Magic and Mayhem

7. The Marauders Map

Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping Harry in the hospital wing for the
rest of the weekend. He didn't argue or complain, but he wouldn't let
her throw away the shattered remnants of his Nimbus Two Thousand. He knew he was being stupid, knew that the Nimbus was beyond repair, but

Harry couldn't help it; he felt as though he'd lost one of his best
friends.

He had a stream of visitors, all intent on cheering him up. Hagrid sent
him a bunch of earwiggy flowers that looked like yellow cabbages, and

Ginny Weasley, turned up with a get-well card she
had made herself, which sang shrilly unless Harry kept it shut under his
bowl of fruit. The Gryffindor team visited again on Sunday morning, this
time accompanied by Wood, who told Harry (in a hollow, dead sort of
voice) that he didn't blame
him in the slightest. Ron and Hermione left Harry's bedside only at
night- But nothing anyone said or did could make Harry feel any better,
because they knew only half of what was troubling him.

He hadn't told anyone about the Grim, not even Ron -and Hermione, or Stephanie
because he knew Ron would panic and Hermione would scoff and Stephaniewon'tgive any reaction. The fact
remained, however, that it had now appeared twice, and both appearances
had been followed by near-fatal accidents; the first time, he had nearly
been run over by the Knight Bus; the second, fallen fifty feet from his
broomstick. Was the Grim going to haunt him until he actually died? Was
he going to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder for the
beast?

And then there were the dementors. Harry felt sick and humiliated every
time he thought of them. Everyone said the dementors were horrible, but
no one else collapsed every time they went near one. No one else heard
echoes in their head of their dying parents.

Because Harry knew who that screaming voice belonged to now. He had
heard her words, heard them over and over again during the night hours
in the hospital wing while he lay awake, staring at the strips of
moonlight on the ceiling.

When the dementors approached him, he heard
the last moments of his mother's life, her attempts to protect him,

Harry, from Lord Voldemort, and Voldemort's laughter before he murdered
her.... Harry dozed fitfully, sinking into dreams full of clammy, rotted
hands and petrified pleading, jerking awake to dwell again on his mother's voice.

It was a relief to return to the noise and bustle of the main school on
Monday, where he was forced to think about other things, eve', if he had
to endure Draco Malfoys taunting. Malfoy was almost beside himself with
glee at Gryffindor's defeat. He had finally taken off his bandages, and
celebrated having the full use of both arms again by doing spirited
imitations of Harry falling off his broom. Malfoy spent much of their
next Potions class doing dementor imitations across the dungeon; Ron
finally cracked and flung a large, slippery crocodile heart at Malfoy,
which hit him in the face and caused Snape to take fifty points from
Gryffindor.

"If Snape's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts again, I'm skiving

off," said Ron as they headed toward Lupin's classroom after lunch.

"Check who's in there, Hermione."

Hermione peered around the classroom door.

"It's okay!"

Professor Lupin was back at work. It certainly looked as though he had

been ill. His old robes were hanging more loosely on him and there were

dark shadows beneath his eyes; nevertheless, he smiled at the class as

they took their seats, and they burst at once into an explosion of