down in front of it and smiled. "Hey, you're very pretty. Who's cat are you?"

The cat just continued to give Lyra that intimidating stare. A piercing look that told that the cat could look through your soul. Lyra pressed, "Or are you a stray?"

The cat tilted its head and then prowled off, leaving Lyra thoroughly confused.