re he could stop himself." Why? Why do they affect me 
like that? Am I just --?" 

"It has nothing to do with weakness," said Professor Lupin sharply, as 
though he had read Harry's mind. "The dementors affect you worse than 
the others because there are horrors in your past that the others don't 
have." 

A ray of wintery sunlight fell across the classroom, illuminating 
Lupin's gray hairs and the lines on his young face. 

"Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They 
infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, 
they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. Even 
Muggles feel their presence, though they can't see them. Get too near a 
dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out 
of you. If it can, the dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce 
you to something like itself... soul-less and evil. You'll be left with 
nothing but the worst experiences of your life. And the worst that 
happened to you, Harry, is enough to make anyone fall off their broom. 
You have nothing to feel ashamed of." 

"When they get near me --" Harry stared at Lupin's desk, his throat 
tight. "I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum." 

Lupin made a sudden motion with his arm as though to grip Harry's 
shoulder, but thought better of it. There was a moment's Silence, then 

"Why did they have to come to the match?" said Harry bitterly. 

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"They're getting hungry," said Lupin coolly, shutting his briefcase with 
a snap. "Dumbledore won't let them into the school, so their supply of 
human prey has dried up.... I don't think they could resist the large 
crowd around the Quidditch field. All that excitement ... emotions 
running high... it was their idea of a feast." 

"Azkaban must be terrible," Harry muttered. Lupin nodded grimly. 

"The fortress is set on a tiny island, way out to sea, but they don't 
need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they're all 
trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheery thought. 
Most of them go mad within weeks." 

"But Sirius Black escaped from them," Harry said slowly. "He got 
away..." 

Lupin's briefcase slipped from the desk; he had to stoop quickly to 
catch it. 

"Yes," he said, straightening up, "Black must have found a way to fight 
them. I wouldn't have believed it possible.... Dementors are supposed to 
drain a wizard of his powers if he is left with them too long...." 

"You made that dementor on the train back off," said Harry suddenly. 

"There are -- certain defenses one can use," said Lupin. "But there was 
only one dementor on the train. The more there are, the more difficult 
it becomes to resist." 

"What defenses?" said Harry at once. "Can you teach me?" 

"I don't pretend to be an expert at fighting dementors, Harry, quite the 
contrary..." 

"But if the dementors come to another Quidditch match, I need to be able 
to fight them --" 

Lupin looked into Harry's determined face, hesitated, then said, 
"Well... all right. I'll try and help. But it'll have to wait until next 

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term, I'm afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays. I chose a very 
inconvenient time to fall ill." 

What with the promise of anti-dementor lessons from Lupin, the thought 
that he might never have to hear his mother's death again, and the fact 
that Ravenclaw flattened Hufflepuff in their Quidditch match at the end 
of November, Harry's mood took a definite upturn. Gryffindor were not 
out of the running after all, although they could not afford to lose 
another match. Wood became repossessed of his manic energy, and worked 
his team as hard as ever in the chilly haze of rain that persisted into 
December. Harry saw no hint of a dementor within the grounds. 
Dumbledore's anger seemed to be keeping them at their stations at the 
entrances. 

Two weeks before the end of the term, the sky lightened suddenly to a 
dazzling, opaline white and the muddy grounds were revealed one morning 
covered in glittering frost. Inside the castle, there was a buzz of 
Christmas in the air. Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, had 
already decorated his classroom with shimmering lights that turned out 
to be real, fluttering fairies. The students were all happily discussing 
their plans for the holidays. Both Ron and Hermione had decided to 
remain at Hogwarts, and though Ron said it was because he couldn't stand 
two weeks with Percy, and Hermione insisted she needed to use the 
library, Harry wasn't fooled; they were doing it to keep him company, 
and he was very grateful. 

To everyone's delight except Harry's, there was to be another Hogsmeade 
trip on the very last weekend of the term. 

"We can do all our Christmas shopping there!" said Hermione. "Mum and 
Dad would really love those Toothflossing Stringmints from Honeydukes!" 

Resigned to the fact that he would be the only third year staying behind 
again, Harry borrowed a copy of Which Broomstick from Wood, and decided 
to spend the day reading up on the different makes. He had been riding 
one of the school brooms at team practice, an ancient Shooting Star, 
which was very slow and jerky; he definitely needed a new broom of his 
own. 

On the Saturday morning of the Hogsmeade trip, Harry bid good-bye to Ron 

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and Hermione, who were wrapped in cloaks and scarves, then turned up the 
marble staircase alone, and headed back toward Gryffindor Tower. Snow 
had started to fall outside the windows, and the castle was very still 
and quiet. 

"Psst -- Harry!" 

He turned, halfway along the third-floor corridor, to see Fred and 
George peering out at him from behind a statue of a humpbacked, one-eyed 
witch. 

"What are you doing?" said Harry curiously. "How come you're not going 
to Hogsmeade?" 

"We've come to give you a bit of festive cheer before we go," said Fred, 
with a mysterious wink. "Come in here...." 

He nodded toward an empty classroom to the left of the one-eyed statue. 
Harry followed Fred and George inside. George closed the door quietly 
and then turned, beaming, to look at Harry. 

"Early Christmas present for you, Harry," he said. 

Fred pulled something from inside his cloak with a flourish and laid it 
on one of the desks. It was a large, square, very worn piece of 
parchment with nothing written on it. Harry, suspecting one of Fred and 
George's jokes, stared at it. 

"What's that supposed to be?" 

"This, Harry, is the secret of our success," said George, patting the 
parchment fondly. 

"It's a wrench, giving it to you," said Fred, "but we decided last 
night, your need's greater than ours." 

"Anyway, we know it by heart," said George. "We bequeath it to you. We 
don't really need it anymore." 

"And what do I need with a bit of old parchment?" said Harry. 

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"A bit of old parchment!" said Fred, closing his eyes with a grimace as 
though Harry had mortally offended him. "Explain, George." 

"Well... when we were in our first year, Harry -- young, carefree, and 
innocent --" 

Harry snorted. He doubted whether Fred and George had ever been 
innocent. 

"Well, more innocent than we are now -- we got into a spot of bother 
with Filch." 

"We let off a Dungbomb in the corridor and it upset him for some reason 
--" 

"So he hauled us off to his office and started threatening us with the 
usual --" detention disembowelment and we couldn't help noticing a 
drawer in one of his filing cabinets marked Confiscated and Highly 
Dangerous. 

"Don't tell me --" said Harry, starting to grin. 

"Well, what would you've done?" said Fred. "George caused a diversion by 
dropping another Dungbomb, I whipped the drawer open, and grabbed -this." 


"It's not as bad as it sounds, you know," said George. "We don't reckon 
Filch ever found out how to work it. He probably suspected what it was, 
though, or he wouldn't have confiscated it." 

"And you know how to work it?" 

"Oh yes," said Fred, smirking. "This little beauty's taught us more than 
all the teachers in this school." 

"You're winding me up," said Harry, looking at the ragged old bit of 
parchment. 

"Oh, are we?" said George. 

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He took out his wand, touched the parchment lightly, and said, "I 
solemnly swear that I am up to no good." 


And at once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider's web from the 
point that George's wand had touched. They joined each other, they 
crisscrossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment; then words 
began to blossom across the top, great, curly green words, that 
proclaimed: 


Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs 


Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present THE 
MARAUDER'S MAP 


It was a map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. 
But the truly remarkable thing were the tiny ink dots moving around it, 
each labeled with a name in minuscule writing. Astounded, Harry bent 
over it. A labeled dot in the top left corner showed that Professor 
Dumbledore was pacing his study; the caretaker's cat, Mrs. Norris, was 
prowling the second floor; and Peeves the Poltergeist was currently 
bouncing around the trophy room. And as Harry's eyes traveled up and 
down the familiar corridors, he noticed something else. 


This map showed a set of passages he had never entered. And many of them 
seemed to lead 


"Right into Hogsmeade," said Fred, tracing one of them with his finger. 
"There are seven in all. Now, Filch knows about these four" -- he 
pointed them out -- "but we're sure we're the only ones who know about 
these. Don't bother with the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor. 
We used it until last winter, but it's caved in -- completely blocked. 
And we don't reckon anyone's ever used this one,