rformed --" "Black betrayed them?" breathed 
Madam Rosmerta. 

"He did indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready 
to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have 
planned this for the moment of the Potters' death. But, as we all know, 

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You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone, 
horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Black in a very nasty position 
indeed. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had 
shown his true colors as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it 
--" 


"Filthy, stinkin' turncoat!" Hagrid said, so loudly that half the bar 
went quiet. 


"Shh!" said Professor McGonagall. 


"I met him!" growled Hagrid. "I musta bin the last ter see him before he 
killed all them people! It was me what rescued Harry from Lily an' 
James's house after they was killed! jus' got him outta the ruins, poor 
little thing, with a great slash across his forehead, an' his parents 
dead... an' Sirius Black turns up, on that flyin' motorbike he used ter 
ride. Never occurred ter me what he was doin' there. I didn' know he'd 
bin Lily an' James's Secret-Keeper. Thought he'd jus' heard the news o' 
You-Know-Who's attack an' come ter see what he could do. White an' 
shakin', he was. An' yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN' 
TRAITOR!" Hagrid roared. 


"Hagrid, please!" said Professor McGonagall. "Keep your voice down!" 


"How was I ter know he wasn' upset abou' Lily an' James? It was 
You-Know-Who he cared abou'! An' then he says, 'Give Harry ter me, 
Hagrid, I'm his godfather, I'll look after him --' Ha! But I'd had me 
orders from Dumbledore, an' I told Black no, Dumbledore said Harry was 
ter go ter his aunt an' uncle's. Black argued, but in the end he gave 
in. Told me ter take his motorbike ter get Harry there. 'I won't need it 
anymore,' he says. 


"I shoulda known there was somethin' fishy goin' on then. He loved that 
motorbike, what was he givin' it ter me for? Why wouldn' he need it 
anymore? Fact was, it was too easy ter trace. Dumbledore knew he'd bin 
the Potters' Secret-Keeper. Black knew he was goin' ter have ter run fer 
it that night, knew it was a matter o' hours before the Ministry was 
after him. 


"But what if I'd given Harry to him, eh? I bet he'd 've pitched him off 


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the bike halfway out ter sea. His bes' friends' son! But when a wizard 
goes over ter the Dark Side, there's nothin' and no one that matters to 
em anymore...." 

A long silence followed Hagrid's story. Then Madam Rosmerta said with 
some satisfaction, "But he didn't manage to disappear, did he? The 
Ministry of Magic caught up with him next day!" 

"Alas, if only we had," said Fudge bitterly. "It was not we who found 
him. It was little Peter Pettigrew -- another of the Potters' friends. 
Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that Black had been the 
Potters' Secret-Keeper, he went after Black himself." 

"Pettigrew... that fat little boy who was always tagging around after 
them at Hogwarts?" said Madam Rosmerta. 

"Hero-worshipped Black and Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "Never 
quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather ,harp with him. 
You can imagine how I -how I regret that now..." She sounded as though 
she had a sudden head cold. 

"There, now, Minerva," said Fudge kindly, "Pettigrew died a hero's 
death. Eyewitnesses -- Muggles, of course, we wiped their, memories 
later -- told us how Pettigrew cornered Black. They say he was sobbing, 
'Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?' And then he went for his wand. 
Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens...." 

Professor McGonagall blew her nose and said thickly, "Stupid boy ... 
foolish boy... he was always hopeless at dueling... should have left it 
to the Ministry...." 

"I tell yeh, if I'd got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I 
wouldn't 've messed around with wands -- I'd 've ripped him limb -- from 
-- limb," Hagrid growled. 

"You don't know what you're talking about, Hagrid," said Fudge sharply. 
"Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad 
would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was 
Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, 
and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those 

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people. I -- I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A 
crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer 
below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there 
laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him... a heap of 
bloodstained robes and a few -- a few fragments --" 


Fudge's voice stopped abruptly. There was the sound of five noses being 
blown. 


"Well, there you have it, Rosmerta," said Fudge thickly. "Black was 
taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement 'Squad and 
Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was 
some comfort to his poor mother. Blades been in Azkaban ever since." 


Madam Rosmerta let out a long sigh. 


"Is it true he's mad, Minister?" 


"I wish I could say that he was," said Fudge slowly. "I certainly 
believe his master's defeat unhinged him for a while. The murder of 
Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and 
desperate man -- cruel... pointless. Yet I met Black on my last 
inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit 
muttering to themselves in the dark; there's no sense in them... but I 
was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. 
It was unnerving. You'd have thought he was merely bored -- asked if I'd 
finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the 
crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the dementors 
seemed to be having on him -- and he was one of the most heavily guarded 
in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door day and night." 


"But what do you think he's broken out to do?" said Madam Rosmerta. 
"Good gracious, Minister, he isn't trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is 
he?" 


I daresay that is his -- er -- eventual plan," said Fudge evasively. 
"But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who 
alone and friendless is one thing... but give him back his most devoted 
servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he'll rise again...." 


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There was a small chink of glass on wood. Someone had set down their 
glass. 

"You know, Cornelius, if you're dining with the headmaster, he'd better 
head back up to the castle," said Professor McGonagall. 

One by one, the pairs of feet in front of Harry took the weight of their 
owners once more; hems of cloaks swung into sight, and Madam Rosemerta's 
glittering heels disappeared behind the bar. The door of the Three 
Broomsticks opened again, there was another flurry of snow, and the 
teachers had disappeared. 

"Harry?" 

Ron's and Hermione's faces appeared under the table. They were both 
staring at him, lost for words. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN 

THE FIREBOLT 

Harry didn't have a very clear idea of how he had managed to get back 
into the Honeydukes cellar, through the tunnel, and into the castle once 
more. All he knew was that the return trip seemed to take no time at 
all, and that he hardly noticed what he was doing, because his head was 
still pounding with the conversation he had just heard. 

Why had nobody ever told him? Dumbledore, Hagrid, Mr. Weasley, Cornelius 
Fudge... why hadn't anyone ever mentioned the fact that Harry's parents 
had died because their best friend had betrayed them? 

Ron and Herinione watched Harry nervously all through dintier, not 
daring to talk about what they'd overheard, because Percy was sitting 
close by them. When they went upstairs to the crowded common room, it 
was to find Fred and George had set off half a dozen Dungbombs in a fit 
of end- of-term high spirits. Harry, who didn't want Fred and George 
asking him whether he'd reached Hogsmeade or not, sneaked quietly up to 
the empty dormitory and headed straight for his bedside cabinet. He 
pushed his books aside and quickly found what he was looking for -- the 
leather-bound photo album Hagrid had given him two years ago, which was 

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full of wizard pictures of his mother and father. He sat down on his 
bed, drew the hangings around him, and started turning the pages, 
searching, until... 

He stopped on a picture of his parents' wedding day. There was his 
father waving up at him, beaming, the untidy black hair Harry had 
inherited standing up in all directions. There was his mother, alight 
with happiness, arm in arm with his dad. And there ... that must be him. 
Their best man... Harry had never given him a thought before. 

If he hadn't known it was the same person, he would never have guessed 
it was Black in this old photograph. His face wasn't sunken and waxy, 
but handsome, full of laughter. Had he already been working for 
Voldemort when this picture had been taken? Was he already planning the 
deaths of the two people next to him? Did he realize he was facing 
twelve years in Azkaban, twelve years that would make him 
unrecognizable? 

But the dementors don't affect him, Harry thought, staring into the 
handsome, laughing face. He doesn't have to hear my Min screaming if 
they get too close 


Harry slammed the album shut, reached over and stuffed it back into his 
cabinet, took off his robe and glasses and got into bed, making sure the 
hangings were hiding him from view. 

The dormitory door opened. 

"Harry?" said Ron's voice uncertainly. 

But Harry still, pretending to be asleep. He heard Ron leave again, and 
rolled over on his back, his eyes