You Get What You Deserve

“There you go,” said Ron. “We got as much as we could carry.”

A shower of brilliantly coloured sweets fell into Harry’s lap. It was dusk, and Ron, Hermione and I had just turned up in the common room, pink-faced from cold wind. I had had the time of my life; once I’d gotten over the whole Chase thing.

“Thanks,” said Harry, picking up a packet of tiny black Pepper Imps. “What’s Hogsmeade like? Where did you go?”

We told him all about Dervish and Banges, the wizard equipment shop, Zonko’s Joke Shop, where I’d spent a lot of time with Fred and George, into the Three Broomsticks for foaming mugs of hot Butterbeer and many places besides.

“The post office, Harry! About two hundred owls, all sitting on shelves, all colour-coded depending on how fast you want your letter to get there!”

“Honeydukes have got a new kind of fudge, they were giving out free samples, there’s a bit, look –“

“We think we saw an ogre, honestly, they get all sorts at the Three Broomsticks –“

“Wish we could have brought you some Butterbeer, really warms you up –“

“What did you do?” asked Hermione, looking anxious. “Did you get any work done?”

“No,” said Harry. “Lupin made me a cup of tea in his office. And then Snape came in...”

Harry told us about what had happened. My mouth fell open.

“Lupin drank it?” I gasped. “Is he mad?”

Hermione checked her watch.

“We’d better go down, you know, the feast’ll be starting in five minutes...” We hurried through the portrait hole and into the crowd, still discussing Snape.

“But if he – you know –“ Hermione dropped her voice, glancing nervously around, “if he was trying to – to poison Lupin – he wouldn’t have done it in front of Harry.”

“Yeah, maybe,” said Harry, as we reached the Entrance Hall and crossed into the Great Hall. It had been decorated with hundreds and hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering live bats and many flaming orange streamers, which were swimming lazily across the stormy ceiling like brilliant water snakes.

The food was delicious; even Ron, Hermione and I, all of us full to burst with all the Honeydukes sweets, managed second helpings of everything. I noticed Harry glancing at the staff table, more than once, where Professor Lupin looked cheerful and as well as he ever did. He was talking animatedly to tiny Flitwick, the Charms teacher.

The feast finished with an entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a bit of formation gliding; Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had a great success with a re-enactment of his own botched beheading.

It had been such a good evening that I’m sure no one really cared when Malfoy called out through the crowd as we left the Hall; “The Dementors send their love, Potter!”

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I followed the rest of Gryffindors along the usual path to Gryffindor Tower, but when we reached the corridor which ended with the portrait of the Fat Lady, we found it jammed with students.

“Why isn’t anyone going in?” I asked curiously.

I peered over the heads in front of me, having to stand on my tippy toes because of my height. The portrait seemed to be closed.

“Let me through, please,” came Percy’s voice, and he came bustling importantly through the crowd. “What’s the hold-up here? You can’t all have forgotten the password – excuse me, I’m Head Boy –“

And then a silence fell over the crowd, from the front first, so that a chill seemed to spread down the corridor. We heard Percy say, in a suddenly sharp voice, “Somebody get Professor Dumbledore. Quick.”

People’s heads turned; those at the back were standing on tiptoe, like I was.

“What’s going on?” asked Ginny, who had just arrived.

Next moment, Dumbledore was there, sweeping towards the portrait; the Gryffindors squeezed together to let him through, and Hermione, Ron, Harry and I moved closer to see what the trouble was.

“Oh, my –“ Hermione exclaimed and grabbed Harry’s arm.

The Fat Lady had vanished from her portrait, which had been slashed so viciously that strips of canvas littered the floor; great chunks of it had been torn away completely.

Dumbledore took one quick look at the ruined painting and turned, his eyes sombre, to see McGonagall, Lupin and Snape hurrying towards him.

“We need to find her,” said Dumbledore. “Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady.”

“You’ll be lucky!” said a cackling voice.

It was Peeves the poltergeist, bobbing over the crowd and looking delighted, as he always did, at the sight of wreckage or worry.

“What do you mean, Peeves?” said Dumbledore calmly, and Peeves’ grin faded a little. He didn’t dare taunt Dumbledore. Instead he adopted an oily voice that was no better than his cackle.

“Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn’t want to be seen. She’s a horrible mess. Saw her running through a landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful,” he said happily. “Poor thing,” he added, unconvincingly.

“Did she say who did it?” said Dumbledore quietly.

“Oh, yes, Professorhead,” said Peeves, with the air of one cradling a large bombshell in his arms. “He got very angry when she wouldn’t let him in, you see.” Peeves flipped over, and grinned at Dumbledore from behind his own legs. “Nasty temper he’s got, that Sirius Black.”