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<bos><|context|>“Yer great puddin’ of a son don’ need fattenin’ any more, Dursley, don’ worry” He passed the sausages to Harry, who was so hungry he had never tasted anything so wonderful, but he still couldn’t take his eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, he said, “I’m sorry, but I still don’t really know who you are.” The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Call me Hagrid,” he said, “everyone does. an’ like I told yeh, I’m Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts – ye h’ll know all about Hogwarts, o’ course.” “Er – no,” said Harry. Hagrid looked shocked. “Sorry” Harry said quickly. “Sorry?” barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. “It’ s them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren’t gettin’ yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn’t even know abou’ Hogwarts, fer cryin’ out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learnt it all?” “All what?” asked Harry. “ALL WHAT?” Hagrid thundered. “Now wait jus’ one second!” He had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall. “Do you mean ter tell me,” he growled at the Dursleys, “that this boy – this boy! – knows noth in’ abou’ – about ANYTHING?” Harry thought this was going a bit far. He had been to school, after all, and his marks weren’t bad. “I know some things,” he said. “I can, you know, do maths and stuff.” But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, “About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents’ world .” “What world?” Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode. “DURSLEY!” he boomed. Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like “Mimblewimble” . Hagr id stared wildly at Harry. “But yeh must know about yer mum and dad,” he said. “I mean, they’re famous. You’re famous.” “What? My – my mum and dad weren’t famous, were they?” “Yeh don’ know … yeh don’ know …” Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Harry with a bewildered stare.<|quote|>“Yeh don’ know what yeh are?”</|quote|>he said finally. Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice. “Stop!” he commanded. “Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!” A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage. “You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! an’ you’ve kept it from him all these years?” “Kept what from me?” said Harry eagerly. “STOP! I FORBID YOU!” yelled Uncle Vernon in panic. Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror. “Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh,” said Hagrid. “Harry – yer a wizard.” There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard. “I’m a what? ” gasped Harry. “A wizard, o’ course,” said Hagrid , sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, “an’ a thumpin’ good’un, I’d say, once yeh’ve been trained up a bit. With a mum an’ dad like yours, what else would yeh be? an’ I reckon it’s abou’ time yeh read yer letter.” Harry stretched out his hand at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green to Mr H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. He pulled out the letter and read: HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards) Dear Mr Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress Questions exploded inside Harry’s he ad like fireworks and he couldn’t decide which to ask first. After a few minutes he stammered, “What does it mean, they await my owl?” “Gallopin’ Gorgons, that reminds me,” said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl – a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl – a long quill and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note which Harry could read upside-down: Dear Mr Dumbledore, Given Harry his letter. Taking him to buy his things tomorrow. Weather’s horrible. Hope you’re well. Hagrid Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door and threw th e owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone. Harry realised his mouth was open and closed it quickly.<|speaker|>Hagrid<eos> | <bos><|context|>“Yer great puddin’ of a son don’ need fattenin’ any more, Dursley, don’ worry” He passed the sausages to Harry, who was so hungry he had never tasted anything so wonderful, but he still couldn’t take his eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, he said, “I’m sorry, but I still don’t really know who you are.” The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Call me Hagrid,” he said, “everyone does. an’ like I told yeh, I’m Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts – ye h’ll know all about Hogwarts, o’ course.” “Er – no,” said Harry. Hagrid looked shocked. “Sorry” Harry said quickly. “Sorry?” barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. “It’ s them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren’t gettin’ yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn’t even know abou’ Hogwarts, fer cryin’ out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learnt it all?” “All what?” asked Harry. “ALL WHAT?” Hagrid thundered. “Now wait jus’ one second!” He had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall. “Do you mean ter tell me,” he growled at the Dursleys, “that this boy – this boy! – knows noth in’ abou’ – about ANYTHING?” Harry thought this was going a bit far. He had been to school, after all, and his marks weren’t bad. “I know some things,” he said. “I can, you know, do maths and stuff.” But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, “About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents’ world .” “What world?” Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode. “DURSLEY!” he boomed. Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like “Mimblewimble” . Hagr id stared wildly at Harry. “But yeh must know about yer mum and dad,” he said. “I mean, they’re famous. You’re famous.” “What? My – my mum and dad weren’t famous, were they?” “Yeh don’ know … yeh don’ know …” Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Harry with a bewildered stare.<|quote|>“Yeh don’ know what yeh are?”</|quote|>he said finally. Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice. “Stop!” he commanded. “Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!” A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage. “You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! an’ you’ve kept it from him all these years?” “Kept what from me?” said Harry eagerly. “STOP! I FORBID YOU!” yelled Uncle Vernon in panic. Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror. “Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh,” said Hagrid. “Harry – yer a wizard.” There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard. “I’m a what? ” gasped Harry. “A wizard, o’ course,” said Hagrid , sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, “an’ a thumpin’ good’un, I’d say, once yeh’ve been trained up a bit. With a mum an’ dad like yours, what else would yeh be? an’ I reckon it’s abou’ time yeh read yer letter.” Harry stretched out his hand at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green to Mr H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. He pulled out the letter and read: HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards) Dear Mr Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress Questions exploded inside Harry’s he ad like fireworks and he couldn’t decide which to ask first. After a few minutes he stammered, “What does it mean, they await my owl?” “Gallopin’ Gorgons, that reminds me,” said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl – a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl – a long quill and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note which Harry could read upside-down: Dear Mr Dumbledore, Given Harry his letter. Taking him to buy his things tomorrow. Weather’s horrible. Hope you’re well. Hagrid Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door and threw th e owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone. Harry realised his mouth was open and closed it quickly.<|speaker|> | Hagrid |
<bos><|context|>Malfoy let out a terrible scream and bolted – so did Fang. The hooded figure raised its head and looked right at Harry – unicorn blood was dribbling down its front. It got to its feet and came swiftly towards him – he couldn’t move for fear. Then a pain pierced his head like he’d never felt before, it was as though his scar was on fire – half-blinded, he staggered backwards. He heard hooves behind him, galloping , and something jumped clean over him, charging at the figure. The pain in Harry’s head was so bad he fell to his knees. It took a minute or two to pass. When he looked up, the figure had gone. A centaur was standing over him, not Ronan or Bane; this one looked younger; he had white-blond hair and a palomino body. “Are you all right?” said the centaur, pulling Harry to his feet. “Yes – thank you – what was that?” The centaur didn’t answer. He had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale sapphires. He looked carefully at Harry, his eyes lingering on the scar which stood out, livid, on Harry’s forehead. “You are the Potter boy,” he said. “You had better get back to Hagrid. The Forest is not safe at this time – especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way. “My name is Firenze,” he added, as he lowered himself on to his front legs so that Harry could clamber on to his back. There was suddenly a sound of more galloping from the other side of the clearing. Ronan and Bane came bursting through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty. “Firenze!” Bane thundered. “What are you doing? You have a human on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?” “Do you realise who this is?” said Firenze. “This is the Potter boy. The quicker he leaves this Forest, the better.” “What have you been telling him?” growled Bane. “Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?” Ronan pawed the ground nervously. “I’m sure Firenze thought he was ac ting for the best,” he said, in his gloomy voice. Bane kicked his back legs in anger. “For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our Forest!”<|quote|>Firenze suddenly reared on to his hi nd legs in anger, so that Harry had to grab his shoulders to stay on.</|quote|>“Do you not see that unicorn?” Firenze bellowed at Bane. “Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this Forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must.” And Firenze whisked around; with Harry clutching on as best he could, they plunged off into the tr ees, leaving Ronan and Bane behind them. Harry didn’t have a clue what was going on. “Why’s Bane so angry?” he asked. “What was that thing you saved me from, anyway?” Firenze slowed to a walk, warned Harry to keep his head bowed in case of low-hanging branches but did not answer Harry’s question. They made their way through the trees in silence for so long that Harry thought Firenze didn’t want to talk to him any more. They were passing through a particularly dens e patch of trees, however, when Firenze suddenly stopped. “Harry Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?” “No,” said Harry, startled by the odd question. “We’ve only used the horn and tail-hair in Potions.” “That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn,” said Firenze. “Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenceless to save yourself and you will have but a half life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips.” Harry stared at the back of Firenze’s head, which was dappled silver in the moonlight. “But who’d be that desperate?” he wondered aloud. “If you’re going to be cursed for ever, death’s better, isn’t it?” “It is,” Firenze agreed, “unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else – something that will bring you back to full strength and power – something that will mean you can never die. Mr Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?” “The Philosopher’s Stone! Of course – the Elixir of Life! But I don’t understand who –” “Can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?” It was as though an iron fist had clenched suddenly around Harry’s heart. Over the rustling of the trees, he seemed to hear once more what Hagrid had told him on the night they had met:<|speaker|><|No speaker|><eos> | <bos><|context|>Malfoy let out a terrible scream and bolted – so did Fang. The hooded figure raised its head and looked right at Harry – unicorn blood was dribbling down its front. It got to its feet and came swiftly towards him – he couldn’t move for fear. Then a pain pierced his head like he’d never felt before, it was as though his scar was on fire – half-blinded, he staggered backwards. He heard hooves behind him, galloping , and something jumped clean over him, charging at the figure. The pain in Harry’s head was so bad he fell to his knees. It took a minute or two to pass. When he looked up, the figure had gone. A centaur was standing over him, not Ronan or Bane; this one looked younger; he had white-blond hair and a palomino body. “Are you all right?” said the centaur, pulling Harry to his feet. “Yes – thank you – what was that?” The centaur didn’t answer. He had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale sapphires. He looked carefully at Harry, his eyes lingering on the scar which stood out, livid, on Harry’s forehead. “You are the Potter boy,” he said. “You had better get back to Hagrid. The Forest is not safe at this time – especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way. “My name is Firenze,” he added, as he lowered himself on to his front legs so that Harry could clamber on to his back. There was suddenly a sound of more galloping from the other side of the clearing. Ronan and Bane came bursting through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty. “Firenze!” Bane thundered. “What are you doing? You have a human on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?” “Do you realise who this is?” said Firenze. “This is the Potter boy. The quicker he leaves this Forest, the better.” “What have you been telling him?” growled Bane. “Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?” Ronan pawed the ground nervously. “I’m sure Firenze thought he was ac ting for the best,” he said, in his gloomy voice. Bane kicked his back legs in anger. “For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our Forest!”<|quote|>Firenze suddenly reared on to his hi nd legs in anger, so that Harry had to grab his shoulders to stay on.</|quote|>“Do you not see that unicorn?” Firenze bellowed at Bane. “Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this Forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must.” And Firenze whisked around; with Harry clutching on as best he could, they plunged off into the tr ees, leaving Ronan and Bane behind them. Harry didn’t have a clue what was going on. “Why’s Bane so angry?” he asked. “What was that thing you saved me from, anyway?” Firenze slowed to a walk, warned Harry to keep his head bowed in case of low-hanging branches but did not answer Harry’s question. They made their way through the trees in silence for so long that Harry thought Firenze didn’t want to talk to him any more. They were passing through a particularly dens e patch of trees, however, when Firenze suddenly stopped. “Harry Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?” “No,” said Harry, startled by the odd question. “We’ve only used the horn and tail-hair in Potions.” “That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn,” said Firenze. “Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenceless to save yourself and you will have but a half life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips.” Harry stared at the back of Firenze’s head, which was dappled silver in the moonlight. “But who’d be that desperate?” he wondered aloud. “If you’re going to be cursed for ever, death’s better, isn’t it?” “It is,” Firenze agreed, “unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else – something that will bring you back to full strength and power – something that will mean you can never die. Mr Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?” “The Philosopher’s Stone! Of course – the Elixir of Life! But I don’t understand who –” “Can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?” It was as though an iron fist had clenched suddenly around Harry’s heart. Over the rustling of the trees, he seemed to hear once more what Hagrid had told him on the night they had met:<|speaker|> | <|No speaker|> |
<bos><|context|>It was Filch speaking to Mrs Norris. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at the other three to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently towards the door aw ay from Filch’s voice. Neville’s robes had barely whipped round th e corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room. “They’re in here somewhere,” they heard him mutter, “probably hiding.” “This way!” Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armour. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run – he tripped, gr abbed Ron around the waist and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armour. The clanging and crashing were en ough to wake the whole castle. “RUN!” Harry yelled and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following – they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead without any idea where they were or where they were going. They ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room. “I think we’ve lost him,” Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering. “I – told – you,” Hermione gasped, clut ching at the stitch in her chest. “I – told – you.” “We’ve got to get back to Gryffindor Tower,” said Ron, “quickly as possible.” “Malfoy tricked you,” Hermione said to Harry. “You realise that, don’t you? He was never going to meet you – Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off.” Harry thought she was probably righ t, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. “Let’s go.” It wasn’t going to be that simple. They hadn’t gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattl ed and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them. It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.<|quote|>“Shut up, Peeves – please – you’ll get us thrown out.”</|quote|>Peeves cackled. “Wandering around at midnight, ickle firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you’ll get caughty.” “Not if you don’t give us away, Peeves, please.” “Should tell Filch, I should,” said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. “It’s for your own good, you know.” “Get out of the way,” snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves – this was a big mistake. “STUDENTS OUT OF BED!” Peeves bellowed. “STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!” Ducking under Peeves they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor, where they slammed into a door – and it was locked. “This is it!” Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door. “We’re done for! This is the end!” They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could towards Peeves’s shouts. “Oh, move over,” Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry’s wand, tapped the lock and whispered, “Alohomora!” The lock clicked and the door swung open – they piled through it, shut it quickly and pressed their ears against it, listening. “Which way did they go, Peeves?” Filch was saying. “Quick, tell me.” “Say ‘please’.” “Don’t mess me about, Peeves, now where did they go? ” “Shan’t say nothing if you don’t say please,” said Peeves in his annoying sing-song voice. “All right – please.” “NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn’t say nothing if you didn’t say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!” And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage. “He thinks this door is locked,” Harry whispered. “I think we’ll be OK – get off, Neville!” For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry’s dressing-gown for the last minute. “What?” Harry turned around – and saw, qu ite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he’d walked into a ni ghtmare – this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far. They weren’t in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden. They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog which filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; thr ee drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs. It was standing quite still, all si x eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they we ren’t already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistakin g what those thunderous growls meant. Harry groped for the doorknob – between Filch and death, he’d take Filch. They fell backwards – Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the co rridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else because they didn’t see him anywhere, but they hardly cared – all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn’t stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.<|speaker|>Harry Potter<eos> | <bos><|context|>It was Filch speaking to Mrs Norris. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at the other three to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently towards the door aw ay from Filch’s voice. Neville’s robes had barely whipped round th e corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room. “They’re in here somewhere,” they heard him mutter, “probably hiding.” “This way!” Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armour. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run – he tripped, gr abbed Ron around the waist and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armour. The clanging and crashing were en ough to wake the whole castle. “RUN!” Harry yelled and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following – they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead without any idea where they were or where they were going. They ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room. “I think we’ve lost him,” Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering. “I – told – you,” Hermione gasped, clut ching at the stitch in her chest. “I – told – you.” “We’ve got to get back to Gryffindor Tower,” said Ron, “quickly as possible.” “Malfoy tricked you,” Hermione said to Harry. “You realise that, don’t you? He was never going to meet you – Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off.” Harry thought she was probably righ t, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. “Let’s go.” It wasn’t going to be that simple. They hadn’t gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattl ed and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them. It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.<|quote|>“Shut up, Peeves – please – you’ll get us thrown out.”</|quote|>Peeves cackled. “Wandering around at midnight, ickle firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you’ll get caughty.” “Not if you don’t give us away, Peeves, please.” “Should tell Filch, I should,” said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. “It’s for your own good, you know.” “Get out of the way,” snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves – this was a big mistake. “STUDENTS OUT OF BED!” Peeves bellowed. “STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!” Ducking under Peeves they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor, where they slammed into a door – and it was locked. “This is it!” Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door. “We’re done for! This is the end!” They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could towards Peeves’s shouts. “Oh, move over,” Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry’s wand, tapped the lock and whispered, “Alohomora!” The lock clicked and the door swung open – they piled through it, shut it quickly and pressed their ears against it, listening. “Which way did they go, Peeves?” Filch was saying. “Quick, tell me.” “Say ‘please’.” “Don’t mess me about, Peeves, now where did they go? ” “Shan’t say nothing if you don’t say please,” said Peeves in his annoying sing-song voice. “All right – please.” “NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn’t say nothing if you didn’t say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!” And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage. “He thinks this door is locked,” Harry whispered. “I think we’ll be OK – get off, Neville!” For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry’s dressing-gown for the last minute. “What?” Harry turned around – and saw, qu ite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he’d walked into a ni ghtmare – this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far. They weren’t in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden. They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog which filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; thr ee drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs. It was standing quite still, all si x eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they we ren’t already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistakin g what those thunderous growls meant. Harry groped for the doorknob – between Filch and death, he’d take Filch. They fell backwards – Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the co rridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else because they didn’t see him anywhere, but they hardly cared – all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn’t stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.<|speaker|> | Harry Potter |
<bos><|context|>said Harry. He pushed his trolley round and st ared at the barrier. It looked very solid. He started to walk towards it. People jostled him on their way to platforms nine and ten. Harry walked more quickly. He was going to smash right into that ticket box and then he’d be in trouble – leaning forward on his trolley he broke into a heavy run – the barrier was coming nearer and nearer – he wouldn’t be able to stop – the trolley was out of control – he was a foot away – he closed his eyes ready for the crash – It didn’t come … he kept on running … he opened his eyes. A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock . Harry looked behind him and saw a wrough t-iron archway where the ticket box had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. He had done it. Smoke from the engine drifted ov er the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to each other in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks. The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry pushed his trolley off do wn the platform in search of an empty seat. He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, “Gran, I’ve lost my toad again.” “Oh, Neville,” he heard the old woman sigh. A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd. “Give us a look, Lee, go on.” The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg. Harry pressed on through the crowd until he found an empty compartment near the end of the trai n. He put Hedwig inside first and then started to shove and heave his trunk towards the train door. He tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice he dropped it painfully on his foot. “Want a hand?” It was one of the red-haired twins he’d followed through the ticket box. “Yes, please,” Harry panted. “Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!” With the twins’ help, Harry’s trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment. “Thanks,” said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. “What’s that?” said one of the tw ins suddenly, pointing at Harry’s lightning scar.<|quote|>“Blimey,”</|quote|>said the other twin. “Are you –?” “He is,” said the first twin. “Aren’t you?” he added to Harry. “What?” said Harry. “Harry Potter ,” chorused the twins. “Oh, him,” said Harry. “I mean, yes, I am.” The two boys gawped at him and Harry felt himself going red. Then, to his relief, a voice came fl oating in through the train’s open door. “Fred? George? Are you there?” “Coming, Mum.” With a last look at Harry, the twins hopped off the train. Harry sat down next to the window where, half-hidden, he could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief. “Ron, you’ve got something on your nose.” The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose. “Mum – geroff.” He wriggled free. “Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?” said one of the twins. “Shut up,” said Ron. “Where’s Percy?” said their mother. “He’s coming now.” The oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes and Harry noticed a shiny silver badge on his chest with the letter P on it. “Can’t stay long, Mother,” he said. “I’m up front, the Prefects have got two compartments to themselves –” “Oh, are you a Prefect , Percy?” said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. “You should have sa id something, we had no idea.” “Hang on, I think I remember him sa ying something about it,” said the other twin. “Once –” “Or twice –” “A minute –” “All summer –” “Oh, shut up,” said Percy the Prefect. “How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?” said one of the twins. “Because he’s a Prefect ,” said their mother fondly. “All right, dear, well, have a good term – send me an owl when you get there.”<|speaker|>Fred Weasley<eos> | <bos><|context|>said Harry. He pushed his trolley round and st ared at the barrier. It looked very solid. He started to walk towards it. People jostled him on their way to platforms nine and ten. Harry walked more quickly. He was going to smash right into that ticket box and then he’d be in trouble – leaning forward on his trolley he broke into a heavy run – the barrier was coming nearer and nearer – he wouldn’t be able to stop – the trolley was out of control – he was a foot away – he closed his eyes ready for the crash – It didn’t come … he kept on running … he opened his eyes. A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock . Harry looked behind him and saw a wrough t-iron archway where the ticket box had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. He had done it. Smoke from the engine drifted ov er the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to each other in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks. The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry pushed his trolley off do wn the platform in search of an empty seat. He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, “Gran, I’ve lost my toad again.” “Oh, Neville,” he heard the old woman sigh. A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd. “Give us a look, Lee, go on.” The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg. Harry pressed on through the crowd until he found an empty compartment near the end of the trai n. He put Hedwig inside first and then started to shove and heave his trunk towards the train door. He tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice he dropped it painfully on his foot. “Want a hand?” It was one of the red-haired twins he’d followed through the ticket box. “Yes, please,” Harry panted. “Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!” With the twins’ help, Harry’s trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment. “Thanks,” said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. “What’s that?” said one of the tw ins suddenly, pointing at Harry’s lightning scar.<|quote|>“Blimey,”</|quote|>said the other twin. “Are you –?” “He is,” said the first twin. “Aren’t you?” he added to Harry. “What?” said Harry. “Harry Potter ,” chorused the twins. “Oh, him,” said Harry. “I mean, yes, I am.” The two boys gawped at him and Harry felt himself going red. Then, to his relief, a voice came fl oating in through the train’s open door. “Fred? George? Are you there?” “Coming, Mum.” With a last look at Harry, the twins hopped off the train. Harry sat down next to the window where, half-hidden, he could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief. “Ron, you’ve got something on your nose.” The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose. “Mum – geroff.” He wriggled free. “Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?” said one of the twins. “Shut up,” said Ron. “Where’s Percy?” said their mother. “He’s coming now.” The oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes and Harry noticed a shiny silver badge on his chest with the letter P on it. “Can’t stay long, Mother,” he said. “I’m up front, the Prefects have got two compartments to themselves –” “Oh, are you a Prefect , Percy?” said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. “You should have sa id something, we had no idea.” “Hang on, I think I remember him sa ying something about it,” said the other twin. “Once –” “Or twice –” “A minute –” “All summer –” “Oh, shut up,” said Percy the Prefect. “How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?” said one of the twins. “Because he’s a Prefect ,” said their mother fondly. “All right, dear, well, have a good term – send me an owl when you get there.”<|speaker|> | Fred Weasley |
<bos><|context|>“Don’t you understand? If Snape gets hold of the Stone, Voldemort’s coming back! Haven’t you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over? There won’t be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! He’ll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! Losing points doesn’t matter any more, can’t you see? D’you think he’ll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor win the House Cup? If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I’ll have to go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find me there. It’s only dying a bit later than I would have done, because I’m never going over to the Dark Side! I’m going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing you two say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed my parents, remember?” He glared at them. “You’re right, Harry” said Hermione in a small voice. “I’ll use the Invisibility Cloak,” said Harry. “It’s just lucky I got it back.” “But will it cover all three of us?” said Ron. “All – all three of us?” “Oh, come off it, you don’t think we’d let you go alone?” “Of course not,” said Hermione bris kly. “How do you think you’d get to the Stone without us? I’d better go and look through my books, there might be something useful …” “But if we get caught, you two will be expelled, too.” “Not if I can help it,” said Hermione grimly. “Flitwick told me in secret that I got a hundred and twelve per cent on his exam. “They’re not throwing me out after that.” * After dinner the three of them sat nervously apart in the common room. Nobody bothered them; none of the Gryffindors had anything to say to Harry any more, after all. This was the first night he hadn’t been upset by it. Hermione was skimming through all her notes, hoping to come across one of the en chantments they were about to try and break. Harry and Ron didn’t talk much. Both of them were thinking about what they were about to do. Slowly, the room emptied as people drifted off to bed. “Better get the Cloak,” Ron muttered, as Lee Jordan finally left, stretching and yawning. Harry ran upst airs to their dark dormitory. He pulled out the Cloak and then his eyes fell on the flute Hagrid had given him for Christmas. He pocketed it to use on Fluffy – he didn’t feel much like singing. He ran back down to the common room. “We’d better put the Cloak on here, and make sure it covers all three of us – if Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own–” “What are you doing?”<|quote|>said a voice from the corner of the room. Neville appeared from behind an armchair, clutching Trevor the toad, who looked as though he’d been making another bid for freedom.</|quote|>“Nothing, Neville, nothing,” said Harry, hurriedly putting the Cloak behind his back. Neville stared at their guilty faces. “You’re going out again,” he said. “No, no, no,” said Hermione. “No, we’re not. Why don’t you go to bed, Neville?” Harry looked at the grandfather cl ock by the door. They couldn’t afford to waste any more time, Snape might even now be playing Fluffy to sleep. “You can’t go out,” said Neville, “you’ll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble.” “You don’t understand,” said Harry, “this is important.” But Neville was clearly steeling himself to do something desperate. “I won’t let you do it,” he said, hurrying to stand in front of the portrait hole. “I’ll – I’ll fight you!” “Neville,” Ron exploded, “get away from that hole and don’t be an idiot –” “Don’t you call me an idiot!” said Neville. “I don’t think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!” “Yes, but not to us,” said Ron in exasperation. “Neville, you don’t know what you’re doing.” He took a step forward and Neville dropped Trevor the toad, who leapt out of sight. “Go on then, try and hit me!” said Neville, raising his fists. “I’m ready!” Harry turned to Hermione. “Do something,” he said desperately. Hermione stepped forward. “Neville,” she said, “I’m really, really sorry about this.” She raised her wand. “Petrificus Totalus!” she cried, pointing it at Neville. Neville’s arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole body rigid, he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face, stiff as a board. Hermione ran to turn him over. Neville’s jaws were jammed together so he couldn’t speak. Only his eyes were moving, looking at them in horror. “What’ve you done to him?” Harry whispered. “It’s the full Body-Bind,” said Hermione miserably. “Oh, Neville, I’m so sorry.” “We had to, Neville, no time to explain,” said Harry. “You’ll understand later, Neville,” said Ron, as they stepped over him and pulled on the Invisibility Cloak. But leaving Neville lying motionless on the floor didn’t feel like a very good omen. In their nervous stat e, every statue’s shadow looked like Filch, every distant breath of wind sounded like Peeves swooping down on them. At the foot of the first set of stairs, they spotted Mrs Norris skulking near the top. “Oh, let’s kick her, just this on ce,” Ron whispered in Harry’s ear, but Harry shook his head. As they climbed carefully around her, Mrs Norris turned her lamp-like eyes on them, but didn’t do anything. They didn’t meet anyone else until they reached the staircase up to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip.<|speaker|><|No speaker|><eos> | <bos><|context|>“Don’t you understand? If Snape gets hold of the Stone, Voldemort’s coming back! Haven’t you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over? There won’t be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! He’ll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! Losing points doesn’t matter any more, can’t you see? D’you think he’ll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor win the House Cup? If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I’ll have to go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find me there. It’s only dying a bit later than I would have done, because I’m never going over to the Dark Side! I’m going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing you two say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed my parents, remember?” He glared at them. “You’re right, Harry” said Hermione in a small voice. “I’ll use the Invisibility Cloak,” said Harry. “It’s just lucky I got it back.” “But will it cover all three of us?” said Ron. “All – all three of us?” “Oh, come off it, you don’t think we’d let you go alone?” “Of course not,” said Hermione bris kly. “How do you think you’d get to the Stone without us? I’d better go and look through my books, there might be something useful …” “But if we get caught, you two will be expelled, too.” “Not if I can help it,” said Hermione grimly. “Flitwick told me in secret that I got a hundred and twelve per cent on his exam. “They’re not throwing me out after that.” * After dinner the three of them sat nervously apart in the common room. Nobody bothered them; none of the Gryffindors had anything to say to Harry any more, after all. This was the first night he hadn’t been upset by it. Hermione was skimming through all her notes, hoping to come across one of the en chantments they were about to try and break. Harry and Ron didn’t talk much. Both of them were thinking about what they were about to do. Slowly, the room emptied as people drifted off to bed. “Better get the Cloak,” Ron muttered, as Lee Jordan finally left, stretching and yawning. Harry ran upst airs to their dark dormitory. He pulled out the Cloak and then his eyes fell on the flute Hagrid had given him for Christmas. He pocketed it to use on Fluffy – he didn’t feel much like singing. He ran back down to the common room. “We’d better put the Cloak on here, and make sure it covers all three of us – if Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own–” “What are you doing?”<|quote|>said a voice from the corner of the room. Neville appeared from behind an armchair, clutching Trevor the toad, who looked as though he’d been making another bid for freedom.</|quote|>“Nothing, Neville, nothing,” said Harry, hurriedly putting the Cloak behind his back. Neville stared at their guilty faces. “You’re going out again,” he said. “No, no, no,” said Hermione. “No, we’re not. Why don’t you go to bed, Neville?” Harry looked at the grandfather cl ock by the door. They couldn’t afford to waste any more time, Snape might even now be playing Fluffy to sleep. “You can’t go out,” said Neville, “you’ll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble.” “You don’t understand,” said Harry, “this is important.” But Neville was clearly steeling himself to do something desperate. “I won’t let you do it,” he said, hurrying to stand in front of the portrait hole. “I’ll – I’ll fight you!” “Neville,” Ron exploded, “get away from that hole and don’t be an idiot –” “Don’t you call me an idiot!” said Neville. “I don’t think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!” “Yes, but not to us,” said Ron in exasperation. “Neville, you don’t know what you’re doing.” He took a step forward and Neville dropped Trevor the toad, who leapt out of sight. “Go on then, try and hit me!” said Neville, raising his fists. “I’m ready!” Harry turned to Hermione. “Do something,” he said desperately. Hermione stepped forward. “Neville,” she said, “I’m really, really sorry about this.” She raised her wand. “Petrificus Totalus!” she cried, pointing it at Neville. Neville’s arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole body rigid, he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face, stiff as a board. Hermione ran to turn him over. Neville’s jaws were jammed together so he couldn’t speak. Only his eyes were moving, looking at them in horror. “What’ve you done to him?” Harry whispered. “It’s the full Body-Bind,” said Hermione miserably. “Oh, Neville, I’m so sorry.” “We had to, Neville, no time to explain,” said Harry. “You’ll understand later, Neville,” said Ron, as they stepped over him and pulled on the Invisibility Cloak. But leaving Neville lying motionless on the floor didn’t feel like a very good omen. In their nervous stat e, every statue’s shadow looked like Filch, every distant breath of wind sounded like Peeves swooping down on them. At the foot of the first set of stairs, they spotted Mrs Norris skulking near the top. “Oh, let’s kick her, just this on ce,” Ron whispered in Harry’s ear, but Harry shook his head. As they climbed carefully around her, Mrs Norris turned her lamp-like eyes on them, but didn’t do anything. They didn’t meet anyone else until they reached the staircase up to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip.<|speaker|> | <|No speaker|> |
<bos><|context|>He ruffled Dudley’s hair. At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Ve rnon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games and a video recorder. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petuni a came back from the telephone, looking both angry and worried. “Bad news, Vernon,” she said. “Mrs Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take him.” She jerked her head in Harry’s direction. Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror but Harry’s heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley’s birthday his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger bars or the cinema. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she’d ever owned. “Now what?” said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he’d planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn’t easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr Paws and Tufty again. “We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon suggested. “Don’t be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy.” The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn’t there – or rather, as though he wa s something very nasty that couldn’t understand them, like a slug. “What about what’s-her-name, your friend – Yvonne?” “On holiday in Majorca,” snapped Aunt Petunia. “You could just leave me here,” Harry put in hopefully (he’d be able to watch what he wanted on televi sion for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley’s computer). Aunt Petunia looked as though she’d just swallowed a lemon. “And come back and find the house in ruins?” she snarled. “I won’t blow up the house,” said Harry, but they weren’t listening. “I suppose we could take him to the zoo,” said Aunt Petunia slowly, “… and leave him in the car …” “That car’s new, he’s not sitting in it alone …” Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn’t really crying, it had been years since he’d really cried, but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted. “Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry, Mu mmy won’t let him spoil your special day!” she cried, flinging her arms around him. “I … don’t … want … him … t-t-to come!” Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. “He always sp-spoils everything!” He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother’s arms. Just then, the doorbell rang –<|quote|>“Oh, Good Lord, they’re here!”</|quote|>said Aunt Petunia frantically – and a moment later, Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people’s arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once. Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn’t believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys’ car wi th Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they’d left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside. “I’m warning you,” he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry’s, “I’m warning you now, boy – any funny business, anything at all – and you’ll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas.” “I’m not going to do anything,” said Harry, “honestly …” But Uncle Vernon didn’t believe him. No one ever did. The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and it was just no good telling the Durs leys he didn’t make them happen. Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barber’s looking as though he hadn’t been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his fringe, which she left “to hide that horrible scar” . Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for his baggy clothes and Sellotaped glasses. Next morning, however, he had got up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. He had been given a week in his cupboard for this, even though he had tried to explain that he couldn’t explain how it had grown back so quickly. Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into a revolting old jumper of Dudley’s (brown with orange bobbles). The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a glove puppet, but certainly wouldn’t fit Harry. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Harry wasn’t punished. On the other hand, he’d got into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley’s gang had been chasing him as usual when, as much to Harry’s surp rise as anyone else’s, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Du rsleys had received a very angry letter from Harry’s headmistress tellin g them Harry had been climbing school buildings. But all he’d tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of his cupboard) was jump behind the big bins outside the kitchen doors. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught him in mid-jump. But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spendi ng the day somewhere that wasn’t school, his cupboard or Mrs Figg’s cabbage-smelling living-room. While he drove, Uncle Vernon compla ined to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank and Harry were just a few of his favourite subjects. This morning, it was motorbikes.<|speaker|>Aunt Petunia<eos> | <bos><|context|>He ruffled Dudley’s hair. At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Ve rnon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games and a video recorder. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petuni a came back from the telephone, looking both angry and worried. “Bad news, Vernon,” she said. “Mrs Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take him.” She jerked her head in Harry’s direction. Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror but Harry’s heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley’s birthday his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger bars or the cinema. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she’d ever owned. “Now what?” said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he’d planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn’t easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr Paws and Tufty again. “We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon suggested. “Don’t be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy.” The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn’t there – or rather, as though he wa s something very nasty that couldn’t understand them, like a slug. “What about what’s-her-name, your friend – Yvonne?” “On holiday in Majorca,” snapped Aunt Petunia. “You could just leave me here,” Harry put in hopefully (he’d be able to watch what he wanted on televi sion for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley’s computer). Aunt Petunia looked as though she’d just swallowed a lemon. “And come back and find the house in ruins?” she snarled. “I won’t blow up the house,” said Harry, but they weren’t listening. “I suppose we could take him to the zoo,” said Aunt Petunia slowly, “… and leave him in the car …” “That car’s new, he’s not sitting in it alone …” Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn’t really crying, it had been years since he’d really cried, but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted. “Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry, Mu mmy won’t let him spoil your special day!” she cried, flinging her arms around him. “I … don’t … want … him … t-t-to come!” Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. “He always sp-spoils everything!” He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother’s arms. Just then, the doorbell rang –<|quote|>“Oh, Good Lord, they’re here!”</|quote|>said Aunt Petunia frantically – and a moment later, Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people’s arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once. Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn’t believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys’ car wi th Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they’d left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside. “I’m warning you,” he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry’s, “I’m warning you now, boy – any funny business, anything at all – and you’ll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas.” “I’m not going to do anything,” said Harry, “honestly …” But Uncle Vernon didn’t believe him. No one ever did. The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and it was just no good telling the Durs leys he didn’t make them happen. Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barber’s looking as though he hadn’t been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his fringe, which she left “to hide that horrible scar” . Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for his baggy clothes and Sellotaped glasses. Next morning, however, he had got up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. He had been given a week in his cupboard for this, even though he had tried to explain that he couldn’t explain how it had grown back so quickly. Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into a revolting old jumper of Dudley’s (brown with orange bobbles). The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a glove puppet, but certainly wouldn’t fit Harry. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Harry wasn’t punished. On the other hand, he’d got into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley’s gang had been chasing him as usual when, as much to Harry’s surp rise as anyone else’s, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Du rsleys had received a very angry letter from Harry’s headmistress tellin g them Harry had been climbing school buildings. But all he’d tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of his cupboard) was jump behind the big bins outside the kitchen doors. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught him in mid-jump. But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spendi ng the day somewhere that wasn’t school, his cupboard or Mrs Figg’s cabbage-smelling living-room. While he drove, Uncle Vernon compla ined to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank and Harry were just a few of his favourite subjects. This morning, it was motorbikes.<|speaker|> | Aunt Petunia |
<bos><|context|>“– and you mustn’t go wandering ar ound the school at night, think of the points you’ll lose Gryffindor if you’re caught, and you’re bound to be. It’s really very selfish of you.” “And it’s really none of your business,” said Harry. “Goodbye,” said Ron. * All the same, it wasn’t what you’d call the perfect end to the day, Harry thought, as he lay awake mu ch later listening to Dean and Seamus falling asleep (Neville wasn’t back from the hospital wing). Ron had spent all evening giving him advice such as “If he tries to curse you, you’d better dodge it, because I can’t remember how to block them” . There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule toda y. On the other hand, Malfoy’s sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness – this was his big chance to beat Malfoy, face to face. He couldn’t miss it. “Half past eleven,” Ron muttered at last. “We’d better go.” They pulled on their dressing-gow ns, picked up their wands and crept across the tower room, down th e spiral staircase and into the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchair s into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them: “I can’t believe you’re going to do this, Harry.” A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink dressing-gown and a frown. “You!” said Ron furiously. “Go back to bed!” “I almost told your brother,” Hermione snapped. “Percy – he’s a Prefect, he’d put a stop to this.” Harry couldn’t believe anyone could be so interfering. “Come on,” he said to Ron. He pu shed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole. Hermione wasn’t going to give up that easily. She followed Ron through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose. “Don’t you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don’t want Slytherin to win the House Cup and you’ll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells.” “Go away.” “All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you’re on the train home tomorrow, you’re so –” But what they were, they didn’t fi nd out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a night-time visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor Tower. “Now what am I going to do?” she asked shrilly. “That’s your problem,”<|quote|>said Ron.</|quote|>“We’ve got to go, we’re going to be late.” They hadn’t even reached the en d of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them. “I’m coming with you,” she said. “You are not.” “D’you think I’m going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds all three of us I’ll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you and you can back me up.” “You’ve got some nerve –” said Ron loudly. “Shut up, both of you!” said Harry sharply. “I heard something.” It was a sort of snuffling. “Mrs Norris?” breathed Ron, squinting through the dark. It wasn’t Mrs Norris. It was Neville . He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer. “Thank goodness you found me! I’ve been out here for hours. I couldn’t remember the new password to get in to bed.” “Keep your voice down, Neville. Th e password’s ‘Pig snout’ but it won’t help you now, the Fat Lady’s gone off somewhere.” “How’s your arm?” said Harry. “Fine,” said Neville, showing them . “Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute.” “Good – well, look, Neville, we’ve got to be somewhere, we’ll see you later –” “Don’t leave me!” said Neville, scrambling to his feet. “I don’t want to stay here alone, the Bloody Ba ron’s been past twice already.” Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and Neville. “If either of you get us caught, I’ll never rest until I’ve learnt that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about and used it on you.” Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them all forward. They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry ex pected to run into Filch or Mrs Norris, but they were lucky. They sp ed up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed towards the trophy room. Malfoy and Crabbe weren’t there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caug ht them. Cups, shields, plates and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry took out his wand in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once. The minutes crept by.<|speaker|><|No speaker|><eos> | <bos><|context|>“– and you mustn’t go wandering ar ound the school at night, think of the points you’ll lose Gryffindor if you’re caught, and you’re bound to be. It’s really very selfish of you.” “And it’s really none of your business,” said Harry. “Goodbye,” said Ron. * All the same, it wasn’t what you’d call the perfect end to the day, Harry thought, as he lay awake mu ch later listening to Dean and Seamus falling asleep (Neville wasn’t back from the hospital wing). Ron had spent all evening giving him advice such as “If he tries to curse you, you’d better dodge it, because I can’t remember how to block them” . There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule toda y. On the other hand, Malfoy’s sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness – this was his big chance to beat Malfoy, face to face. He couldn’t miss it. “Half past eleven,” Ron muttered at last. “We’d better go.” They pulled on their dressing-gow ns, picked up their wands and crept across the tower room, down th e spiral staircase and into the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchair s into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them: “I can’t believe you’re going to do this, Harry.” A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink dressing-gown and a frown. “You!” said Ron furiously. “Go back to bed!” “I almost told your brother,” Hermione snapped. “Percy – he’s a Prefect, he’d put a stop to this.” Harry couldn’t believe anyone could be so interfering. “Come on,” he said to Ron. He pu shed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole. Hermione wasn’t going to give up that easily. She followed Ron through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose. “Don’t you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don’t want Slytherin to win the House Cup and you’ll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells.” “Go away.” “All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you’re on the train home tomorrow, you’re so –” But what they were, they didn’t fi nd out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a night-time visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor Tower. “Now what am I going to do?” she asked shrilly. “That’s your problem,”<|quote|>said Ron.</|quote|>“We’ve got to go, we’re going to be late.” They hadn’t even reached the en d of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them. “I’m coming with you,” she said. “You are not.” “D’you think I’m going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds all three of us I’ll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you and you can back me up.” “You’ve got some nerve –” said Ron loudly. “Shut up, both of you!” said Harry sharply. “I heard something.” It was a sort of snuffling. “Mrs Norris?” breathed Ron, squinting through the dark. It wasn’t Mrs Norris. It was Neville . He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer. “Thank goodness you found me! I’ve been out here for hours. I couldn’t remember the new password to get in to bed.” “Keep your voice down, Neville. Th e password’s ‘Pig snout’ but it won’t help you now, the Fat Lady’s gone off somewhere.” “How’s your arm?” said Harry. “Fine,” said Neville, showing them . “Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute.” “Good – well, look, Neville, we’ve got to be somewhere, we’ll see you later –” “Don’t leave me!” said Neville, scrambling to his feet. “I don’t want to stay here alone, the Bloody Ba ron’s been past twice already.” Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and Neville. “If either of you get us caught, I’ll never rest until I’ve learnt that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about and used it on you.” Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them all forward. They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry ex pected to run into Filch or Mrs Norris, but they were lucky. They sp ed up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed towards the trophy room. Malfoy and Crabbe weren’t there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caug ht them. Cups, shields, plates and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry took out his wand in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once. The minutes crept by.<|speaker|> | <|No speaker|> |
<bos><|context|>Dudley’s birthday – how could he have forgotten? Harry got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off on e of them, put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he slept. When he was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley’s birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had got th e new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and th e racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise – unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley’s favourite punch-bag was Harry, but he couldn’t often catch him. Harry didn’t look it, but he was very fast. Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and ski nny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes of Dudley’s and Dudley was about four times bigger than he was. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair and bright-green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Sellotape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. The only thing Harry liked ab out his own appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead which was shaped like a bolt of lightning. He had had it as long as he could remember and the first question he could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia was how he had got it. “In the car crash when your parents died,” she had said. “And don’t ask questions.” Don’t ask questions – that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon entered the kitche n as Harry was turning over the bacon. “Comb your hair!” he barked, by way of a morning greeting. About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry n eeded a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way – all over the place. Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large, pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes and thick, blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel – Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig. Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn’t much r oom. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell. “Thirty-six,” he said, looking up at his mother and father. “That’s two less than last year.” “Darling, you haven’t counted Auntie Marge’s present, see, it’s here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy.” “All right, thirty-seven then,” sa id Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over. Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger too, because she said quickly, “And we’ll buy you another two presents while we’re out today. How’s that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?” Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, “So I’ll have thirty … thirty …” “Thirty-nine, sweetums,” said Aunt Petunia. “Oh.” Dudley sat down heavily an d grabbed the nearest parcel. “All right then.” Uncle Vernon chuckled. “Little tyke wants his money’s worth, just like his father. Atta boy, Dudley!” He ruffled Dudley’s hair. At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Ve rnon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games and a video recorder. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petuni a came back from the telephone, looking both angry and worried. “Bad news, Vernon,” she said. “Mrs Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take him.”<|quote|>She jerked her head in Harry’s direction. Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror but Harry’s heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley’s birthday his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger bars or the cinema. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she’d ever owned.</|quote|>“Now what?” said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he’d planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn’t easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr Paws and Tufty again. “We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon suggested. “Don’t be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy.” The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn’t there – or rather, as though he wa s something very nasty that couldn’t understand them, like a slug. “What about what’s-her-name, your friend – Yvonne?” “On holiday in Majorca,” snapped Aunt Petunia. “You could just leave me here,” Harry put in hopefully (he’d be able to watch what he wanted on televi sion for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley’s computer). Aunt Petunia looked as though she’d just swallowed a lemon. “And come back and find the house in ruins?” she snarled. “I won’t blow up the house,” said Harry, but they weren’t listening. “I suppose we could take him to the zoo,” said Aunt Petunia slowly, “… and leave him in the car …” “That car’s new, he’s not sitting in it alone …” Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn’t really crying, it had been years since he’d really cried, but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted. “Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry, Mu mmy won’t let him spoil your special day!” she cried, flinging her arms around him. “I … don’t … want … him … t-t-to come!” Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. “He always sp-spoils everything!” He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother’s arms. Just then, the doorbell rang – “Oh, Good Lord, they’re here!” said Aunt Petunia frantically – and a moment later, Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people’s arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once. Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn’t believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys’ car wi th Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they’d left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside.<|speaker|><|No speaker|><eos> | <bos><|context|>Dudley’s birthday – how could he have forgotten? Harry got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off on e of them, put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he slept. When he was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley’s birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had got th e new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and th e racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise – unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley’s favourite punch-bag was Harry, but he couldn’t often catch him. Harry didn’t look it, but he was very fast. Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and ski nny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes of Dudley’s and Dudley was about four times bigger than he was. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair and bright-green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Sellotape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. The only thing Harry liked ab out his own appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead which was shaped like a bolt of lightning. He had had it as long as he could remember and the first question he could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia was how he had got it. “In the car crash when your parents died,” she had said. “And don’t ask questions.” Don’t ask questions – that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon entered the kitche n as Harry was turning over the bacon. “Comb your hair!” he barked, by way of a morning greeting. About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry n eeded a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way – all over the place. Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large, pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes and thick, blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel – Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig. Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn’t much r oom. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell. “Thirty-six,” he said, looking up at his mother and father. “That’s two less than last year.” “Darling, you haven’t counted Auntie Marge’s present, see, it’s here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy.” “All right, thirty-seven then,” sa id Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over. Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger too, because she said quickly, “And we’ll buy you another two presents while we’re out today. How’s that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?” Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, “So I’ll have thirty … thirty …” “Thirty-nine, sweetums,” said Aunt Petunia. “Oh.” Dudley sat down heavily an d grabbed the nearest parcel. “All right then.” Uncle Vernon chuckled. “Little tyke wants his money’s worth, just like his father. Atta boy, Dudley!” He ruffled Dudley’s hair. At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Ve rnon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games and a video recorder. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petuni a came back from the telephone, looking both angry and worried. “Bad news, Vernon,” she said. “Mrs Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take him.”<|quote|>She jerked her head in Harry’s direction. Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror but Harry’s heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley’s birthday his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger bars or the cinema. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she’d ever owned.</|quote|>“Now what?” said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he’d planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn’t easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr Paws and Tufty again. “We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon suggested. “Don’t be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy.” The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn’t there – or rather, as though he wa s something very nasty that couldn’t understand them, like a slug. “What about what’s-her-name, your friend – Yvonne?” “On holiday in Majorca,” snapped Aunt Petunia. “You could just leave me here,” Harry put in hopefully (he’d be able to watch what he wanted on televi sion for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley’s computer). Aunt Petunia looked as though she’d just swallowed a lemon. “And come back and find the house in ruins?” she snarled. “I won’t blow up the house,” said Harry, but they weren’t listening. “I suppose we could take him to the zoo,” said Aunt Petunia slowly, “… and leave him in the car …” “That car’s new, he’s not sitting in it alone …” Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn’t really crying, it had been years since he’d really cried, but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted. “Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry, Mu mmy won’t let him spoil your special day!” she cried, flinging her arms around him. “I … don’t … want … him … t-t-to come!” Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. “He always sp-spoils everything!” He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother’s arms. Just then, the doorbell rang – “Oh, Good Lord, they’re here!” said Aunt Petunia frantically – and a moment later, Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people’s arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once. Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn’t believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys’ car wi th Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they’d left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside.<|speaker|> | <|No speaker|> |
<bos><|context|>said Hermione. * Once the holidays had started, Ron and Harry were having too good a time to think much about Flam el. They had the dormitory to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork – bread, crumpets, marshmallows – and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn’t work. Ron also started teaching Harry wizard chess. This was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron’s set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family – in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren’t a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted. Harry played with chessmen Seamus Finnigan had lent him and they didn’t trust him at all. He wasn’t a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at him, which was confusing: “Don’t send me there, can’t you see his knight? Send him, we can afford to lose him.” On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to next day for the food and the fun, but not ex pecting any presents at all. When he woke early next morning, however, the first thing he saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed. “Happy Christmas,” said Ron sleepily as Harry scrambled out of bed and pulled on his dressing-gown. “You too,” said Harry. “Will you look at this? I’ve got some presents!” “What did you expect, turnips?” said Ron, turning to his own pile, which was a lot bigger than Harry’s. Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was To Harry, from Hagrid . Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid ha d obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it – it sounded a bit like an owl. A second, very small parcel contained a note. We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Sellotaped to the note was a fifty-pence piece. “That’s friendly,” said Harry. Ron was fascinated by the fifty pence. “Weird!” he said. “What a shape! This is money?” “You can keep it,” said Harry, laughing at how pleased Ron was. “Hagrid and my aunt and uncle – so who sent these?” “I think I know who that one’s from ,” said Ron, going a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. “My mum. I told her you didn’t expect any presents and – oh, no,”<|quote|>he groaned,</|quote|>“she’s made you a Weasley jumper.” Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of home-made fudge. “Every year she makes us a jumper,” said Ron, unwrapping his own, “and mine’s always maroon.” “That’s really nice of her,” said Harry, trying the fudge, which was very tasty. His next present also contained sweets – a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione. This left only one parcel. Harry pick ed it up and felt it. It was very light. He unwrapped it. Something fluid and silvery grey we nt slithering to the floor, where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped. “I’ve heard of those,” he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every-Flavour Beans he’d got from Hermione. “If that’s what I think it is – they’re really rare, and really valuable.” “What is it?” Harry picked the shining, silvery cl oth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material. “It’s an Invisibility Cloak,” said Ron, a look of awe on his face. “I’m sure it is – try it on.” Harry threw the Cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a yell. “It is! Look down!” Harry looked down at his feet, but they had gone. He dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection l ooked back at him, just his head suspended in mid-air, his body completely invisible. He pulled the Cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely. “There’s a note!” said Ron suddenly. “A note fell out of it!” Harry pulled off the Cloak and seized the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words: Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you. There was no signature. Harry stared at the note. Ron was admiring the Cloak. “I’d give anything for one of these,” he said. “Anything. What’s the matter?” “Nothing,” said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the Cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father? Before he could say or think anyt hing else, the dormitory door was flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in. Harry stuffed the Cloak quickly out of sight. He didn ’t feel like sharing it with anyone else yet. “Merry Christmas!” “Hey, look – Harry’s got a Weasley jumper, too!” Fred and George were wearing blue jumpers, one with a large yellow F on it, the other with a large yellow G. “Harry’s is better than ours, though ,”<|speaker|><|No speaker|><eos> | <bos><|context|>said Hermione. * Once the holidays had started, Ron and Harry were having too good a time to think much about Flam el. They had the dormitory to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork – bread, crumpets, marshmallows – and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn’t work. Ron also started teaching Harry wizard chess. This was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron’s set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family – in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren’t a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted. Harry played with chessmen Seamus Finnigan had lent him and they didn’t trust him at all. He wasn’t a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at him, which was confusing: “Don’t send me there, can’t you see his knight? Send him, we can afford to lose him.” On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to next day for the food and the fun, but not ex pecting any presents at all. When he woke early next morning, however, the first thing he saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed. “Happy Christmas,” said Ron sleepily as Harry scrambled out of bed and pulled on his dressing-gown. “You too,” said Harry. “Will you look at this? I’ve got some presents!” “What did you expect, turnips?” said Ron, turning to his own pile, which was a lot bigger than Harry’s. Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was To Harry, from Hagrid . Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid ha d obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it – it sounded a bit like an owl. A second, very small parcel contained a note. We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Sellotaped to the note was a fifty-pence piece. “That’s friendly,” said Harry. Ron was fascinated by the fifty pence. “Weird!” he said. “What a shape! This is money?” “You can keep it,” said Harry, laughing at how pleased Ron was. “Hagrid and my aunt and uncle – so who sent these?” “I think I know who that one’s from ,” said Ron, going a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. “My mum. I told her you didn’t expect any presents and – oh, no,”<|quote|>he groaned,</|quote|>“she’s made you a Weasley jumper.” Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of home-made fudge. “Every year she makes us a jumper,” said Ron, unwrapping his own, “and mine’s always maroon.” “That’s really nice of her,” said Harry, trying the fudge, which was very tasty. His next present also contained sweets – a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione. This left only one parcel. Harry pick ed it up and felt it. It was very light. He unwrapped it. Something fluid and silvery grey we nt slithering to the floor, where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped. “I’ve heard of those,” he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every-Flavour Beans he’d got from Hermione. “If that’s what I think it is – they’re really rare, and really valuable.” “What is it?” Harry picked the shining, silvery cl oth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material. “It’s an Invisibility Cloak,” said Ron, a look of awe on his face. “I’m sure it is – try it on.” Harry threw the Cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a yell. “It is! Look down!” Harry looked down at his feet, but they had gone. He dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection l ooked back at him, just his head suspended in mid-air, his body completely invisible. He pulled the Cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely. “There’s a note!” said Ron suddenly. “A note fell out of it!” Harry pulled off the Cloak and seized the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words: Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you. There was no signature. Harry stared at the note. Ron was admiring the Cloak. “I’d give anything for one of these,” he said. “Anything. What’s the matter?” “Nothing,” said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the Cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father? Before he could say or think anyt hing else, the dormitory door was flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in. Harry stuffed the Cloak quickly out of sight. He didn ’t feel like sharing it with anyone else yet. “Merry Christmas!” “Hey, look – Harry’s got a Weasley jumper, too!” Fred and George were wearing blue jumpers, one with a large yellow F on it, the other with a large yellow G. “Harry’s is better than ours, though ,”<|speaker|> | <|No speaker|> |
<bos><|context|>Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, “So I’ll have thirty … thirty …” “Thirty-nine, sweetums,” said Aunt Petunia. “Oh.” Dudley sat down heavily an d grabbed the nearest parcel. “All right then.” Uncle Vernon chuckled. “Little tyke wants his money’s worth, just like his father. Atta boy, Dudley!” He ruffled Dudley’s hair. At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Ve rnon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games and a video recorder. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petuni a came back from the telephone, looking both angry and worried. “Bad news, Vernon,” she said. “Mrs Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take him.” She jerked her head in Harry’s direction. Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror but Harry’s heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley’s birthday his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger bars or the cinema. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she’d ever owned. “Now what?” said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he’d planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn’t easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr Paws and Tufty again. “We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon suggested. “Don’t be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy.” The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn’t there – or rather, as though he wa s something very nasty that couldn’t understand them, like a slug. “What about what’s-her-name, your friend – Yvonne?” “On holiday in Majorca,” snapped Aunt Petunia. “You could just leave me here,” Harry put in hopefully (he’d be able to watch what he wanted on televi sion for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley’s computer). Aunt Petunia looked as though she’d just swallowed a lemon. “And come back and find the house in ruins?” she snarled. “I won’t blow up the house,” said Harry, but they weren’t listening.<|quote|>“I suppose we could take him to the zoo,”</|quote|>said Aunt Petunia slowly, “… and leave him in the car …” “That car’s new, he’s not sitting in it alone …” Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn’t really crying, it had been years since he’d really cried, but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted. “Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry, Mu mmy won’t let him spoil your special day!” she cried, flinging her arms around him. “I … don’t … want … him … t-t-to come!” Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. “He always sp-spoils everything!” He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother’s arms. Just then, the doorbell rang – “Oh, Good Lord, they’re here!” said Aunt Petunia frantically – and a moment later, Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people’s arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once. Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn’t believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys’ car wi th Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they’d left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside. “I’m warning you,” he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry’s, “I’m warning you now, boy – any funny business, anything at all – and you’ll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas.” “I’m not going to do anything,” said Harry, “honestly …” But Uncle Vernon didn’t believe him. No one ever did. The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and it was just no good telling the Durs leys he didn’t make them happen. Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barber’s looking as though he hadn’t been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his fringe, which she left<|speaker|>Aunt Petunia<eos> | <bos><|context|>Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, “So I’ll have thirty … thirty …” “Thirty-nine, sweetums,” said Aunt Petunia. “Oh.” Dudley sat down heavily an d grabbed the nearest parcel. “All right then.” Uncle Vernon chuckled. “Little tyke wants his money’s worth, just like his father. Atta boy, Dudley!” He ruffled Dudley’s hair. At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Ve rnon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games and a video recorder. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petuni a came back from the telephone, looking both angry and worried. “Bad news, Vernon,” she said. “Mrs Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take him.” She jerked her head in Harry’s direction. Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror but Harry’s heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley’s birthday his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger bars or the cinema. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she’d ever owned. “Now what?” said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he’d planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn’t easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr Paws and Tufty again. “We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon suggested. “Don’t be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy.” The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn’t there – or rather, as though he wa s something very nasty that couldn’t understand them, like a slug. “What about what’s-her-name, your friend – Yvonne?” “On holiday in Majorca,” snapped Aunt Petunia. “You could just leave me here,” Harry put in hopefully (he’d be able to watch what he wanted on televi sion for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley’s computer). Aunt Petunia looked as though she’d just swallowed a lemon. “And come back and find the house in ruins?” she snarled. “I won’t blow up the house,” said Harry, but they weren’t listening.<|quote|>“I suppose we could take him to the zoo,”</|quote|>said Aunt Petunia slowly, “… and leave him in the car …” “That car’s new, he’s not sitting in it alone …” Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn’t really crying, it had been years since he’d really cried, but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted. “Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry, Mu mmy won’t let him spoil your special day!” she cried, flinging her arms around him. “I … don’t … want … him … t-t-to come!” Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. “He always sp-spoils everything!” He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother’s arms. Just then, the doorbell rang – “Oh, Good Lord, they’re here!” said Aunt Petunia frantically – and a moment later, Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people’s arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once. Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn’t believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys’ car wi th Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they’d left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside. “I’m warning you,” he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry’s, “I’m warning you now, boy – any funny business, anything at all – and you’ll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas.” “I’m not going to do anything,” said Harry, “honestly …” But Uncle Vernon didn’t believe him. No one ever did. The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and it was just no good telling the Durs leys he didn’t make them happen. Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barber’s looking as though he hadn’t been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his fringe, which she left<|speaker|> | Aunt Petunia |
<bos><|context|>“Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford.” He turned back to Harry. “You’ll soon find out some wizard ing families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.” He held out his hand to shake Harry’s, but Harry didn’t take it. “I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” he said coolly. Draco Malfoy didn’t go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks. “I’d be careful if I were you, Potter,” he said slowly. “Unless you’re a bit politer you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riff-raff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid and it’ll rub off on you.” Both Harry and Ron stood up. Ron’s face was as red as his hair. “Say that again,” he said. “Oh, you’re going to fight us, are you?” Malfoy sneered. “Unless you get out now,” said Harry, more bravely than he felt, because Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than him or Ron. “But we don’t feel like leaving, do we, boys? We’ve eaten all our food and you still seem to have some.” Goyle reached towards the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron – Ron leapt forward, but before he’d so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a horrible yell. Scabbers the rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep into Goyle’s knuckle – Crabbe and Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung Scabbers round and round, how ling, and when Scabbers finally flew off and hit the window, all th ree of them disappeared at once. Perhaps they thought there were mo re rats lurking among the sweets, or perhaps they’d heard footsteps, because a second later, Hermione Granger had come in. “What has been going on?” she said , looking at the sweets all over the floor and Ron picking up Scabbers by his tail. “I think he’s been knocked out, ” Ron said to Harry. He looked closer at Scabbers. “No – I don’t believe it – he’s gone back to sleep.” And so he had. “You’ve met Malfoy before?” Harry explained about their m eeting in Diagon Alley. “I’ve heard of his family,” said Ron darkly. “They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they’d been bewitched. My dad does n’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.” He turned to Hermione. “Can we help you with something?” “You’d better hurry up and put your robes on, I’ve just been up the front to ask the driver and he says we’re nearly there. You haven’t been fighting, have you? You’ll be in trouble before we even get there!” “Scabbers has been fighting, not us,”<|quote|>said Ron, scowling at her.</|quote|>“Would you mind leaving while we change?” “All right – I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors,” said Hermione in a sniffy voice. “And yo u’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?” Ron glared at her as she left. Ha rry peered out of the window. It was getting dark. He could see mountains and forests under a deep-purple sky. The train did seem to be slowing down. He and Ron took off their jackets and pulled on their long black robes. Ron’s were a bit short for him, you could see his trainers underneath them. A voice echoed through the train: “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.” Harry’s stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, he saw, looked pale under his freckles. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor. The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way towards the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in the cold night air. Th en a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students and Harry heard a familiar voice: “Firs’-years! Firs’-years over here! All right there, Harry?” Hagrid’s big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads. “C’mon, follow me – any more firs’-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’-years follow me!” Slipping and stumbling, they follo wed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice. “Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called over his shoulder, “jus’ round this bend here.” There was a loud “Oooooh!” . The narrow path had opened suddenly on to the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.<|speaker|><|No speaker|><eos> | <bos><|context|>“Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford.” He turned back to Harry. “You’ll soon find out some wizard ing families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.” He held out his hand to shake Harry’s, but Harry didn’t take it. “I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” he said coolly. Draco Malfoy didn’t go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks. “I’d be careful if I were you, Potter,” he said slowly. “Unless you’re a bit politer you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riff-raff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid and it’ll rub off on you.” Both Harry and Ron stood up. Ron’s face was as red as his hair. “Say that again,” he said. “Oh, you’re going to fight us, are you?” Malfoy sneered. “Unless you get out now,” said Harry, more bravely than he felt, because Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than him or Ron. “But we don’t feel like leaving, do we, boys? We’ve eaten all our food and you still seem to have some.” Goyle reached towards the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron – Ron leapt forward, but before he’d so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a horrible yell. Scabbers the rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep into Goyle’s knuckle – Crabbe and Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung Scabbers round and round, how ling, and when Scabbers finally flew off and hit the window, all th ree of them disappeared at once. Perhaps they thought there were mo re rats lurking among the sweets, or perhaps they’d heard footsteps, because a second later, Hermione Granger had come in. “What has been going on?” she said , looking at the sweets all over the floor and Ron picking up Scabbers by his tail. “I think he’s been knocked out, ” Ron said to Harry. He looked closer at Scabbers. “No – I don’t believe it – he’s gone back to sleep.” And so he had. “You’ve met Malfoy before?” Harry explained about their m eeting in Diagon Alley. “I’ve heard of his family,” said Ron darkly. “They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they’d been bewitched. My dad does n’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.” He turned to Hermione. “Can we help you with something?” “You’d better hurry up and put your robes on, I’ve just been up the front to ask the driver and he says we’re nearly there. You haven’t been fighting, have you? You’ll be in trouble before we even get there!” “Scabbers has been fighting, not us,”<|quote|>said Ron, scowling at her.</|quote|>“Would you mind leaving while we change?” “All right – I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors,” said Hermione in a sniffy voice. “And yo u’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?” Ron glared at her as she left. Ha rry peered out of the window. It was getting dark. He could see mountains and forests under a deep-purple sky. The train did seem to be slowing down. He and Ron took off their jackets and pulled on their long black robes. Ron’s were a bit short for him, you could see his trainers underneath them. A voice echoed through the train: “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.” Harry’s stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, he saw, looked pale under his freckles. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor. The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way towards the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in the cold night air. Th en a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students and Harry heard a familiar voice: “Firs’-years! Firs’-years over here! All right there, Harry?” Hagrid’s big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads. “C’mon, follow me – any more firs’-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’-years follow me!” Slipping and stumbling, they follo wed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice. “Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called over his shoulder, “jus’ round this bend here.” There was a loud “Oooooh!” . The narrow path had opened suddenly on to the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.<|speaker|> | <|No speaker|> |
<bos><|context|>“And don’t ask questions.” Don’t ask questions – that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon entered the kitche n as Harry was turning over the bacon. “Comb your hair!” he barked, by way of a morning greeting. About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry n eeded a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way – all over the place. Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large, pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes and thick, blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel – Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig. Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn’t much r oom. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell. “Thirty-six,” he said, looking up at his mother and father. “That’s two less than last year.” “Darling, you haven’t counted Auntie Marge’s present, see, it’s here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy.” “All right, thirty-seven then,” sa id Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over. Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger too, because she said quickly, “And we’ll buy you another two presents while we’re out today. How’s that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?” Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, “So I’ll have thirty … thirty …” “Thirty-nine, sweetums,” said Aunt Petunia. “Oh.” Dudley sat down heavily an d grabbed the nearest parcel. “All right then.” Uncle Vernon chuckled. “Little tyke wants his money’s worth, just like his father. Atta boy, Dudley!” He ruffled Dudley’s hair. At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Ve rnon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games and a video recorder. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petuni a came back from the telephone, looking both angry and worried. “Bad news, Vernon,” she said.<|quote|>“Mrs Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take him.”</|quote|>She jerked her head in Harry’s direction. Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror but Harry’s heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley’s birthday his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger bars or the cinema. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she’d ever owned. “Now what?” said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he’d planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn’t easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr Paws and Tufty again. “We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon suggested. “Don’t be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy.” The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn’t there – or rather, as though he wa s something very nasty that couldn’t understand them, like a slug. “What about what’s-her-name, your friend – Yvonne?” “On holiday in Majorca,” snapped Aunt Petunia. “You could just leave me here,” Harry put in hopefully (he’d be able to watch what he wanted on televi sion for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley’s computer). Aunt Petunia looked as though she’d just swallowed a lemon. “And come back and find the house in ruins?” she snarled. “I won’t blow up the house,” said Harry, but they weren’t listening. “I suppose we could take him to the zoo,” said Aunt Petunia slowly, “… and leave him in the car …” “That car’s new, he’s not sitting in it alone …” Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn’t really crying, it had been years since he’d really cried, but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted. “Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry, Mu mmy won’t let him spoil your special day!” she cried, flinging her arms around him. “I … don’t … want … him … t-t-to come!” Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. “He always sp-spoils everything!” He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother’s arms. Just then, the doorbell rang – “Oh, Good Lord, they’re here!” said Aunt Petunia frantically – and a moment later, Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people’s arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once. Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn’t believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys’ car wi th Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they’d left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside.<|speaker|>Aunt Petunia<eos> | <bos><|context|>“And don’t ask questions.” Don’t ask questions – that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon entered the kitche n as Harry was turning over the bacon. “Comb your hair!” he barked, by way of a morning greeting. About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry n eeded a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way – all over the place. Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large, pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes and thick, blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel – Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig. Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn’t much r oom. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell. “Thirty-six,” he said, looking up at his mother and father. “That’s two less than last year.” “Darling, you haven’t counted Auntie Marge’s present, see, it’s here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy.” “All right, thirty-seven then,” sa id Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over. Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger too, because she said quickly, “And we’ll buy you another two presents while we’re out today. How’s that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?” Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, “So I’ll have thirty … thirty …” “Thirty-nine, sweetums,” said Aunt Petunia. “Oh.” Dudley sat down heavily an d grabbed the nearest parcel. “All right then.” Uncle Vernon chuckled. “Little tyke wants his money’s worth, just like his father. Atta boy, Dudley!” He ruffled Dudley’s hair. At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Ve rnon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games and a video recorder. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petuni a came back from the telephone, looking both angry and worried. “Bad news, Vernon,” she said.<|quote|>“Mrs Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take him.”</|quote|>She jerked her head in Harry’s direction. Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror but Harry’s heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley’s birthday his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger bars or the cinema. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she’d ever owned. “Now what?” said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he’d planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn’t easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr Paws and Tufty again. “We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon suggested. “Don’t be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy.” The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn’t there – or rather, as though he wa s something very nasty that couldn’t understand them, like a slug. “What about what’s-her-name, your friend – Yvonne?” “On holiday in Majorca,” snapped Aunt Petunia. “You could just leave me here,” Harry put in hopefully (he’d be able to watch what he wanted on televi sion for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley’s computer). Aunt Petunia looked as though she’d just swallowed a lemon. “And come back and find the house in ruins?” she snarled. “I won’t blow up the house,” said Harry, but they weren’t listening. “I suppose we could take him to the zoo,” said Aunt Petunia slowly, “… and leave him in the car …” “That car’s new, he’s not sitting in it alone …” Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn’t really crying, it had been years since he’d really cried, but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted. “Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry, Mu mmy won’t let him spoil your special day!” she cried, flinging her arms around him. “I … don’t … want … him … t-t-to come!” Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. “He always sp-spoils everything!” He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother’s arms. Just then, the doorbell rang – “Oh, Good Lord, they’re here!” said Aunt Petunia frantically – and a moment later, Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people’s arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once. Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn’t believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys’ car wi th Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they’d left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside.<|speaker|> | Aunt Petunia |
<bos><|context|>said th e boy, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done, because a second later, he had gone – but how had he done it? Now the third brother was walking briskly towards the ticket barrier – he was almost there – and then, quite suddenly, he wasn’t anywhere. There was nothing else for it. “Excuse me,” Harry said to the plump woman. “Hullo, dear,” she said. “First time at Hogwarts? Ron’s new, too.” She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet and a long nose. “Yes,” said Harry. “The thing is – the thing is, I don’t know how to–” “How to get on to the platfo rm?” she said kindly, and Harry nodded. “Not to worry,” she said. “All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you’re nervous. Go on, go now before Ron.” “Er – OK,” said Harry. He pushed his trolley round and st ared at the barrier. It looked very solid. He started to walk towards it. People jostled him on their way to platforms nine and ten. Harry walked more quickly. He was going to smash right into that ticket box and then he’d be in trouble – leaning forward on his trolley he broke into a heavy run – the barrier was coming nearer and nearer – he wouldn’t be able to stop – the trolley was out of control – he was a foot away – he closed his eyes ready for the crash – It didn’t come … he kept on running … he opened his eyes. A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock . Harry looked behind him and saw a wrough t-iron archway where the ticket box had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. He had done it. Smoke from the engine drifted ov er the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to each other in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks. The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry pushed his trolley off do wn the platform in search of an empty seat. He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, “Gran, I’ve lost my toad again.” “Oh, Neville,”<|quote|>he heard the old woman sigh. A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.</|quote|>“Give us a look, Lee, go on.” The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg. Harry pressed on through the crowd until he found an empty compartment near the end of the trai n. He put Hedwig inside first and then started to shove and heave his trunk towards the train door. He tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice he dropped it painfully on his foot. “Want a hand?” It was one of the red-haired twins he’d followed through the ticket box. “Yes, please,” Harry panted. “Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!” With the twins’ help, Harry’s trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment. “Thanks,” said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. “What’s that?” said one of the tw ins suddenly, pointing at Harry’s lightning scar. “Blimey,” said the other twin. “Are you –?” “He is,” said the first twin. “Aren’t you?” he added to Harry. “What?” said Harry. “Harry Potter ,” chorused the twins. “Oh, him,” said Harry. “I mean, yes, I am.” The two boys gawped at him and Harry felt himself going red. Then, to his relief, a voice came fl oating in through the train’s open door. “Fred? George? Are you there?” “Coming, Mum.” With a last look at Harry, the twins hopped off the train. Harry sat down next to the window where, half-hidden, he could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief. “Ron, you’ve got something on your nose.” The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose. “Mum – geroff.” He wriggled free. “Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?” said one of the twins. “Shut up,” said Ron. “Where’s Percy?” said their mother. “He’s coming now.” The oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes and Harry noticed a shiny silver badge on his chest with the letter P on it.<|speaker|><|No speaker|><eos> | <bos><|context|>said th e boy, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done, because a second later, he had gone – but how had he done it? Now the third brother was walking briskly towards the ticket barrier – he was almost there – and then, quite suddenly, he wasn’t anywhere. There was nothing else for it. “Excuse me,” Harry said to the plump woman. “Hullo, dear,” she said. “First time at Hogwarts? Ron’s new, too.” She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet and a long nose. “Yes,” said Harry. “The thing is – the thing is, I don’t know how to–” “How to get on to the platfo rm?” she said kindly, and Harry nodded. “Not to worry,” she said. “All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you’re nervous. Go on, go now before Ron.” “Er – OK,” said Harry. He pushed his trolley round and st ared at the barrier. It looked very solid. He started to walk towards it. People jostled him on their way to platforms nine and ten. Harry walked more quickly. He was going to smash right into that ticket box and then he’d be in trouble – leaning forward on his trolley he broke into a heavy run – the barrier was coming nearer and nearer – he wouldn’t be able to stop – the trolley was out of control – he was a foot away – he closed his eyes ready for the crash – It didn’t come … he kept on running … he opened his eyes. A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock . Harry looked behind him and saw a wrough t-iron archway where the ticket box had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. He had done it. Smoke from the engine drifted ov er the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to each other in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks. The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry pushed his trolley off do wn the platform in search of an empty seat. He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, “Gran, I’ve lost my toad again.” “Oh, Neville,”<|quote|>he heard the old woman sigh. A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.</|quote|>“Give us a look, Lee, go on.” The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg. Harry pressed on through the crowd until he found an empty compartment near the end of the trai n. He put Hedwig inside first and then started to shove and heave his trunk towards the train door. He tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice he dropped it painfully on his foot. “Want a hand?” It was one of the red-haired twins he’d followed through the ticket box. “Yes, please,” Harry panted. “Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!” With the twins’ help, Harry’s trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment. “Thanks,” said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. “What’s that?” said one of the tw ins suddenly, pointing at Harry’s lightning scar. “Blimey,” said the other twin. “Are you –?” “He is,” said the first twin. “Aren’t you?” he added to Harry. “What?” said Harry. “Harry Potter ,” chorused the twins. “Oh, him,” said Harry. “I mean, yes, I am.” The two boys gawped at him and Harry felt himself going red. Then, to his relief, a voice came fl oating in through the train’s open door. “Fred? George? Are you there?” “Coming, Mum.” With a last look at Harry, the twins hopped off the train. Harry sat down next to the window where, half-hidden, he could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief. “Ron, you’ve got something on your nose.” The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose. “Mum – geroff.” He wriggled free. “Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?” said one of the twins. “Shut up,” said Ron. “Where’s Percy?” said their mother. “He’s coming now.” The oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes and Harry noticed a shiny silver badge on his chest with the letter P on it.<|speaker|> | <|No speaker|> |
<bos><|context|>“But first-years never – you must be the youngest house player in about –” “– a century” said Harry, shovelling pie into his mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the exciteme nt of the afternoon. “Wood told me.” Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry. “I start training next week,” said Harry. “Only don’t tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret.” Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry and hurried over. “Well done,” said George in a low voice. “Wood told us. We’re on the team too – Beaters.” “I tell you, we’re going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year,” said Fred. “We haven’t won since Charlie left, but this year’s team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us.” “Anyway, we’ve got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he’s found a new secret passageway out of the school.” “Bet it’s that one behind the stat ue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you.” Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. “Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?” “You’re a lot braver now you’re ba ck on the ground and you’ve got your little friends with you,” said Harry coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl. “I’d take you on any time on my own,” said Malfoy. “Tonight, if you want. Wizard’s duel. Wands only – no contact. What’s the matter? Never heard of a wizard’s duel before, I suppose?” “Of course he has,” said Ron, wheeling round. “I’m his second, who’s yours?” Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up. “Crabbe,” he said. “Midnight all right? We’ll meet you in the trophy room, that’s always unlocked.” When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other.<|quote|>“What is a wizard’s duel?”</|quote|>said Harry. “And what do you mean, you’re my second?” “Well, a second’s there to take ov er if you die,” said Ron casually, getting started at last on his cold pie. Catching the look on Harry’s face, he added quickly, “but people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy’ll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway.” “And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?” “Throw it away and punch him on the nose,” Ron suggested. “Excuse me.” They both looked up. It was Hermione Granger. “Can’t a person eat in peace in this place?” said Ron. Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry. “I couldn’t help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying –” “Bet you could,” Ron muttered. “– and you mustn’t go wandering ar ound the school at night, think of the points you’ll lose Gryffindor if you’re caught, and you’re bound to be. It’s really very selfish of you.” “And it’s really none of your business,” said Harry. “Goodbye,” said Ron. * All the same, it wasn’t what you’d call the perfect end to the day, Harry thought, as he lay awake mu ch later listening to Dean and Seamus falling asleep (Neville wasn’t back from the hospital wing). Ron had spent all evening giving him advice such as “If he tries to curse you, you’d better dodge it, because I can’t remember how to block them” . There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule toda y. On the other hand, Malfoy’s sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness – this was his big chance to beat Malfoy, face to face. He couldn’t miss it. “Half past eleven,” Ron muttered at last. “We’d better go.” They pulled on their dressing-gow ns, picked up their wands and crept across the tower room, down th e spiral staircase and into the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchair s into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them:<|speaker|>Harry Potter<eos> | <bos><|context|>“But first-years never – you must be the youngest house player in about –” “– a century” said Harry, shovelling pie into his mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the exciteme nt of the afternoon. “Wood told me.” Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry. “I start training next week,” said Harry. “Only don’t tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret.” Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry and hurried over. “Well done,” said George in a low voice. “Wood told us. We’re on the team too – Beaters.” “I tell you, we’re going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year,” said Fred. “We haven’t won since Charlie left, but this year’s team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us.” “Anyway, we’ve got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he’s found a new secret passageway out of the school.” “Bet it’s that one behind the stat ue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you.” Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. “Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?” “You’re a lot braver now you’re ba ck on the ground and you’ve got your little friends with you,” said Harry coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl. “I’d take you on any time on my own,” said Malfoy. “Tonight, if you want. Wizard’s duel. Wands only – no contact. What’s the matter? Never heard of a wizard’s duel before, I suppose?” “Of course he has,” said Ron, wheeling round. “I’m his second, who’s yours?” Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up. “Crabbe,” he said. “Midnight all right? We’ll meet you in the trophy room, that’s always unlocked.” When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other.<|quote|>“What is a wizard’s duel?”</|quote|>said Harry. “And what do you mean, you’re my second?” “Well, a second’s there to take ov er if you die,” said Ron casually, getting started at last on his cold pie. Catching the look on Harry’s face, he added quickly, “but people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy’ll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway.” “And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?” “Throw it away and punch him on the nose,” Ron suggested. “Excuse me.” They both looked up. It was Hermione Granger. “Can’t a person eat in peace in this place?” said Ron. Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry. “I couldn’t help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying –” “Bet you could,” Ron muttered. “– and you mustn’t go wandering ar ound the school at night, think of the points you’ll lose Gryffindor if you’re caught, and you’re bound to be. It’s really very selfish of you.” “And it’s really none of your business,” said Harry. “Goodbye,” said Ron. * All the same, it wasn’t what you’d call the perfect end to the day, Harry thought, as he lay awake mu ch later listening to Dean and Seamus falling asleep (Neville wasn’t back from the hospital wing). Ron had spent all evening giving him advice such as “If he tries to curse you, you’d better dodge it, because I can’t remember how to block them” . There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule toda y. On the other hand, Malfoy’s sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness – this was his big chance to beat Malfoy, face to face. He couldn’t miss it. “Half past eleven,” Ron muttered at last. “We’d better go.” They pulled on their dressing-gow ns, picked up their wands and crept across the tower room, down th e spiral staircase and into the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchair s into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them:<|speaker|> | Harry Potter |
<bos><|context|>“Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you’d be just the same, just as strange, just as – as – abnormal – and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!” Harry had gone very white. As soon as he found his voice he said, “Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!” “CAR CRASH!” roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. “How could a car crash kill Lily an’ James Potter? It’s an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowin’ his own story when every kid in our world knows his name!” “But why? What happened?” Harry asked urgently. The anger faded from Hagrid’s fa ce. He looked suddenly anxious. “I never expected this,” he said, in a low, worried voice. “I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me ther e might be trouble gettin’ hold of yeh, how much yeh didn’t know. Ah, Harry, I don’ know if I’m the right person ter tell yeh – but someone’s gotta – yeh can’t go off ter Hogwarts not knowin’.” He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys. “Well, it’s best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh – mind, I can’t tell yeh everythin’, it’s a great myst’ry, parts of it …” He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds and then said, “It begins, I suppose, with – with a person called – but it’s incredible yeh don’t know his name, everyone in our world knows –” “Who?” “Well – I don’ like sayin’ the name if I can help it. No one does.” “Why not?” “Gulpin’ gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went … bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was …” Hagrid gulped, but no words came out. “Could you write it down?” Harry suggested. “Nah – can’t spell it. All right – Voldemort.” Hagrid shuddered. “Don’ make me say it again. Anyway , this – this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin’ fer followers. Got ’em, too – some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o’ his power, ‘cause he was gettin’ himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn’t know who ter trust, didn’t dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches … Terrible things happened. He was takin’ over. ’Course, some stood up to him – an’ he killed ’em. Horribly. One o’ the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore’s the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn’t dare try takin’ the school, not jus’ then, anyway.<|quote|>“Now, yer mum an’ dad were as good a witch an’ wizard as I ever knew. Head Boy an’ Girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst’ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get ’em on his side before … probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin’ ter do with the Dark Side.</|quote|>“Maybe he thought he could persuade ’em … maybe he just wanted ’em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Hallowe’en ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an’ – an’ –” Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn. “Sorry” he said. “But it’s that sad – knew yer mum an’ dad, an’ nicer people yeh couldn’t find – anyway – “You-Know-Who killed ’em. an’ then – an’ this is the real myst’ry of the thing – he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin’ by then. But he couldn’t do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That’s what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh – took care of yer mum an’ dad an’ yer house, even – but it didn’t work on you, an’ that’s why yer famous, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill ’em, no one except you, an’ he’d killed some o’ the best witches an’ wizards of the age – the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts – an’ you was only a baby, an’ you lived.” Something very painful was going on in Harry’s mind. As Hagrid’s story came to a close, he saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before – and he remembered something else, for the first time in his life – a high, cold, cruel laugh. Hagrid was watching him sadly. “Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore’s orders. Brought yeh ter this lot …” “Load of old tosh,” said Uncle Vernon. Harry jumped, he had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were th ere. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched. “Now, you listen here, boy,” he snarled. “I accept there’s something strange about you, pr obably nothing a good beating wouldn’t have cured – and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world’s better off without them in my opinion – asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types – just what I expect ed, always knew they’d come to a sticky end –”<|speaker|>Hagrid<eos> | <bos><|context|>“Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you’d be just the same, just as strange, just as – as – abnormal – and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!” Harry had gone very white. As soon as he found his voice he said, “Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!” “CAR CRASH!” roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. “How could a car crash kill Lily an’ James Potter? It’s an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowin’ his own story when every kid in our world knows his name!” “But why? What happened?” Harry asked urgently. The anger faded from Hagrid’s fa ce. He looked suddenly anxious. “I never expected this,” he said, in a low, worried voice. “I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me ther e might be trouble gettin’ hold of yeh, how much yeh didn’t know. Ah, Harry, I don’ know if I’m the right person ter tell yeh – but someone’s gotta – yeh can’t go off ter Hogwarts not knowin’.” He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys. “Well, it’s best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh – mind, I can’t tell yeh everythin’, it’s a great myst’ry, parts of it …” He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds and then said, “It begins, I suppose, with – with a person called – but it’s incredible yeh don’t know his name, everyone in our world knows –” “Who?” “Well – I don’ like sayin’ the name if I can help it. No one does.” “Why not?” “Gulpin’ gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went … bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was …” Hagrid gulped, but no words came out. “Could you write it down?” Harry suggested. “Nah – can’t spell it. All right – Voldemort.” Hagrid shuddered. “Don’ make me say it again. Anyway , this – this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin’ fer followers. Got ’em, too – some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o’ his power, ‘cause he was gettin’ himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn’t know who ter trust, didn’t dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches … Terrible things happened. He was takin’ over. ’Course, some stood up to him – an’ he killed ’em. Horribly. One o’ the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore’s the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn’t dare try takin’ the school, not jus’ then, anyway.<|quote|>“Now, yer mum an’ dad were as good a witch an’ wizard as I ever knew. Head Boy an’ Girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst’ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get ’em on his side before … probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin’ ter do with the Dark Side.</|quote|>“Maybe he thought he could persuade ’em … maybe he just wanted ’em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Hallowe’en ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an’ – an’ –” Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn. “Sorry” he said. “But it’s that sad – knew yer mum an’ dad, an’ nicer people yeh couldn’t find – anyway – “You-Know-Who killed ’em. an’ then – an’ this is the real myst’ry of the thing – he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin’ by then. But he couldn’t do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That’s what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh – took care of yer mum an’ dad an’ yer house, even – but it didn’t work on you, an’ that’s why yer famous, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill ’em, no one except you, an’ he’d killed some o’ the best witches an’ wizards of the age – the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts – an’ you was only a baby, an’ you lived.” Something very painful was going on in Harry’s mind. As Hagrid’s story came to a close, he saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before – and he remembered something else, for the first time in his life – a high, cold, cruel laugh. Hagrid was watching him sadly. “Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore’s orders. Brought yeh ter this lot …” “Load of old tosh,” said Uncle Vernon. Harry jumped, he had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were th ere. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched. “Now, you listen here, boy,” he snarled. “I accept there’s something strange about you, pr obably nothing a good beating wouldn’t have cured – and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world’s better off without them in my opinion – asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types – just what I expect ed, always knew they’d come to a sticky end –”<|speaker|> | Hagrid |
<bos><|context|>Harry called, not taking his eyes off the key with the damaged wing. “Ron, you come at it from above – Hermione, stay below and stop it going down – and I’ll try and catch it. Right, NOW!” Ron dived, Hermione rocketed upwards, the key dodged them both and Harry streaked after it; it sp ed towards the wall, Harry leant forward and with a nasty crunching noise, pinned it against the stone with one hand. Ron and Hermione’s cheers echoed around the high chamber. They landed quickly and Harry ran to the door, the key struggling in his hand. He rammed it into the lock and turned – it worked. The moment the lock had clicked open, the key took flight again, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice. “Ready?” Harry asked the other two, his hand on the door handle. They nodded. He pulled the door open. The next chamber was so dark they couldn’t see anything at all. But as they stepped into it, light suddenly flooded the room to reveal an astonishing sight. They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen, which were all taller than they were and carved from what looked like black stone. Faci ng them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces. Harry, Ron and Hermione shivered slightly – the towering white chessmen had no faces. “Now what do we do?” Harry whispered. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” said Ron. “We’ve got to play our way across the room.” Behind the white pieces they could see another door. “How?” said Hermione nervously. “I think,” said Ron, “we’re go ing to have to be chessmen.” He walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the knight’s horse. At once, the stone sprang to life. The horse pawed the ground and the knight turned his helm eted head to look down at Ron. “Do we – er – have to join you to get across?” The black knight nodded. Ron turned to the other two. “This wants thinking about …” he said. “I suppose we’ve got to take the place of three of the black pieces …” Harry and Hermione stayed quiet, watching Ron think. Finally he said, “Now, don’t be offended or anything, but neither of you are that good at chess –”<|quote|>“We’re not offended,”</|quote|>said Harry quickly. “Just tell us what to do.” “Well, Harry, you take the place of that bishop, and Hermione, you go next to him instead of that castle.” “What about you?” “I’m going to be a knight,” said Ron. The chessmen seemed to have b een listening, because at these words a knight, a bishop and a castle turned their backs on the white pieces and walked off the board leaving three empty squares which Harry, Ron and Hermione took. “White always plays first in chess,” said Ron, peering across the board. “Yes … look …” A white pawn had moved forward two squares. Ron started to direct the black pieces. They moved silently wherever he sent them. Harry’s knees were trembling. What if they lost? “Harry – move diagonally four squares to the right.” Their first real shock came when their other knight was taken. The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board, where he lay quite still, face down. “Had to let that happen,” said Ron, looking shaken. “Leaves you free to take that bishop, Hermione, go on.” Every time one of their men was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. Soon there was a huddle of limp black players slumped along the wall. Twice, Ron only just noti ced in time that Harry and Hermione were in danger. He himself darted around the board taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black ones. “We’re nearly there,” he muttered suddenly. “Let me think – let me think …” The white queen turned her blank face towards him. “Yes …” said Ron softly, “it’s the only way … I’ve got to be taken.” “NO!” Harry and Hermione shouted. “That’s chess!” snapped Ron. “You’v e got to make some sacrifices! I take one step forward and she’ll take me – that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!”<|speaker|>Harry Potter<eos> | <bos><|context|>Harry called, not taking his eyes off the key with the damaged wing. “Ron, you come at it from above – Hermione, stay below and stop it going down – and I’ll try and catch it. Right, NOW!” Ron dived, Hermione rocketed upwards, the key dodged them both and Harry streaked after it; it sp ed towards the wall, Harry leant forward and with a nasty crunching noise, pinned it against the stone with one hand. Ron and Hermione’s cheers echoed around the high chamber. They landed quickly and Harry ran to the door, the key struggling in his hand. He rammed it into the lock and turned – it worked. The moment the lock had clicked open, the key took flight again, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice. “Ready?” Harry asked the other two, his hand on the door handle. They nodded. He pulled the door open. The next chamber was so dark they couldn’t see anything at all. But as they stepped into it, light suddenly flooded the room to reveal an astonishing sight. They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen, which were all taller than they were and carved from what looked like black stone. Faci ng them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces. Harry, Ron and Hermione shivered slightly – the towering white chessmen had no faces. “Now what do we do?” Harry whispered. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” said Ron. “We’ve got to play our way across the room.” Behind the white pieces they could see another door. “How?” said Hermione nervously. “I think,” said Ron, “we’re go ing to have to be chessmen.” He walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the knight’s horse. At once, the stone sprang to life. The horse pawed the ground and the knight turned his helm eted head to look down at Ron. “Do we – er – have to join you to get across?” The black knight nodded. Ron turned to the other two. “This wants thinking about …” he said. “I suppose we’ve got to take the place of three of the black pieces …” Harry and Hermione stayed quiet, watching Ron think. Finally he said, “Now, don’t be offended or anything, but neither of you are that good at chess –”<|quote|>“We’re not offended,”</|quote|>said Harry quickly. “Just tell us what to do.” “Well, Harry, you take the place of that bishop, and Hermione, you go next to him instead of that castle.” “What about you?” “I’m going to be a knight,” said Ron. The chessmen seemed to have b een listening, because at these words a knight, a bishop and a castle turned their backs on the white pieces and walked off the board leaving three empty squares which Harry, Ron and Hermione took. “White always plays first in chess,” said Ron, peering across the board. “Yes … look …” A white pawn had moved forward two squares. Ron started to direct the black pieces. They moved silently wherever he sent them. Harry’s knees were trembling. What if they lost? “Harry – move diagonally four squares to the right.” Their first real shock came when their other knight was taken. The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board, where he lay quite still, face down. “Had to let that happen,” said Ron, looking shaken. “Leaves you free to take that bishop, Hermione, go on.” Every time one of their men was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. Soon there was a huddle of limp black players slumped along the wall. Twice, Ron only just noti ced in time that Harry and Hermione were in danger. He himself darted around the board taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black ones. “We’re nearly there,” he muttered suddenly. “Let me think – let me think …” The white queen turned her blank face towards him. “Yes …” said Ron softly, “it’s the only way … I’ve got to be taken.” “NO!” Harry and Hermione shouted. “That’s chess!” snapped Ron. “You’v e got to make some sacrifices! I take one step forward and she’ll take me – that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!”<|speaker|> | Harry Potter |
<bos><|context|>Ronan didn’t answer immediately. He stared unblinkingly upwards, then sighed again. “Always the innocent are the first vi ctims,” he said. “So it has been for ages past, so it is now.” “Yeah,” said Hagrid, “but have yeh seen anythin’, Ronan? Anythin’ unusual?” “Mars is bright tonight,” Ronan re peated while Hagrid watched him impatiently. “Unusually bright.” “Yeah, but I was meanin’ anythin’ unusual a bit nearer home,” said Hagrid. “So yeh haven’t noticed anythin’ strange?” Yet again, Ronan took a while to answer. At last, he said, “The Forest hides many secrets.” A movement in the trees behind Ronan made Hagrid raise his bow again, but it was only a second cent aur, black-haired and – bodied and wilder-looking than Ronan. “Hullo, Bane,” said Hagrid. “All right?” “Good evening, Hagrid, I hope you are well?” “Well enough. Look, I’ve jus’ bin askin’ Ronan, you seen any-thin’ odd in here lately? Only there’s a unicorn bin injured – would yeh know anythin’ about it?” Bane walked over to stand next to Ronan. He looked skywards. “Mars is bright tonight,” he said simply. “We’ve heard,” said Hagrid grumpily . “Well, if either of you do see anythin’, let me know, won’t yeh? We’ll be off, then.” Harry and Hermione followed him out of the clearing, staring over their shoulders at Ronan and Bane until the trees blocked their view. “Never,” said Hagrid irritably, “try an’ get a straight answer out of a centaur. Ruddy star-gazers. Not inte rested in anythin’ closer’n the moon.” “Are there many of them in here?” asked Hermione. “Oh, a fair few … Keep themselves to themselves mostly, but they’re good enough about turnin’ up if ever I want a word. They’re deep, mind, centaurs … they know th ings … jus’ don’ let on much.” “D’you think that was a centaur we heard earlier?” said Harry. “Did that sound like hooves to you? Nah, if yeh ask me, that was what’s bin killin’ the unicorns – never heard anythin’ like it before.” They walked on through the dense, dark trees. Harry kept looking nervously over his shoulder. He had the nasty feeling they were being watched. He was very glad they had Hagrid and his crossbow with them. They had just passed a bend in the path when Hermione grabbed Hagrid’s arm. “Hagrid! Look! Red sparks, the others are in trouble!” “You two wait here!”<|quote|>Hagrid shou ted.</|quote|>“Stay on the path, I’ll come back for yeh!” They heard him crashing away through the undergrowth and stood looking at each other, very scared, until they couldn’t hear anything but the rustling of leaves around them. “You don’t think they’ve been hur t, do you?” whispered Hermione. “I don’t care if Malfoy has, but if something’s got Neville … It’s our fault he’s here in the first place.” The minutes dragged by. Their ears seemed sharper than usual. Harry’s seemed to be picking up eve ry sigh of the wind, every cracking twig. What was going on? Where were the others? At last, a great crunching noise a nnounced Hagrid’s return. Malfoy, Neville and Fang were with him. Hagrid was fuming. Malfoy, it seemed, had sneaked up behind Neville and grabbed him for a joke. Neville had panicked and sent up the sparks. “We’ll be lucky ter catch anythin’ now, with the racket you two were makin’. Right, we’re changin’ groups – Neville, you stay with me an’ Hermione, Harry, you go with Fang an’ this idiot. I’m sorry,” Hagrid added in a whisper to Harry, “but he’ll have a harder time frightenin’ you, an’ we’ve gotta get this done.” So Harry set off into the heart of the Forest with Malfoy and Fang. They walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the Forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick. Harry thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker. There were splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. Harry could see a clearing ahead, through the tangle d branches of an ancient oak. “Look –” he murmured, holding out his arm to stop Malfoy. Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer. It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Harry had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its lo ng slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly white on the dark leaves. Harry had taken one step towards it when a slithering sound made him freeze where he stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered … Then, out of the shadow s, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Harry, Malfoy and Fang stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, it lowered its head over the wound in the animal’s side, and began to drink its blood.<|speaker|><|No speaker|><eos> | <bos><|context|>Ronan didn’t answer immediately. He stared unblinkingly upwards, then sighed again. “Always the innocent are the first vi ctims,” he said. “So it has been for ages past, so it is now.” “Yeah,” said Hagrid, “but have yeh seen anythin’, Ronan? Anythin’ unusual?” “Mars is bright tonight,” Ronan re peated while Hagrid watched him impatiently. “Unusually bright.” “Yeah, but I was meanin’ anythin’ unusual a bit nearer home,” said Hagrid. “So yeh haven’t noticed anythin’ strange?” Yet again, Ronan took a while to answer. At last, he said, “The Forest hides many secrets.” A movement in the trees behind Ronan made Hagrid raise his bow again, but it was only a second cent aur, black-haired and – bodied and wilder-looking than Ronan. “Hullo, Bane,” said Hagrid. “All right?” “Good evening, Hagrid, I hope you are well?” “Well enough. Look, I’ve jus’ bin askin’ Ronan, you seen any-thin’ odd in here lately? Only there’s a unicorn bin injured – would yeh know anythin’ about it?” Bane walked over to stand next to Ronan. He looked skywards. “Mars is bright tonight,” he said simply. “We’ve heard,” said Hagrid grumpily . “Well, if either of you do see anythin’, let me know, won’t yeh? We’ll be off, then.” Harry and Hermione followed him out of the clearing, staring over their shoulders at Ronan and Bane until the trees blocked their view. “Never,” said Hagrid irritably, “try an’ get a straight answer out of a centaur. Ruddy star-gazers. Not inte rested in anythin’ closer’n the moon.” “Are there many of them in here?” asked Hermione. “Oh, a fair few … Keep themselves to themselves mostly, but they’re good enough about turnin’ up if ever I want a word. They’re deep, mind, centaurs … they know th ings … jus’ don’ let on much.” “D’you think that was a centaur we heard earlier?” said Harry. “Did that sound like hooves to you? Nah, if yeh ask me, that was what’s bin killin’ the unicorns – never heard anythin’ like it before.” They walked on through the dense, dark trees. Harry kept looking nervously over his shoulder. He had the nasty feeling they were being watched. He was very glad they had Hagrid and his crossbow with them. They had just passed a bend in the path when Hermione grabbed Hagrid’s arm. “Hagrid! Look! Red sparks, the others are in trouble!” “You two wait here!”<|quote|>Hagrid shou ted.</|quote|>“Stay on the path, I’ll come back for yeh!” They heard him crashing away through the undergrowth and stood looking at each other, very scared, until they couldn’t hear anything but the rustling of leaves around them. “You don’t think they’ve been hur t, do you?” whispered Hermione. “I don’t care if Malfoy has, but if something’s got Neville … It’s our fault he’s here in the first place.” The minutes dragged by. Their ears seemed sharper than usual. Harry’s seemed to be picking up eve ry sigh of the wind, every cracking twig. What was going on? Where were the others? At last, a great crunching noise a nnounced Hagrid’s return. Malfoy, Neville and Fang were with him. Hagrid was fuming. Malfoy, it seemed, had sneaked up behind Neville and grabbed him for a joke. Neville had panicked and sent up the sparks. “We’ll be lucky ter catch anythin’ now, with the racket you two were makin’. Right, we’re changin’ groups – Neville, you stay with me an’ Hermione, Harry, you go with Fang an’ this idiot. I’m sorry,” Hagrid added in a whisper to Harry, “but he’ll have a harder time frightenin’ you, an’ we’ve gotta get this done.” So Harry set off into the heart of the Forest with Malfoy and Fang. They walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the Forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick. Harry thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker. There were splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. Harry could see a clearing ahead, through the tangle d branches of an ancient oak. “Look –” he murmured, holding out his arm to stop Malfoy. Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer. It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Harry had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its lo ng slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly white on the dark leaves. Harry had taken one step towards it when a slithering sound made him freeze where he stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered … Then, out of the shadow s, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Harry, Malfoy and Fang stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, it lowered its head over the wound in the animal’s side, and began to drink its blood.<|speaker|> | <|No speaker|> |
<bos><|context|>Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with the same question. Neville was snoring loudly, but Harry couldn’t sleep. He tried to empty his mind – he needed to sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a few hours – but the expr ession on Snape’s face when Harry had seen his leg wasn’t easy to forget. * The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match. “You’ve got to eat some breakfast.” “I don’t want anything.” “Just a bit of toast,” wheedled Hermione. “I’m not hungry.” Harry felt terrible. In an hour’s time he’d be walking on to the pitch. “Harry, you need your strength,” said Seamus Finnigan. “Seekers are always the ones who get nobbled by the other team.” “Thanks, Seamus,” said Harry, watching Seamus pile ketchup on his sausages. By eleven o’clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes. Ron and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus and Dean the West Ham fan up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colours. Meanwhile, in the changing rooms, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Qu idditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in green). Wood cleared his throat for silence. “OK, men,” he said. “And women,” said Chaser Angelina Johnson. “And women,” Wood agreed. “This is it.” “The big one,” said Fred Weasley. “The one we’ve all been waiting for,” said George. “We know Oliver’s speech by heart,” Fred told Harry. “We were in the team last year.” “Shut up, you two,” said Wood. “This is the best team Gryffindor’s had in years. We’re going to win. I know it.” He glared at them all as if to say, “Or else.” “Right. It’s time. Good luck, all of you.” Harry followed Fred and George ou t of the changing room and, hoping his knees weren’t going to give way, walked on to the pitch to loud cheers. Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the pitch, waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand. “Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you,” she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry notice d that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint, a fifth-year. Harry thought Flint looked as if he had so me troll blood in him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing Potter for President over the crowd. His heart skipped. He felt braver. “Mount your brooms, please.” Harry clambered on to his Nimbus Two Thousand. Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off. “And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –”<|quote|>“JORDAN!”</|quote|>“Sorry, Professor.” The Weasley twins’ friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall. “And she’s really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood ’s, last year only a reserve – back to Johnson and – no, Slytherin have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes – Flint flying like an eagle up there – he’s going to sc – no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and Gryffindor take the Quaffle – that’s Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and – OUCH – that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger – Quaffle taken by Slytherin – that’s Adrian Pucey speeding off towards the goalposts, but he’s blocked by a second Bludger – sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can’t tell which – nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear fi eld ahead and off she goes – she’s really flying – dodges a speeding Bludger – the goalposts are ahead – come on, now, Angelina – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDOR SCORE!” Gryffindor cheers filled the cold ai r, with howls and moans from the Slytherins. “Budge up there, move along.” “Hagrid!” Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them. “Bin watchin’ from me hut,” said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars round his neck, “But it isn’t the same as bein’ in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?” “Nope,” said Ron. “Harry hasn’t had much to do yet.” “Kept outta trouble, though, that’s somethin’,” said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skywar ds at the speck that was Harry. Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Wood’s game plan. “Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch,” Wood had said. “We don’t want you attacked before you have to be.” When Angelina had scored, Harry had done a couple of loop-the-loops to let out his feelings. Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once he caught sight of a flash of gold but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys ’ wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to come pelting his way, more like a cannon ball than anything, but Harry dodged it and Fred Weasley came chasing after it.<|speaker|>Professor McGonagall<eos> | <bos><|context|>Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with the same question. Neville was snoring loudly, but Harry couldn’t sleep. He tried to empty his mind – he needed to sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a few hours – but the expr ession on Snape’s face when Harry had seen his leg wasn’t easy to forget. * The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match. “You’ve got to eat some breakfast.” “I don’t want anything.” “Just a bit of toast,” wheedled Hermione. “I’m not hungry.” Harry felt terrible. In an hour’s time he’d be walking on to the pitch. “Harry, you need your strength,” said Seamus Finnigan. “Seekers are always the ones who get nobbled by the other team.” “Thanks, Seamus,” said Harry, watching Seamus pile ketchup on his sausages. By eleven o’clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes. Ron and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus and Dean the West Ham fan up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colours. Meanwhile, in the changing rooms, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Qu idditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in green). Wood cleared his throat for silence. “OK, men,” he said. “And women,” said Chaser Angelina Johnson. “And women,” Wood agreed. “This is it.” “The big one,” said Fred Weasley. “The one we’ve all been waiting for,” said George. “We know Oliver’s speech by heart,” Fred told Harry. “We were in the team last year.” “Shut up, you two,” said Wood. “This is the best team Gryffindor’s had in years. We’re going to win. I know it.” He glared at them all as if to say, “Or else.” “Right. It’s time. Good luck, all of you.” Harry followed Fred and George ou t of the changing room and, hoping his knees weren’t going to give way, walked on to the pitch to loud cheers. Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the pitch, waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand. “Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you,” she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry notice d that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint, a fifth-year. Harry thought Flint looked as if he had so me troll blood in him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing Potter for President over the crowd. His heart skipped. He felt braver. “Mount your brooms, please.” Harry clambered on to his Nimbus Two Thousand. Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off. “And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –”<|quote|>“JORDAN!”</|quote|>“Sorry, Professor.” The Weasley twins’ friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall. “And she’s really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood ’s, last year only a reserve – back to Johnson and – no, Slytherin have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes – Flint flying like an eagle up there – he’s going to sc – no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and Gryffindor take the Quaffle – that’s Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and – OUCH – that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger – Quaffle taken by Slytherin – that’s Adrian Pucey speeding off towards the goalposts, but he’s blocked by a second Bludger – sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can’t tell which – nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear fi eld ahead and off she goes – she’s really flying – dodges a speeding Bludger – the goalposts are ahead – come on, now, Angelina – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDOR SCORE!” Gryffindor cheers filled the cold ai r, with howls and moans from the Slytherins. “Budge up there, move along.” “Hagrid!” Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them. “Bin watchin’ from me hut,” said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars round his neck, “But it isn’t the same as bein’ in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?” “Nope,” said Ron. “Harry hasn’t had much to do yet.” “Kept outta trouble, though, that’s somethin’,” said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skywar ds at the speck that was Harry. Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Wood’s game plan. “Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch,” Wood had said. “We don’t want you attacked before you have to be.” When Angelina had scored, Harry had done a couple of loop-the-loops to let out his feelings. Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once he caught sight of a flash of gold but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys ’ wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to come pelting his way, more like a cannon ball than anything, but Harry dodged it and Fred Weasley came chasing after it.<|speaker|> | Professor McGonagall |
<bos><|context|>“Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day … put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older … I know you hate to hear this … when you are ready, you will know.” And Harry knew it would be no good to argue. “But why couldn’t Quirrell touch me?” “Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn’t realise that love as powerful as your mother’s for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign … to have been loved so deeply, ev en though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection for ever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for th is reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good.” Dumbledore now became very inte rested in a bird out on the window-sill, which gave Harry time to dry his eyes on the sheet. When he had found his voice again, Harry said, “And the Invisibility Cloak – do you know who sent it to me?” “Ah – your father happened to leave it in my possession and I thought you might like it.” Dumbledore ’s eyes twinkled. “Useful things … your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here.” “And there’s something else …” “Fire away.” “Quirrell said Snape –” “Professor Snape, Harry.” “Yes, him – Quirrell said he hates me because he hated my father. Is that true?” “Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive.” “What?” “He saved his life.” “What?” “Yes …” said Dumbledore dreamily. “Funny, the way people’s minds work, isn’t it? Professor Snape couldn’t bear being in your father’s debt … I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father quits. Then he could go back to hating your father’s memory in peace …”<|quote|>Harry tried to understand this but it made his head pound, so he stopped.</|quote|>“And sir, there’s one more thing …” “Just the one?” “How did I get the Stone out of the Mirror?” “Ah, now, I’m glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that’s saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone – find it, but not use it – would be able to get it, otherwise they’d just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes … Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertie Bolt’s Every-Flavour Bean s! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavoured one, and since then I’m afraid I’ve rather lost my liking for them – but I think I’ll be safe with a nice toffee, don’t you?” He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, “Alas! Earwax!” * Madam Pomfrey, the matron, was a nice woman, but very strict. “Just five minutes,” Harry pleaded. “Absolutely not.” “You let Professor Dumbledore in …” “Well, of course, that was the Headmaster, quite different. You need rest.” “I am resting, look, lying down and everything. Oh, go on, Madam Pomfrey …” “Oh, very well,” she said. “But five minutes only.” And she let Ron and Hermione in. “Harry!” Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around him again, but Harry was glad she held herself in as his head was still very sore. “Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to – Dumbledore was so worried –” “The whole school’s talking about it,” said Ron. “What really happened?” It was one of those rare occasion s when the true story is even more strange and exciting than th e wild rumours. Harry told them everything: Quirrell; the Mirror; the Stone and Voldemort. Ron and Hermione were a very good audience ; they gasped in all the right places and, when Harry told them what was under Quirrell’s turban, Hermione screamed out loud. “So the Stone’s gone?” said Ron finally. “Flamel’s just going to die?” “That’s what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that – what was it? – ‘to the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure’.” “I always said he was off his rocker,” said Ron, looking quite impressed at how mad his hero was. “So what happened to you two?” said Harry. “Well, I got back all right,” said Hermione. “I brought Ron round – that took a while – and we were dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the Entrance Hall. He already knew – he just said, ‘Harry’s gone after him, hasn’t he?’ and hurtled off to the third floor.” “D’you think he meant you to do it?” said Ron. “Sending you your father’s Cloak and everything?” “Well,” Hermione exploded,<|speaker|><|No speaker|><eos> | <bos><|context|>“Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day … put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older … I know you hate to hear this … when you are ready, you will know.” And Harry knew it would be no good to argue. “But why couldn’t Quirrell touch me?” “Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn’t realise that love as powerful as your mother’s for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign … to have been loved so deeply, ev en though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection for ever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for th is reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good.” Dumbledore now became very inte rested in a bird out on the window-sill, which gave Harry time to dry his eyes on the sheet. When he had found his voice again, Harry said, “And the Invisibility Cloak – do you know who sent it to me?” “Ah – your father happened to leave it in my possession and I thought you might like it.” Dumbledore ’s eyes twinkled. “Useful things … your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here.” “And there’s something else …” “Fire away.” “Quirrell said Snape –” “Professor Snape, Harry.” “Yes, him – Quirrell said he hates me because he hated my father. Is that true?” “Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive.” “What?” “He saved his life.” “What?” “Yes …” said Dumbledore dreamily. “Funny, the way people’s minds work, isn’t it? Professor Snape couldn’t bear being in your father’s debt … I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father quits. Then he could go back to hating your father’s memory in peace …”<|quote|>Harry tried to understand this but it made his head pound, so he stopped.</|quote|>“And sir, there’s one more thing …” “Just the one?” “How did I get the Stone out of the Mirror?” “Ah, now, I’m glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that’s saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone – find it, but not use it – would be able to get it, otherwise they’d just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes … Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertie Bolt’s Every-Flavour Bean s! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavoured one, and since then I’m afraid I’ve rather lost my liking for them – but I think I’ll be safe with a nice toffee, don’t you?” He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, “Alas! Earwax!” * Madam Pomfrey, the matron, was a nice woman, but very strict. “Just five minutes,” Harry pleaded. “Absolutely not.” “You let Professor Dumbledore in …” “Well, of course, that was the Headmaster, quite different. You need rest.” “I am resting, look, lying down and everything. Oh, go on, Madam Pomfrey …” “Oh, very well,” she said. “But five minutes only.” And she let Ron and Hermione in. “Harry!” Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around him again, but Harry was glad she held herself in as his head was still very sore. “Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to – Dumbledore was so worried –” “The whole school’s talking about it,” said Ron. “What really happened?” It was one of those rare occasion s when the true story is even more strange and exciting than th e wild rumours. Harry told them everything: Quirrell; the Mirror; the Stone and Voldemort. Ron and Hermione were a very good audience ; they gasped in all the right places and, when Harry told them what was under Quirrell’s turban, Hermione screamed out loud. “So the Stone’s gone?” said Ron finally. “Flamel’s just going to die?” “That’s what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that – what was it? – ‘to the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure’.” “I always said he was off his rocker,” said Ron, looking quite impressed at how mad his hero was. “So what happened to you two?” said Harry. “Well, I got back all right,” said Hermione. “I brought Ron round – that took a while – and we were dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the Entrance Hall. He already knew – he just said, ‘Harry’s gone after him, hasn’t he?’ and hurtled off to the third floor.” “D’you think he meant you to do it?” said Ron. “Sending you your father’s Cloak and everything?” “Well,” Hermione exploded,<|speaker|> | <|No speaker|> |
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