[*]
Harry
woke at lunchtime to the sound of friends talking concernedly.
“Isn’t
he supposed to be better now?” asked Ron, his tone at once worried and
angry. He oftentimes sounded like this,
as if embarrassed by caring, and angry at being embarrassed.
“He is
better,” said Hermione, though she too sounded worried. “Professor McGonagall said that Madame
Pomfrey told her that Harry was sleeping instead of . . . instead of . . .
.” She trailed off, as if choking on the
words she could not get through.
Awake
enough to move now, Harry stirred in his bed.
Forcing open his gummy eyes, it took a moment to focus properly. Automatically, he reached out his hand to try
to find his glasses. With a squeak,
Hermione took them from the side table and placed them in his hands. Sitting up now, Harry put on his glasses and
looked at his friends.
“Do I
look as bad as you lot?” he asked. Ron
grinned widely, instantly destroying the wan expression on his face. Hermione, on the other hand, still looked
worried and upset, though much less so than a moment ago.
“Nah,”
said Ron, obviously lying. “You look
fine, now. You should have seen yourself
after the Dementor attack, though.
That’s what that cloaked thing’s called, by the way. A Dementor.”
“Oh,
Harry, we were so worried,” said Hermione, now looking as if she were about to
cry when before she had seemed to be feeling better. “When you collapsed, everyone thought that
you had . . . died.”
“Yeah,
mate. You should have seen it. Professor Lupin shot this white, glowing mist
from the end of his wand. Scared the
Dementor right off the train, it did.”
Ron’s eyes shined with the memory, the words bringing back a part of the
fearful energy he must have felt at the time.
“Anyway, he started forcing small bits of chocolate down you all the way
to the castle.”
“Apparently,”
added Hermione, “chocolate is recommended treatment for exposure to
Dementors. However, from what Madame
Pomfrey said when we got here, it’s never been used for severe cases, because
people usually . . . usually die.”
“Well,
yeah. But I’m not dead, am I,” said
Harry, trying to sound breezy to keep Hermione’s spirits up. From her quavering smile, he knew that he was
at least somewhat successful. Ron, who
had been looking at Hermione worriedly, smiled at Harry and nodded
encouragingly.
They
told him all about what happened after his collapse. How, as soon as the train had stopped at the
station, Professor Lupin had rushed Harry off of it. Hagrid, a huge, hairy man that was the
school’s gamekeeper and the one who had introduced Harry to the wizarding
world, saw Harry in Lupin’s arms and wanted to carry Harry himself. However, by this point, Professors Dumbledore
and McGonnagal and Madame Pomfrey had rushed down from the school and met them.
Professor
Dumbledore was the school’s headmaster, and a very old and powerful
wizard. Though he had an odd sense of
humor, oftentimes leading others to believe that he wasn’t quite all there, he
was nevertheless greatly respected by the wizarding community. Indeed, he had been instrumental in fighting
off dark wizards for over fifty years.
He was even on a chocolate frog card, which meant that he was very
important indeed. Professor Dumbledore
had ordered Hagrid to continue taking charge of the first year students and to
leave Harry in the care of Professor McGonnagal and Madame Pomfrey. One of Hagrid’s jobs was to lead the incoming
first years on a boat ride on the lake between the train station and Hogwarts
as a way of marking the transition from their old lives to their new ones.
Professor
McGonnagal was the head of Griffindor House, as well as the transfigurations
teacher. Stern and straightforward, she
had little tuck with shenanigans, but she was also even-handed and just. Her colleague, Madame Pomfrey, was the
school’s matron and thus handled all of the medical emergencies that could
happen when you had hundreds of underage wizards and witches banging into each
other in a great heap of a castle. They
led Professor Lupin, still holding Harry, through the thick crowd of students
and into the hospital wing. Professor
McGonnagal had had to speak quite sharply to some of them to get them to move,
and a talking-to from McGonnagal was no laughing matter.
But she
was not the only one who was upset by the situation.
“You
should have seen Dumbledore,” said Ron.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry.”
“Obviously
he’d be angry, Ron,” said Hermione.
“I’ve heard that he protested quite vigorously against the Dementors
being posted at the school; and even before we got here, there was a wrongful
attack.”
“Anyway,
as soon as we had you in the hospital wing, and it looked like you were going
to make it, Dumbledore went running straight back to his office to talk to the
Ministry of Magic.” Ron laughed, though
it was tinged with anxiety. “I thought
that I saw lightning shooting out of his wand, he was that upset.”
“Why
are the Dementors here at the school, then?” asked Harry.
“It’s
to capture Sirius Black,” said Hermione.
“The Ministry believes that he’ll come to Hogwarts, and so they’ve sent
out Dementors to look for him.” She
looked at Harry with an expression of grave concern, which at least brought the
color back into her face. Hermione was
very empathetic, easily crying in sympathy towards other people’s pain. It made her a very good person, but an
embarrassing friend.
“Cause
Black’s looking to kill you,” said Ron matter-of-factly. “Though if he doesn’t hurry, the Dementors
will be doing his job for him.” Ron, on
the other hand, had all the sensitivity of a paralyzed boulder. It made him an oftentimes cruel person, but a
funny friend.
“Ron!”
chided Hermione.
“Anyway,
the rumor is that the Ministry’s going to let the Dementors do a kiss on Sirius
Black. That’s what they do when they
want to kill someone—just suck people soul’s out when they lift up their
hood.” Ron sounded both disgusted and
fascinated by this, while Hermione merely looked ill.
“Like
what they tried with me,” said Harry quietly.
“Why did they try it?”
Ron and
Hermione had no answers, nor did they try to make one. They only looked back at him in concern.
Harry
woke at lunchtime to the sound of friends talking concernedly.
“Isn’t
he supposed to be better now?” asked Ron, his tone at once worried and
angry. He oftentimes sounded like this,
as if embarrassed by caring, and angry at being embarrassed.
“He is
better,” said Hermione, though she too sounded worried. “Professor McGonagall said that Madame
Pomfrey told her that Harry was sleeping instead of . . . instead of . . .
.” She trailed off, as if choking on the
words she could not get through.
Awake
enough to move now, Harry stirred in his bed.
Forcing open his gummy eyes, it took a moment to focus properly. Automatically, he reached out his hand to try
to find his glasses. With a squeak,
Hermione took them from the side table and placed them in his hands. Sitting up now, Harry put on his glasses and
looked at his friends.
“Do I
look as bad as you lot?” he asked. Ron
grinned widely, instantly destroying the wan expression on his face. Hermione, on the other hand, still looked
worried and upset, though much less so than a moment ago.
“Nah,”
said Ron, obviously lying. “You look
fine, now. You should have seen yourself
after the Dementor attack, though.
That’s what that cloaked thing’s called, by the way. A Dementor.”
“Oh,
Harry, we were so worried,” said Hermione, now looking as if she were about to
cry when before she had seemed to be feeling better. “When you collapsed, everyone thought that
you had . . . died.”
“Yeah,
mate. You should have seen it. Professor Lupin shot this white, glowing mist
from the end of his wand. Scared the
Dementor right off the train, it did.”
Ron’s eyes shined with the memory, the words bringing back a part of the
fearful energy he must have felt at the time.
“Anyway, he started forcing small bits of chocolate down you all the way
to the castle.”
“Apparently,”
added Hermione, “chocolate is recommended treatment for exposure to
Dementors. However, from what Madame
Pomfrey said when we got here, it’s never been used for severe cases, because
people usually . . . usually die.”
“Well,
yeah. But I’m not dead, am I,” said
Harry, trying to sound breezy to keep Hermione’s spirits up. From her quavering smile, he knew that he was
at least somewhat successful. Ron, who
had been looking at Hermione worriedly, smiled at Harry and nodded
encouragingly.
They
told him all about what happened after his collapse. How, as soon as the train had stopped at the
station, Professor Lupin had rushed Harry off of it. Hagrid, a huge, hairy man that was the
school’s gamekeeper and the one who had introduced Harry to the wizarding
world, saw Harry in Lupin’s arms and wanted to carry Harry himself. However, by this point, Professors Dumbledore
and McGonnagal and Madame Pomfrey had rushed down from the school and met them.
Professor
Dumbledore was the school’s headmaster, and a very old and powerful
wizard. Though he had an odd sense of
humor, oftentimes leading others to believe that he wasn’t quite all there, he
was nevertheless greatly respected by the wizarding community. Indeed, he had been instrumental in fighting
off dark wizards for over fifty years.
He was even on a chocolate frog card, which meant that he was very
important indeed. Professor Dumbledore
had ordered Hagrid to continue taking charge of the first year students and to
leave Harry in the care of Professor McGonnagal and Madame Pomfrey. One of Hagrid’s jobs was to lead the incoming
first years on a boat ride on the lake between the train station and Hogwarts
as a way of marking the transition from their old lives to their new ones.
Professor
McGonnagal was the head of Griffindor House, as well as the transfigurations
teacher. Stern and straightforward, she
had little tuck with shenanigans, but she was also even-handed and just. Her colleague, Madame Pomfrey, was the
school’s matron and thus handled all of the medical emergencies that could
happen when you had hundreds of underage wizards and witches banging into each
other in a great heap of a castle. They
led Professor Lupin, still holding Harry, through the thick crowd of students
and into the hospital wing. Professor
McGonnagal had had to speak quite sharply to some of them to get them to move,
and a talking-to from McGonnagal was no laughing matter.
But she
was not the only one who was upset by the situation.
“You
should have seen Dumbledore,” said Ron.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry.”
“Obviously
he’d be angry, Ron,” said Hermione.
“I’ve heard that he protested quite vigorously against the Dementors
being posted at the school; and even before we got here, there was a wrongful
attack.”
“Anyway,
as soon as we had you in the hospital wing, and it looked like you were going
to make it, Dumbledore went running straight back to his office to talk to the
Ministry of Magic.” Ron laughed, though
it was tinged with anxiety. “I thought
that I saw lightning shooting out of his wand, he was that upset.”
“Why
are the Dementors here at the school, then?” asked Harry.
“It’s
to capture Sirius Black,” said Hermione.
“The Ministry believes that he’ll come to Hogwarts, and so they’ve sent
out Dementors to look for him.” She
looked at Harry with an expression of grave concern, which at least brought the
color back into her face. Hermione was
very empathetic, easily crying in sympathy towards other people’s pain. It made her a very good person, but an
embarrassing friend.
“Cause
Black’s looking to kill you,” said Ron matter-of-factly. “Though if he doesn’t hurry, the Dementors
will be doing his job for him.” Ron, on
the other hand, had all the sensitivity of a paralyzed boulder. It made him an oftentimes cruel person, but a
funny friend.
“Ron!”
chided Hermione.
“Anyway,
the rumor is that the Ministry’s going to let the Dementors do a kiss on Sirius
Black. That’s what they do when they
want to kill someone—just suck people soul’s out when they lift up their
hood.” Ron sounded both disgusted and
fascinated by this, while Hermione merely looked ill.
“Like
what they tried with me,” said Harry quietly.
“Why did they try it?”
Ron and
Hermione had no answers, nor did they try to make one. They only looked back at him in concern.