Wood, his expression clearing. "Well, in that case -- I 
really didn't want to lose you as Seeker, Harry. And have you ordered a 
new broom yet?" 

"No," said Harry. 

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"What! You'd better get a move on, you know -- you can't ride that 
Shooting Star against Ravenclaw!" 

"He got a Firebolt for Christmas," said Ron. 

"A Firebolt? No! Seriously? A -- a real Firebolt?" 

"Don't get excited, Oliver," said Harry gloomily. "I haven't got it 
anymore. It was confiscated." And he explained all about how the 
Firebolt was now being checked for jinxes. 

"Jinxed? How could it be jinxed?" 

"Sirius Black" Harry said wearily. "He's supposed to be after me. So 
McGonagall reckons he might have sent it." 

Waving aside the information that a famous murderer was after his 
Seeker, Wood said, "But Black couldn't have bought a Firebolt! He's on 
the run! The whole country's on the lookout for him! How could he just 
walk into Quality Quidditch Supplies and buy a broomstick?" 

"I know," said Harry, "but McGonagall still wants to strip it down --" 

Wood went pale. 

"I'll go and talk to her, Harry," he promised. "I'll make her see 
reason.... A Firebolt... a real Firebolt, on our team... She wants 
Gryffindor to win as much as we do.... I'll make her see sense. A 
Firebolt..." 

Classes started again the next day. The last thing anyone felt like 
doing was spending two hours on the grounds on a raw January morning, 
but Hagrid had provided a bonfire full of salamanders for their 
enjoyment, and they spent an unusually good lesson collecting dry wood 
and leaves to keep the fire blazing while the flame-loving lizards 
scampered up and down the crumbling, white-hot logs. The first 
Divination lesson of the new term was much less fun; Professor Trelawney 
was now teaching them palmistry, and she lost no time in informing Harry 
that he had the shortest life line she had ever seen. 

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It was Defense Against the Dark Arts that Harry was keen to get to; 
after his conversation with Wood, he wanted to get started on his 
anti-dementor lessons as soon as possible. 


"Ah yes," said Lupin, when Harry reminded him of his promise at the end 
of class. "Let me see... how about eight o'clock on Thursday evening? 
The History of Magic classroom should be large enough.... I'll have to 
think carefully about how we're going to do this.... We can't bring a 
real dementor into the castle to practice on...." 


"Still looks ill, doesn't he?" said Ron as they walked down the 
corridor, heading to dinner. "What d'you reckon's the matter with him?" 


There was a loud and impatient "tuh" from behind them. It was Hermione, 
who had been sitting at the feet of a suit of armor, repacking her bag, 
which was so full of books it wouldn't close. 


"And what are you tutting at us for?" said Ron irritably. 


"Nothing," said Hermione in a lofty voice, heaving her bag back over her 
shoulder. 


"Yes, you were," said Ron. "I said I wonder what's wrong with Lupin, and 
you --" 


"Well, isn't it obvious?" said Hermione, with a look of maddening 
superiority. 


"If you don't want to tell us, don't," snapped Ron. 


"Fine," said Hermione haughtily, and she marched off. 


"She doesn't know," said Ron, staring resentfully after Hermione. "She's 
just trying to get us to talk to her again." 


At eight o'clock on Thursday evening, Harry left Gryffindor Tower for 
the History of Magic classroom. It was dark and empty when he arrived, 
but he lit the lamps with his wand and had waited only five minutes when 
Professor Lupin turned up, carrying a large packing case, which he 
heaved onto Professor Binn's desk. 


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"What's that?" said Harry. 

"Another boggart," said Lupin, stripping off his cloak. "I've been 
combing the castle ever since Tuesday, and very luckily, I found this 
one lurking inside Mr. Filch's filing cabinet. It's the nearest we'll 
get to a real dementor. The boggart will turn into a dementor when he 
sees you, so we'll be able to practice on him. I can store him in my 
office when we're not using him; there's a cupboard under my desk he'll 
like." 

"Okay," said Harry, trying to sound as though he wasn't apprehensive at 
all and merely glad that Lupin had found such a good substitute for a 
real dementor. 

"So..." Professor Lupin had taken out his own wand, and indicated that 
Harry should do the same. "The spell I am going to try and teach you is 
highly advanced magic, Harry -- well beyond ordinary Wizarding Level. It 
is called the Patronus Charm." 

"How does it work?" said Harry nervously. 

"Well, when it works correctly, It conjures up a Patronus," said Lupin, 
"which is a kind of anti- dementor -- a guardian that acts as a shield 
between you and the dementor." 

Harry had a sudden vision of himself crouching behind a Hagridsized 
figure holding a large club. Professor Lupin continued, "The Patronus is 
a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the 
dementor feeds upon -- hope, happiness, the desire to survive -- but it 
cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the dementors can't hurt it. 
But I must warn you, Harry, that the charm might be too advanced for 
you. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it." 

"What does a Patronus look like?" said Harry curiously. 

"Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it." 

"And how do you conjure it?" 

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"With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, 
with all your might, on a single, very happy memory." 

Harry cast his mind about for a happy memory. Certainly, nothing that 
had happened to him at the Dursleys' was going to do. Finally, he 
settled on the moment when he had first ridden a broomstick. 

"Right," he said, trying to recall as exactly as possible the wonderful, 
soaring sensation of his stomach. 

"The incantation is this --" Lupin cleared his throat. "Expecto 
patronum!" 

"Expecto patronum, " Harry repeated under his breath, "expecto 
patronum." 

"Concentrating hard on your happy memory?" 

"Oh -- yeah --" said Harry, quickly forcing his thoughts back to that 
first broom ride. "Expecto patrono -- no, patronum -- sorry -- expecto 
patronum, expecto patronum" 

Something whooshed suddenly out of the end of his wand; it looked like a 
wisp of silvery gas. 

"Did you see that?" said Harry excitedly. "Something happened!" 

"Very good," said Lupin, smiling. "Right, then -- ready to try it on a 
dementor?" 

"Yes," Harry said, gripping his wand very tightly, and moving into the 
middle of the deserted classroom. He tried to keep his mind on flying, 
but something else kept intruding.... Any second now, he might hear his 
mother again... but he shouldn't think that, or he would hear her again, 
and he didn't want to... or did he? 

Lupin grasped the lid of the packing case and pulled. 

A dementor rose slowly from the box, its hooded face turned toward 
Harry, one glistening, scabbed hand gripping its cloak. The lamps around 

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the classroom flickered and went out. The dementor stepped from the box 
and started to sweep silently toward Harry, drawing a deep, rattling 
breath. A wave of piercing cold broke over him -


"Expecto patronum!" Harry yelled. "Expecto patronum! Expecto --" 

But the classroom and the dementor were dissolving.... Harry was failing 
again through thick white fog, and his mother's voice was louder than 
ever, echoing inside his head -- "Not Harry! Not Harry! please -- I'll 
do anything!" 

"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" 

"Harry!" 

Harry jerked back to life. He was lying flat on his back on the floor. 
The classroom lamps were alight again. He didn't have to ask what had 
happened. 

"Sorry," he muttered, sitting up and feeling cold sweat trickling down 
behind his glasses. 

"Are you all right?" said Lupin. 

"Yes..." Harry pulled himself up on one of the desks and leaned against 
it. 

"Here --" Lupin handed him a Chocolate Frog. "Eat this before we try 
again. I didn't expect you to do it your first time; in fact, I would 
have been astounded if you had." 

"It's getting worse," Harry muttered, biting off the Frog's head. "I 
could hear her louder that time -- and him -- Voldemort 

Lupin looked paler than usual. , 

"Harry, if you don't want to continue, I will more than understand --" 

"I do!" said Harry fiercely, stuffing the rest of the Chocolate Frog 
into his mouth. "I've got to! What if the dementors turn up at our match 

198 



against Ravenclaw? I can't afford to fall off again. If we lose this 
game we've lost the Quidditch Cup!" 

"All right then... " said Lupin. "You might want to select 'other 
memory, a happy memory, I mean, to concentrate on.... That one doesn't 
seem to have been strong enough...." 

Harry thought hard and decided his feelings when Gryffindor had won the 
House Championship last year had definitely qualified as very happy. He 
gripped his wand tightly again and took up his position in the middle of 
the classroom. 

"Ready?" said Lupin, gripping the box lid. 

"Ready," said Harry; trying hard to fill his head with happy thoughts 
about Gryffindor winning, and not dark thoughts about what was going to 
happen when the box opened. 

"Go!" said Lupin, pulling off the lid. The room went icily cold and dark 
once more. The dementor glided forward, drawing its breath; one rotting 
hand was extending toward Harry 


"Expecto patronum!" Harry yelled. "Expecto patronum! Expecto Pat --" 

White fog obscured his senses... big, blurred shapes were moving around 
him... then came a new voice, a man's voice, shouting, panicking -


"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off --" 

The sounds of someone stumbling ftom a room -- a door bursting ope