CHAPTER 1

Harry Potter was but eight years of age at that time, and it was only afterwards, and when he grew old enough to know more of the ins and outs of the matter, that he could remember by bits and pieces the things that afterwards happened; how one evening a knight came clattering into the court-yard upon a horse, red-nostrilled and smeared with the sweat and foam of a desperate ride—Sir Sirius Black, a dear friend of his father, Lord Potter.

Even though so young, Harry knew that something very serious had happened to make Sir Sirius so pale and haggard, and he dimly remembered leaning against the knight's iron-covered knees, looking up into his gloomy face, and asking him if he was sick to look so strange. Thereupon those who had been too troubled before to notice him, bethought themselves of him, and sent him to bed, rebellious at having to go so early.

He remembered how the next hour, looking out of a window high up under the eaves, he saw a great troop of horsemen come riding into the courtyard beneath, where a powdering of snow had whitened everything, and of how the leader, a familiar knight clad in black armor, dismounted and entered the great hall door-way below, followed by several of the band.

He remembered how some of the castle women were standing in a frightened group upon the landing of the stairs, talking together in low voices about a matter he did not understand, excepting that the armed men who had ridden into the courtyard wore the mark of Lord Voldemort, though leading them had been a friend of Lord Potter. None of the women paid any attention to him; so, shunning their notice, he ran off down the winding stairs, expecting every moment to be called back again by some one of them.

A crowd of castle people, all very serious and quiet, were gathered in the hall, where a number of strange men-at-arms lounged upon the benches, while two wizards in dark robes and white masks stood guarding the great door, the butts of their wands resting upon the ground, and the magical staves crossed, barring the door-way.

In the anteroom was the knight in black armor whom Harry had seen from the window. He was sitting at the table, his great helmet lying upon the bench beside him, and a quart beaker of butterbeer at his elbow. A clerk sat at the other end of the same table, with inkwell in one hand and quill in the other, and a parchment spread in front of him.

Lady Potter, the lady of the noble house, stood before the knight, who every now and then put to her a question, which the other would answer, and the clerk write the answer down upon the parchment.

His father stood with his back to the fireplace, looking down upon the floor with a great scowl, his brows drawn moodily together, and the scar of the great wound that he had received in a skirmish against a group of death eaters—a wound of branching lines like lightning—showing red across his forehead, as it always did when he was angered or troubled.

There was something about it all that frightened Harry, who crept to his father's side, and slid his little hand into the palm that hung limp and inert. In answer to the touch, his father grasped the hand tightly, but did not seem otherwise to notice that he was there. Neither did the black knight pay any attention to him, but continued putting his questions to Lady Potter.

Then, suddenly, there was a commotion in the hall without, loud voices, and a hurrying here and there. The black knight half arose, grasping a heavy wand of chestnut wood that lay upon the bench beside him, and the next moment Sir Sirius Black, as pale as death, ran into the antechamber. "Run, James, he meanest to kill Harry!"

Harry's father, lacking a wand, thrust him towards the door. "I yield me to my Lord's grace and mercy, only spare my son," said he to the black knight, and they were the last words he ever uttered in this world.

The black knight shouted out some words of command, and swinging up the tall wand in his hand, strode forward clanking towards Lord Potter, who raised his arm as though to shield himself from the blow. Two or three of those who stood in the hall without came running into the room with drawn swords and wands, and little Harry, crying out with terror, hid his face in his godfather's long robe.

The next instant came the sound of a blow and of a groan, then another blow and the sound of one falling upon the ground. Then came the sound of a shouted curse, and in the midst Sir Sirius crying, in a dreadful voice, "Thou traitor! thou coward! thou murderer!"

Lady Potter snatched Harry away from his godfather, and bore him out of the room in spite of his screams and struggles, and he remembered just one instant's sight of his father lying still and silent upon his face, and of the black knight standing above him, with the terrible wand in his hand and a dreadful light in his eyes.

It was that night that Lady Potter and Sir Sirius and little Harry, together with three of the more faithful of their people, left the castle.

His memory of past things held a picture for Harry of old Rubeus Hagrid standing over him in the silence of midnight with a lighted lamp in his hand, and with it a recollection of being bidden to hush when he would have spoken, and of being dressed by one of the house elves, bewildered with sleep, shuddering and chattering with cold.

He remembered being wrapped in the sheepskin that lay at the foot of his bed, and of being carried in Hagrid's arms down the silent darkness of the winding stair-way, with the great black giant shadows swaying and flickering upon the stone wall as the dull flame of the lamp swayed and flickered in the cold breathing of the night air.

Below were his mother and godfather and two or three others. A stranger stood warming his hands at a newly-made fire, and little Harry, as he peeped from out the warm sheepskin, saw that he was in riding-boots and was covered with mud. He did not know till long years afterwards that the stranger was a messenger sent by a friend at King Dumbledore's court, bidding his family fly for safety.

They who stood there by the red blaze of the fire were all very still, talking in whispers and walking on tiptoes, and Harry's mother hugged him in her arms, sheepskin and all, kissing him, with the tears streaming down her cheeks, and whispering to him, as though he could understand their trouble, that they were about to leave their home forever.

Then Hagrid carried him out into the strangeness of the winter midnight.

Outside, beyond the frozen moat, where the willows, stood stark and stiff in their winter nakedness, was a group of dark figures waiting for them with horses. In the pallid moonlight Harry recognized the well-known face of Remus Lupin, the Prior of St. Mary's.

After that came a long ride through that silent night upon the saddle-bow in front of Hagrid; then a deep, heavy sleep, that fell upon him in spite of the galloping of the horses.

When next he woke the sun was shining, and his home and his whole life were changed.