're you feeling?" 


It was as though Harry's memory was on fast forward. The lightning -the 
Grim -- the Snitch -- and the dementors... 
"What happened?" he said, sitting up so suddenly they all gasped. 
"You fell off," said Fred. "Must've been -- what -- fifty feet?" 
"We thought you'd died," said Alicia, who was shaking. 
Hermione made a small, squeaky noise. Her eyes were extremely bloodshot. 
"But the match," said Harry. "What happened? Are we doing a replay?" 
No one said anything. The horrible truth sank into Harry like a stone. 


"We didn't -- lose?" 
"Diggory got the Snitch," said George. "Just after you fell. He didn't 
realize what had happened. When he looked back and saw you on the 
ground, he tried to call it off. Wanted a rematch. But they won fair and 
square... even Wood admits it." 


"Where is Wood?" said Harry, suddenly realizing he wasn't there. 


"Still in the showers," said Fred. "We think he's trying to drown 
himself." 
Harry put his face to his knees, his hands gripping his hair. Fred 


grabbed his shoulder and shook it roughly. 
"C'mon, Harry, you've never missed the Snitch before." 
"There had to be one time you didn't get it," said George. 

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"It's not over yet," said Fred. "We lost by a hundred points" 

"Right? So if Hufflepuff loses to Ravenclaw and we beat Ravenclaw and 
Slytherin --." 

"Hufflepuff'll have to lose by at least two hundred points," said 
George. 

"But if they beat Ravenclaw..." 

"No Way, Ravenclaw is too good. But if Slytherin loses against 
Hufflepuff..." 

"It all depends on the points -- a margin of a hundred either way." 

Harry lay there, not saying a word. They had lost... for the first time 
ever, he had lost a Quidditch match. 

After ten minutes or so, Madam Pomfrey came over to tell the team to 
leave him in peace. 

"We'll come and see you later," Fred told him. "Don't beat yourself up, 
Harry, you're still the best Seeker we've ever had." 

The team trooped out, trailing mud behind them. Madam Pomfrey shut the 
door behind them, looking disapproving. Ron and Hermione moved nearer to 
Harry's bed. 

"Dumbledore was really angry," Hermione said in a quaking voice. "I've 
never seen him like that before. He ran onto the field as You fell, 
waved his wand, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. 
Then he whirled his wand at the dementors. Shot silver stuff at them. 
They left the stadium right away... He was furious they'd come onto the 
grounds. We heard him --" 

"Then he magicked you onto a stretcher," said Ron. "And walked up to 
school with you floating on it. Everyone thought you were --" 

His voice faded, but Harry hardly noticed. He was thinking about what 
the dementors had done to him... about the screaming voice. He looked up 

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and saw Ron and Hermione lookin, at him so anxiously that he quickly 
cast around for something matter-of-fact to say. 
"Did someone get my Nimbus?" 
Ron and Hermione looked quickly at each other. 
"Er --" 


"What?" said Harry, looking from one to the other. 
"Well... when you fell off, it got blown away," said Hermione 
hesitantly. 


"And?" 
"And it hit -- it hit -- oh, Harry -- it hit the Whomping Willow." 
Harry's insides lurched. The Whomping Willow was a very violent tree 


that stood alone in the middle of the grounds. 
"And?" he said, dreading the answer. 
"Well, you know the Whomping Willow," said Ron. "It -- it doesn't like 


being hit." 


"Professor Flitwick brought it back just before you came around, said 
Hermione in a very small voice. 
Slowly, she reached down for a bag at her feet, turned it upside down, 


and tipped a dozen bits of splintered wood and twig onto the bed, the 
only remains of Harry's faithful, finally beaten broomstick. 
CHAPTER TEN 


THE MARAUDER'S MAP 
Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping Harry in the hospital wing for the 
rest of the weekend. He didn't argue or complain, but he wouldn't let 
her throw away the shattered remnants of his Nimbus Two Thousand. He 


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knew he was being stupid, knew that the Nimbus was beyond repair, but 
Harry couldn't help it; he felt as though he'd lost one of his best 
friends. 

He had a stream of visitors, all intent on cheering him up. Hagrid sent 
him a bunch of earwiggy flowers that looked like yellow cabbages, and 
Ginny Weasley, blushing furiously, turned up with a get-well card she 
had made herself, which sang shrilly unless Harry kept it shut under his 
bowl of fruit. The Gryffindor team visited again on Sunday morning, this 
time accompanied by Wood, who told Harry (in a hollow, dead sort of 
voice) that he didn't blame 

him in the slightest. Ron and Hermione left Harry's bedside only at 
night- But nothing anyone said or did could make Harry feel any better, 
because they knew only half of what was troubling him. 

He hadn't told anyone about the Grim, not even Ron -and Hermione, 
because he knew Ron would panic and Hermione would scoff. The fact 
remained, however, that it had now appeared twice, and both appearances 
had been followed by near-fatal accidents; the first time, he had nearly 
been run over by the Knight Bus; the second, fallen fifty feet from his 
broomstick. Was the Grim going to haunt him until he actually died? Was 
he going to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder for the 
beast? 

And then there were the dementors. Harry felt sick and humiliated every 
time he thought of them. Everyone said the dementors were horrible, but 
no one else collapsed every time they went near one. No one else heard 
echoes in their head of their dying parents. 

Because Harry knew who that screaming voice belonged to now. He had 
heard her words, heard them over and over again during the night hours 
in the hospital wing while he lay awake, staring at the strips of 
moonlight on the ceiling. When the dementors approached him, he heard 
the last moments of his mother's life, her attempts to protect him, 
Harry, from Lord Voldemort, and Voldemort's laughter before he murdered 
her.... Harry dozed fitfully, sinking into dreams full of clammy, rotted 
hands and petrified pleading, jerking awake to dwell again on his 

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mother's voice. 

It was a relief to return to the noise and bustle of the main school on 
Monday, where he was forced to think about other things, eve', if he had 
to endure Draco Malfoys taunting. Malfoy was almost beside himself with 
glee at Gryffindor's defeat. He had finally taken off his bandages, and 
celebrated having the full use of both arms again by doing spirited 
imitations of Harry falling off his broom. Malfoy spent much of their 
next Potions class doing dementor imitations across the dungeon; Ron 
finally cracked and flung a large, slippery crocodile heart at Malfoy, 
which hit him in the face and caused Snape to take fifty points from 
Gryffindor. 

"If Snape's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts again, I'm skiving 
off," said Ron as they headed toward Lupin's classroom after lunch. 
"Check who's in there, Hermione." 

Hermione peered around the classroom door. 

"It's okay!" 

Professor Lupin was back at work. It certainly looked as though he had 
been ill. His old robes were hanging more loosely on him and there were 
dark shadows beneath his eyes; nevertheless, he smiled at the class as 
they took their seats, and they burst at once into an explosion of 
complaints about Snape's behavior while Lupin had been ill. 

"It's not fair, he was only filling in, why should he give us homework?" 

"We don't know anything about werewolves two rolls of parchment!" 

"Did you tell Professor Snape we haven't covered them yet?" Lupin asked, 
frowning slightly. 

The babble broke out again. 

"Yes, but he said we were really behind he wouldn't listen --" 

"-- two rolls of parchment!" 

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Professor Lupin smiled at the look of indignation on every face. 

"Don't worry. I'll speak to Professor Snape. You don't have to do the 
essay." 

"Oh no," said Hermione, looking very disappointed. "I've already 
finished it!" 

They had a very enjoyable lesson. Professor Lupin had brought along a 
glass box containing a hinkypunk, a little one-legged creature who 
looked as though he were made of wisps of smoke, rather frail and 
harmless looking. 

"Lures travelers into bogs," said Professor Lupin as they took notes. 
"You notice the lantern dangling from his hand? Hops ahead -people 
follow the light -- then --" 

The hinkypunk made a horrible squelching noise against the glass. 

When the bell rang, everyone gathered up their things and headed for the 
door, Harry among them, but -


"Wait a moment, Harry," Lupin called. "I'd like a word." 

Harry doubled back and watched Professor Lupin covering the hinkypunk's 
box with a cloth. 

"I heard about the match," said Lupin, turning back to his desk and 
starting to pile books into his briefcase, "and I'm sorry about your 
broomstick. Is there any chance of fixing it?" 

"No," said Harry. "The tree smashed it to bits." 

Lupin sighed. 

"They planted the Whomping Willow the same year that I arrived at 
Hogwarts. People used to play a game, trying to get near enough to touch 
the trunk. In the end, a boy called Davey Gudgeon nearly lost an eye, 
and we were forbidden to go near it. No broomstick would have a chance." 

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"Did you hear about the dementors too?" said Harry with difficulty. 

Lupin looked at him quickly. 

"Yes, I did. I don't think any of us have seen Professor Dumbledore that 
angry. They have been growing restless for some time -- furious at his 
refusal to let them inside the grounds.... I suppose they were the 
reason you fell?" 

"Yes," said Harry. He hesitated, and then the question he had to ask 
burst from him befo