Joanne Murray - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Harry and Ron had given up asking her how she was managing to attend several classes at once, but they couldn’t restrain themselves when they saw the exam timetable she had drawn up for herself. The first column read:

MONDAY

9 o’clock, Arithmancy 9 o’clock, Transfiguration

Lunch

1 o’clock, Charms 1 o’clock, Ancient Runes

‘Hermione?’ Ron said cautiously, because she was liable to explode when interrupted these days. ‘Er - are you sure you’ve copied down these times right?’

‘What?’ snapped Hermione, picking up the exam timetable and examining it. ‘Yes, of course I have.’

‘Is there any point asking how you’re going to sit two exams at once?’ said Harry.

‘No,’ said Hermione shortly. ‘Has either of you seen my copy of Numerology and Grammatical’

‘Oh, yeah, I borrowed it for a bit of bedtime reading,’ said Ron, but very quietly. Hermione started shifting heaps of parchment around on her table, looking for the book. Just then, there was a rustle at the window and Hedwig fluttered through it, a note clutched tightly in her beak.

‘It’s from Hagrid,’ said Harry, ripping the note open. ‘Buckbeak’s appeal - it’s set for the sixth.’

‘That’s the day we finish our exams,’ said Hermione, still looking everywhere for her Arithmancy book.

‘And they’re coming up here to do it,’ said Harry, still reading from the letter. ‘Someone from the Ministry of Magic and - and an executioner.’

Hermione looked up, startled.

‘They’re bringing the executioner to the appeal! But that sounds as though they’ve already decided!’

‘Yeah, it does,’ said Harry slowly.

‘They can’t!’ Ron howled. ‘I’ve spent ages reading up stuff for him, they can’t just ignore it all!’

But Harry had a horrible feeling that the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures had had its mind made up for it by Mr Malfoy. Draco, who had been noticeably subdued since Gryffindor’s triumph in the Quidditch final, seemed to regain some of his old swagger over the next few days. From sneering comments Harry overheard, Malfoy was certain Buckbeak was going to be killed, and seemed thoroughly pleased with himself for bringing it about. It was all Harry could do to stop himself imitating Hermione and hitting Malfoy in the face on these occasions. And the worst thing of all was that they had no time or opportunity to go and see Hagrid, because the strict new security measures had not been lifted, and Harry didn’t dare retrieve his Invisibility Cloak from below the one-eyed witch.

*

Exam week began and an unnatural hush fell over the castle. The third-years emerged from Transfiguration at lunch-time on Monday limp and ashen-faced, comparing results and bemoaning the difficulty of the tasks they had been set, which had included turning a teapot into a tortoise. Hermione irritated the rest by fussing about how her tortoise had looked more like a turtle, which was the least of everyone else’s worries.

‘Mine still had a spout for a tail, what a nightmare ... ’

‘Were the tortoises supposed to breathe steam?’

‘It still had a willow-patterned shell, d’you think that’ll count against me?’

Then, after a hasty lunch, it was straight back upstairs for the Charms exam. Hermione had been right; Professor Flitwick did indeed test them on Cheering Charms. Harry slightly overdid his out of nerves and Ron, who was partnering him, ended up in fits of hysterical laughter and had to be led away to a quiet room for an hour before he was ready to perform the Charm himself. After dinner, the students hurried back to their common rooms, not to relax, but to start revising for Care of Magical Creatures, Potions and Astronomy.

Hagrid presided over the Care of Magical Creatures exam the following morning with a very preoccupied air indeed; his heart didn’t seem to be in it at all. He had provided a large tub of fresh Flobberworms for the class, and told them that, to pass the test, their Flobberworm had to still be alive at the end of one hour. As Flobberworms flourished best if left to their own devices, it was the easiest exam any of them had ever sat, and also gave Harry, Ron and Hermione plenty of opportunity to speak to Hagrid.

‘Beaky’s gettin’ a bit depressed,’ Hagrid told them, bending low on the pretence of checking that Harry’s Flobberworm was still alive. ‘Bin cooped up too long. But still ... we’ll know day after tomorrow - one way or the other.’

They had Potions that afternoon, which was an unqualified disaster. Try as Harry might, he couldn’t get his Confusing Concoction to thicken, and Snape, standing watching with an air of vindictive pleasure, scribbled something that looked suspiciously like a zero onto his notes before moving away.

Then came Astronomy at midnight, up on the tallest tower; History of Magic on Wednesday morning, in which Harry scribbled everything Florean Fortescue had ever told him about medieval witch hunts, while wishing he could have had one of Fortescue’s choco-nut sundaes with him in the stifling classroom. Wednesday afternoon meant Herbology, in the greenhouses under a baking hot sun; then back to the common room once more, with the backs of their necks sunburnt, thinking longingly of this time next day, when it would all be over.

Their second from last exam, on Thursday morning, was Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lupin had compiled the most unusual exam any of them had ever taken; a sort of obstacle course outside in the sun, where they had to wade across a deep paddling pool containing a Grindylow, cross a series of potholes full of Red Caps, squish their way across a patch of marsh, ignoring the misleading directions from a Hinkypunk, then climb into an old trunk and battle with a new Boggart.

‘Excellent, Harry,’ Lupin muttered, as Harry climbed out of the trunk, grinning. ‘Full marks.’

Flushed with his success, Harry hung around to watch Ron and Hermione. Ron did very well until he reached the Hinkypunk, which successfully confused him into sinking waist-high into the quagmire. Hermione did everything perfectly until she reached the trunk with the Boggart in it. After about a minute inside it, she burst out again, screaming.

‘Hermione!’ said Lupin, startled. ‘What’s the matter?’ ‘P-P-Professor McGonagall!’ Hermione gasped, pointing into the trunk. ‘Sh-she said I’d failed everything!’

It took a little while to calm Hermione down. When at last she had regained a grip on herself, she, Harry and Ron went back to the castle. Ron was still slightly inclined to laugh at Hermione’s Boggart, but an argument was averted by the sight that met them on the top of the steps.

Cornelius Fudge, sweating slightly in his pinstriped cloak, was standing there staring out at the grounds. He started at the sight of Harry.

‘Hello there, Harry!’ he said. ‘Just had an exam, I expect? Nearly finished?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry. Hermione and Ron, not being on speaking terms with the Minister for Magic, hovered awkwardly in the background.

‘Lovely day,’ said Fudge, casting an eye over the lake. ‘Pity ...

p ity ...’

He sighed deeply and looked down at Harry.

‘I’m here on an unpleasant mission, Harry. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures required a witness to the execution of a mad Hippogriff. As I needed to visit Hogwarts to check on the Black situation, I was asked to step in.’

‘Does that mean the appeal’s already happened?’ Ron interrupted, stepping forwards.

‘No, no, it’s scheduled for this afternoon,’ said Fudge, looking curiously at Ron.

‘Then you might not have to witness an execution at all!’ said Ron stoutly. ‘The Hippogriff might get off!’