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¡°Why's that?¡± Harry spat, trying to wrench himself free of Ron, and Hermione. ¡°Didn't care last time, did you? Didn't mind slaughtering all those Muggles to get at Pettigrew¡­What's the matter, gone soft in Azkaban?¡±

They drank the butterbeer in silence, until Harry voiced something he'd been wondering for a while.

A hatred such as he had never known before was coursing through Harry like poison. He could see Black laughing at him through the darkness, as though somebody had pasted the picture from the album over his eyes. He watched, as though somebody was playing him a piece of film, Sirius Black blasting Peter Pettigrew (who resembled Neville Longbottom) into a thousand pieces. He could hear (though having no idea what Black's voice might sound like) a low, excited mutter. ¡°It has happened, My Lord¡­the Potters have made me their Secret-Keeper¡± and then came another voice, laughing shrilly, the same laugh that Harry heard inside his head whenever the Dementors drew near¡­.

As Harry was helping himself to roast potatoes, the doors of the Great Hall opened again. It was Professor Trelawney, gliding toward them as though on wheels. She had put on a green sequined dress in honor of the occasion, making her look more than ever like a glittering, oversized dragonfly.

Harry reached for his wand, but too late ¡ª the dog had made an enormous leap and the front paws hit him on the chest; he keeled over backward in a whirl of hair; he felt its hot breath, saw inch-long teeth -

¡°Yes,¡± said Harry firmly.

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