Joanne Murray - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

‘What are you doing Muggle Studies for?’ said Ron, rolling his eyes at Harry. ‘You’re Muggle-born! Your mum and dad are Muggles! You already know all about Muggles!’

‘But it’ll be fascinating to study them from the wizarding point of view,’ said Hermione earnestly.

‘Are you planning to eat or sleep at all this year, Hermione?’ asked Harry, while Ron sniggered. Hermione ignored them.

‘I’ve still got ten Galleons,’ she said, checking her purse. ‘It’s my birthday in September, and Mum and Dad gave me some money to get myself an early birthday present.’

‘How about a nice book?’ said Ron innocently.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Hermione composedly. ‘I really want an owl. I mean, Harry’s got Hedwig and you’ve got Errol -’

‘I haven’t,’ said Ron. ‘Errol’s a family owl. All I’ve got is Scabbers.’ He pulled his pet rat out of his pocket. ‘And I want to get him checked over,’ he added, placing Scabbers on the table in front of them. ‘I don’t think Egypt agreed with him.’

Scabbers was looking thinner than usual, and there was a definite droop to his whiskers.

‘There’s a magical-creature shop just over there,’ said Harry, who knew Diagon Alley very well by now. ‘You can see if they’ve got anything for Scabbers, and Hermione can get her owl.’

So they paid for their ice-creams and crossed the street to the Magical Menagerie.

There wasn’t much room inside. Every inch of wall was hidden by cages. It was smelly and very noisy because the occupants of these cages were all squeaking, squawking, jabbering or hissing. The witch behind the counter was already advising a wizard on the care of double-ended newts, so Harry, Ron and Hermione waited, examining the cages.

A pair of enormous purple toads sat gulping wetly and feasting on dead blowflies. A gigantic tortoise with a jewel-encrusted shell was glittering near the window. Poisonous orange snails were oozing slowly up the side of their glass tank, and a fat white rabbit kept changing into a silk top hat and back again with a loud popping noise. Then there were cats of every colour, a noisy cage of ravens, a basket of funny custard-coloured furballs that were humming loudly, and, on the counter, a vast cage of sleek black rats which were playing some sort of skipping game using their long bald tails.

The double-ended-newt wizard left and Ron approached the counter.

‘It’s my rat,’ he told the witch. ‘He’s been a bit off-colour ever since I brought him back from Egypt.’

‘Bang him on the counter,’ said the witch, pulling a pair of heavy black spectacles out of her pocket.

Ron lifted Scabbers out of his inside pocket and placed him next to the cage of his fellow rats, who stopped their skipping tricks and scuffled to the wire for a better look.

Like nearly everything Ron owned, Scabbers the rat was secondhand (he had once belonged to Ron’s brother Percy) and a bit battered. Next to the glossy rats in the cage, he looked especially woebegone.

‘Hm,’ said the witch, picking Scabbers up. ‘How old is this rat?’

‘Dunno,’ said Ron. ‘Quite old. He used to belong to my brother.’

‘What powers does he have?’ said the witch, examining Scabbers closely.

‘Er -’ said Ron. The truth was that Scabbers had never shown the faintest trace of interesting powers. The witch’s eyes moved from Scabbers’s tattered left ear to his front paw, which had a toe missing, and tutted loudly.

‘He’s been through the mill, this one,’ she said.

‘He was like that when Percy gave him to me,’ said Ron defensively.

‘An ordinary, common or garden rat like this can’t be expected to live longer than three years or so,’ said the witch. ‘Now, if you were looking for something a bit more hard-wearing, you might like one of these ...’

She indicated the black rats, who promptly started skipping again. Ron muttered, ‘Show-offs.’

‘Well, if you don’t want a replacement, you can try this Rat Tonic,’ said the witch, reaching under the counter and bringing out a small red bottle.

‘OK,’ said Ron. ‘How much - OUCH!’

Ron buckled as something huge and orange came soaring from the top of the highest cage, landed on his head and then propelled itself, spitting madly, at Scabbers.

‘NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!’ cried the witch, but Scabbers shot from between her hands like a bar of soap, landed splay-legged on the floor and then scarpered for the door.

‘Scabbers!’ Ron shouted, haring out of the shop after him; Harry followed.

It took them nearly ten minutes to find Scabbers, who had taken refuge under a wastepaper bin outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. Ron stuffed the trembling rat back into his pocket and straightened up, massaging his head.

‘What was that?’

‘It was either a very big cat or quite a small tiger,’ said Harry.

‘Where’s Hermione?’

‘Probably getting her owl.’

They made their way back up the crowded street to the Magical Menagerie. As they reached it, Hermione came out, but she wasn’t carrying an owl. Her arms were clamped tightly around the enormous ginger cat.

‘You bought that monster?’ said Ron, his mouth hanging open.

‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’ said Hermione, glowing.

That was a matter of opinion, thought Harry. The cat’s ginger fur was thick and fluffy, but it was definitely a bit bow-legged and its face looked grumpy and oddly squashed, as though it had run headlong into a brick wall. Now that Scabbers was out of sight, however, the cat was purring contentedly in Hermione’s arms.

‘Hermione, that thing nearly scalped me!’ said Ron.

‘He didn’t mean to, did you, Crookshanks?’ said Hermione.

‘And what about Scabbers?’ said Ron, pointing at the lump in his chest pocket. ‘He needs rest and relaxation! How’s he going to get it with that thing around?’

‘That reminds me, you forgot your Rat Tonic,’ said Hermione, slapping the small red bottle into Ron’s hand. ‘And stop worrying, Crookshanks will be sleeping in my dormitory and Scabbers in yours. What’s the problem? Poor Crookshanks, that witch said he’d been in there for ages: no one wanted him.’

‘I wonder why,’ said Ron sarcastically, as they set off towards the Leaky Cauldron.

They found Mr Weasley sitting in the bar, reading the Daily Prophet.

‘Harry!’ he said, smiling as he looked up. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine, thanks,’ said Harry, as he, Ron and Hermione joined Mr Weasley with all their shopping.

Mr Weasley put down his paper, and Harry saw the now familiar picture of Sirius Black staring up at him.

‘They still haven’t caught him, then?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Mr Weasley looking extremely grave. ‘They’ve pulled us all off our regular jobs at the Ministry to try and find him, but no luck so far.’

‘Would we get a reward if we caught him?’ asked Ron. ‘It’d be good to get some more money -’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Ron,’ said Mr Weasley, who on closer inspection looked very strained. ‘Black’s not going to be caught by a thirteen-year-old wizard. It’s the Azkaban guards who’ll get him back, you mark my words.’

At that moment Mrs Weasley entered the bar, laden with shopping and followed by the twins, Fred and George, who were about to start their fifth year at Hogwarts, the newly elected Head Boy, Percy, and the Weasleys’ youngest child and only girl, Ginny.

Ginny, who had always been very taken with Harry, seemed even more heartily embarrassed than usual when she saw him, perhaps because he had saved her life during their last term at Hogwarts. She went very red and muttered ‘hello’ without looking at him. Percy, however, held out his hand solemnly as though he and Harry had never met and said, ‘Harry. How nice to see you.’ ‘Hello, Percy,’ said Harry, trying not to laugh.