ere flooding it with light, and it was 
empty. 

"'Choo lookin' at?" said Stan. 

"There was a big black thing," said Harry, pointing uncertainly into the 
gap. "Like a dog... but massive..." 

He looked a-round at Stan, whose mouth was slightly open. With a feeling 
of unease, Harry saw Stan's eyes move to the scar on Harry's forehead. 

"Woss that on your 'ead?" said Stan abruptly. 

"Nothing," said Harry quickly, flattening his hair over his scar. If the 
Ministry of Magic was looking for him, he didn't want to make it too 
easy for them. 

"Woss your name?" Stan persisted. 

"Neville Longbottom," said Harry, saying the first name that came into 
his head. "So -- so this bus," he went on quickly, hoping to distract 
Stan, "did you say it goes anywhere?" 

"Yep," said Stan proudly, "anywhere you like, long's it's on land. Can't 
do nuffink underwater. 'Ere," he said, looking suspicious again, ,You 
did flag us down, dincha? Stuck out your wand 'and, dincha?" 

"Yes," said Harry quickly. "Listen, how much would it be to get to 
London?" 

"Eleven Sickles," said Stan, "but for fifteen you get 'or chocolate, and 
for fifteen you get an 'ot water bottle an' a toofbrush in the color of 
your choice." 

Harry rummaged once more in his trunk, extracted his money bag, and 
shoved some gold into Stan's hand. He and Stan then lifted his trunk, 
with Hedwig's cage balanced on top, up the steps of the bus. 

There were no seats; instead, half a dozen brass bedsteads stood beside 
the curtained windows. Candles were burning in brackets beside each bed, 
illuminating the wood-paneled walls. A tiny wizard in a nightcap at the 
rear of the bus muttered, "Not now, thanks, I'm pickling some slugs" and 
rolled over in his sleep. 

"You 'ave this one," Stan whispered, shoving Harry's trunk under the bed 
right behind the driver, who was sitting in an armchair in front of the 
steering wheel. "This is our driver, Ernie Prang. This ,is Neville 
Longbottom, Ern. " 

Ernie Prang, an elderly wizard wearing very thick glasses, nodded to 
Harry, who nervously flattened his bangs again and sat down on his bed. 

"Take 'er away, Ern," said Stan, sitting down in the armchair next to 
Ernie's. 

There was another tremendous BANG, and the next moment Harry found 
himself flat on his bed, thrown backward by the speed of the Knight Bus. 
Pulling himself up, Harry stared out of the dark window and saw that 
they were now bowling along a completely different street. Stan was 
watching Harry's stunned face with great enjoyment. 

"This is where we was before you flagged us down," he said. "Where are 
we, Ern? Somewhere in Wales?" 

"Ar," said Ernie. 

"How come the Muggles don't hear the bus?" said Harry. 

"Them!" said Stan contemptuously. "Don' listen properly, do they? Don' 
look properly either. Never notice nuffink, they don'." 

"Best go wake up Madam Marsh, Stan," said Ern. "We'll be in Abergavenny 
in a minute." 

Stan passed Harry's bed and disappeared up a narrow wooden staircase. 
Harry was still looking out of the window, feeling increasingly nervous. 
Ernie didn't seem to have mastered the use of a steering wheel. The 
Knight Bus kept mounting the pavement, but it didn't hit anything; lines 
of lampposts, mailboxes, and trash cans jumped out of its way as it 
approached and back into position once it had passed. 

Stan came back downstairs, followed by a faintly green witch wrapped in 
a traveling cloak. 

"'Ere you go, Madam Marsh," said Stan happily as Ern stamped on the 
brake and the beds slid a foot or so toward the front of the bus. Madam 
Marsh clamped a handkerchief to her mouth and tottered down the steps. 
Stan threw her bag out after her and rammed the doors shut; there was 
another loud BANG, and they were thundering down a narrow country lane, 
trees leaping out of the way. 

Harry wouldn't have been able to sleep even if he had been traveling on 
a bus that didn't keep banging loudly and jumping a hundred miles at a 
time. His stomach churned as he fell back to wondering what was going to 
happen to him, and whether the Dursleys had managed to get Aunt Marge 
off the ceiling yet. 

Stan had unfurled a copy of the Daily Prophet and was now reading with 
his tongue between his teeth. A large photograph of a sunken-faced man 
with long, matted hair blinked slowly at Harry from the front page. He 
looked strangely familiar. 

"That man!" Harry said, forgetting his troubles for a moment. "He was on 
the Muggle news!" 

Stanley turned to the front page and chuckled. 

"Sirius Black," he said, nodding. "'Course 'e was on the Muggle news, 
Neville, where you been?" 

He gave a superior sort of chuckle at the blank look on Harry's face, 
removed the front page, and handed it to Harry. 

"You oughta read the papers more, Neville." 

Harry held the paper up to the candlelight and read: 

BLACK STILL AT LARGE 

Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in 
Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic 
confirmed today. 

"We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said the Minister of 
Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we beg the magical community 
to remain calm." 

Fudge has been criticized by some members of the International 
Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the 
crisis. 


"Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an irritable Fudge. 
"Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. 
I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of 
Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it-who'd believe him if 
he did?" 


While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of 
metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community 
lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black 
murdered thirteen people with a single curse. 


Harry looked into the shadowed eyes of Sirius Black, the only part of 
the sunken face that seemed alive. Harry had never met a vampire, but he 
had seen pictures of them in his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, 
and Black, with his waxy white skin, looked just like one. 


"Scary-lookin' fing, inee?" said Stan, who had been watching Harry read. 


"He murdered thirteen people?" said Harry, handing the page back to 
Stan, "with one curse?" 


"Yep," said Stan, "in front of witnesses an' all. Broad daylight. Big 
trouble it caused, dinnit, Ern?" 


"Ar," said Ern darkly. 


Stan swiveled in his armchair, his hands on the back, the better to look 
at Harry. 


"Black woz a big supporter of You-Know-'Oo," he said. 


"What, Voldemort?" said Harry, without thinking. 


Even Stan's pimples went white; Ern jerked the steering wheel so hard 
that a whole farmhouse had to jump aside to avoid the bus. 


"You outta your tree?" yelped Stan. "'Choo say 'is name for?" 

"Sorry," said Harry hastily. "Sorry, I -- I forgot --" 

"Forgot!" said Stan weakly. "Blimey, my 'eart's goin' that fast ..." 

"So -- so Black was a supporter of You-Know-Who?" Harry prompted 
apologetically. 


"Yeah," said Stan, still rubbing his chest. "Yeah, that's right. Very 
close to You-Know-'Oo, they say. Anyway, when little 'Arry Potter got 
the better of You-Know-'Oo --" 


Harry nervously flattened his bangs down again. 


"-- all You-Know-'Oo's supporters was tracked down, wasn't they, Ern? 
Most of 'em knew it was all over, wiv You-Know-'Oo gone, and they came 
quiet. But not Sirius Black. I 'eard he thought 'e'd be 
second-in-command once You-Know-'Oo 'ad taken over. 


"Anyway, they cornered Black in the middle of a street full of Muggles 
an' Black took out 'is wand and 'e blasted 'alf the street apart, an' a 
wizard got it, an' so did a dozen Muggles what got in the way. 'Orrible, 
eh? An' you know what Black did then?" Stan continued in a dramatic 
whisper. 


"What?" said Harry. 


"Laughed," said Stan. "Jus' stood there an' laughed. An' when 
reinforcements from the Ministry of Magic got there, I 'e went wiv em 
quiet as anyfink, still laughing 'is 'ead off. 'Cos 'e's mad, inee, Ern? 
Inee mad?" 


"If he weren't when he went to Azkaban, he will be now," said Ern in his 
slow voice. "I'd blow meself up before I set foot in that place. Serves 
him right, mind you ... after what he did...." 


"They 'ad a job coverin' it up, din' they, Ern?" Stan said. "'Ole street 
blown up an' all them Muggles dead. What was it they said ad 'appened, 
Ern?" 

"Gas explosion," grunted Ernie. 

"An' now 'e's out," said Stan, examining the newspaper picture of 
Black's gaunt face again. "Never been a breakout from Azkaban before, 
'as there, Ern? Beats me 'ow 'e did it. Frightenin', eh? Mind, I don't 
fancy 'is chances against them Azkaban guards, eh, Ern?" 

Ernie suddenly shivered. 

"Talk about summat else, Stan, there's a good lad. Them Azkaban guards 
give me the collywobbles." 

Stan put the paper away reluctantly, and Harry leaned against the window 
of the Knight Bus, feeling worse than ever. He couldn't help imagining 
what Stan might be telling his passengers in a few nights' time. 

"'Ear about that 'Arry Potter? Blew up 'is aunt! We 'ad 'im 'ere on the 
Knight Bus, di'n't we, Ern? 'E was tryin' I to run for it...." 

He, Harry, had broken wizard law just like Sirius Black. Was inflating 
Aunt Marge bad enough to land him in Azkaban? Harry didn't know anything 
about the wizard prison, though everyone he'd ever heard speak of it did 
so in the same fearful tone. Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, had spent 
two months there only last year. Harry wouldn't soon forget the look of 
terror on Hagrid's face when he had been told where he was going, and 
Hagrid was one of the bravest people Harry knew. 
