
The Knight Bus rolled through the darkness, scattering bushes and 
wastebaskets, telephone booths and trees, and Harry lay, restless and 
miserable, on his feather bed. After a while, Stan remembered that Harry 
had paid for hot chocolate, but poured it all over Harry's pillow when 
the bus moved abruptly from Anglesea to Aberdeen. One by one, wizards 
and witches in dressing gowns and slippers descended from the upper 
floors to leave the bus. They all looked very pleased to go. 

Finally, Harry was the only passenger left. 

"Right then, Neville," said Stan, clapping his hands, where abouts in 
London?" 

"Diagon Alley," said Harry. 

"Righto," said Stan. "'Old tight, then." 

BANG. 

They were thundering along Charing Cross Road. Harry sat up and watched 
buildings and benches squeezing themselves out of the Knight Bus's way. 
The sky was getting a little lighter. He would lie low for a couple of 
hours, go to Gringotts the. moment it opened, then set off -- where, he 
didn't know. 

Ern slammed on the brakes and the Knight Bus skidded to a halt in front 
of a small and shabby- looking pub, the Leaky Cauldron, behind which lay 
the magical entrance to Diagon Alley. 

"Thanks," Harry said to Ern. 

He jumped down the steps and helped Stan lower his trunk and Hedwig's 
cage onto the pavement. 

"Well," said Harry. "'Bye then!" 

But Stan wasn't paying attention. Still standing in the doorway to the 
bus) he was goggling at the shadowy entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. 
"There you are, Harry," said a voice. 

Before Harry could turn, he felt a hand on his shoulder. At the same 
time, Stan shouted, "Blimey! Ern, come 'ere! Come 'ere I" 

Harry looked up at the owner of the hand on his shoulder and felt a 
bucketful of ice cascade into his stomach -- he had walked right into 
Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself. 

Stan leapt onto the pavement beside them. 

"What didja call Neville, Minister?" he said excitedly. 

Fudge, a portly little man in a long, pinstriped cloak, looked cold and 
exhausted. 

"Neville?" he repeated, frowning. "This is Harry Potter." 

"I knew it!" Stan shouted gleefully. "Ern! Ern! Guess 'oo Neville is, 
Ern! 'E's 'Arry Potter! I can see 'is scar!" 

"Yes," said Fudge testily, "well, I'm very glad the Knight Bus picked 
Harry up, but he and I need to step inside the Leaky Cauldron now..." 

Fudge increased the pressure on Harry's shoulder, and Harry found 
himself being steered inside the pub. A stooping figure bearing a 
lantern appeared through the door behind the bar. It was Tom, the 
wizened, toothless landlord. 

"You've got him, Minister!" said Tom. "Will you be wanting anything? 
Beer? Brandy?" 

"Perhaps a pot of tea," said Fudge, who still hadn't let go of Harry. 

There was a loud scraping and puffing from behind them, and Stan and Ern 
appeared, carrying Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage and looking around 
excitedly. 

"'Ow come you di'n't tell us 'oo you are, eh, Neville?" said Stan, 
beaming at Harry, while Ernie's owlish face peered interestedly over 
Stan's shoulder. 

"And a private parlor, please, Tom," said Fudge pointedly. 

'Bye," Harry said miserably to Stan and Ern as Tom beckoned Fudge toward 
the passage that led from the bar. 

"'Bye, Neville!" called Stan. 

Fudge marched Harry along the narrow passage after Tom's lantern, and 
then into a small parlor. Tom clicked his fingers, a fire burst into 
life in the grate, and he bowed himself out of the room. 

"Sit down, Harry," said Fudge, indicating a chair by the fire. 

Harry sat down, feeling goose bumps rising up his arms despite the glow 
of the fire. Fudge took off his pinstriped cloak and tossed it aside, 
then hitched up the trousers of his bottle-green suit and sat down 
opposite Harry. 

"I am Cornelius Fudge, Harry. The Minister of Magic." 

Harry already knew this, of course; he had seen Fudge once before, but 
as he had been wearing his father's Invisibility Cloak at the time, 
Fudge wasn't to know that. 

Tom the innkeeper reappeared, wearing an apron over his nightshirt and 
bearing a tray of tea and crumpets. He placed the tray on a table 
between Fudge and Harry and left the parlor, closing the door behind 
him. 

"Well, Harry," said Fudge, pouring out tea, "you've had us all in a 
right flap, I don't mind telling you. Running away from your aunt and 
uncle's house like that! I'd started to think... but you're safe, and 
that's what matters." 

Fudge buttered himself a crumpet and pushed the plate toward Harry. 

"Eat, Harry, you look dead on your feet. Now then... You will be pleased 
to hear that we have dealt with the unfortunate blowing-up of Miss 
Marjorie Dursley. Two members of the Accidental Magic Reversal 
Department were dispatched to Privet Drive a few hours ago. Miss Dursley 
has been punctured and her memory has been modified. She has no 
recollection of the incident at all. So that's that, and no harm done." 

Fudge smiled at Harry over the rim of his teacup, rather like an uncle 
surveying a favorite nephew. Harry, who couldn't believe his ears, 
opened his mouth to speak, couldn't think of anything to say, and closed 
it again. 

"Ah, you're worrying about the reaction of your aunt and uncle?" said 
Fudge. "Well, I won't deny that they are extremely angry, Harry, but 
they are prepared to take you back next summer as long as you stay at 
Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays." 

Harry unstuck his throat. 

"I always stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays," he 
said, "and I don't ever want to go back to Privet Drive." 

"Now, now, I'm sure you'll feel differently once you've calmed down," 
said Fudge in a worried tone. "They are your family, after all, and I'm 
sure you are fond of each other -- er -- very deep down." 

It didn't occur to Harry to put Fudge right. He was still waiting to 
hear what was going to happen to him now. 

"So all that remains," said Fudge, now buttering himself a second 
crumpet, "is to decide where you're going to spend the last two weeks of 
your vacation. I suggest you take a room here at the Leaky Cauldron and 

"Hang on," blurted Harry. "What about my punishment?" 

Fudge blinked. "Punishment?" 

"I broke the law!" Harry said. "The Decree for the Restriction of 
Underage Wizardry!" 

"Oh, my dear boy, we're not going to punish you for a little thing like 
that!" cried Fudge, waving his crumpet impatiently. "It was an accident! 
We don't send people to Azkaban just for blowing up their aunts!" 

But this didn't tally at all with Harry's past dealings with the 
Ministry of Magic. 

"Last year, I got an official warning just because a house-elf smashed a 
pudding in my uncle's house!" he told Fudge, frowning. "The Ministry of 
Magic said I'd be expelled from Hogwarts if there was any more magic 
there!" 

Unless Harry's eyes were deceiving him, Fudge was suddenly looking 
awkward. 

"Circumstances change, Harry... We have to take into account... in the 
present climate... Surely you don't want to be expelled?" 

"Of course I don't," said Harry. 

"Well then, what's A the fuss about?" laughed Fudge. "Now, have a 
crumpet, Harry, while I go and see if Tom's got a room for you." 
Fudge strode out of the parlor and Harry stared after him. There was 

something extremely odd going on. Why had Fudge been waiting for him at 
the Leaky Cauldron, if not to punish him for what he'd done? And now 
Harry came to think of it, surely it wasn't usual for the Minister of 
Magic himself to get involved in matters of underage magic? 

Fudge came back, accompanied by Tom the innkeeper. 
"Room eleven's free, Harry," said Fudge. "I think you'll be very 
comfortable. just one thing, and I'm sure you'll understand... I don't 
want you wandering off into Muggle London, all right? Keep to Diagon 


Alley. And you're to be back here before dark each night. Sure you'll 
understand. Tom will be keeping an eye on you for me." 
"Okay," said Harry slowly, "but why?" 
"Don't want to lose you again, do we?" said Fudge with a hearty laugh. 


"No, no... best we know where you are.... I mean..." 
Fudge cleared his throat loudly and picked up his pinstriped cloak. 
"Well, I'll be off, plenty to do, you know... 
"Have you had any luck with Black yet?" Harry asked. 
Fudge's finger slipped on the silver fastenings of his cloak. 
"What's that? Oh, you've heard -- well, no, not yet, but it's only a 


matter of time. The Azkaban guards have never yet failed... and they are 
angrier than I've ever seen them." 
Fudge shuddered slightly. 
"So, I'll say good-bye." 

He held out his hand and Harry, shaking it, had a sudden idea. 
"Er -- Minister? Can I ask you something?" 
"Certainly," said Fudge with a smile. 
"Well, third years at Hogwarts are allowed to visit Hogsmeade, but my 


aunt and uncle didn't sign the permission form. D'you think you could 
--?" 

Fudge was looking uncomfortable. 
"Ah," he said. "No, no, I'm very sorry, Harry, but as I'm not your 
parent or guardian --" 


"But you I re the Minister of Magic," said Harry eagerly. "If you gave 
me permission 

"No, I'm sorry, Harry, but rules are rules," said Fudge flatly. 
'Perhaps You'll be able to visit Hogsmeade next year. In fact, I think 
it's best if you don't... yes... well, I'll be off Enjoy your stay, 
Harry." 


And with a last smile and shake of Harry's hand, Fudge left the room. 


Tom now moved forward, beaming at Harry. 
"If you'll follow me, Mr. Potter," he said, "I've already taken your 
things up..." 


Harry followed Tom up a handsome wooden staircase to a door with a brass 


number eleven on it, which Tom unlocked and opened for him. 
Inside was a very comfortable-looking bed, some highly polished oak 
furniture, a cheerfully crackling fire and,