Despite Atwood’s portrayal of Gilead as soulless and destructive she has nevertheless succeeded in giving the reader a sense of optimism

‘The Handmaid's Tale' is set in the futuristic republic of Gilead. Everybody has somebody controlling what they do and only a minority have control over other people. In the first chapter alone we learn of the system of control within the Handmaids' residence. There are the angels, who are responsible for the Aunts, who have responsibility for the handmaids, i. e. the narrator. This system has the sole purpose, reproduction: â€Å"we are for breeding purposes†¦ There is supposed to be nothing entertaining about us, no room is to be permitted for the flowering of secret lusts†¦ We are two-legged wombs, that's all: sacred vessels, ambulatory chalices. † The narrator of takes on a role based on the Biblical story of Jacob's wives; when they failed to conceive, he fathered children by their handmaids. In a world in which the fertility of both sexes has dropped dramatically, it is the role for which young women who have demonstrated their ability to bear children are destined, rather to the chagrin of the Wives who have to house them. For this regime to function effectively it is important that a high level of control is exerted and more essentially, that the people within the regime understand there purpose. They are not there to build relationships, they are there for reproduction and any other aspect of life is irrelevant. Ironically the regime is developed for sex yet any attributes you would normally apply to a sexual relationship have been removed. There is no conversation, no intimacy, no pleasure or appreciation of yourself or your partner; in fact there is no relationship with your partner or anyone else. Physical contact must be kept to what is necessary and the act of sex itself is simply necessary for reproduction. For the regime to work there can be no feelings. To prevent feelings developing within people towards others Gilead works to remove anything that makes the person unique, this is why the regime has been described as â€Å"soulless† as by taking away peoples' personalities you are practically taking away their soul. This is similar to the system in Aldous Huxley's â€Å"Brave New World† where the concept of love has been destroyed. The idea of falling in love with someone has been made almost impossible, as there is no opportunity for this to happen, everybody been made as soulless as possible. There must be no character, individuality or expression of self to avoid people getting into any form of relationship. The women are literally branded with numbers a code that ties them to the regime. They are made to wear uniforms (in describing the uniforms Atwood appears to me making a link to the similarity to the German and Canadian prisoners of war uniforms from World War Two) and are renamed in attempt to completely depersonalise them. They are treated as cattle, as a group with no thought of their own. This leaves the reader questioning their interpretation of the narrator, we sometimes see her as an individual taking minor rebellion against the regime, and yet at other times we see her as one of many that are all in the same helpless situation. The high level of control they hold over their people enhances Gilead's destructive manner. Even the narrator's name â€Å"Offred† has been composed by the regime. The novel explains this unusual noun as being a word â€Å"that is composed of the possessive preposition and the first name of the name of the gentlemen in question. † However most readers pick up on the play on the word â€Å"offered† she is offered around the gentlemen in society. No individual or group is strong enough to overthrow the regime and this is the focal point of the regime's strength. They can enforce and law no matter how unjust because there is no one strong enough to oppose it. However at no point is the reader led to believe that the narrator has given up hope and that there is no purpose for her anymore. This is of a conscious effort by Atwood to create a positive perspective of the situation through her narrative technique, imagery and by surrounding the character with situations where they could potentially rebel. The harsh regime of Gilead is emphasised by Atwood offering the reader a comparison of the narrator's current situation and her previous one, it has been suggested that this is Atwood supporting the theory that fear causes regression, not progression. These comparisons are possible because of the flashback technique that occurs throughout the novel. For example, Offred contrasts the way she used to think about her body to the way she thinks about it now: ‘I used to thin of my body as an instrument, of pleasure, or a means of transportation, or an implement for the accomplish of my will †¦ now the flesh arranges itself differently. I'm a cloud, congealed around a central object, the shape of a pear, which is hard and more real than I am and glows red within its translucent wrapping. Where as in the story, Offred uses the flashbacks as a way of escaping, a more practical level Atwood uses them to reveal to the reader the reasons behind the current situation and how the novel possibly relates to our lives. One critic commented, â€Å"1the essential element of a cautionary tale is recognition†. The reader is very aware that Offred once lived a life similar to their own, this heightens their compassion towards the handmaid's and in some ways the novel acts as a warning, for what could potentially occur in our own future. By allowing us to see Offred's past and compare it with the life she has been forced to live now it is obvious how much destruction the regime has caused. For the novel to progress it is essential Atwood creates optimism, because Offred herself has to say positive in order to cope with the situations, she cannot give up therefore Atwood cannot let the reader think she has given up. Minor acts of rebellion are ways of showing the reader that the system has flaws, there is a gap and if Offered works hard enough she can get through the gaps in the system. For example, no communication is meant to happen between the handmaids and yet Offred and Moira find a way of talking through a hole in the wall, which poses as a hole in the system. However, Atwood creates the feeling of empowerment and hope through these rebellions but she never goes as far as to say there definitely is hope. It is possible that Offred is aware than any act of rebellion is simply a coping tactic and the regime will not fall, she will leave eventually and the regime will go on unshaken. Offred's relationship with the commander acts as â€Å"something else to think about†, as the reader we do not dwell on the state of the society as we are now concerned with the relationship Offred is forming, of course this is due to the narrative style of the novel, we are guided towards thinking about Offred and the commander because that is what Offred is thinking about and we are reading her thoughts, in the form of a dialogue to her audience. However it is ambiguous as the whether the commander forms an attachment with many of his handmaids, so Offred's relationship with Nick is far more pivotal to her story as it is as close as she could have to the sort of relationship she could have formed before the regime, the sort that she had with her husband Luke. The risk she eventually takes with him we know could be the end of her but at the time it's a chance for a better standard of life, of course again this could be perceived as Offred falling under the control of Gilead's regime by going out of her way to have a child and conforming to their rules. Gilead's destructive power is emphasised by showing the extremes it will force people to go to, to succumb to their demands. An essential part to the regime is the fact that everyone is a victim; everybody has had to sacrifice something and give up part of their old life. Even those that still have a small amount of control have given up more than they have gained. Serena Joy is portrayed as a malicious character by Offred, yet she has lost her relationship with her husband, she has no contact with anyone and has to live in a regime that has her husband sleeping with many different women. Atwood uses process and reconstruction when writing and the reader is often reminded that â€Å"truth† is only a matter of the teller's perspective. If the reader is never sure of the true details then they are allowed to picture the worst possible situations, and the best. Time shifts and short scenes add to the ambiguity of the story and the reader may question how factually based the story actually is and how true to life Offred's description of other characters are. Moira is a classic example, it could be she was never as strong or rebellious as Offred claimed she was, she was maybe a role model for Offred and her character was exaggerated because Offred need her role model to be strong. However it is not only the reader that is unsure of the truth, Offred has very little facts at her disposal. The only time the handmaid's are educated is when they are listening to the Bible being read or watching the â€Å"news. † In the same way the Ministry of Truth created the news in George Orwell's â€Å"1984† there is suggestion the news the handmaids are shown is fabricated. By acknowledging this fact Offred has rebelled against the regime. However she also accepts that â€Å"any news is better than none† and she simply has to believe the news because there is nothing else to go by. It is the only source of knowledge. Gilead's controls are so tight she is forced to believe what she hears. This too is similar to â€Å"1984† and the concept created by George Orwell of doublethink which is to acknowledge two conflicting truths at once. Offred accepts the news is probably false and yet she also believes it is true because she has to. This is similar to the relationship between the reader and the narrator; we accept that what here cannot be entirely true yet we have to believe it. Offred herself does not know what has happened to her daughter or her husband therefore she is able to cling on to the hope that they are alive, as it has not been confirmed otherwise. The reader does the same with Offred's existence at the end of the novel, we hope she is alive and the ambiguity of the ending allows us to do so. Quite often in the novel Atwood creates a sense of hope later to take it away again, or create optimism with an underlying tone of doubt. When Offred discovers the note in the cupboard â€Å"nolite te bastardes carborundorum† she is filled with hope, reading it as a message left for her by the last person that lived here, she is reading which she is not allowed to do as language has been abolished and this all adds to the positive feeling of going against the regime. However Offred then builds up the message to by more significant than it is and is let down when the commander translates it as â€Å"don't let the bastards grind you down. At the end, we discover that Offred's story was not founding the form of a manuscript but as a recording on a cassette player. This is confusing for the reader as the strict structure of the regime would not have made it possible to have access to a cassette player. One suggestion is that Offred did escape and managed to record her story at a later point. However even if Offred had been writing this would have been a constant form of rebellion, as language had been abolished. It has been suggested that Offred's storytelling is an act of resistance to Gilead, just as her tale itself is an act of resistance to masculinist fiction conventions, including that archetypal patriarchal text, the Old Testament. In many ways the historical notes are more essential to the meaning of the novel than Offred's story. On a positive note, the historical notes assure the reader that the regime of Gilead was overthrown and society returned to normal, Offred's story has been found in the form of cassette recordings, this suggests she did escaped and managed to get her writing on to tape. However, Offred's story is found but it is not heard or understood. Male historians have tried to impose their perception of it on to it and created a title for it. The regime has apparently not changed their sexist attitudes, history has taught them nothing. The professors are abusing Offred as Gilead did by removing her authority from the telling of her own story, they seem more worried at the fact there is nothing more about the Commander and his true identity. Ironically he does just what Offred predicts would happen to the story of the Handmaid's â€Å"from the point of view of future history, we'll be invisible. The modern day historians have depersonailised her just as much as the regime did by taking away her voice and forcing reader is brought into a second vision of the future and is forced to judge what they have just read. Atwood's historical notes satirise American society as it stands today, where as Gilead is based on an international range of models, which include not only historical examples but contemporary political carnage in Iran, Latin America and more recently Iraq and Afghanistan. Denay Nunavit† (deny none of it) seems to be Atwood's message out of the past to the future, giving the reader a sense of shared moral responsibility for our own futures. This is effective as the pre Gilead society is very similar to our own society today. The novel was first published in 1986 â€Å"the age of the R – strain syphilis and Aids epidemic† Aids had just being brought to the publics attention and there was a massive campaign to prevent it's spread. A second reason we are given for the need of a society such as Gilead was â€Å"various nuclear power plant accidents†¦ hemical and biological warfare, stock piles and toxic waste disposal sites† all readers will recognise these issues and can map them on to real life incidents such as Chernobyl. Similarly to â€Å"1984,† Atwood's novel seems to be an extension of real fears her audience would have had. This was noted by one reader who commented that: â€Å"what is especially meaningful is the fact that the book was published in the 80's, long before many of the concepts were as relevant as they are now. 2 Ironically once the regime has been abolished there is no longer the optimistic tone in Atwood's writing, suggesting that even though Gilead was destructive, the intention of the society was good and there was room for hope, however we can now see that life after Gilead reverted to pre Gilead ways and there has been no progression, development of understanding a nd this is a far more negative situation to be faced because it suggests man will never learn.

Dancing in the Night

It was a long, frigid night. The air was crisp and there was fog building up on the windows, as she sat and waited in the car for the night to end and daybreak to arrive. She had been fighting with her boyfriend of several years. As always, the fight ended with a loud WHACK†¦ Her face red with shame and damp with tears she shed. She did not know why she shed them- more for the pain or for the embarrassment. She sat in the car, her cries for pain dancing in the cold air, her breath becoming shorter on the intake. She wanted to break free. She wanted to break the chains over this abuse! Oh how she wanted to drive, drive anywhere and start her life over again. But again, as always, she had an excuse. She had reasoning for this crazy life, this notion of love. Thoughts swirling in her head. And then her breathing would dance in the frigid air once again. It was two o'clock in the morning. She had little clothing on to keep her warm. The only protection from the cold, besides the thin sheath of a jacket on her arms and an old scarf, was the array of goose pimples. She cupped her icy hands over her mouth and withdrew a hearty, deep breath. That still was not enough. She ran the scenario through her mind, trying to figure out where she went wrong, where she wronged the man whom she loved so dearly. All she could think of was how the thrashing of their bodies collided together, the pain she felt everytime he wanted to. She would tell him to stop, but he would stop at nothing. He always got what he wanted. These thoughts running through her mind were making her cry uncontrollably. She brought her hands to her face, gently cupping her rosy, tear stricken face. Pondering once again about her life, she could not understand one thing. She could not understand how this man, the man whom she has been with for so long, could be such an ass at times. He would man handle her, like she was one of the guys, when in reality she was frail, weak, a porcelain doll. He treated her in such a way that a savage young boy would do to a quaint dollhouse with glass dolls inside. She wiped a tear from her frozen left cheek. Rubbing her nose with the sleeve of the sheath, she gently blew. All of this crying left her nose terribly stuffed up, like traffic on a freeway during rush hour. He had broad shoulders with bulging veins, high cheekbones, a strong trunk, chiseled legs. Why would he force her? Why would he strike her? She could not think. She was almost frozen. Shaking once again from the cold night, she decided to try and get the heater to go on in her old Oldsmobile. Turning the key clockwise, pumping the break†¦ A load croak and moan spoke from within the car. Her luck- the car was dead. She knew nothing about cars. She was miles from home and from civilization. Her life was very complicated. This man spoke words of poetry about getting married and starting a family. Why would he strike her? He did not mean to though. He always bought her tulips after their fights. Pink and red ones. She loved the tulips he bought. They brought her back to her childhood. Her father was the same way. That is why she loved him so much. They are so much alike. She always fixed the same drink when they came home from a long day- Jack on the rocks. Then they would ask her to sit on their knee. Sometimes she would. When she would not, they would grab her pencil- like arm and force her down on their knee. They would never ask though. They would never ask if they could. They would just throw her frail body on the bed and pin her down. She would fight back, but after exuding so much energy, she would give in. And then the pain would begin. She never liked it. She never wanted her daddy to do this, her boyfriend to use that. After it was all over, she would sit and cry in the bathroom, blood oozing from her. Thinking about this made her flush once again and the heavens flowed from her angelic eyes. Six o'clock. Almost time for the rooster to crow. She made her way from the broken car to the side of the road. She saw some truckers pass by this secluded road during the night. She wondered if any of them had heat. What she would do for warmth right about now†¦ Then she spotted it- a large tractor-trailer coming her way. She withdrew her chaffed thumb from her pocket, shaking violently from the rough night of tears and lack of warmth. She still managed to shake her hip and open one more button on her jacket. She slightly exposed her sequin top from work the day before. She hid her tips in the hole of the right sleeve. All she needed was warmth and a place to lay her head. The tractor-trailer slowly grooved its way to a stop, like a train stopping on the tracks. The window disappeared into the door and the rough smile of this man was comforting to her. She opened up one more button and managed to say amidst the shaking, â€Å"Could ya give me a ride to the motel a few miles up? I seem to be havin' some car trouble. In return, I could give you some company- and anything else you might need, want, hafta have†¦Ã¢â‚¬  A half smile crept on her face. The driver had a sly smirk, as provocative thoughts ran through his head. He agreed to give her the ride. She agreed to his wishes. After all, that is how she met her boyfriend nearly three years earlier, running away from her daddy.

Chapter 12 The Patronus

As far as he was concerned, the stripping-down of a brand-new Firebolt was nothing less than criminal damage. Hermione, who remained convinced that she had acted for the best, started avoiding the common room. Harry and Ron supposed she had taken refuge in the library and didn’t try to persuade her to come back. All in all, they were glad when the rest of the school returned shortly after New Year, and Gryffindor Tower became crowded and noisy again. Wood sought Harry out on the night before term started. â€Å"Had a good Christmas?† he said, and then, without waiting for an answer, he sat down, lowered his voice, and said, â€Å"I’ve been, doing some thinking over Christmas, Harry. After last match, you know. If the Dementors come to the next one†¦I mean†¦we can’t afford you to — well –â€Å" Wood broke off, looking awkward. â€Å"I’m working on it,† said Harry quickly. â€Å"Professor Lupin said he’d train me to ward off the Dementors. We should be starting this week. He said he’d have time after Christmas.† â€Å"Ah,† said Wood, his expression clearing. â€Å"Well, in that case — I really didn’t want to lose you as Seeker, Harry. And have you ordered a new broom yet?† â€Å"No,† said Harry. â€Å"What! You’d better get a move on, you know — you can’t ride that Shooting Star against Ravenclaw!† â€Å"He got a Firebolt for Christmas,† said Ron. â€Å"A Firebolt? No! Seriously? A — a real Firebolt?† â€Å"Don’t get excited, Oliver,† said Harry gloomily. â€Å"I haven’t got it anymore. It was confiscated.† And he explained all about how the Firebolt was now being checked for jinxes. â€Å"Jinxed? How could it be jinxed?† â€Å"Sirius Black,† Harry said wearily. â€Å"He’s supposed to be after me. So McGonagall reckons he might have sent it.† Waving aside the information that a famous murderer was after his Seeker, Wood said, â€Å"But Black couldn’t have bought a Firebolt! He’s on the run! The whole country’s on the lookout for him! How could he just walk into Quality Quidditch Supplies and buy a broomstick?† â€Å"I know,† said Harry, â€Å"but McGonagall still wants to strip it down –â€Å" Wood went pale. â€Å"I’ll go and talk to her, Harry,† he promised. â€Å"I’ll make her see reason†¦A Firebolt†¦a real Firebolt, on our team †¦She wants Gryffindor to win as much as we do†¦I’ll make her see sense. A Firebolt†¦.† Classes started again the next day. The last thing anyone felt like doing was spending two hours on the grounds on a raw January morning, but Hagrid had provided a bonfire full of salamanders for their enjoyment, and they spent an unusually good lesson collecting dry wood and leaves to keep the fire blazing while the flame-loving lizards scampered up and down the crumbling, white-hot logs. The first Divination lesson of the new term was much less fun; Professor Trelawney was now teaching them palmistry, and she lost no time in informing Harry that he had the shortest life line she had ever seen. It was Defense Against the Dark Arts that Harry was keen to get to; after his conversation with Wood, he wanted to get started on his anti-Dementor lessons as soon as possible. â€Å"Ah yes,† said Lupin, when Harry reminded him of his promise at the end of class. â€Å"Let me see†¦how about eight o’clock on Thursday evening? The History of Magic classroom should be large enough†¦I’ll have to think carefully about how we’re going to do this†¦We can’t bring a real Dementor into the castle to practice on†¦.† â€Å"Still looks ill, doesn’t he?† said Ron as they walked down the corridor, heading to dinner. â€Å"What d’you reckon’s the matter with him?† There was a loud and impatient â€Å"tuh† from behind them. It was Hermione, who had been sitting at the feet of a suit of armor, repacking her bag, which was so full of books it wouldn’t close. â€Å"And what are you tutting at us for?† said Ron irritably. â€Å"Nothing,† said Hermione in a lofty voice, heaving her bag back over her shoulder. â€Å"Yes, you were,† said Ron. â€Å"I said I wonder what’s wrong with Lupin, and you –â€Å" â€Å"Well, isn’t it obvious?† said Hermione, with a look of maddening superiority. â€Å"If you don’t want to tell us, don’t,† snapped Ron. â€Å"Fine,† said Hermione haughtily, and she marched off. â€Å"She doesn’t know,† said Ron, staring resentfully after Hermione. â€Å"She’s just trying to get us to talk to her again.† At eight o’clock on Thursday evening, Harry left Gryffindor Tower for the History of Magic classroom. It was dark and empty when he arrived, but he lit the lamps with his wand and had waited only five minutes when Professor Lupin turned up, carrying a large packing case, which he heaved onto Professor Binn’s desk. â€Å"What’s that?† said Harry. â€Å"Another Boggart,† said Lupin, stripping off his cloak. â€Å"I’ve been combing the castle ever since Tuesday, and very luckily, I found this one lurking inside Mr. Filch’s filing cabinet. It’s the nearest we’ll get to a real Dementor. The Boggart will turn into a Dementor when he sees you, so we’ll be able to practice on him. I can store him in my office when we’re not using him; there’s a cupboard under my desk he’ll like.† â€Å"Okay,† said Harry, trying to sound as though he wasn’t apprehensive at all and merely glad that Lupin had found such a good substitute for a real Dementor. â€Å"So†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Professor Lupin had taken out his own wand, and indicated that Harry should do the same. â€Å"The spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry — well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm.† â€Å"How does it work?† said Harry nervously. â€Å"Well, when it works correctly, It conjures up a Patronus,† said Lupin, â€Å"which is a kind of anti-Dementor — a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the Dementor.† Harry had a sudden vision of himself crouching behind a Hagrid-sized figure holding a large club. Professor Lupin continued, â€Å"The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon — hope, happiness, the desire to survive — but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the Dementors can’t hurt it. But I must warn you, Harry, that the charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it.† â€Å"What does a Patronus look like?† said Harry curiously. â€Å"Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it.† â€Å"And how do you conjure it?† â€Å"With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single, very happy memory.† Harry cast his mind about for a happy memory. Certainly, nothing that had happened to him at the Dursleys’ was going to do. Finally, he settled on the moment when he had first ridden a broomstick. â€Å"Right,† he said, trying to recall as exactly as possible the wonderful, soaring sensation of his stomach. â€Å"The incantation is this –† Lupin cleared his throat. â€Å"Expecto patronum!† â€Å"Expecto patronum,† Harry repeated under his breath, â€Å"expecto patronum.† â€Å"Concentrating hard on your happy memory?† â€Å"Oh — yeah –† said Harry, quickly forcing his thoughts back to that first broom ride. â€Å"Expecto patrono — no, patronum — sorry — expecto patronum, expecto patronum† Something whooshed suddenly out of the end of his wand; it looked like a wisp of silvery gas. â€Å"Did you see that?† said Harry excitedly. â€Å"Something happened!† â€Å"Very good,† said Lupin, smiling. â€Å"Right, then — ready to try it on a Dementor?† â€Å"Yes,† Harry said, gripping his wand very tightly, and moving into the middle of the deserted classroom. He tried to keep his mind on flying, but something else kept intruding†¦Any second now, he might hear his mother again†¦but he shouldn’t think that, or he would hear her again, and he didn’t want to†¦or did he? Lupin grasped the lid of the packing case and pulled. A Dementor rose slowly from the box, its hooded face turned toward Harry, one glistening, scabbed hand gripping its cloak. The lamps around the classroom flickered and went out. The Dementor stepped from the box and started to sweep silently toward Harry, drawing a deep, rattling breath. A wave of piercing cold broke over him — â€Å"Expecto patronum!† Harry yelled. â€Å"Expecto patronum! Expecto –â€Å" But the classroom and the Dementor were dissolving†¦Harry was falling again through thick white fog, and his mother’s voice was louder than ever, echoing inside his head — â€Å"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please — I’ll do anything –â€Å" â€Å"Stand aside — stand aside, girl –â€Å" â€Å"Harry!† Harry jerked back to life. He was lying flat on his back on the floor. The classroom lamps were alight again. He didn’t have to ask what had happened. â€Å"Sorry,† he muttered, sitting up and feeling cold sweat trickling down behind his glasses. â€Å"Are you all right?† said Lupin. â€Å"Yes†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Harry pulled himself up on one of the desks and leaned against it. â€Å"Here –† Lupin handed him a Chocolate Frog. â€Å"Eat this before we try again. I didn’t expect you to do it your first time; in fact, I would have been astounded if you had.† â€Å"It’s getting worse,† Harry muttered, biting off the Frog’s head. â€Å"I could hear her louder that time — and him — Voldemort –â€Å" Lupin looked paler than usual. â€Å"Harry, if you don’t want to continue, I will more than understand –â€Å" â€Å"I do!† said Harry fiercely, stuffing the rest of the Chocolate Frog into his mouth. â€Å"I’ve got to! What if the Dementors turn up at our match against Ravenclaw? I can’t afford to fall off again. If we lose this game we’ve lost the Quidditch Cup!† â€Å"All right then†¦Ã¢â‚¬  said Lupin. â€Å"You might want to select another memory, a happy memory, I mean, to concentrate on†¦That one doesn’t seem to have been strong enough†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Harry thought hard and decided his feelings when Gryffindor had won the House Championship last year had definitely qualified as very happy. He gripped his wand tightly again and took up his position in the middle of the classroom. â€Å"Ready?† said Lupin, gripping the box lid. â€Å"Ready,† said Harry; trying hard to fill his head with happy thoughts about Gryffindor winning, and not dark thoughts about what was going to happen when the box opened. â€Å"Go!† said Lupin, pulling off the lid. The room went icily cold and dark once more. The Dementor glided forward, drawing its breath; one rotting hand was extending toward Harry — â€Å"Expecto patronum!† Harry yelled. â€Å"Expecto patronum! Expecto Pat –â€Å" White fog obscured his senses†¦big, blurred shapes were moving around him†¦then came a new voice, a man’s voice, shouting, panicking — â€Å"Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off –â€Å" The sounds of someone stumbling from a room — a door bursting open — a cackle of high- pitched laughter — â€Å"Harry! Harry†¦wake up†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Lupin was tapping Harry hard on the face. This time it was a minute before Harry understood why he was lying on a dusty classroom floor. â€Å"I heard my dad,† Harry mumbled. â€Å"That’s the first time I’ve ever heard him — he tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run for it†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Harry suddenly realized that there were tears on his face mingling with the sweat. He bent his face as low as possible, wiping them off on his robes, pretending to do up his shoelace, so that Lupin wouldn’t see. â€Å"You heard James?† said Lupin in a strange voice. â€Å"Yeah†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Face dry, Harry looked up. â€Å"Why — you didn’t know my dad, did you?† â€Å"I — I did, as a matter of fact,† said Lupin. â€Å"We were friends at Hogwarts. Listen, Harry — perhaps we should leave it here for tonight. This charm is ridiculously advanced†¦I shouldn’t have suggested putting you through this†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"No!† said Harry. He got up again. â€Å"I’ll have one more go! I’m not thinking of happy enough things, that’s what it is†¦hang on†¦Ã¢â‚¬  He racked his brains. A really, really happy memory†¦one that he could turn into a good, strong Patronus†¦. The moment when he’d first found out he was a wizard, and would be leaving the Dursleys for Hogwarts! If that wasn’t a happy memory, he didn’t know what was†¦Concentrating very hard on how he had felt when he’d realized he’d be leaving Privet Drive, Harry got to his feet and faced the packing case once more. â€Å"Ready?† said Lupin, who looked as though he were doing this against his better judgment. â€Å"Concentrating hard? All right — go!† He pulled off the lid of the case for the third time, and the Dementor rose out of it; the room fell cold and dark — â€Å"EXPECTO PATRONUM!† Harry bellowed. â€Å"EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO PATRONUM!† The screaming inside Harry’s head had started again — except this time, it sounded as though it were coming from a badly tuned radio — softer and louder and softer again†¦and he could still see the Dementor†¦it had halted†¦and then a huge, silver shadow came bursting out of the end of Harry’s wand, to hover between him and the Dementor, and though Harry’s legs felt like water, he was still on his feet — though for how much longer, he wasn’t sure†¦ â€Å"Riddikulus!† roared Lupin, springing forward. There was a loud crack, and Harry’s cloudy Patronus vanished along with the Dementor; he sank into a chair, feeling as exhausted as if he’d just run a mile, and felt his legs shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Professor Lupin forcing the Boggart back into the packing case with his wand; it had turned into a silvery orb again. â€Å"Excellent!† Lupin said, striding over to where Harry sat. â€Å"Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start!† â€Å"Can we have another go? Just one more go?† â€Å"Not now,† said Lupin firmly. â€Å"You’ve had enough for one night. Here –â€Å" He handed Harry a large bar of Honeydukes’ best chocolate. â€Å"Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood. Same time next week?† â€Å"Okay,† said Harry. He took a bite of the chocolate and watched Lupin extinguishing the lamps that had rekindled with the disappearance of the Dementor. A thought had just occurred to him. â€Å"Professor Lupin?† he said. â€Å"If you knew my dad, you must’ve known Sirius Black as well.† Lupin turned very quickly. â€Å"What gives you that idea?† he said sharply. â€Å"Nothing — I mean, I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts too†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Lupin’s face relaxed. â€Å"Yes, I knew him,† he said shortly. â€Å"Or I thought I did. You’d better be off, Harry, it’s getting late.† Harry left the classroom, walking along the corridor and around a corner, then took a detour behind a suit of armor and sank down on its plinth to finish his chocolate, wishing he hadn’t mentioned Black, as Lupin was obviously not keen on the subject. Then Harry’s thoughts wandered back to his mother and father †¦ He felt drained and strangely empty, even though he was so full of chocolate. Terrible though it was to hear his parents’ last moments replayed inside his head, these were the only times Harry had heard their voices since he was a very small child. But he’d never be able to produce a proper Patronus if he half wanted to hear his parents again †¦ â€Å"They’re dead,† he told himself sternly. â€Å"They’re dead and listening to echoes of them won’t bring them back. You’d better get a grip on yourself if you want that Quidditch Cup.† He stood up, crammed the last bit of chocolate into his mouth, and headed back to Gryffindor Tower. Ravenclaw played Slytherin a week after the start of term. Slytherin won, though narrowly. According to Wood, this was good news for Gryffindor, who would take second place if they beat Ravenclaw too. He therefore increased the number of team practices to five a week. This meant that with Lupin’s anti-Dementor classes, which in themselves were more draining than six Quidditch practices, Harry had just one night a week to do all his homework. Even so, he was not showing the strain nearly as much as Hermione, whose immense workload finally seemed to be getting to her. Every night, without fail, Hermione was to be seen in a corner of the common room, several tables spread with books, Arithmancy charts, rune dictionaries, diagrams of Muggles lifting heavy objects, and file upon file of extensive notes; she barely spoke to anybody and snapped when she was interrupted. â€Å"How’s she doing it?† Ron muttered to Harry one evening as Harry sat finishing a nasty essay on Undetectable Poisons for Snape. Harry looked up. Hermione was barely visible behind a tottering pile of books. â€Å"Doing what?† â€Å"Getting to all her classes!† Ron said. â€Å"I heard her talking to Professor Vector, that Arithmancy witch, this morning. They were going on about yesterday’s lesson, but Hermione can’t’ve been there, because she was with us in Care of Magical Creatures! And Ernie McMillan told me she’s never missed a Muggle Studies class, but half of them are at the same time as Divination, and she’s never missed one of them either!† Harry didn’t have time to fathom the mystery of Hermione’s impossible schedule at the moment; he really needed to get on with Snape’s essay. Two seconds later, however, he was interrupted again, this time by Wood. â€Å"Bad news, Harry. I’ve just been to see Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt. She — er — got a bit shirty with me. Told me I’d got my priorities wrong. Seemed to think I cared more about winning the Cup than I do about you staying alive. Just because I told her I didn’t care if it threw you off, as long as you caught the Snitch first.† Wood shook his head in disbelief. â€Å"Honestly, the way she was yelling at me†¦you’d think I’d said something terrible. Then I asked her how much longer she was going to keep it†¦Ã¢â‚¬  He screwed up his face and imitated Professor McGonagall’s severe voice. â€Å"As long as necessary, Wood†Ã¢â‚¬ ¦I reckon it’s time you ordered a new broom, Harry. There’s an order form at the back of Which Broomstick†¦you could get a Nimbus Two Thousand and One, like Malfoy’s got.† â€Å"I’m not buying anything Malfoy thinks is good,† said Harry flatly. January faded imperceptibly into February, with no change in the bitterly cold weather. The match against Ravenclaw was drawing nearer and nearer, but Harry still hadn’t ordered a new broom. He was now asking Professor McGonagall for news of the Firebolt after every Transfiguration lesson, Ron standing hopefully at his shoulder, Hermione rushing past with her face averted. â€Å"No, Potter, you can’t have it back yet,† Professor McGonagall told him the twelfth time this happened, before he’d even opened his mouth. â€Å"We’ve checked for most of the usual curses, but Professor Flitwick believes the broom might be carrying a Hurling Hex. I shall tell you once we’ve finished checking it. Now, please stop badgering me.† To make matters even worse, Harry’s anti-Dementor lessons were not going nearly as well as he had hoped. Several sessions on, he was able to produce an indistinct, silvery shadow every time the Boggart-Dementor approached him, but his Patronus was too feeble to drive the Dementor away. All it did was hover, like a semitransparent cloud, draining Harry of energy as he fought to keep it there. Harry felt angry with himself, guilty about his secret desire to hear his parents’ voices again. â€Å"You’re expecting too much of yourself,† said Professor Lupin, sternly in their fourth week of practice. â€Å"For a thirteen-year-old wizard, even an indistinct Patronus is a huge achievement. You aren’t passing out anymore, are you?† â€Å"I thought a Patronus would — charge the Dementors down or something,† said Harry dispiritedly. â€Å"Make them disappear –â€Å" â€Å"The true Patronus does do that,† said Lupin. â€Å"But you’ve achieved a great deal in a very short space of time. If the Dementors put in an appearance at your next Quidditch match, You will be able to keep them at bay long enough to get back to the ground.† â€Å"You said it’s harder if there are loads of them,† said Harry. â€Å"I have complete confidence in you,† said Lupin, smiling. â€Å"Here — you’ve earned a drink. Something from the Three Broomsticks. You won’t have tried it before –â€Å" He pulled two bottles out of his briefcase. â€Å"Butterbeer!† said Harry, without thinking. â€Å"Yeah, I like that stuff!† Lupin raised an eyebrow. â€Å"Oh — Ron and Hermione brought me some back from Hogsmeade,† Harry lied quickly. â€Å"I see,† said Lupin, though he still looked slightly suspicious. â€Å"Well — let’s drink to a Gryffindor victory against Ravenclaw! Not that I’m supposed to take sides, as a teacher†¦Ã¢â‚¬  he added hastily. They drank the butterbeer in silence, until Harry voiced something he’d been wondering for a while. â€Å"What’s under a Dementor’s hood?† Professor Lupin lowered his bottle thoughtfully. â€Å"Hmmm †¦ well, the only people who really know are in no condition to tell us. You see, the Dementor lowers its hood only to use its last and worst weapon.† â€Å"What’s that?† â€Å"They call it the Dementor’s Kiss,† said Lupin, with a slightly twisted smile. â€Å"It’s what Dementors do to those they wish to destroy utterly. I suppose there must be some kind of mouth under there, because they clamp their jaws upon the mouth of the victim and — and suck out his soul.† Harry accidentally spat out a bit of butterbeer. â€Å"What — they kill –?† â€Å"Oh no,† said Lupin. â€Å"Much worse than that. You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you’ll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no†¦anything. There’s no chance at all of recovery. You’ll just exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever†¦lost.† Lupin drank a little more butterbeer, then said, â€Å"It’s the fate that awaits Sirius Black. It was in the Daily Prophet this morning. The Ministry have given the Dementors permission to perform it if they find him.† Harry sat stunned for a moment at the idea of someone having their soul sucked out through their mouth. But then he thought of Black. â€Å"He deserves it,† he said suddenly. â€Å"You think so?† said Lupin lightly. â€Å"Do you really think anyone deserves that?† â€Å"Yes,† said Harry defiantly. â€Å"For†¦for some things†¦Ã¢â‚¬  He would have liked to have told Lupin about the conversation he’d overheard about Black in the Three Broomsticks, about Black betraying his mother and father, but it would have involved revealing that he’d gone to Hogsmeade without permission, and he knew Lupin wouldn’t be very impressed by that. So he finished his butterbeer, thanked Lupin, and left the History of Magic classroom. Harry half wished that he hadn’t asked what was under a Dementor’s hood, the answer had been so horrible, and he was so lost in unpleasant thoughts of what it would feel like to have your soul sucked out of you that he walked headlong into Professor McGonagall halfway up the stairs. â€Å"Do watch where you’re going, Potter!† â€Å"Sorry, Professor –â€Å" â€Å"I’ve just been looking for you in the Gryffindor common room, Well, here it is, we’ve done everything we could think of, and there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with it at all — you’ve got a very good friend somewhere, Potter†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Harry’s jaw dropped. She was holding out his Firebolt, and it looked as magnificent as ever. â€Å"I can have it back?† Harry said weakly. â€Å"Seriously?† â€Å"Seriously,† said Professor McGonagall, and she was actually smiling. â€Å"I daresay you’ll need to get the feel of it before Saturday’s match, won’t you? And Potter — do try and win, won’t you? Or we’ll be out of the running for the eighth year in a row, as Professor Snape was kind enough to remind me only last night†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Speechless, Harry carried the Firebolt back upstairs toward Gryffindor Tower. As he turned a corner, he saw Ron dashing toward him, grinning from ear to ear. â€Å"She gave it to you? Excellent! Listen, can I still have a go on it? Tomorrow?† â€Å"Yeah†¦anything†¦Ã¢â‚¬  said Harry, his heart lighter than it had been in a month. â€Å"You know what — we should make up with Hermione†¦She was only trying to help†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"Yeah, all right,† said Ron. â€Å"She’s in the common room now working — for a change.† They turned into the corridor to Gryffindor Tower and saw Neville Longbottom, pleading with Sir Cadogan, who seemed to be refusing him entrance. â€Å"I wrote them down!† Neville was saying tearfully. â€Å"But I must’ve dropped them somewhere!† â€Å"A likely tale!† roared Sir Cadogan. Then, spotting Harry and Ron: â€Å"Good even, my fine young yeomen! Come clap this loon in irons. He is trying to force entry to the chambers within!† â€Å"Oh, shut up,† said Ron as he and Harry drew level with Neville. â€Å"I’ve lost the passwords!† Neville told them miserably. â€Å"I made him tell me what passwords he was going to use this week, because he keeps changing them, and now I don’t know what I’ve done with them!† â€Å"Oddsbodkins,† said Harry to Sir Cadogan, who looked extremely disappointed and reluctantly swung forward to let them into the common room. There was a sudden, excited murmur as every head turned and the next moment, Harry was surrounded by people exclaiming over his Firebolt. â€Å"Where’d you get it, Harry?† â€Å"Will you let me have a go?† â€Å"Have you ridden it yet, Harry?† â€Å"Ravenclaw’ll have no chance, they’re all on Cleansweep Sevens!† â€Å"Can I just hold it, Harry?† After ten minutes or so, during which the Firebolt was Passed around and admired from every angle, the crowd dispersed and Harry and Ron had a clear view of Hermione, the only person who hadn’t rushed over to them, bent over her work and carefully avoiding their eyes. Harry and Ron approached her table and at last, she looked up. â€Å"I got it back,† said Harry, grinning at her and holding up the Firebolt. â€Å"See, Hermione? There wasn’t anything wrong with it!† said Ron. â€Å"Well — there might have been!† said Hermione. â€Å"I mean, at least you know now that it’s safe!† â€Å"Yeah, I suppose so,† said Harry. â€Å"I’d better put it upstairs.† â€Å"I’ll take it!† said Ron eagerly. â€Å"I’ve got to give Scabbers his rat tonic.† He took the Firebolt and, holding it as if it were made of glass, carried it away up the boys’ staircase. â€Å"Can I sit down, then?† Harry asked Hermione. â€Å"I suppose so,† said Hermione, moving a great stack of parchment off a chair. Harry looked around at the cluttered table, at the long Arithmancy essay on which the ink was still glistening, at the even longer Muggle Studies essay (‘Explain Why Muggles Need Electricity’) and at the rune translation Hermione was now poring over. â€Å"How are you getting through all this stuff?† Harry asked her. â€Å"Oh, well — you know — working hard,† said Hermione. Close-up, Harry saw that she looked almost as tired as Lupin. â€Å"Why don’t you just drop a couple of subjects?† Harry asked, watching her lifting books as she searched for her rune dictionary. â€Å"I couldn’t do that!† said Hermione, looking scandalized. â€Å"Arithmancy looks terrible,† said Harry, picking up a very complicated-looking number chart. â€Å"Oh no, it’s wonderful!† said Hermione earnestly. â€Å"It’s my favorite subject! It’s –â€Å" But exactly what was wonderful about Arithmancy, Harry never found out. At that precise moment, a strangled yell echoed down the boys’ staircase. The whole common room fell silent, staring, petrified, at the entrance. Then came hurried footsteps, growing louder and louder — and then Ron came leaping into view, dragging with him a bedsheet. â€Å"LOOK!† he bellowed, striding over to Hermione’s table. â€Å"LOOK!† he yelled, shaking the sheets in her face. â€Å"Ron, what –?† â€Å"SCABBERS! LOOK! SCABBERS!† Hermione was leaning away from Ron, looking utterly bewildered. Harry looked down at the sheet Ron was holding. There was something red on it. Something that looked horribly like — â€Å"BLOOD!† Ron yelled into the stunned silence. â€Å"HE’S GONE! AND YOU KNOW WHAT WAS ON THE FLOOR?† â€Å"N — no,† said Hermione in a trembling voice. Ron threw something down onto Hermione’s rune translation. Hermione and Harry leaned forward. Lying on top of the weird, spiky shapes were several long, ginger cat hairs. Chapter 12 The Patronus As far as he was concerned, the stripping-down of a brand-new Firebolt was nothing less than criminal damage. Hermione, who remained convinced that she had acted for the best, started avoiding the common room. Harry and Ron supposed she had taken refuge in the library and didn’t try to persuade her to come back. All in all, they were glad when the rest of the school returned shortly after New Year, and Gryffindor Tower became crowded and noisy again. Wood sought Harry out on the night before term started. â€Å"Had a good Christmas?† he said, and then, without waiting for an answer, he sat down, lowered his voice, and said, â€Å"I’ve been, doing some thinking over Christmas, Harry. After last match, you know. If the Dementors come to the next one†¦I mean†¦we can’t afford you to — well –â€Å" Wood broke off, looking awkward. â€Å"I’m working on it,† said Harry quickly. â€Å"Professor Lupin said he’d train me to ward off the Dementors. We should be starting this week. He said he’d have time after Christmas.† â€Å"Ah,† said Wood, his expression clearing. â€Å"Well, in that case — I really didn’t want to lose you as Seeker, Harry. And have you ordered a new broom yet?† â€Å"No,† said Harry. â€Å"What! You’d better get a move on, you know — you can’t ride that Shooting Star against Ravenclaw!† â€Å"He got a Firebolt for Christmas,† said Ron. â€Å"A Firebolt? No! Seriously? A — a real Firebolt?† â€Å"Don’t get excited, Oliver,† said Harry gloomily. â€Å"I haven’t got it anymore. It was confiscated.† And he explained all about how the Firebolt was now being checked for jinxes. â€Å"Jinxed? How could it be jinxed?† â€Å"Sirius Black,† Harry said wearily. â€Å"He’s supposed to be after me. So McGonagall reckons he might have sent it.† Waving aside the information that a famous murderer was after his Seeker, Wood said, â€Å"But Black couldn’t have bought a Firebolt! He’s on the run! The whole country’s on the lookout for him! How could he just walk into Quality Quidditch Supplies and buy a broomstick?† â€Å"I know,† said Harry, â€Å"but McGonagall still wants to strip it down –â€Å" Wood went pale. â€Å"I’ll go and talk to her, Harry,† he promised. â€Å"I’ll make her see reason†¦A Firebolt†¦a real Firebolt, on our team †¦She wants Gryffindor to win as much as we do†¦I’ll make her see sense. A Firebolt†¦.† Classes started again the next day. The last thing anyone felt like doing was spending two hours on the grounds on a raw January morning, but Hagrid had provided a bonfire full of salamanders for their enjoyment, and they spent an unusually good lesson collecting dry wood and leaves to keep the fire blazing while the flame-loving lizards scampered up and down the crumbling, white-hot logs. The first Divination lesson of the new term was much less fun; Professor Trelawney was now teaching them palmistry, and she lost no time in informing Harry that he had the shortest life line she had ever seen. It was Defense Against the Dark Arts that Harry was keen to get to; after his conversation with Wood, he wanted to get started on his anti-Dementor lessons as soon as possible. â€Å"Ah yes,† said Lupin, when Harry reminded him of his promise at the end of class. â€Å"Let me see†¦how about eight o’clock on Thursday evening? The History of Magic classroom should be large enough†¦I’ll have to think carefully about how we’re going to do this†¦We can’t bring a real Dementor into the castle to practice on†¦.† â€Å"Still looks ill, doesn’t he?† said Ron as they walked down the corridor, heading to dinner. â€Å"What d’you reckon’s the matter with him?† There was a loud and impatient â€Å"tuh† from behind them. It was Hermione, who had been sitting at the feet of a suit of armor, repacking her bag, which was so full of books it wouldn’t close. â€Å"And what are you tutting at us for?† said Ron irritably. â€Å"Nothing,† said Hermione in a lofty voice, heaving her bag back over her shoulder. â€Å"Yes, you were,† said Ron. â€Å"I said I wonder what’s wrong with Lupin, and you –â€Å" â€Å"Well, isn’t it obvious?† said Hermione, with a look of maddening superiority. â€Å"If you don’t want to tell us, don’t,† snapped Ron. â€Å"Fine,† said Hermione haughtily, and she marched off. â€Å"She doesn’t know,† said Ron, staring resentfully after Hermione. â€Å"She’s just trying to get us to talk to her again.† At eight o’clock on Thursday evening, Harry left Gryffindor Tower for the History of Magic classroom. It was dark and empty when he arrived, but he lit the lamps with his wand and had waited only five minutes when Professor Lupin turned up, carrying a large packing case, which he heaved onto Professor Binn’s desk. â€Å"What’s that?† said Harry. â€Å"Another Boggart,† said Lupin, stripping off his cloak. â€Å"I’ve been combing the castle ever since Tuesday, and very luckily, I found this one lurking inside Mr. Filch’s filing cabinet. It’s the nearest we’ll get to a real Dementor. The Boggart will turn into a Dementor when he sees you, so we’ll be able to practice on him. I can store him in my office when we’re not using him; there’s a cupboard under my desk he’ll like.† â€Å"Okay,† said Harry, trying to sound as though he wasn’t apprehensive at all and merely glad that Lupin had found such a good substitute for a real Dementor. â€Å"So†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Professor Lupin had taken out his own wand, and indicated that Harry should do the same. â€Å"The spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry — well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm.† â€Å"How does it work?† said Harry nervously. â€Å"Well, when it works correctly, It conjures up a Patronus,† said Lupin, â€Å"which is a kind of anti-Dementor — a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the Dementor.† Harry had a sudden vision of himself crouching behind a Hagrid-sized figure holding a large club. Professor Lupin continued, â€Å"The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon — hope, happiness, the desire to survive — but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the Dementors can’t hurt it. But I must warn you, Harry, that the charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it.† â€Å"What does a Patronus look like?† said Harry curiously. â€Å"Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it.† â€Å"And how do you conjure it?† â€Å"With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single, very happy memory.† Harry cast his mind about for a happy memory. Certainly, nothing that had happened to him at the Dursleys’ was going to do. Finally, he settled on the moment when he had first ridden a broomstick. â€Å"Right,† he said, trying to recall as exactly as possible the wonderful, soaring sensation of his stomach. â€Å"The incantation is this –† Lupin cleared his throat. â€Å"Expecto patronum!† â€Å"Expecto patronum,† Harry repeated under his breath, â€Å"expecto patronum.† â€Å"Concentrating hard on your happy memory?† â€Å"Oh — yeah –† said Harry, quickly forcing his thoughts back to that first broom ride. â€Å"Expecto patrono — no, patronum — sorry — expecto patronum, expecto patronum† Something whooshed suddenly out of the end of his wand; it looked like a wisp of silvery gas. â€Å"Did you see that?† said Harry excitedly. â€Å"Something happened!† â€Å"Very good,† said Lupin, smiling. â€Å"Right, then — ready to try it on a Dementor?† â€Å"Yes,† Harry said, gripping his wand very tightly, and moving into the middle of the deserted classroom. He tried to keep his mind on flying, but something else kept intruding†¦Any second now, he might hear his mother again†¦but he shouldn’t think that, or he would hear her again, and he didn’t want to†¦or did he? Lupin grasped the lid of the packing case and pulled. A Dementor rose slowly from the box, its hooded face turned toward Harry, one glistening, scabbed hand gripping its cloak. The lamps around the classroom flickered and went out. The Dementor stepped from the box and started to sweep silently toward Harry, drawing a deep, rattling breath. A wave of piercing cold broke over him — â€Å"Expecto patronum!† Harry yelled. â€Å"Expecto patronum! Expecto –â€Å" But the classroom and the Dementor were dissolving†¦Harry was falling again through thick white fog, and his mother’s voice was louder than ever, echoing inside his head — â€Å"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please — I’ll do anything –â€Å" â€Å"Stand aside — stand aside, girl –â€Å" â€Å"Harry!† Harry jerked back to life. He was lying flat on his back on the floor. The classroom lamps were alight again. He didn’t have to ask what had happened. â€Å"Sorry,† he muttered, sitting up and feeling cold sweat trickling down behind his glasses. â€Å"Are you all right?† said Lupin. â€Å"Yes†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Harry pulled himself up on one of the desks and leaned against it. â€Å"Here –† Lupin handed him a Chocolate Frog. â€Å"Eat this before we try again. I didn’t expect you to do it your first time; in fact, I would have been astounded if you had.† â€Å"It’s getting worse,† Harry muttered, biting off the Frog’s head. â€Å"I could hear her louder that time — and him — Voldemort –â€Å" Lupin looked paler than usual. â€Å"Harry, if you don’t want to continue, I will more than understand –â€Å" â€Å"I do!† said Harry fiercely, stuffing the rest of the Chocolate Frog into his mouth. â€Å"I’ve got to! What if the Dementors turn up at our match against Ravenclaw? I can’t afford to fall off again. If we lose this game we’ve lost the Quidditch Cup!† â€Å"All right then†¦Ã¢â‚¬  said Lupin. â€Å"You might want to select another memory, a happy memory, I mean, to concentrate on†¦That one doesn’t seem to have been strong enough†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Harry thought hard and decided his feelings when Gryffindor had won the House Championship last year had definitely qualified as very happy. He gripped his wand tightly again and took up his position in the middle of the classroom. â€Å"Ready?† said Lupin, gripping the box lid. â€Å"Ready,† said Harry; trying hard to fill his head with happy thoughts about Gryffindor winning, and not dark thoughts about what was going to happen when the box opened. â€Å"Go!† said Lupin, pulling off the lid. The room went icily cold and dark once more. The Dementor glided forward, drawing its breath; one rotting hand was extending toward Harry — â€Å"Expecto patronum!† Harry yelled. â€Å"Expecto patronum! Expecto Pat –â€Å" White fog obscured his senses†¦big, blurred shapes were moving around him†¦then came a new voice, a man’s voice, shouting, panicking — â€Å"Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off –â€Å" The sounds of someone stumbling from a room — a door bursting open — a cackle of high- pitched laughter — â€Å"Harry! Harry†¦wake up†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Lupin was tapping Harry hard on the face. This time it was a minute before Harry understood why he was lying on a dusty classroom floor. â€Å"I heard my dad,† Harry mumbled. â€Å"That’s the first time I’ve ever heard him — he tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run for it†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Harry suddenly realized that there were tears on his face mingling with the sweat. He bent his face as low as possible, wiping them off on his robes, pretending to do up his shoelace, so that Lupin wouldn’t see. â€Å"You heard James?† said Lupin in a strange voice. â€Å"Yeah†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Face dry, Harry looked up. â€Å"Why — you didn’t know my dad, did you?† â€Å"I — I did, as a matter of fact,† said Lupin. â€Å"We were friends at Hogwarts. Listen, Harry — perhaps we should leave it here for tonight. This charm is ridiculously advanced†¦I shouldn’t have suggested putting you through this†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"No!† said Harry. He got up again. â€Å"I’ll have one more go! I’m not thinking of happy enough things, that’s what it is†¦hang on†¦Ã¢â‚¬  He racked his brains. A really, really happy memory†¦one that he could turn into a good, strong Patronus†¦. The moment when he’d first found out he was a wizard, and would be leaving the Dursleys for Hogwarts! If that wasn’t a happy memory, he didn’t know what was†¦Concentrating very hard on how he had felt when he’d realized he’d be leaving Privet Drive, Harry got to his feet and faced the packing case once more. â€Å"Ready?† said Lupin, who looked as though he were doing this against his better judgment. â€Å"Concentrating hard? All right — go!† He pulled off the lid of the case for the third time, and the Dementor rose out of it; the room fell cold and dark — â€Å"EXPECTO PATRONUM!† Harry bellowed. â€Å"EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO PATRONUM!† The screaming inside Harry’s head had started again — except this time, it sounded as though it were coming from a badly tuned radio — softer and louder and softer again†¦and he could still see the Dementor†¦it had halted†¦and then a huge, silver shadow came bursting out of the end of Harry’s wand, to hover between him and the Dementor, and though Harry’s legs felt like water, he was still on his feet — though for how much longer, he wasn’t sure†¦ â€Å"Riddikulus!† roared Lupin, springing forward. There was a loud crack, and Harry’s cloudy Patronus vanished along with the Dementor; he sank into a chair, feeling as exhausted as if he’d just run a mile, and felt his legs shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Professor Lupin forcing the Boggart back into the packing case with his wand; it had turned into a silvery orb again. â€Å"Excellent!† Lupin said, striding over to where Harry sat. â€Å"Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start!† â€Å"Can we have another go? Just one more go?† â€Å"Not now,† said Lupin firmly. â€Å"You’ve had enough for one night. Here –â€Å" He handed Harry a large bar of Honeydukes’ best chocolate. â€Å"Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood. Same time next week?† â€Å"Okay,† said Harry. He took a bite of the chocolate and watched Lupin extinguishing the lamps that had rekindled with the disappearance of the Dementor. A thought had just occurred to him. â€Å"Professor Lupin?† he said. â€Å"If you knew my dad, you must’ve known Sirius Black as well.† Lupin turned very quickly. â€Å"What gives you that idea?† he said sharply. â€Å"Nothing — I mean, I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts too†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Lupin’s face relaxed. â€Å"Yes, I knew him,† he said shortly. â€Å"Or I thought I did. You’d better be off, Harry, it’s getting late.† Harry left the classroom, walking along the corridor and around a corner, then took a detour behind a suit of armor and sank down on its plinth to finish his chocolate, wishing he hadn’t mentioned Black, as Lupin was obviously not keen on the subject. Then Harry’s thoughts wandered back to his mother and father †¦ He felt drained and strangely empty, even though he was so full of chocolate. Terrible though it was to hear his parents’ last moments replayed inside his head, these were the only times Harry had heard their voices since he was a very small child. But he’d never be able to produce a proper Patronus if he half wanted to hear his parents again †¦ â€Å"They’re dead,† he told himself sternly. â€Å"They’re dead and listening to echoes of them won’t bring them back. You’d better get a grip on yourself if you want that Quidditch Cup.† He stood up, crammed the last bit of chocolate into his mouth, and headed back to Gryffindor Tower. Ravenclaw played Slytherin a week after the start of term. Slytherin won, though narrowly. According to Wood, this was good news for Gryffindor, who would take second place if they beat Ravenclaw too. He therefore increased the number of team practices to five a week. This meant that with Lupin’s anti-Dementor classes, which in themselves were more draining than six Quidditch practices, Harry had just one night a week to do all his homework. Even so, he was not showing the strain nearly as much as Hermione, whose immense workload finally seemed to be getting to her. Every night, without fail, Hermione was to be seen in a corner of the common room, several tables spread with books, Arithmancy charts, rune dictionaries, diagrams of Muggles lifting heavy objects, and file upon file of extensive notes; she barely spoke to anybody and snapped when she was interrupted. â€Å"How’s she doing it?† Ron muttered to Harry one evening as Harry sat finishing a nasty essay on Undetectable Poisons for Snape. Harry looked up. Hermione was barely visible behind a tottering pile of books. â€Å"Doing what?† â€Å"Getting to all her classes!† Ron said. â€Å"I heard her talking to Professor Vector, that Arithmancy witch, this morning. They were going on about yesterday’s lesson, but Hermione can’t’ve been there, because she was with us in Care of Magical Creatures! And Ernie McMillan told me she’s never missed a Muggle Studies class, but half of them are at the same time as Divination, and she’s never missed one of them either!† Harry didn’t have time to fathom the mystery of Hermione’s impossible schedule at the moment; he really needed to get on with Snape’s essay. Two seconds later, however, he was interrupted again, this time by Wood. â€Å"Bad news, Harry. I’ve just been to see Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt. She — er — got a bit shirty with me. Told me I’d got my priorities wrong. Seemed to think I cared more about winning the Cup than I do about you staying alive. Just because I told her I didn’t care if it threw you off, as long as you caught the Snitch first.† Wood shook his head in disbelief. â€Å"Honestly, the way she was yelling at me†¦you’d think I’d said something terrible. Then I asked her how much longer she was going to keep it†¦Ã¢â‚¬  He screwed up his face and imitated Professor McGonagall’s severe voice. â€Å"As long as necessary, Wood†Ã¢â‚¬ ¦I reckon it’s time you ordered a new broom, Harry. There’s an order form at the back of Which Broomstick†¦you could get a Nimbus Two Thousand and One, like Malfoy’s got.† â€Å"I’m not buying anything Malfoy thinks is good,† said Harry flatly. January faded imperceptibly into February, with no change in the bitterly cold weather. The match against Ravenclaw was drawing nearer and nearer, but Harry still hadn’t ordered a new broom. He was now asking Professor McGonagall for news of the Firebolt after every Transfiguration lesson, Ron standing hopefully at his shoulder, Hermione rushing past with her face averted. â€Å"No, Potter, you can’t have it back yet,† Professor McGonagall told him the twelfth time this happened, before he’d even opened his mouth. â€Å"We’ve checked for most of the usual curses, but Professor Flitwick believes the broom might be carrying a Hurling Hex. I shall tell you once we’ve finished checking it. Now, please stop badgering me.† To make matters even worse, Harry’s anti-Dementor lessons were not going nearly as well as he had hoped. Several sessions on, he was able to produce an indistinct, silvery shadow every time the Boggart-Dementor approached him, but his Patronus was too feeble to drive the Dementor away. All it did was hover, like a semitransparent cloud, draining Harry of energy as he fought to keep it there. Harry felt angry with himself, guilty about his secret desire to hear his parents’ voices again. â€Å"You’re expecting too much of yourself,† said Professor Lupin, sternly in their fourth week of practice. â€Å"For a thirteen-year-old wizard, even an indistinct Patronus is a huge achievement. You aren’t passing out anymore, are you?† â€Å"I thought a Patronus would — charge the Dementors down or something,† said Harry dispiritedly. â€Å"Make them disappear –â€Å" â€Å"The true Patronus does do that,† said Lupin. â€Å"But you’ve achieved a great deal in a very short space of time. If the Dementors put in an appearance at your next Quidditch match, You will be able to keep them at bay long enough to get back to the ground.† â€Å"You said it’s harder if there are loads of them,† said Harry. â€Å"I have complete confidence in you,† said Lupin, smiling. â€Å"Here — you’ve earned a drink. Something from the Three Broomsticks. You won’t have tried it before –â€Å" He pulled two bottles out of his briefcase. â€Å"Butterbeer!† said Harry, without thinking. â€Å"Yeah, I like that stuff!† Lupin raised an eyebrow. â€Å"Oh — Ron and Hermione brought me some back from Hogsmeade,† Harry lied quickly. â€Å"I see,† said Lupin, though he still looked slightly suspicious. â€Å"Well — let’s drink to a Gryffindor victory against Ravenclaw! Not that I’m supposed to take sides, as a teacher†¦Ã¢â‚¬  he added hastily. They drank the butterbeer in silence, until Harry voiced something he’d been wondering for a while. â€Å"What’s under a Dementor’s hood?† Professor Lupin lowered his bottle thoughtfully. â€Å"Hmmm †¦ well, the only people who really know are in no condition to tell us. You see, the Dementor lowers its hood only to use its last and worst weapon.† â€Å"What’s that?† â€Å"They call it the Dementor’s Kiss,† said Lupin, with a slightly twisted smile. â€Å"It’s what Dementors do to those they wish to destroy utterly. I suppose there must be some kind of mouth under there, because they clamp their jaws upon the mouth of the victim and — and suck out his soul.† Harry accidentally spat out a bit of butterbeer. â€Å"What — they kill –?† â€Å"Oh no,† said Lupin. â€Å"Much worse than that. You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you’ll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no†¦anything. There’s no chance at all of recovery. You’ll just exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever†¦lost.† Lupin drank a little more butterbeer, then said, â€Å"It’s the fate that awaits Sirius Black. It was in the Daily Prophet this morning. The Ministry have given the Dementors permission to perform it if they find him.† Harry sat stunned for a moment at the idea of someone having their soul sucked out through their mouth. But then he thought of Black. â€Å"He deserves it,† he said suddenly. â€Å"You think so?† said Lupin lightly. â€Å"Do you really think anyone deserves that?† â€Å"Yes,† said Harry defiantly. â€Å"For†¦for some things†¦Ã¢â‚¬  He would have liked to have told Lupin about the conversation he’d overheard about Black in the Three Broomsticks, about Black betraying his mother and father, but it would have involved revealing that he’d gone to Hogsmeade without permission, and he knew Lupin wouldn’t be very impressed by that. So he finished his butterbeer, thanked Lupin, and left the History of Magic classroom. Harry half wished that he hadn’t asked what was under a Dementor’s hood, the answer had been so horrible, and he was so lost in unpleasant thoughts of what it would feel like to have your soul sucked out of you that he walked headlong into Professor McGonagall halfway up the stairs. â€Å"Do watch where you’re going, Potter!† â€Å"Sorry, Professor –â€Å" â€Å"I’ve just been looking for you in the Gryffindor common room, Well, here it is, we’ve done everything we could think of, and there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with it at all — you’ve got a very good friend somewhere, Potter†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Harry’s jaw dropped. She was holding out his Firebolt, and it looked as magnificent as ever. â€Å"I can have it back?† Harry said weakly. â€Å"Seriously?† â€Å"Seriously,† said Professor McGonagall, and she was actually smiling. â€Å"I daresay you’ll need to get the feel of it before Saturday’s match, won’t you? And Potter — do try and win, won’t you? Or we’ll be out of the running for the eighth year in a row, as Professor Snape was kind enough to remind me only last night†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Speechless, Harry carried the Firebolt back upstairs toward Gryffindor Tower. As he turned a corner, he saw Ron dashing toward him, grinning from ear to ear. â€Å"She gave it to you? Excellent! Listen, can I still have a go on it? Tomorrow?† â€Å"Yeah†¦anything†¦Ã¢â‚¬  said Harry, his heart lighter than it had been in a month. â€Å"You know what — we should make up with Hermione†¦She was only trying to help†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"Yeah, all right,† said Ron. â€Å"She’s in the common room now working — for a change.† They turned into the corridor to Gryffindor Tower and saw Neville Longbottom, pleading with Sir Cadogan, who seemed to be refusing him entrance. â€Å"I wrote them down!† Neville was saying tearfully. â€Å"But I must’ve dropped them somewhere!† â€Å"A likely tale!† roared Sir Cadogan. Then, spotting Harry and Ron: â€Å"Good even, my fine young yeomen! Come clap this loon in irons. He is trying to force entry to the chambers within!† â€Å"Oh, shut up,† said Ron as he and Harry drew level with Neville. â€Å"I’ve lost the passwords!† Neville told them miserably. â€Å"I made him tell me what passwords he was going to use this week, because he keeps changing them, and now I don’t know what I’ve done with them!† â€Å"Oddsbodkins,† said Harry to Sir Cadogan, who looked extremely disappointed and reluctantly swung forward to let them into the common room. There was a sudden, excited murmur as every head turned and the next moment, Harry was surrounded by people exclaiming over his Firebolt. â€Å"Where’d you get it, Harry?† â€Å"Will you let me have a go?† â€Å"Have you ridden it yet, Harry?† â€Å"Ravenclaw’ll have no chance, they’re all on Cleansweep Sevens!† â€Å"Can I just hold it, Harry?† After ten minutes or so, during which the Firebolt was Passed around and admired from every angle, the crowd dispersed and Harry and Ron had a clear view of Hermione, the only person who hadn’t rushed over to them, bent over her work and carefully avoiding their eyes. Harry and Ron approached her table and at last, she looked up. â€Å"I got it back,† said Harry, grinning at her and holding up the Firebolt. â€Å"See, Hermione? There wasn’t anything wrong with it!† said Ron. â€Å"Well — there might have been!† said Hermione. â€Å"I mean, at least you know now that it’s safe!† â€Å"Yeah, I suppose so,† said Harry. â€Å"I’d better put it upstairs.† â€Å"I’ll take it!† said Ron eagerly. â€Å"I’ve got to give Scabbers his rat tonic.† He took the Firebolt and, holding it as if it were made of glass, carried it away up the boys’ staircase. â€Å"Can I sit down, then?† Harry asked Hermione. â€Å"I suppose so,† said Hermione, moving a great stack of parchment off a chair. Harry looked around at the cluttered table, at the long Arithmancy essay on which the ink was still glistening, at the even longer Muggle Studies essay (‘Explain Why Muggles Need Electricity’) and at the rune translation Hermione was now poring over. â€Å"How are you getting through all this stuff?† Harry asked her. â€Å"Oh, well — you know — working hard,† said Hermione. Close-up, Harry saw that she looked almost as tired as Lupin. â€Å"Why don’t you just drop a couple of subjects?† Harry asked, watching her lifting books as she searched for her rune dictionary. â€Å"I couldn’t do that!† said Hermione, looking scandalized. â€Å"Arithmancy looks terrible,† said Harry, picking up a very complicated-looking number chart. â€Å"Oh no, it’s wonderful!† said Hermione earnestly. â€Å"It’s my favorite subject! It’s –â€Å" But exactly what was wonderful about Arithmancy, Harry never found out. At that precise moment, a strangled yell echoed down the boys’ staircase. The whole common room fell silent, staring, petrified, at the entrance. Then came hurried footsteps, growing louder and louder — and then Ron came leaping into view, dragging with him a bedsheet. â€Å"LOOK!† he bellowed, striding over to Hermione’s table. â€Å"LOOK!† he yelled, shaking the sheets in her face. â€Å"Ron, what –?† â€Å"SCABBERS! LOOK! SCABBERS!† Hermione was leaning away from Ron, looking utterly bewildered. Harry looked down at the sheet Ron was holding. There was something red on it. Something that looked horribly like — â€Å"BLOOD!† Ron yelled into the stunned silence. â€Å"HE’S GONE! AND YOU KNOW WHAT WAS ON THE FLOOR?† â€Å"N — no,† said Hermione in a trembling voice. Ron threw something down onto Hermione’s rune translation. Hermione and Harry leaned forward. Lying on top of the weird, spiky shapes were several long, ginger cat hairs.

The Declaration of Independence Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 1500 words

The Declaration of Independence - Essay Example The essay shall examine the similarities and differences between works written by three authors on the Declaration of Independence; these are the latter mentioned authors and Frederick Douglas. These comparisons will be done in relation to political issues, religious issues, equality and other issues. (Barthelmas, 2003) Jefferson highlights his views about equality by asserting that all men are created equal in the first paragraph of the declaration. Additionally, he believes that they have three major rights that come with this equality Some people have claimed that Jefferson simply paraphrased what another author in the eighteenth century had written; John Locke. Locke in his 'Second Treatise of government' asserts that there are some fundamental rights that all human beings should be granted and these include; Property, liberty and life. As it can be seen from the bulleted list above, these are the exact words used by Jefferson except for the world property. It has been reported that Jefferson had used the word property in his first draft but other members of the Committee he was working with urged him to change it to 'pursuit of happiness'. In light of all these striking similarities between Jefferson's Declaration of Independence and other previous writings, Jefferson's supporters have defended him and his writings by claiming that the declaration was not a creation of new philosophies. He was simply trying to air out what people believed already and was not trying to come up with a new ideology. Equality is a concept that stands through out Jefferson's Declaration of Independence. He talks about how the British government has demonstrated their lack of respect for the American people. Jefferson achieves this by citing 20 instances when this occurred. For example, he says that the British government prevented them from trading with other countries of the world. Additionally, he has problems with the imposition of taxes and the imposition of military forces amongst them. By speaking against these injustices, Jefferson was trying to show how the British did not consider the rest of their colonial states equal to them. (Armitage, 2004) Locke echoes similar sentiments. He believed that all human beings had the right to preserve their own lives. He also asserted murderers did not act in unison to the law of reason because they were contravening the right to life. Furthermore, Locke adds that all people are supposed to have the right to make their own decisions in an effort to exercise liberty. However, he believes that liberty should be exercised in such a manner that it does not impede other people's liberty. While Jefferson and Locke believed that no man was superior to another and that all people should be granted their due rights, these sentiments were mostly theoretical. This is fact brought out by Frederick Douglas. Douglas believed that most of the sentiments expressed in Jefferson's declaration of independence simply referred to a portion of the population while the slaves were ignored completely. Douglas explains that the black person in America did not share some of the liberties and freedoms proclaimed in the Declaration of inde

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Proposal Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 3000 words - 1

Proposal - Essay Example However, due to the high stress level in the hospital environment where pain and agony abound from the patients, workers are usually left with no choice but to concentrate on their own discipline in providing therapy, care or help for their patients. Add to that, the obligatory meetings set up by management to ensure that things are flowing smoothly, create resistance among the staff, as they are anxious to be questioned about their cases in detail. Such a scenario prevents effective communication to flow within the workers, staff and management of the hospital. This is a cause for concern, as the situation may bring about more problems that can affect the quality of treatment afforded to the patients that has gained recognition for Pinewood Hospital. The clinical director, Dr. Baxter has hired an internal consultant to help improve communication within the hospital. The following are proposed steps the consultant may make to gain a better understanding of the problem and to find appropriate solutions for it. The consultant needs to be immersed in the hospital to get a better perspective of the culture of the organization and the flow of movement and communication. He needs to attend all meetings himself to keep track of the agenda and see if there is overlapping information and investigate how these may be minimized to save time and effort. As a consultant, he is available to anyone who would be in need of his advice regarding concerns about communication, be they rank and file or in the administrative staff. Being so, he would have access to information that may able to help the organization. Another way to gather information is to conduct a survey on communication among all the hospital workers from the management to the professionals to the staff. â€Å"Staff surveys that provide a thorough understanding of staff attitudes and perceptions