Joanne Murray - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

‘Mr Malfoy then saw an extraordinary apparition. Can you imagine what it might have been, Potter?’

‘No,’ said Harry, now trying to sound innocently curious.

‘It was your head, Potter. Floating in mid-air.’

There was a long silence.

‘Maybe he’d better go to Madam Pomfrey,’ said Harry. ‘If he’s seeing things like -’

‘What would your head have been doing in Hogsmeade, Potter?’ said Snape softly. ‘Your head is not allowed in Hogsmeade. No part of your body has permission to be in Hogsmeade.’

‘I know that,’ said Harry, striving to keep his face free of guilt or fear. ‘It sounds like Malfoy’s having hallucin-’

‘Malfoy is not having hallucinations,’ snarled Snape, and he bent down, a hand on each arm of Harry’s chair, so that their faces were a foot apart. ‘If your head was in Hogsmeade, so was the rest of you.’

‘I’ve been up in Gryffindor Tower,’ said Harry. ‘Like you told -’ ‘Can anyone confirm that?’

Harry didn’t say anything. Snape’s thin mouth curled into a horrible smile.

‘So,’ he said, straightening up again. ‘Everyone from the Minister for Magic downwards has been trying to keep famous Harry Potter safe from Sirius Black. But famous Harry Potter is a law unto himself. Let the ordinary people worry about his safety! Famous Harry Potter goes where he wants to, with no thought for the consequences.’

Harry stayed silent. Snape was trying to provoke him into telling the truth. He wasn’t going to do it. Snape had no proof - yet.

‘How extraordinarily like your father you are, Potter,’ Snape said suddenly, his eyes glinting. ‘He, too, was exceedingly arrogant. A small amount of talent on the Quidditch pitch made him think he was a cut above the rest of us, too. Strutting around the place with his friends and admirers ... the resemblance between you is uncanny.’

‘My dad didn’t strut,’ said Harry, before he could stop himself. ‘And nor do I.’

‘Your father didn’t set much store by rules, either,’ Snape went on, pressing his advantage, his thin face full of malice. ‘Rules were for lesser mortals, not Quidditch Cup-winners. His head was so swollen -’

‘SHUT UP!’

Harry was suddenly on his feet. Rage such as he had not felt since his last night in Privet Drive was thundering through him. He didn’t care that Snape’s face had gone rigid, the black eyes flashing dangerously.

‘What did you say to me, Potter?’

‘I told you to shut up about my dad!’ Harry yelled. ‘I know the truth, all right? He saved your life! Dumbledore told me! You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for my dad!’

Snape’s sallow skin had gone the colour of sour milk.

‘And did the Headmaster tell you the circumstances in which your father saved my life?’ he whispered. ‘Or did he consider the details too unpleasant for precious Potter’s delicate ears?’

Harry bit his lip. He didn’t know what had happened and didn’t want to admit it - but Snape seemed to have guessed the truth.

‘I would hate you to run away with a false idea of your father, Potter,’ he said, a terrible grin twisting his face. ‘Have you been imagining some act of glorious heroism? Then let me correct you

- your saintly father and his friends played a highly amusing joke on me that would have resulted in my death if your father hadn’t got cold feet at the last moment. There was nothing brave about what he did. He was saving his own skin as much as mine. Had their joke succeeded, he would have been expelled from Hogwarts.’

Snape’s uneven, yellowish teeth were bared.

‘Turn out your pockets, Potter!’ he spat suddenly.

Harry didn’t move. There was a pounding in his ears.

‘Turn out your pockets, or we go straight to the Headmaster! Pull them out, Potter!’

Cold with dread, Harry slowly pulled out the bag of Zonko’s tricks and the Marauder’s Map.

Snape picked up the Zonko’s bag.

‘Ron gave them to me,’ said Harry, praying he’d get a chance to tip Ron off before Snape saw him. ‘He - brought them back from Hogsmeade last time -’

‘Indeed? And you’ve been carrying them round ever since? How very touching ... and what is this?’

Snape had picked up the map. Harry tried with all his might to keep his face impassive.

‘Spare bit of parchment,’ he shrugged.

Snape turned it over, his eyes on Harry.

‘Surely you don’t need such a very old piece of parchment?’ he said. ‘Why don’t I just - throw this away?’

His hand moved towards the fire.

‘No!’ Harry said quickly.

‘So!’ said Snape, his long nostrils quivering. ‘Is this another treasured gift from Mr Weasley? Or is it - something else? A letter, perhaps, written in invisible ink? Or - instructions to get into Hogsmeade without passing the Dementors?’

Harry blinked. Snape’s eyes gleamed.

‘Let me see, let me see ...’ he muttered, taking out his wand and smoothing the map out on his desk. ‘Reveal your secret!’ he said, touching the wand to the parchment.

Nothing happened. Harry clenched his hands to stop them shaking.

‘Show yourself!’ Snape said, tapping the map sharply.

It stayed blank. Harry was taking deep, calming breaths.

‘Professor Severus Snape, master of this school, commands you to yield the information you conceal!’ Snape said, hitting the map with his wand.

As though an invisible hand was writing upon it, words appeared on the smooth surface of the map.

‘Mr Moony presents his compliments to Professor Snape, and begs him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people’s business.’

Snape froze. Harry stared, dumbstruck, at the message. But the map didn’t stop there. More writing was appearing beneath the first.

‘Mr Prongs agrees with Mr Moony, and would like to add that Professor Snape is an ugly git.’

It would have been very funny if the situation hadn’t been so serious. And there was more ...

‘Mr Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that an idiot like that ever became a Professor.’

Harry closed his eyes in horror. When he’d opened them, the map had had its last word.

‘Mr Wormtail bids Professor Snape good day, and advises him to wash his hair, the slimeball.’

Harry waited for the blow to fall.

‘So ...’ said Snape softly. ‘We’ll see about this ...’

He strode across to his fire, seized a fistful of glittering powder from ajar on the fireplace, and threw it into the flames.

‘Lupin!’ Snape called into the fire. ‘I want a word!’

Utterly bewildered, Harry stared at the fire. A large shape had appeared in it, revolving very fast. Seconds later, Professor Lupin was clambering out of the fireplace, brushing ash off his shabby robes.

‘You called, Severus?’ said Lupin mildly.

‘I certainly did,’ said Snape, his face contorted with fury as he strode back to his desk. ‘I have just asked Potter to empty his pockets. He was carrying this.’

Snape pointed at the parchment, on which the words of Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs were still shining. An odd, closed expression appeared on Lupin’s face.

‘Well?’ said Snape.

Lupin continued to stare at the map. Harry had the impression that Lupin was doing some very quick thinking.

‘Well?’ said Snape again. ‘This parchment is plainly full of Dark Magic. This is supposed to be your area of expertise, Lupin. Where do you imagine Potter got such a thing?’

Lupin looked up and, by the merest half glance in Harry’s direction, warned him not to interrupt.