Joanne Murray - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

‘I’m afraid not, Potter,’ she said. ‘You heard what I said. No form, no visiting the village. That’s the rule.’

‘But - Professor, my aunt and uncle - you know, they’re Muggles, they don’t really understand about - about Hogwarts forms and stuff,’ Harry said, while Ron egged him on with vigorous nods. ‘If you said I could go -’

‘But I don’t say so,’ said Professor McGonagall, standing up and piling her papers neatly into a drawer. ‘The form clearly states that the parent or guardian must give permission.’ She turned to look at him, with an odd expression on her face. Was it pity? ‘I’m sorry, Potter, but that’s my final word. You had better hurry, or you’ll be late for your next lesson.’

*

There was nothing to be done. Ron called Professor McGonagall a lot of names that greatly annoyed Hermione; Hermione assumed an ‘all for the best’ expression that made Ron even angrier, and Harry had to endure everyone in the class talking loudly and happily about what they were going to do first, once they got into Hogsmeade.

‘There’s always the feast,’ said Ron, in an effort to cheer Harry up. ‘You know, the Hallowe’en feast, in the evening.’

‘Yeah,’ said Harry, gloomily, ‘great.’

The Hallowe’en feast was always good, but it would taste a lot better if he was coming to it after a day in Hogsmeade with everyone else. Nothing anyone said made him feel any better about being left behind. Dean Thomas, who was good with a quill, had offered to forge Uncle Vernon’s signature on the form, but as Harry had already told Professor McGonagall he hadn’t had it signed, that was no good. Ron half-heartedly suggested the Invisibility Cloak, but Hermione stamped on that one, reminding Ron what Dumbledore had told them about the Dementors being able to see through them. Percy had what were possibly the least helpful words of comfort.

‘They make a fuss about Hogsmeade, but I assure you, Harry, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be,’ he said seriously. ‘All right, the sweetshop’s rather good, but Zonko’s Joke Shop’s frankly dangerous, and yes, the Shrieking Shack’s always worth a visit, but really, Harry, apart from that, you’re not missing anything.’

*

On Hallowe’en morning, Harry awoke with the rest and went down to breakfast feeling thoroughly depressed, though doing his best to act normally.

‘We’ll bring you lots of sweets back from Honeydukes,’ said Hermione, looking desperately sorry for him.

‘Yeah, loads,’ said Ron. He and Hermione had finally forgotten their squabble about Crookshanks in the face of Harry’s disappointment.

‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Harry, in what he hoped was an offhand voice. ‘I’ll see you at the feast. Have a good time.’

He accompanied them to the Entrance Hall, where Filch, the caretaker, was standing inside the front doors, checking off names against a long list, peering suspiciously into every face, and making sure that no one was sneaking out who shouldn’t be going.

‘Staying here, Potter?’ shouted Malfoy, who was standing in line with Crabbe and Goyle. ‘Scared of passing the Dementors?’

Harry ignored him and made his solitary way up the marble staircase, through the deserted corridors, and back to Gryffindor Tower.

‘Password?’ said the Fat Lady, jerking out of a doze.

‘Fortuna Major,’ said Harry listlessly.

The portrait swung open and he climbed through the hole into the common room. It was full of chattering first- and second-years, and a few older students who had obviously visited Hogsmeade so often the novelty had worn off.

‘Harry! Harry! Hi, Harry!’

It was Colin Creevey, a second-year who was deeply in awe of Harry and never missed an opportunity to speak to him.

‘Aren’t you going to Hogsmeade, Harry? Why not? Hey -’ Colin looked eagerly around at his friends, ‘you can come and sit with us, if you like, Harry!’

‘Er - no, thanks, Colin,’ said Harry, who wasn’t in the mood to have a lot of people staring avidly at the scar on his forehead. ‘I -I’ve got to go to the library, got to get some work done.’

After that, he had no choice but to turn right around and head back out of the portrait hole again.

‘What was the point of waking me up?’ the Fat Lady called grumpily after him as he walked away.

Harry wandered dispiritedly towards the library, but halfway there he changed his mind; he didn’t feel like working. He turned around and came face to face with Filch, who had obviously just seen off the last of the Hogsmeade visitors.

‘What are you doing?’ Filch snarled suspiciously.

‘Nothing,’ said Harry truthfully.

‘Nothing!’ spat Filch, his jowls quivering unpleasantly. ‘A likely story! Sneaking around on your own, why aren’t you in Hogsmeade buying Stink Pellets and Belch Powder and Whizzing Worms like the rest of your nasty little friends?’

Harry shrugged.

‘Well, get back to your common room where you belong!’ snapped Filch, and he stood glaring until Harry had passed out of sight.

But Harry didn’t go back to the common room; he climbed a staircase, thinking vaguely of visiting the Owlery to see Hedwig, and was walking along another corridor when a voice from inside one of the rooms said, ‘Harry?’

Harry doubled back to see who had spoken and met Professor Lupin, looking around his office door.

‘What are you doing?’ said Lupin, in a very different voice from Filch. ‘Where are Ron and Hermione?’

‘Hogsmeade,’ said Harry, in a would-be casual voice.

‘Ah,’ said Lupin. He considered Harry for a moment. ‘Why don’t you come in? I’ve just taken delivery of a Grindylow for our next lesson.’

‘A what?’ said Harry.

He followed Lupin into his office. In the corner stood a very large tank of water. A sickly-green creature with sharp little horns had its face pressed against the glass, pulling faces and flexing its long, spindly fingers.

‘Water demon,’ said Lupin, surveying the Grindylow thoughtfully. ‘We shouldn’t have much difficulty with him, not after the Kappas. The trick is to break his grip. You notice the abnormally long fingers? Strong, but very brittle.’

The Grindylow bared its green teeth and then buried itself in a tangle of weed in a corner.

‘Cup of tea?’ Lupin said, looking around for his kettle. ‘I was just thinking of making one.’

‘All right,’ said Harry awkwardly.

Lupin tapped the kettle with his wand and a blast of steam issued suddenly from the spout.

‘Sit down,’ said Lupin, taking the lid off a dusty tin. ‘I’ve only got teabags, I’m afraid - but I daresay you’ve had enough of tea leaves?’

Harry looked at him. Lupin’s eyes were twinkling.

‘How did you know about that?’ Harry asked.

‘Professor McGonagall told me,’ said Lupin, passing Harry a chipped mug of tea. ‘You’re not worried, are you?’

‘No,’ said Harry.

He thought for a moment of telling Lupin about the dog he’d seen in Magnolia Crescent, but decided not to. He didn’t want Lupin to think he was a coward, especially since Lupin already seemed to think he couldn’t cope with a Boggart.

Something of Harry’s thoughts seemed to have shown on his face, because Lupin said, ‘Anything worrying you, Harry?’

‘No,’ Harry lied. He drank a bit of tea and watched the Grindylow brandishing a fist at him. ‘Yes,’ he said suddenly, putting his tea down on Lupin’s desk. ‘You know that day we fought the Boggart?’

‘Yes,’ said Lupin slowly.

‘Why didn’t you let me fight it?’ said Harry abruptly.

Lupin raised his eyebrows.

‘I would have thought that was obvious, Harry,’ he said, sounding surprised.