Harry Potter 3 - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

I need you to sign the per­mis­sion form,’ said Har­ry in a rush.

‘And why should I do that?’ sneered Un­cle Ver­non.

‘Well,’ said Har­ry, choos­ing his words care­ful­ly, ‘it’ll be hard work, pre­tend­ing to Aunt Marge I go to that St What­sits …’

‘St Bru­tus’s Se­cure Cen­tre for In­cur­ably Crim­inal Boys!’ bel­lowed Un­cle Ver­non, and Har­ry was pleased to hear a def­inite note of pan­ic in Un­cle Ver­non’s voice.

‘Ex­act­ly,’ said Har­ry, look­ing calm­ly up in­to Un­cle Ver­non’s large, pur­ple face. ‘It’s a lot to re­mem­ber. I’ll have to make it sound con­vinc­ing, won’t I? What if I ac­ci­den­tal­ly let some­thing slip?’

‘You’ll get the stuff­ing knocked out of you, won’t you?’ roared Un­cle Ver­non, ad­vanc­ing on Har­ry with his fist raised. But Har­ry stood his ground.

‘Knock­ing the stuff­ing out of me won’t make Aunt Marge for­get what I could tell her,’ he said grim­ly.

Un­cle Ver­non stopped, his fist still raised, his face an ug­ly puce.

‘But if you sign my per­mis­sion form,’ Har­ry went on quick­ly, ‘I swear I’ll re­mem­ber where I’m sup­posed to go to school, and I’ll act like a Mug – like I’m nor­mal and ev­ery­thing.’

Har­ry could tell that Un­cle Ver­non was think­ing it over, even if his teeth were bared and a vein was throb­bing in his tem­ple

“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!”

“You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don’t want to be told?”

He likes to keep in touch with me, though . . . keep up with my news . . . check if I’m happy. . . .”

“He was my mum and dad’s best friend.

I thought your friend Ron might like to keep this owl, as it’s my fault he no longer has a rat.

I, Sirius Black, Harry Potter’s godfather, hereby give him permission to visit Hogsmeade on weekends.

If ever you need me, send word. Your owl will find me.

I had only hoped to get a glimpse of you

Please consider it as thirteen birthdays’ worth of presents from your godfather.