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Prologue
Petunia Dursley had never liked Harry Potter. Of course, one reason was because he was a wizard. Another was how he was; he never tried to help anyone, never tried to make friends, and scared off anyone who managed to approach him. He was polite to all out-siders, but was a horrible person at heart. When my husband, Vernon and I found him on our doorstep; we decided to squeeze the magic out of him. However, when he was in third grade –we gave up; he had hang Dudley's pet rabbit, Flopper on the window frame. When we told him he was a wizard, he wasn't surprised, "I knew I was different, I knew I was special, I always know there was something." When we asked him if he had used magic before; he replied in a similar tone, "I can move things without touching them, I can make animals do what I want without training them, I can make bad things happen to people I don't like; I can make them hurt if I want to. Of course, we were forced to take him to places infested with freaks, afterward. He found great pleasure in spell books and brooms. He also had a twisted sense of justice; I didn't understand.
This one time, he saw a group of children bulling a … mudblood (I think the kids called it that.) and tortured them with an illegal spell. I remember this spell because I have also fell victim to it – crucio. I group of their officers came to pick him up, but the moment they saw his scar - they all left without another word.
The first year he returned from the school. He pleasantly told us he was given special privileges, because his magic surpassed most all the fifth years. He didn't take Defense against the Dark Arts or Charms, instead he would spend long hours in the library's restricted section. He also seduced that Marian Fortword; the daughter of the duchess of France was a witch (mudblood) and his friend. "She actually started making everyone called muggle-borns, mudblood; like a new trend" He had stated in a hasty voice. "I suspect the some of the Slytherin are thinking of new nick-names for them."
Last year, he returned saying he skipped to Year Five, potions. He told us he was part of the heir of Slytherin and could control giant, sight killing snakes, called Basilisks. I still wonder what part of the heir means, but decided not to question it.
Chapter One: Sirius
I was scouting the perimeter of Harry's Uncle's House, when I flittering thud escaped the kitchen window. I responded with panic barking, but to my great relief- Harry walked out of the house; he had a look of bitter boredom. On instinct I quickly clamed into the nearest bush and watched him as he logged his truck out on to the wet street. The younger cousin, Dudley chased after him, adroitly asking him to be safe before demanding chocolate frogs on his return. I followed him at a distance; secretly hoping he would bring me along as his new pet. He sat down on a side-walk, a few miles away from the Dusleys house, thinking. It was a few minutes before he looked up and stared straight at me. He walked out and began ramming though the bush, where I was hiding. I eagerly walked forward and allowed him to pet me. "Are you lost?" he inquired. I snuggled up against him. He feed me some of the muggle food in his bag; which was quiet good and walked away. I continued to follow him for hours, forcing him to stop from time to time, in order to stroke me away. He even made a run for it a few times before he realized I was faster. At last he asked, "Do you want to come with me?" Long have I forgotten happiness, the idea might have seen hopeless a few weeks back, but I wagged my tail and jumped up the show it. He seemed grim, but none the less took me in.
After a few more hours, he yell, and rolled back onto the pavement. A gigantic pair of wheels and headlights screeched to a halt exactly where Harry had just been lying. They belonged, as Harry saw when he raised his head, to a triple-decker, violently purple bus, which had appeared out of thin air. Gold lettering over the windshield spelled The Knight Bus. A conductor in a purple uniform leapt out of the bus and began to speak loudly to the night. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board) and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this eve -"
The conductor stopped abruptly. He had just caught sight of "Harry, who was still sitting on the ground. Harry snatched up his wand again and scrambled to his feet. Close up, he saw that Stan Shunpike was only a few years older than he was, eighteen or nineteen at most, with large, protruding ears and quite a few pimples.
"What were you doin' down there?" said Stan, dropping his professional manner.
Harry stared at him coldly that would quickly sent shivers down anyone's spine. (Never thought Harry could look so menacing.)
His eyes went down to the knees in his jeans that were torn, and the hand he had thrown out to break his fall was bleeding.
He looked a-round at Stan, whose mouth was slightly open. With a feeling of unease, Harry saw Stan's eyes move to the scar on Harry's forehead.
"Woss that on your 'ead?" said Stan abruptly.
"Nothing," said Harry quickly, flattening his hair over his scar.
"Woss your name?" Stan persisted.
"Neville Scotford," said Harry, glaring again. Wondering why Harry would bother giving a different name, I bunkered and rubbed against him. "So this bus," he went on quickly, hoping to distract Stan, "did you say it goes anywhere?"
"Yep," said Stan stud, "anywhere you like, long's it's on land. Can't do nuffink underwater. "
"Listen, how much would it be to get to Wiltshire?"
"Eleven Sickles," said Stan, then added suspiciously, "But, they Malfoy's own, all the land."
Harry rummaged once more in his trunk, extracted his money bag, and shoved some gold into Stan's hand. He and Stan then lifted his trunk, with Hedwig's cage balanced on top, up the steps of the bus, the black dog jumping humbly at his side.
There were no seats; instead, half a dozen brass bedsteads stood beside the curtained windows. Candles were burning in brackets beside each bed, illuminating the wood-paneled walls. A tiny wizard in a nightcap at the rear of the bus muttered, "Not now, thanks, I'm pickling some slugs" and rolled over in his sleep.
"You 'ave this one," Stan whispered, shoving Harry's trunk under the bed right behind the driver, who was sitting in an armchair in front of the steering wheel. "This is our driver, Ernie Prang. This is Neville Scotford."
Ernie Prang, an elderly wizard wearing very thick glasses, nodded to Harry.
"Take 'er away, Ern," said Stan, sitting down in the armchair next toErnie's. There was another tremendous BANG, and the next moment Harry found himself flat on his bed, thrown backward by the speed of the Knight Bus. Pulling himself up, Harry stared out of the dark window and saw that they were now bowling along a completely different street. Stan was watching Harry's stunned face with great enjoyment.
"This is where we was before you flagged us down," he said. "Where are we, Ern? Somewhere in Wales?"
"Ar," said Ernie.
"How come the Muggles don't hear the bus?" said Harry.
"Them!" said Stan contemptuously. "Don' listen properly, do they? Don' look properly either. Never notice nuffink, they don'."
"Best go wake up Madam Marsh, Stan," said Ern. "We'll be in Abergavenny in a minute."
Stan passed Harry's bed and disappeared up a narrow wooden staircase. Harry was still looking out of the window, feeling increasingly nervous. Ernie didn't seem to have mastered the use of a steering wheel. The Knight Bus kept mounting the pavement, but it didn't hit anything; lines of lampposts, mailboxes, and trash cans jumped out of its way as it approached and back into position once it had passed. Stan came back downstairs, followed by a faintly green witch wrapped in a traveling cloak. "'Ere you go, Madam Marsh," said Stan happily as Ern stamped on the brake and the beds slid a foot or so toward the front of the bus. Madam Marsh clamped a handkerchief to her mouth and tottered down the steps. Stan threw her bag out after her and rammed the doors shut; there was another loud BANG, and they were thundering down a narrow country lane, trees leaping out of the way.
Harry wouldn't have been able to sleep even if he had been traveling on a bus that didn't keep banging loudly and jumping a hundred miles at a time. His stomach churned as he fell back to wondering what was going to happen to him, and whether the Dursleys had managed to get Aunt Marge off the ceiling yet.
Stan had unfurled a copy of the Daily Prophet and was now reading with his tongue between his teeth. A large photograph of a sunken-faced man with long, matted hair blinked slowly at Harry from the front page. He looked strangely familiar.
"That man!" Harry said, forgetting his troubles for a moment. "He was on the Muggle news!" Stanley turned to the front page and chuckled. "Sirius Black," he said, nodding. "'Course 'e was on the Muggle news, where you been?"
He gave a superior sort of chuckle at the blank look on Harry's face, removed the front page, and handed it to Harry.
"You oughta read the papers more, eh whats your name?"
Ignoring him, Harry held the paper up to the candlelight and read:
BLACK STILL AT LARGE
Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic
confirmed today.
"We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we beg the magical community to remain calm." Fudge has been criticized by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.
"Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an irritable Fudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle.
I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it-who'd believe him if he did?"
While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.
Harry looked into the shadowed eyes of Sirius Black, the only part of the sunken face that seemed alive. Harry had never met a vampire, but he had seen pictures of them in his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, and Black, with his waxy white skin, looked just like one.
"Scary-lookin' fing, inee?" said Stan, who had been watching Harry read. "He murdered thirteen people?" said Harry, handing the page back to Stan, "with one curse?" "Yep," said Stan, "in front of witnesses an' all. Broad daylight. Big trouble it caused, dinnit, Ern?" "Ar," said Ern darkly. Stan swiveled in his armchair, his hands on the back, the better to look at Harry.
"Black woz a big supporter of You-Know-'Oo," he said. Bark! The black dog had hit Stan on the botux and whined into Harrys arms.
"What, Voldemort?" said Harry, without thinking gripping the dog.
Even Stan's pimples went white; Ern jerked the steering wheel so hard that a whole farmhouse had to jump aside to avoid the bus.
"You outta your tree?" yelped Stan. "'Choo say 'is name for?"
"Sorry," said Harry hastily. "Sorry, I - I forgot -"
"Forgot!" said Stan weakly. "Blimey, my 'eart's goin' that fast ..."
"So - so Black was a supporter of You-Know-Who?" Harry prompted apologetically.
"Yeah," said Stan, still rubbing his chest. "Yeah, that's right. Very close to You-Know-'Oo, they say. Anyway, when little 'Arry Potter got
the better of You-Know-'Oo -"
Harry nervously flattened his bangs down again.
"- all You-Know-'Oo's supporters was tracked down, wasn't they, Ern?
Most of 'em knew it was all over, wiv You-Know-'Oo gone, and they came quiet. But not Sirius Black. I 'eard he thought 'e'd be second-in-command once You-Know-'Oo 'ad taken over. "Anyway, they cornered Black in the middle of a street full of Muggles an' Black took out 'is wand and 'e blasted 'alf the street apart, an' a wizard got it, an' so did a dozen Muggles what got in the way. 'Orrible, eh? An' you know what Black did then?" Stan continued in a dramatic whisper.
"What?" said Harry.
"Laughed," said Stan. "Jus' stood there an' laughed. An' when reinforcements from the Ministry of Magic got there, I 'e went wiv em quiet as anyfink, still laughing 'is 'ead off. 'Cos 'e's mad, inee, Ern? Inee mad?"
"If he weren't when he went to Azkaban, he will be now," said Ern in his slow voice. "I'd blow meself up before I set foot in that place. Serves him right, mind you ... after what he did..."
"They 'ad a job coverin' it up, din' they, Ern?" Stan said. "'Ole street blown up an' all them Muggles dead. What was it they said ad 'appened, Ern?"
"Gas explosion," grunted Ernie.
"An' now 'e's out," said Stan, examining the newspaper picture of Black's gaunt face again. "Never been a breakout from Azkaban before, 'as there, Ern? Beats me 'ow 'e did it. Frightenin', eh? Mind, I don't fancy 'is chances against them Azkaban guards, eh, Ern?"
Ernie suddenly shivered. "Talk about summat else, Stan, there's a good lad. Them Azkaban guards give me the collywobbles." Stan put the paper away reluctantly, and Harry leaned against the window of the Knight Bus "Right then, Neville," said Stan, clapping his hands, Leaky Calderon next, Ernie."
"Righto," said Stan. "'Old tight, then."
BANG.
They were thundering along Charing Cross Road. Harry sat up and watched buildings and benches squeezing themselves out of the Knight Bus's way. The sky was getting a little lighter. He would lie low for a couple of hours, go to Gringotts the. moment it opened, then set off - where, he didn't know.
Ern slammed on the brakes and the Knight Bus skidded to a halt in front of a small and shabby- looking pub, the Leaky Cauldron, behind which lay the magical entrance to Diagon Alley.
"Need fresh air," Harry said to Ern.
He jumped down the steps and helped Stan lower a thick black trunk onto the pavement.
"Well," said Harry. "Done."
But Stan wasn't paying attention. Still standing in the doorway to the bus) he was goggling at the shadowy entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. "There you are, Harry," said a voice. Before Harry could turn, he felt a hand on his shoulder. At the same time, Stan shouted, "Blimey! Ern, come 'ere! Come 'ere I" Harry looked up at the owner of the hand on his shoulder and felt a bucketful of ice cascade into his stomach - he had walked right into Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself.
Fudge was frowning, but replayed "well, I'm very glad the Knight Bus picked Harry up, but he and I need to step inside the Leaky Cauldron now..."
Stan leapt onto the pavement beside them.
"What didja call Neville, Minister?" he said excitedly.
Fudge, a portly little man in a long, pinstriped cloak, looked cold andexhausted.
"Neville?" he repeated, frowning. "This is Harry Potter."
"I knew it!" Stan shouted gleefully. "Ern! Ern! Guess 'oo Neville is, Ern! 'E's 'Arry Potter! I can see 'is scar!"
Fudge increased the pressure on Harry's shoulder, and Harry found himself being steered inside the pub. A stooping figure bearing a lantern appeared through the door behind the bar. It was Tom, the wizened, toothless landlord.
"You've got him, Minister!" said Tom. "Will you be wanting anything?
Beer? Brandy?"
"Perhaps a pot of tea," said Fudge, who still hadn't let go of Harry. There was a loud scraping and puffing from behind them, and Stan and Ern appeared, carrying Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage and looking around excitedly.
"And a private parlor, please, Tom," said Fudge pointedly.
Bye," Harry said miserably to Stan and Ern as Tom beckoned Fudge toward the passage that led from the bar.
Fudge marched Harry along the narrow passage after Tom's lantern, and then into a small parlor. Tom clicked his fingers, a fire burst into life in the grate, and he bowed himself out of the room. "Sit down, Harry," said Fudge, indicating a chair by the fire. Harry sat down, feeling goose bumps rising up his arms despite the glow of the fire. Fudge took off his pinstriped cloak and tossed it aside, then hitched up the trousers of his bottle-green suit and sat down opposite Harry.
"I am Cornelius Fudge, Harry. The Minister of Magic." Harry already knew this, of course; he had seen Fudge once before, but as he had been wearing his father's Invisibility Cloak at the time, Fudge wasn't to know that.
Tom the innkeeper reappeared, wearing an apron over his nightshirt and bearing a tray of tea and crumpets. He placed the tray on a table between Fudge and Harry and left the parlor, closing the door behind him.
"Well, Harry," said Fudge, pouring out tea, "you've had us all in a right flap, I don't mind telling you. Running away from your aunt and uncle's house like that! I'd started to think... but you're safe, and that's what matters." Fudge buttered himself a crumpet and pushed the plate toward Harry.
"Eat, Harry, you look dead on your feet. Now then... Fudge smiled at Harry over the rim of his teacup, rather like an uncle surveying a favorite nephew. Harry, who couldn't believe his ears, opened his mouth to speak, couldn't think of anything to say, and closed it again.
Harry stared strangely at Fudge, as if no knowing how to reply, "I didn't run away, sir. I was going to visit a friend."
Fudge looked confused as well and the silence continued, until…
Malfoy stepped into the shop.
The man who followed could only be Draco's father. He had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold, gray eyes. Mr. Malfoy crossed the room, looking lazily at the surrounding paintings. "Cornelius, Potter was on his way to visit my house. I apologize for my son's unthoughtfulness."
The Minister smiled waved Harry and Mr. Malfoy out. Once outside, introduced himself as Lucius Malfoy and gripping Harry's wrest leaned over to reveal his scar.
Located off a "narrow lane," the entrance to the grounds of the mansion is grand indeed. A high, manicured yew hedge borders the driveway on both sides. The driveway is perfectly straight, running through wrought-iron gates and straight up to the front door. Though we never see the rest of the grounds, there are hints of an expansive landscape: the garden has a fountain and albino peacocks roam the lawns.
Inside the house is no different - "sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet" and "ornate," "gilded" furnishings. There is a large entrance hall with a door that leads directly into the drawing room, filled with pictures of past generations. None smiling, as Harry past by.
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