Azlyn, Nyx, and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Catwhisker appears

No one in Gryffindor Tower slept that night. We knew that the castle was being searched again, and the whole House stayed awake in the common room, waiting to hear whether Black had been caught. Professor McGonagall came back at dawn, to tell them that he had again escaped. Az and I silently let out a breath of relief.

Throughout the day, everywhere we went we saw signs of tighter security; Professor Flitwick could be seen teaching the front doors to recognize a large picture of Sirius; Filch was suddenly bustling up and down the corridors, boarding up everything from tiny cracks in the walls to mouse holes. Sir Cadogan had been fired. His portrait had been taken back to its lonely landing on the seventh floor, and the Fat Lady was back. She had been expertly restored, but was still extremely nervous, and had agreed to return to her job only on condition that she was given extra protection. A bunch of surly security trolls had been hired to guard her. They paced the corridor in a menacing group, talking in grunts and comparing the size of their clubs.

Ron had become an instant celebrity. For the first time in his life, people were paying more attention to him than to Harry, and it was clear that Ron was rather enjoying the experience. Though still severely shaken by the night’s events, he was happy to tell anyone who asked what had happened, with a wealth of detail. “... I was asleep, and I heard this ripping noise, and I thought it was in my dream, you know? But then there was this draft... I woke up and one side of the hangings on my bed had been pulled down... I rolled over... and I saw him standing over me... like a skeleton, with loads of filthy hair... holding this great long knife, must’ve been twelve inches... and he looked at me, and I looked at him, and then I yelled, and he scampered.”

“Why, though?” Ron added to Harry as the group of second year girls who had been listening to his chilling tale departed. “Why did he run?” “He must’ve known he’d have a job getting back out of the castle once you’d yelled and woken people up,” said Harry thoughtfully. “He’d’ve had to kill the whole house to get back through the portrait hole... then he would’ve met the teachers...”

Poor Neville was in total disgrace. Professor McGonagall was so furious with him she had banned him from all future Hogsmeade visits, given him a detention, and forbidden anyone to give him the password into the tower. Neville was forced to wait outside the common room every night for somebody to let him in (mainly Az and I), while the security trolls leered unpleasantly at him. None of these punishments, however, came close to matching the one his grandmother had in store for him. Two days after Sirius’s moronic break-in, she sent Neville the very worst thing a Hogwarts student could receive over breakfast — a Howler.

The school owls swooped into the Great Hall carrying the mail as usual, and Neville choked as a huge barn owl landed in front of him, a scarlet envelope clutched in its beak. I recognized the letter as a Howler at once — I had got one from my ‘mother’ first year. “Run for it, Neville,” I advised.

Neville didn’t need telling twice. He seized the envelope, and holding it before him like a bomb, sprinted out of the hall, while the Slytherin table (minus Alice, who stared at her porridge sadly) exploded with laughter at the sight of him. We heard the Howler go off in the entrance hall — Neville’s grandmother’s voice, magically magnified to a hundred times its usual volume, shrieking about how he had brought shame on the whole family.

I spent the whole day with Seamus learning about his favorite colors (his was red, mine was a light blue), favorite flowers (his surprisingly sunflowers, mine lilies), Etcetera. Etcetera. A large group of people was bunched around the bulletin board when we returned to the common room. “Hogsmeade, next weekend!” said Seamus, craning over the heads to read the new notice.

“So –er– Nyx,” Seamus said shyly. “D’you wanna go with me?” I grinned at him, and started to say yes, but some short Hufflepuff first year came running up to me. “Are you Nyx Tree?” she asked puffing. “Yeah. What’s up short-stack?” She rolled her eyes like the good-humored Hufflepuff she is, and held me a note. “It’s from McGonagall.” Then small fry ran back down to her friends.