Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban Read Online
Chapter 1 Owl Post
Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. For one matter, he hated the summertime holidays more than any other time of twelvemonth. For another, he really wanted to do his homework but was forced to practice information technology in secret, in the dead of dark. And he also happened to be a wizard.
It was near midnight, and he was lying on his tum in bed, the blankets fatigued right over his head like a tent, a flashlight in 1 hand and a large leather-bound book (A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot) propped open confronting the pillow. Harry moved the tip of his eagle-feather quill down the page, frowning equally he looked for something that would assistance him write his essay, 'Witch Burning in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless -- talk over. '
The quill paused at the pinnacle of a probable looking paragraph. Harry pushed his round spectacles upward the span of his nose, moved his flashlight closer to the book, and read:
Non-magic people (more than unremarkably known as Muggles) were peculiarly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very adept at recognizing it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a existent witch or wizard, burning had no result whatsoever. The witch or magician would perform a basic Flame-Freezing Amuse and then pretend to shriek with hurting while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed beingness burned so much that she allowed herself to be caught no less than forty-seven times in various disguises.
Harry put his quill between his teeth and reached underneath his pillow for his inkbottle and a scroll of parchment. Slowly and very carefully he unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped his quill into it, and began to write, pausing every now and so to heed, because if whatsoever of the Dursleys heard the scratching of his quill on their fashion to the bathroom, he'd probably find himself locked in the cupboard under the stairs for the rest of the summer.
The Dursley family of Number Four, Privet Bulldoze, was the reason that Harry never enjoyed his summer holidays. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and their son, Dudley, were Harry'south only living relatives. They were Muggles, and they had a very medieval attitude toward magic. Harry'southward expressionless parents, who had been a witch and wizard themselves, were never mentioned under the Dursleys' roof. For years, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had hoped that if they kept Harry equally downtrodden as possible, they would be able to squash the magic out of him. To their fury, they had not been unsuccessful. These days they lived in terror of anyone finding out that Harry had spent nigh of the last two years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The nigh they could do, yet, was to lock abroad Harry's spell books, wand, cauldron, and broomstick at the first of the summer break, and forbid him to talk to the neighbors.
This separation from his spell books had been a real trouble for Harry, because his teachers at Hogwarts had given him a lot of holiday work. One of the essays, a peculiarly nasty one most shrinking potions, was for Harry'due south least favorite teacher, Professor Snape, who would exist delighted to have an alibi to requite Harry detention for a calendar month. Harry had therefore seized his adventure in the first week of the holidays. While Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley had gone out into the front garden to admire Uncle Vernon's new company auto (in very loud voices, so that the remainder of the street would notice it too), Harry had crept downstairs, picked the lock on the cupboard under the stairs, grabbed some of his books, and hidden them in his bedroom. As long as he didn't go out spots of ink on the sheets, the Dursleys need never know that he was studying magic by nighttime.
Harry was especially swell to avert problem with his aunt and uncle at the moment, every bit they were already in an especially bad mood with him, all because he'd received a phone call from a fellow wizard one calendar week into the school vacation.
Ron Weasley, who was i of Harry's best friends at Hogwarts, came from a whole family of wizards. This meant that he knew a lot of things Harry didn't, but had never used a telephone before. Most unluckily, it had been Uncle Vernon who had answered the call.
"Vernon Dursley speaking. "
Harry, who happened to exist in the room at the time, froze equally he heard Ron'southward voice reply.
"Hi? Hullo? CAN You HEAR ME? I -- WANT -- TO -- TALK -- TO -- HARRY -- POTTER!"
Ron was yelling and then loudly that Uncle Vernon jumped and held the receiver a human foot away from his ear, staring at it with an expression of mingled fury and alarm.
"WHO IS THIS?" he roared in the direction of the mouthpiece. "WHO ARE YOU?"
"RON -- WEASLEY!" Ron bellowed back, as though he and Uncle Vernon were speaking from opposite ends of a football field. "I'M -- A -- FRIEND -- OF -- HARRY'S -- FROM -- SCHOOL --"
Uncle Vernon's small eyes swiveled around to Harry, who was rooted to the spot.
"In that location IS NO HARRY POTTER Hither!" he roared, now holding the receiver at arm's length, as though frightened it might explode. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT School YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT! NEVER CONTACT ME Once again! DON'T YOU COME Virtually MY FAMILY!"
And he threw the receiver back onto the telephone as if dropping a poisonous spider.
The fight that had followed had been one of the worst e'er.
"HOW Dare You lot Requite THIS NUMBER TO PEOPLE Like -- PEOPLE LIKE Y'all!" Uncle Vernon had roared, spraying Harry with spit.
Ron plainly realized that he'd gotten Harry into trouble, considering he hadn't called again. Harry's other best friend from Hogwarts, Hermione Granger, hadn't been in touch either. Harry suspected that Ron had warned Hermione not to phone call, which was a pity, because Hermione, the cleverest witch in Harry'south twelvemonth, had Muggle parents, knew perfectly well how to utilize a telephone, and would probably take had enough sense non to say that she went to Hogwarts.
Then Harry had had no word from any of his wizarding friends for 5 long weeks, and this summer was turning out to be almost as bad as the final one. There was only ane very small improvement -- after swearing that he wouldn't use her to send letters to any of his friends, Harry had been allowed to let his owl, Hedwig, out at night. Uncle Vernon had given in because of the racket Hedwig made if she was locked in her muzzle all the time.
Harry finished writing about Wendelin the Weird and paused to mind again. The silence in the night firm was broken only past the distant, grunting snores of his enormous cousin, Dudley. It must be very tardily, Harry thought. His eyes were itching with tiredness. Perhaps he'd stop this essay tomorrow nighttime. . .
He replaced the top of the ink bottle; pulled an former pillowcase from nether his bed; put the flashlight, A History of Magic, his essay, quill, and ink within it; got out of bed; and hid the lot nether a loose floorboard nether his bed. Then he stood up, stretched, and checked the time on the luminous alarm clock on his bedside tabular array.
It was one o'clock in the morning time. Harry's tum gave a funny jolt. He had been thirteen years old, without realizing it, for a whole hour.
Yet another unusual thing most Harry was how little he looked forwards to his birthdays. He had never received a birthday card in his life. The Dursleys had completely ignored his terminal two birthdays, and he had no reason to suppose they would remember this one.
Harry walked across the dark room, past Hedwig'southward big, empty cage, to the open window. He leaned on the sill, the cool night air pleasant on his face after a long fourth dimension nether the blankets. Hedwig had been absent for two nights now. Harry wasn't worried well-nigh her: she'd been gone this long before. But he hoped she'd be back soon -- she was the only living fauna in this business firm who didn't flinch at the sight of him.
Harry, though even so rather small and skinny for his historic period, had grown a few inches over the last year. His jet-black hair, withal, was just as it ever had been -- stubbornly untidy, any he did to it. The eyes behind his spectacles were bright green, and on his forehead, clearly visible through his pilus, was a th
in scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning.
Of all the unusual things nearly Harry, this scar was the nigh extraordinary of all. It was not, as the Dursleys had pretended for ten years, a gift of the car crash that had killed Harry'southward parents, because Lily and James Potter had not died in a automobile crash. They had been murdered, murdered by the most feared Dark sorcerer for a hundred years, Lord Voldemort. Harry had escaped from the aforementioned attack with aught more than a scar on his forehead, where Voldemort'due south expletive, instead of killing him, had rebounded upon its originator. Barely alive, Voldemort had fled. . .
But Harry had come contiguous with him at Hogwarts. Remembering their last meeting as he stood at the dark window, Harry had to admit he was lucky even to have reached his thirteenth birthday.
He scanned the starry sky for a sign of Hedwig, perhaps soaring dorsum to him with a dead mouse dangling from her bill, expecting praise. Gazing absently over the rooftops, information technology was a few seconds before Harry realized what he was seeing.
Silhouetted against the gilt moon, and growing larger every moment, was a large, strangely lopsided creature, and it was flapping in Harry'south direction. He stood quite still, watching information technology sink lower and lower. For a split 2d he hesitated, his paw on the window latch, wondering whether to slam it shut. Only and so the bizarre creature soared over i of the street lamps of Privet Drive, and Harry, realizing what information technology was, leapt bated.
Through the window soared iii owls, 2 of them property up the 3rd, which appeared to be unconscious. They landed with a soft flump on Harry's bed, and the middle owl, which was large and gray, keeled right over and lay motionless. There was a big package tied to its legs.
Harry recognized the unconscious owl at once -- his name was Errol, and he belonged to the Weasley family. Harry dashed to the bed, untied the cords around Errol'due south legs, took off the parcel, and and then carried Errol to Hedwig'southward cage. Errol opened 1 membranous eye, gave a feeble hoot of thanks, and began to gulp some water.
Harry turned back to the remaining owls. One of them, the large snowy female, was his own Hedwig. She, as well, was conveying a parcel and looked extremely pleased with herself. She gave Harry an affectionate nip with her beak as he removed her burden, then flew across the room to join Errol.
Harry didn't recognize the third owl, a handsome tawny ane, but he knew at in one case where information technology had come from, because in addition to a third package, information technology was carrying a letter bearing the Hogwarts crest. When Harry relieved this owl of its burden, it ruffled its feathers importantly, stretched its wings, and took off through the window into the night.
Harry sat down on his bed and grabbed Errol's package, ripped off the chocolate-brown paper, and discovered a nowadays wrapped in gold and his showtime ever altogether card. Fingers trembling slightly, he opened the envelope. Two pieces of paper fell out -- a letter of the alphabet and a paper clipping.
The clipping had clearly come out of the wizarding paper, the Daily Prophet, because the people in the black-and-white picture were moving. Harry picked upwards the clipping, smoothed information technology out, and read:
MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS Yard PRIZE
Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, has won the almanac Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw.
A delighted Mr. Weasley told the Daily Prophet, "Nosotros will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our eldest son, Neb, works equally a curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank. "
The Weasley family will be spending a calendar month in Egypt, returning for the offset of the new schoolhouse year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children currently nourish.
Harry scanned the moving photograph, and a smiling spread across his face up equally he saw all nine of the Weasleys waving furiously at him, standing in front of a large pyramid. Plump little Mrs. Weasley; tall, balding Mr. Weasley; six sons; and i daughter, all (though the black-and-white picture didn't show it) with flaming-ruby-red hair. Right in the middle of the moving-picture show was Ron, tall and leggy, with his pet rat, Scabbers, on his shoulder and his arm effectually his little sister, Ginny.
Harry couldn't think of anyone who deserved to win a large pile of gilded more than than the Weasleys, who were very nice and extremely poor. He picked up Ron's letter of the alphabet and unfolded it.
Dear Harry,
Happy birthday!
Look, I'm really sorry most that telephone telephone call. I promise the Muggles didn't requite you a hard fourth dimension. I asked Dad, and he reckons I shouldn't have shouted.
It'due south amazing hither in Egypt. Bill'due south taken us effectually all the tombs and y'all wouldn't believe the curses those old Egyptian wizards put on them. Mum wouldn't allow Ginny come in the last 1. There were all these mutant skeletons in there, of Muggles who'd cleaved in and grown extra heads and stuff.
I couldn't believe information technology when Dad won the Daily Prophet Draw. Seven hundred galleons! Virtually of it's gone on this trip, only they're going to buy me a new wand for next year.
Harry remembered only too well the occasion when Ron'due south sometime wand had snapped. It had happened when the motorcar the 2 of them had been flying to Hogwarts had crashed into a tree on the school grounds.
We'll exist back about a calendar week before term starts and we'll exist going up to London to get my wand and our new books. Whatsoever risk of meeting you there?
Don't let the Muggles get you down!
Endeavour and come to London,
Ron
P. Due south. Percy'south Head Boy. He got the letter last week.
Harry glanced dorsum at the photograph. Percy, who was in his 7th and last yr at Hogwarts, was looking especially smug. He had pinned his Head Male child badge to the fez perched jauntily on peak of his cracking hair, his horn-rimmed glasses flashing in the Egyptian lord's day.
Harry now turned to his present and unwrapped it. Inside was what looked like a miniature drinking glass spinning summit. There was another note from Ron beneath it.
Harry -- this is a Pocket Sneakoscope. If there'due south someone untrustworthy around, information technology's supposed to light upwards and spin. Beak says it's rubbish sold for wizard tourists and isn't reliable, considering it kept lighting upward at dinner last night. But he didn't realize Fred and George had put beetles in his soup.
Bye -- Ron
Harry put the Pocket Sneakoscope on his bedside table, where it stood quite nonetheless, counterbalanced on its bespeak, reflecting the luminous hands of his clock. He looked at information technology happily for a few seconds, and then picked up the parcel Hedwig had brought.
Within this, too, at that place was a wrapped present, a carte du jour, and a letter of the alphabet, this time from Hermione.
Dear Harry,
Ron wrote to me and told me about his phone call to your Uncle Vernon. I do hope yous're all correct.
I'1000 on holiday in France at the moment and I didn't know how I was going to send this to you -- what if they'd opened it at customs? -- but so Hedwig turned up! I recall she wanted to make sure you got something for your birthday for a change. I bought your present past owl-order; there was an advertizing in the Daily Prophet (I've been getting it delivered; it's and so good to keep upwardly with what'south going on in the wizarding globe), Did you see that pic of Ron and his family a week ago? I bet he'due south learning loads. I'thou really jealous -- the ancient Egyptian wizards were fascinating.
At that place's some interesting local history of witchcraft here, too. I've rewritten my whole History of Magic essay to include some of the things I've institute out, I hope it's not too long -- it's 2 rolls of parchment more than Professor Binns asked for.
Ron says he'due south going to be in London in the last week of the holidays. Can yous make it? Volition your aunt and uncle let you come? I really promise you can. If not, I'll see you on the Hogwarts Express on September beginning!
Beloved from
Hermione
P. S. Ron says Percy's Head Boy. I'll bet Percy'southward actually pleased. Ron doesn't seem too happy about it.
Harry laughed as he put Hermione'due south letter bated and picked up her present. Information technology was very heavy. Knowing Hermione, he was sure it would be a large volume full of very hard spells -- only it wasn't. His heart gave a huge bound as he ripped back the paper and saw a sleek blac
grand leather case, with silver words stamped across it, reading Broomstick Servicing Kit.
"Wow, Hermione!" Harry whispered, unzipping the case to look inside.
There was a large jar of Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish, a pair of gleaming silver Tail-Twig Clippers, a tiny brass compass to clip on your broom for long journeys, and a Handbook of Do-Information technology-Yourself Broomcare.
Apart from his friends, the affair that Harry missed most about Hogwarts was Quidditch, the most popular sport in the magical world -- highly dangerous, very exciting, and played on broomsticks. Harry happened to be a very adept Quidditch player; he had been the youngest person in a century to exist picked for i of the Hogwarts House teams. One of Harry's most prized possessions was his Nimbus Two One thousand racing broom.
Harry put the leather case aside and picked up his last parcel. He recognized the untidy scrawl on the dark-brown newspaper at in one case: this was from Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper. He tore off the top layer of paper and glimpsed something green and leathery, but before he could unwrap information technology properly, the parcel gave a foreign quiver, and whatever was within it snapped loudly -- as though it had jaws.
Harry froze. He knew that Hagrid would never send him annihilation unsafe on purpose, but then, Hagrid didn't have a normal person'southward view of what was dangerous. Hagrid had been known to befriend giant spiders, buy vicious, iii-headed dogs from men in pubs, and sneak illegal dragon eggs into his cabin.
Harry poked the parcel nervously. It snapped loudly again. Harry reached for the lamp on his bedside table, gripped it firmly in one paw, and raised it over his head, ready to strike. Then he seized the residual of the wrapping paper in his other mitt and pulled.
And out fell -- a book. Harry but had time to register its handsome dark-green cover, emblazoned with the golden championship The Monster Book of Monsters, before it flipped onto its edge and scuttled sideways along the bed like some weird crab.
"Uh-oh," Harry muttered.
The volume toppled off the bed with a loud clunk and shuffled rapidly across the room. Harry followed information technology stealthily. The volume was hiding in the night space nether his desk. Praying that the Dursleys were still fast comatose, Harry got down on his hands and knees and reached toward it.
"Ouch!"
The book snapped close on his manus and and then flapped past him, yet scuttling on its covers. Harry scrambled around, threw himself forwards, and managed to flatten it. Uncle Vernon gave a loud, sleepy grunt in the room side by side door.
Hedwig and Errol watched interestedly as Harry clamped the struggling book tightly in his artillery, hurried to his chest of drawers, and pulled out a chugalug, which he buckled tightly around information technology. The Monster Volume shuddered angrily, but could no longer flap and snap, then Harry threw it down on the bed and reached for Hagrid's carte.
Dearest Harry,
Happy Altogether!
Recall you might find this useful for next year. Won't say no more hither. Tell y'all when I come across you.
Promise the Muggles are treating y'all right.
All the best,
Hagrid
Information technology struck Harry every bit ominous that Hagrid thought a bitter book would come in useful, but he put Hagrid's card up side by side to Ron's and Hermione'due south, grin more broadly than ever. Now at that place was simply the letter of the alphabet from Hogwarts left.
Noticing that it was rather thicker than usual, Harry slit open up the envelope, pulled out the first page of parchment within, and read:
Dear Mr. Potter,
Please annotation that the new school year will brainstorm on September the first. The Hogwarts Express will go out from King's Cantankerous station, platform 9 and 3-quarters, at eleven o'clock.
3rd years are permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade on certain weekends. Please give the enclosed permission form to your parent or guardian to sign.
A list of books for adjacent year is enclosed.
Yours sincerely,
Professor M. McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry pulled out the Hogsmeade permission course and looked at information technology, no longer grinning. It would be wonderful to visit Hogsmeade on weekends; he knew it was an entirely wizarding village, and he had never set foot at that place. But how on earth was he going to persuade Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia to sign the form?
He looked over at the alarm clock. It was now ii o'clock in the morning.
Deciding that he'd worry about the Hogsmeade grade when he woke up, Harry got back into bed and reached upwards to cross off another solar day on the chart he'd made for himself, counting down the days left until his return to Hogwarts. Then he took off his glasses and lay down; optics open up, facing his three birthday cards.
Extremely unusual though he was, at that moment Harry Potter felt simply similar everyone else -- glad, for the first time in his life, that it was his birthday.
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