Joanne Murray - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

‘Firstly, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.’

There was some scattered, rather unenthusiastic, applause. Only those who had been in the compartment on the train with Professor Lupin clapped hard, Harry among them. Professor Lupin looked particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes.

‘Look at Snape!’ Ron hissed in Harry’s ear.

Professor Snape, the Potions master, was staring along the staff table at Professor Lupin. It was common knowledge that Snape wanted the Defence Against the Dark Arts job, but even Harry, who hated Snape, was startled at the expression twisting his thin, sallow face. It was beyond anger: it was loathing. Harry knew that expression only too well; it was the look Snape wore every time he set eyes on Harry.

‘As to our second new appointment,’ Dumbledore continued, as the lukewarm applause for Professor Lupin died away, ‘well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties.’

Harry, Ron and Hermione stared at each other, stunned. Then they joined in with the applause, which was tumultuous at the Gryffindor table in particular. Harry leant forward to see Hagrid, who was ruby red in the face and staring down at his enormous hands, his wide grin hidden in the tangle of his black beard.

‘We should’ve known!’ Ron roared, pounding the table. ‘Who else would have set us a biting book?’

Harry, Ron and Hermione were the last to stop clapping, and as Professor Dumbledore started speaking again, they saw that Hagrid was wiping his eyes on the tablecloth.

‘Well, I think that’s everything of importance,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Let the feast begin!’

The golden plates and goblets before them filled suddenly with food and drink. Harry, suddenly ravenous, helped himself to everything he could reach and began to eat.

It was a delicious feast; the Hall echoed with talk, laughter and the clatter of knives and forks. Harry, Ron and Hermione, however, were eager for it to finish so that they could talk to Hagrid. They knew how much being made a teacher would mean to him. Hagrid wasn’t a fully qualified wizard; he had been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, for a crime he had not committed. It had been Harry, Ron and Hermione who had cleared Hagrid’s name last year.

At long last, when the last morsels of pumpkin tart had melted from the golden platters, Dumbledore gave the word that it was time for them all to go to bed, and they got their chance.

‘Congratulations, Hagrid!’ Hermione squealed, as they reached the teachers’ table.

‘All down ter you three,’ said Hagrid, wiping his shining face on his napkin as he looked up at them. ‘Can’ believe it ... great man,

Dumbledore ... came straight down to me hut after Professor Kettleburn said he’d had enough ... it’s what I always wanted ... ’ Overcome with emotion, he buried his face in his napkin, and Professor McGonagall shooed them away.

Harry, Ron and Hermione joined the Gryffindors streaming up the marble staircase and, very tired now, along more corridors, up more and more stairs, to the hidden entrance to Gryffindor Tower. A large portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress asked them, ‘Password?’

‘Coming through, coming through!’ Percy called from behind the crowd. ‘The new password’s Fortuna Major!’

‘Oh no,’ said Neville Longbottom sadly. He always had trouble remembering the passwords.

Through the portrait hole and across the common room, the girls and boys divided towards their separate staircases. Harry climbed the spiral stairs with no thought in his head except how glad he was to be back. They reached their familiar, circular dormitory with its five four-poster beds and Harry, looking around, felt he was home at last.

— CHAPTER SIX —

When Harry, Ron and Hermione entered the Great Hall for breakfast next day, the first thing they saw was Draco Malfoy, who seemed to be entertaining a large group of Slytherins with a very funny story. As they passed, Malfoy did a ridiculous impression of a swooning fit and there was a roar of laughter.

‘Ignore him,’ said Hermione, who was right behind Harry. ‘Just ignore him, it’s not worth it ... ’

‘Hey, Potter!’ shrieked Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin girl with a face like a pug. ‘Potter! The Dementors are coming, Potter! Woooooooo!’

Harry dropped into a seat at the Gryffindor table, next to George Weasley.

‘New third-year timetables,’ said George, passing them over. ‘What’s up with you, Harry?’

‘Malfoy,’ said Ron, sitting down on George’s other side and glaring over at the Slytherin table.

George looked up in time to see Malfoy pretending to faint with terror again.

‘That little git,’ he said calmly. ‘He wasn’t so cocky last night when the Dementors were down our end of the train. Came running into our compartment, didn’t he, Fred?’

‘Nearly wet himself,’ said Fred, with a contemptuous glance at Malfoy.

‘I wasn’t too happy myself,’ said George. ‘They’re horrible things, those Dementors ... ’

‘Sort of freeze your insides, don’t they?’ said Fred.

‘You didn’t pass out, though, did you?’ said Harry in a low voice.

‘Forget it, Harry,’ said George bracingly, ‘Dad had to go out to Azkaban one time, remember, Fred? And he said it was the worst place he’d ever been. He came back all weak and shaking ... They suck the happiness out of a place, Dementors. Most of the prisoners go mad in there.’

‘Anyway, we’ll see how happy Malfoy looks after our first Quidditch match,’ said Fred. ‘Gryffindor versus Slytherin, first game of the season, remember?’

The only time Harry and Malfoy had faced each other in a Quidditch match, Malfoy had definitely come off worse. Feeling slightly more cheerful, Harry helped himself to sausages and fried tomatoes.

Hermione was examining her new timetable.

‘Ooh, good, we’re starting some new subjects today,’ she said happily.

‘Hermione,’ said Ron, frowning as he looked over her shoulder, ‘they’ve messed up your timetable. Look - they’ve got you down for about ten subjects a day. There isn’t enough time.’

‘I’ll manage. I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.’

‘But look,’ said Ron, laughing, ‘see this morning? Nine o’clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o’clock, Muggle Studies. And -’ Ron leant closer to the timetable, disbelieving, ‘look — underneath that, Arithmancy, nine o’clock. I mean, I know you’re good, Hermione, but no one’s that good. How’re you supposed to be in three classes at once?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Hermione shortly. ‘Of course I won’t be in three classes at once.’

‘Well, then -’

‘Pass the marmalade,’ said Hermione.

‘But -’

‘Oh, Ron, what’s it to you if my timetable’s a bit full?’ Hermione snapped. ‘I told you, I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.’ Just then, Hagrid entered the Great Hall. He was wearing his long moleskin overcoat and was absent-mindedly swinging a dead polecat from one enormous hand.

‘All righ’?’ he said eagerly, pausing on the way to the staff table. ‘Yer in my firs’ ever lesson! Right after lunch! Bin up since five get-tin’ everythin’ ready ... hope it’s OK ... me, a teacher ... hones’ly ...’ He grinned broadly at them and headed off to the staff table, still swinging the polecat.