book 3 - harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban

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harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban by j.k. rowling chapter one owl post harry potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. for one thing, he hated the summer holidays more than any other time of year. for another, he really wanted to do his homework but was forced to do it in secret, in the dead of night. and he also happened to be a wizard. it was nearly midnight, and he was lying on his stomach in bed, the blankets drawn right over his head like a tent, a flashlight in one hand and a large leather-bound book (a history of magic by bathilda bagshot) propped open against the pillow. harry moved the tip of his eagle-feather quill down the page, frowning as he looked for something that would help him write his essay, ‘witch burning in the fourteenth century was completely pointless — discuss.’ the …

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, was the reason that harry never enjoyed his summer holidays. uncle vernon, aunt petunia, and their son, dudley, were harry’s only living relatives. they were muggles, and they had a very medieval attitude toward magic. harry’s dead parents, who had been a witch and wizard themselves, were never mentioned under the dursleys’ roof. for years, aunt petunia and uncle vernon had hoped that if they kept harry as downtrodden as possible, they would be able to squash the magic out of him. to their fury, they had not been unsuccessful. these days they lived in terror of anyone finding out that harry had spent most of the last two years at hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. the most they could do, however, was to lock away harry’s spell books, wand, cauldron, and broomstick at the start of the summer break, and forbid him to talk to the neighbors. …

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f harry’s best friends at hogwarts, came from a whole family of wizards. this meant that he knew a lot of things harry didn’t, but had never used a telephone before. most unluckily, it had been uncle vernon who had answered the call. “vernon dursley speaking.” harry, who happened to be in the room at the time, froze as he heard ron’s voice answer. “hello? hello? can you hear me? i — want — to — talk — to — harry — potter!” ron was yelling so loudly that uncle vernon jumped and held the receiver a foot away from his ear, staring at it with an expression of mingled fury and alarm. “who is this?” he roared in the direction of the mouthpiece. “who are you?” “ron — weasley!” ron bellowed back, as though he and uncle vernon were speaking from opposite ends of a football field. “i’m — …

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st one. there was just one very small improvement — after swearing that he wouldn’t use her to send letters to any of his friends, harry had been allowed to let his owl, hedwig, out at night. uncle vernon had given in because of the racket hedwig made if she was locked in her cage all the time. harry finished writing about wendelin the weird and paused to listen again. the silence in the dark house was broken only by the distant, grunting snores of his enormous cousin, dudley. it must be very late, harry thought. his eyes were itching with tiredness. perhaps he’d finish this essay tomorrow night… he replaced the top of the ink bottle; pulled an old pillowcase from under his bed; put the flashlight, a history of magic, his essay, quill, and ink inside it; got out of bed; and hid the lot under a loose …

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ht green, and on his forehead, clearly visible through his hair, was a thin scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning. of all the unusual things about harry, this scar was the most extraordinary of all. it was not, as the dursleys had pretended for ten years, a souvenir of the car crash that had killed harry’s parents, because lily and james potter had not died in a car crash. they had been murdered, murdered by the most feared dark wizard for a hundred years, lord voldemort. harry had escaped from the same attack with nothing more than a scar on his forehead, where voldemort’s curse, instead of killing him, had rebounded upon its originator. barely alive, voldemort had fled… but harry had come face-to-face with him at hogwarts. remembering their last meeting as he stood at the dark window, harry had to admit he was lucky even to have …

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harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban by j.k. rowling chapter one owl post harry potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. for one thing, he hated the summer holidays more than any other time of year. for another, he really wanted to do his homework but was forced to do it in secret, in the dead of night. and he also happened to be a wizard. it was nearly midnight, and he was lying on his stomach in bed, the blankets drawn right over his head like a tent, a flashlight in one hand and a large leather-bound book (a history of magic by bathilda bagshot) propped open against the pillow. harry moved the tip of his …

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